#i feel she'd make sure to be elected

[humanityinahandbag]

I'd like to tell you all a story about my grandmother.

My grandparents raised their children, four girls (one of them my mother), to be fighters. My aunts marched in Washington for women's rights with babies strapped to their chests and like to joke that all of the grandchildren who came from that line (including myself) were born with picket signs in their hands.

But it started with my grandparents. They fought hard for what they believed in. They marched against Vietnam. They marched for Martin Luther King. They marched for women's rights. They marched for a better future.

But let's talk specifically about my grandmother for a moment.

My grandmother unfortunately passed away in 2016. She had to watch the first Trump election and did so knowing that it would probably be the last election she'd ever see. And there is some argument there that she could have given in to fear and defeatism. She could have decided none of it was worth it, and she could have decided that fascism had won and the world was over.

But she did something else instead.

To give some context, my grandparents had friends who were Republicans. I say were, because they shifted from the normal Republican towards the MAGA Republican we see today. And despite a very clear message from my family about how we felt, they were more than ready to still come to the funeral as if everything was normal. Like their beliefs were normal. Like they were welcome to celebrate someone who had fought so hard for the rights of other people.

These were people who would have absolutely used their rhetoric to scream and shout if they were left out or disinvited.

And so my grandmother, even past her final moments, pulled the most brilliant, petty move I've ever seen.

She'd decided ahead of time that everyone who had known her was more than welcome to attend but that she wanted everyone attending the funeral to donate money. That was the requirement to be invited. And so everyone did just that. There was no talk about what the donations were for, just that they were appreciated. I want to say that the assumption was the money would help pay for funeral expenses and give the family some support while we grieved.

Except that wasn't the case.

Because in those final moments of the funeral, the rabbi stepped forward to thank everyone, and then very cheerfully announced;

"Arlene was so happy to know just how many people were coming to join us here today. She couldn't have been more proud of her family. And I'm sure she would have been elated to see just how much money you all gave today to Planned Parenthood."

When I say that the faces of those people are enshrined in my memory, I mean it. The anger, the devastation, the rage, the betrayal. It was an absolutely gorgeous display of true defeat at the hands of a boss ass old lady who literally fought with her last breath and threw up both middle fingers all the way out the door.

What I'm saying is this.

It is very easy to feel defeated. It is very easy to think that everything is over, and there's nothing left for us to do. It's very easy to say that fascism won, that fear won, that hate won.

But that's only true if you let it be true.

There is always more that we can do. There is a future that is still worth fighting for. And it's more than possible, even when it doesn't seem like it.

And fighting is going to look different every time.

Some days it will look like picket signs in our hands.

Some days it will look like spending time with friends and family and people you love and knowing that you have a community that supports you and your vision of a brighter future.

And some days, it's pulling absolute natural level 20 petty trickster shit even after you've left the world.

Because you can always make an impact and you can always add a little brightness to life, and if that means tricking a group of MAGA idiots into throwing their money behind Planned Parenthood in the middle of your own goddamn funeral then that's what it means.

Keep fighting. People have done it before you. People will continue to do it after you.

And enjoy the little victories.

(Even the petty ones)

[awordsmith]

rained on with you 𝜗𝜚 s.r

۶ৎ in which you attend a few of Spencer's classes as an auditor for personal reasons and he calls you out in front of the class, and has no idea just how off he is.

katcember

who? spencer reid x college!reader when? s13 category: angst to fluff (hurt/comfort) content warnings: kidnapping of a sibling, mentions of sa (not you), anger, shouting, stress, public embarrassment, student/professor dynamic (you're not his student), Spencer being sexually harassed by female students, intense despair and sadness, self-loathing, guilt, thoughts of murder, happy ending, not proofed, reid with care word count: 8.7k a/n: my first post, be pleasant! this actually made me cry because I've had a teacher I trusted and felt comfortable with yell at me for something I thought was completely okay in front of not only my class, but another class. enjoy!

You cursed yourself, there was something about the dreary weather outside that had you rushing through the outdoor halls of the building that made everything worse, you thought perhaps it was because it perfectly resembled what you felt inside.

It's been a month, you'd told yourself the first time you'd decided to audit the first class. It was a sociology class by a woman you'd never heard of, it wasn't even a general class needed for your major, you could have taken it as an elective, sure, but by that time, the deadline to add and drop classes had ended.

You'd taken notes and must have read them a hundred times over again, the police were kind at first, understanding, but as you began to compile more and more information, they stopped listening.

Two months had gone by and they'd eventually labeled her as a runaway. It wasn't uncommon for girls her age, but you knew your sister, and it just did not make sense.

That's when you decided it was you or no one, your parents could not handle the thought of anything else, and they too–eventually–chose to move on. "For the better," they'd said, it had made you so angry and feel so incredibly helpless at the same time.

How could they–her own parents–give up just like that?

Not you. You would never forget your sister, nor her person. You had gone over the day multiple times in your head and yet could not wrap around the fact that she'd just vanished without a trace.

You were entering the third month of her disappearance in December, and coincidentally her birth month. You did not want to celebrate without her and though the mere thought of her threatened tears rolling down your cheeks, you couldn't stop. It was as if the guilt wouldn't let you.

During the day, you attended your normal classes, and at night, almost every night, including Friday–tonight–you'd attend a lecture-based class that surrounded around psychology, sociology, and criminology. You had become a regular in each of the classes, criminology being the last you started attending.

You took vicarious notes, and when you weren't studying for your course classes, you were cramming as much information you'd learned from your secret night classes into your head and pouring it into your sister's disappearance.

To quench your need for sleep, you'd taken up drinking a lot more coffee than one should normally take in a day. You had been running a little behind schedule, so when you walked into the lecture hall and all eyes–including the professor's–fell on you, you absently took a small step back.

"Sorry I'm late," you murmured, avoiding his eyes as you moved to take a seat in the front like you normally did. The hall wasn't that big and most students sat in the back-row, what few did sit in the front were pretty quiet and never said a word to you. The lights were always dim, but enough for you to see your paper and pen.

The scent of rain and coffee wafted through the air as you began the trek to your normal seat. A question abruptly stopped you in the middle of the row, you had passed all the other students and you normally would have deigned to go around them, but thought not to interrupt the prof introducing the topic of today.

"What's your name?" Called the professor. You were startled as you set your back pack on the floor and slid into a seat.

"My–my name?" you swallowed, wishing the floor would swallow you.

"Yes, your name." His voice was thick and laced with something more than displeasure.

You glanced up at him, biting your cheek for a moment, deciding how to respond. What could it hurt? You thought. You looked back up at him, meeting his eyes, they were soft, and for some reason you abruptly wondered how old he was, surely not much older than you. You mumbled out your name, then shifted in your seat to lean down and rummage through your bag for your notebook.

"I don't actually believe you're in my class," he glanced around the room briefly before his eyes returned to you, your head down. He waited patiently for you to lift it again and meet, "I'm not in the habit of being straightforward like this," he began walking toward you.

Your heart pounded in sync with each step he took. Was he made you hadn't asked him to audit his class? You should have just asked him, but he always seemed to be with someone, you even once tried to find him during his office hours, but you didn't really want to go into depth about why you wanted to listen to his lectures. You'd barely escaped the previous two.

Besides, he'd looked intimidating, just as he did now, hovering above you with his arms crossed, "tell me," you kept your head down as your cheeks grew red, knowing every one in the class had their eyes on you, "why do you keep coming back?"

When you didn't respond as you just didn't know how, he scoffed, "listen, I don't mean for this to come off as personal, but stop." You jerked your head upward, eyes pleading. He was the only professor that aloigned with your schedule.

He rolled his eyes, ran a hand down his face, and sighed. "Stop–just," he held bout a hand, a resigned and indifferent expression on his face, "girls like you are the reason I don't allow auditors in my class anymore. If you're not curious about the material, there is no reason for you to be here."

"But I am," came the tiny squeak of your voice.

He laughed, but tried to cover it up with a cough as he deigned to look at you again, "I have students here," he motioned toward the other students in the hall with his arms, "who I'm sure would appreciate their time and energy being respected, I know I do." His face fell flat, "so do us all a favor and–

"What?!" Came your realized reply. For as long as it took you, you were surprised the prof had not yet realized the mixup. You felt less embarrassed now and more–pissed. How arrogant can one person be? How big is too big an ego? "Are you crazy?" You couldn't help the shout as you stood.

To his credit, the prof–yeah, you didn't even know his name–and he thought, you scoffed internally, rolling your eyes on this outside, you took a few steps forward until you were in front of him. You shoved your notebook in his chest and waited for him to grab it before taking another step back, doing your best to ignore the number of eyes that were most defiantly flying between you and the prof.

"Look, I'm sorry I interrupted your lecture, and I'm also sorry for not asking to audit it, but to say that I've been using my free nights where I could be sleeping or working on her case to see you–" you took a breath, face flushed despite how you both wanted to laugh and cry and scream, "whatever," you shook your head, a scoff leaving your lips as you did so; you turned around, snatched your book bag from the floor, and stormed out, letting the metal door fall closed with a hard thud.

You only got a few paces away before tears began welling in your eyes and you plastered yourself against a nearby wall, the car lot you'd been at no more than 5 minutes ago right around the corner. "I'm sorry," you whispered, "I'm so–o, so-rry," you wiped your eyes, your voice trembling with and cracking with the weight of the day and the most recent events. You knew that it wasn't the last you'd see of that prof, you'd need to go back eventually to get your notebook back, that is–if he kept it, for all you knew he'd thrown it away already.

Whatever the case, just one last time, you'd need to talk to him just once more, if only to get your stupid notebook back that you stupidly handed over in a moment of dumbfounded and audacity-stricken. You just couldn't believe it.

You shook your head, swiping at the tears that had began streaming down you face. You'd go during one his office hours, perhaps he'll feel sorry or guilty. Good, you thought, he should.

Not tonight though, tonight, you were sleeping, you weren't going to think about anything. Your body was exhausted and you knew it; it had been for a while and yet you neglected it the sleep it desperately needed for favor of finding your sister and keeping up your normal schedule.

Just one night, you thought, making your way into the lot.

Huffing, you stuffed your hands into your pockets, it had been a few days now, you let Saturday and Sunday pass, Monday too, today, you couldn't handle it any longer. You needed your notebook, you were nearly there, you had gone over your suspect list, you had what you thought was a solid profile, though you couldn't be too sure, you were planning to go over it with the sociology professor when you had the chance, though you had no idea if she'd be able to give you anything more, especially if she didn't take it seriously.

You were just thinking that you could probably say it was a personal project, something to get your gears turning when you ran headfirst into someone. "Oh, I am so sorry," you backed away, reaching an arm out to steady the girl.

She glanced at you, tear-marks down her face, "it's fine," she huffed and held her head up, "it's nothing," she smiled painfully, "my fault really," she turned to you with an endearing expression, "thank you, though." She walked off quickly, no doubt wanting to get to her car.

It was such a strange experience, you had to rub your own head, thinking you'd hit it too hard and that's why you weren't walking in a straight line.

Nearing his office, you puffed out your chest, ready to stand your ground and demand your book back if necessary. You didn't believe yourself above the law, but spending a night or three in a jail didn't seem all too bad when only God knew what your sister was going through.

The smell of coffee hit you, like it always did, it became somewhat familiar in your routine, smelling it now–when you normally didn't–almost through you off.

You cleared your head and were about to clear your throat before stepping into his office, when you caught a sentence, he wasn't alone. You raised a brow and pressed your back against slightly ajar door, "please," it was the prof–his shaggy brown hair and puppy brown eyes appeared as a perfect image in your head, though his eyes were narrowed in your depiction. You glared back at the him from last Friday, then paused, catching the other side of the conversation.

"I–I don't know what you mean," murmured the student–a girl. You briefly thought of the girl you'd ran into, then through the image away in favor of eaves dropping. "I just," a char creaked and a heavy sigh came.

"Listen," the prof's gruff voice was lighter this time, he sounded almost...awkward. You smirked at it, now he was intimidated by a girl? An actual student of his no less? What kind of pathetic–

"I just was to know how I can please you, in the class, I mean," she corrected yourself, but the meaning was there and it made you cough, you'd covered it in time, swiftly moving your face into the inner side of your elbow.

"And I've told you," the prof's chair shifted, man he must be uncomfortable, you thought, feeling a little sorry for him. You had no idea–it just never crossed your mind–that he could have been yelling at you from a reasonable stand point.

You sighed and through your head back, prepping yourself for something you most definitely shouldn't do.

"I know what you said, Sir, but," the girls voice began to get pushy, which is when you thought it finally time.

You swept open the door all the way and stepped inside, arms crossed a sly smile on your face, "sorry to interrupt, oh," you let your eyes fall to the girls, "sorry I didn't know you were with someone, but," you had the decency to try looking regretful, "I'm sorry, this is really important."

It took a few seconds for the girl to register that you were now addressing her. She glanced at your dominating figure and then back at the prof, who looked both grateful and constipated. You bit your cheek to keep from laughing.

"Right," the prof said, turning to the girl who now went limp in the chair, "thank you for stopping by, I appreciate it I do."

The girl nodded solemnly, understanding this was a polite way of being dismissed. She collected her things gravelly, which is when you paused, she was young–fresh out of high school young. What was she doing trying to mess with a professor her first year in university?

Her face pinged familiar when she looked at you and you instantly made the connection from the girl you'd bumped into earlier. Your eyes widen and a just barely audible, "oh," came from you mouth.

When she was gone, you took a breath before turning back around, meeting his eyes in a silent, "so, that was crazy," his lips formed a line and his eyes almost shrugged for him.

"Does that happen a lot?" You didn't know why you asked, but you did, and well, he answered didn't he?

"More times than students come in with actually problems." He frowned, eyes fixed on the door left open.

"Maybe that just mean you're a good teacher?" You raised a brow, at least you thought he was, he did ramble sometimes, but it was enjoyable, seeing as how you were used to it. Well, you used to be, Your face tightened, "my notebook," you roamed your eyes over his desk before looking up again, "I want it back."

He nodded thoughtfully, watching you for a moment, "who is she?"

Your eyes fell, so he had read it, "my sister."

He nodded again, though you only looked back up when he pulled open a drawer. "I assume you..." his sentence broke off when heavy rainfall began.

He glanced at the door again, then at you, to which you smiled, though small, kind, "we can leave it open."

Relief filled his face and just for a second it made you angry on his behalf. Why hadn't he gone to the dean of his college? Surely it wouldn't be as bad as what he'd been going through now.

You opened your mouth to say something about it, but he spoke before you, "uhm, the case, it was dropped?"

You nodded, "yeah, last month."

"I assume you have a list? This was pretty detailed work," he held up your notebook.

"Thank you, but that's not all I have," you informed, "that's just my notebook for your class, which is incredibly insightful by the way, you should really think about becoming full time, your lectures aren't that hard to understand once you're comfortable and familiar with the material and usage of vocab..u...lar..y..." you dropped of your sentence, glancing away.

He chuckled, almost startling you out of your seat, "it's okay, I do that sometimes too."

You smiles slightly, "I know, you do it constantly during your lectures and seminars."

His smile cracked and he looked a little worried, "do I?"

You snorted, "Don't worry, they're interesting and most of the time relatable to the discussion or topic." He nodded, looking a little conscious. "So," you prodded, noting the book still in front of him.

"Oh, right," he picked the book up and handed it back to you, you didn't know what else to say, so you began to stand, "you know," his voice echoed through the office, though not large and with rain pouring down as if a hurricane was about to roll in, still clear, "if you want I can take a look at it, I am an FBI profiler."

You turned back to him and raised a brow, "what was your name again?"

He looked shellshocked, "you, you don't know my name?"

"Don't take it personal," you waved off, "I don't know my real professors' names, I call them all prof or professor for a reason."

"Do you call me professor?" He smiled, intrigued by the sudden admission. It was a little feeing, knowing that not only did he have a student in his office whom enjoyed his seminars and took detailed notes during his lectures, but who didn't have a single clue who he was. He'd written paper's, was on live television more times than he could recall–and he had an eidetic memory–and still, she did not know a single thing about him other than he taught twice a week once on a Wednesday night and once on a Friday night. He was honestly surprised he was able to get off work in time to head over to campus and set up.

"Prof," you said, grinning smugly, "professor isn't your style."

"Why not?" He scrunched his brows together.

"You're too young, it makes me feel weird and takes a hit at my pride," you grabbed your chest dramatically.

A snort came from his throat as he watched you reenact Romeo and Juliette, act 5, scene 3. He paused, referring to you as Juliette could be misinterpreted and he did not want that. He liked talking to you despite himself and he frowned as he recalled how he'd embarrassed you lat Friday, "I'm sorry," he tilted his head downward, watching your smiling eyes find his, "last Friday, that was uncalled for..."

You stared at him for a long while, trying to figure out how to say it, but eventually gave up and let your thoughts spill out, "yes, it was." He winced slightly at the harshness, you did too, you hadn't realized hoe hurt you still were, but you sighed, "at least I thought it was." He lifted his eyes and you averted yours, "look, it's not my place or anything, but what's happening is not okay, it's harassment. You should.." you bit your lip, frowned, and met his eyes through your lashes, "why haven't you gone to the dean?"

He took a breath and sat down in his chair, it squeaking on impact. You watched him run a hand through his hair, he looked contemplative, "I don't know...I just," he huffs, "they're kids, they have their entire life ahead of them, I don't know how I could just take that all away because of some silly crush."

The way he said "silly" instead of "stupid" or "annoying" made you smile. Your heart warmed and at the same time you felt sorry for him, but you were also beyond confused, "you said you were an FBI profiler?" He nodded, "then, how can't you tell the difference between–" you stopped yourself, that wasn't fair to him at all. "All right," you nodded, "if you won't go to the dean, that's your choice," you pressed your lips together, "but if you ever need a rescuing like today," you patted your arm, "I can be your superman."

His eyebrows furrowed, "don't you mean supergirl?"

"Nah," you smiled smugly again, "I mean superman."

He nodded, a grin falling over his face like it'd been waiting to break free, "okay, thanks. Oh, and–uhm," he pulled out his phone, "should I email you?"

You nodded, "as long as you let me continue auditing your class."

He smiled, eye alight with something you were certain you had never seen cross his face in the two months you'd been taking his lectures and seminars. "If you want me to look at your sister's case," he said quietly after you'd hit the door, "I'd be willing to mention it to my team."

Your eyes widened and you spun around, tears already in your eyes, you kept your hope down, but your thankfulness as clear as the notion you were going to get soaked before reaching your car was. "I would appreciate it greatly, even if nothing comes of it."

He smiled, "I'll let you know what they say after class tomorrow."

"Thank you," you swiped at your eyes, wondering how someone who you had never spoken to you up until now could make you cry so much.

You spun around, notebook covered under you shirt, and headed down the hall, where you were bound to face the wrath of the climate.

You worked out the finality of your suspect list, you could not narrow it as you'd have to actually interact with these people, and if you did, you could only think of what that meant for you sister. You didn't have all the information the cops had gathered, in fact you had significantly less, the only thing you had that the cops didn't was relation.

You threw your head back and groaned, you were hoping the prof had done his job. Yes, you still called him prof, it hit you a few minutes after ringing out your clothes before getting in your car, he'd never told you his name. You felt an urge to go back and ask, knowing it was going to keep you up at night, but as much shit as you talked, you were not brave enough to face the wind and rain again.

You were waiting for it to start hailing, thanking your school for having rooftops over their car lots. Sure enough it did bug you, but what bugged you more was what his team would say. Would they help? Would they roll their eyes and state that she clearly just ran away? Your sister was 23, her birthday was around the corner, you were just a year younger, though your birthday had passed already.

You slide out of your car, breathing in the fresh air, hoping the wind was all you got tonight. You felt someone watching you, knew you were probably just tired. It had happened a few times, so you weren't too concerned.

You were early, not wanting to cause any disruption like the last time you were here. It was a Wednesday, but at this time, the school wasn't as crowded, sometimes, if you were desperate you parked in the teaches lot and hopes no one would pay too much attention.

Your nose picked up the scent of coffee again and you couldn't help the cheeky grin that spread across your face, nor the welling in your eyes. What would he say? Would his team take the case? Would they try helping anyway if they couldn't? Despite yourself, you couldn't help but hope.

When you popped your face in, there were a few students already settled. Some glanced at you, some were too distracted by their phones, none seemed to be much affected by your presense.

"Oh, there you are," came a deep and yet squeaky voice. You spun around, finding the prof behind you, he tightened his lips, averting his eyes from your every time you found his.

Your heart failed, they had denied it. You gulped and prepared yourself, "it's alright–"

"So, they took the case–"

He startled at your disappointment as you startled at his shifty eyes. "What?" Your voice seemed octave, "what do they think?"

"Well," he stepped away from the door and moved you along using ah hand on your back so that a student might get through. You wondered what they thought of you, probably incredibly confused as to why you were still here, having an intimate conversation with their professor after he had so easily confirmed his distaste of you just a few days ago.

"What happened?" You prompted, "just tell me, I can take it." You nodded assuredly.

He huffed, stuffed his hands in his pockets and leaned his back adjacent the wall, "how long has your sister been missing?"

"December 21 will make it a full three months," you stated, "what does it matter?"

"They've agreed to take the case, but they're concerned," he started, "they–" a few students passed us and entered the classroom.

You glance down at your phone, "we can continue after class," you spun around without a word and entered the class, half wondering why in the world his team took the case, you were pretty sure–from what you gathered in your night lessons–FBI profilers, BAU agents, only dealt with serial killings. It was a long shot really, and you knew there were likely cases that rendered more serious, but you just could not pass up the offer.

You didn't want to question it, but you did, the prof ended class early and that's it, you thought, I need his name, calling him prof isn't going to do it anymore.

You collected your things slowly, waiting for the hall to empty. When it was, you headed for his desk at the corner of the room. "They never found a body?" He questioned as soon as you braced your hands against his desk, back pack discarded to the side on the floor.

"No," you shook your head, eyes determined, "if they did, my parents or I would have been called in to ID it." You were sure she was still alive, you could feel it.

"If they haven't found a body, there's a good chance she's still alive," he affirmed your suspicions, in any case, I'm not really suppose to be discussing this with you...but I think we're a little past that."

"I'm superman," you remind him, chuckling away the pain in your voice "only kryptonite can hurt me."

He smiled, genuinely, kindly, "they've already started working on it."

Your eyes widened, "already? The police reopened the case?"

He faltered slightly, "not exactly...but...we have skilled...team members."

"My lips are sealed," you mimed zipping your lips.

"Did you bring your suspect list?" You raised a brown and he smiled smugly, as if to say, "come on now."

You pulled your book bag onto his desk as he stood and brought around a stool that seemed to have materialized from thin air. You moved out the way and allowed him to set it down, murmuring a thank you as you took a seat.

He was dialing someone on his phone as you slid over your list, when the person answered, he put the phone on speaker, "hey, Garcia, I'm gonna need you to run background check on a list."

"What'doyou got for me, Doctor?" Came a woman's voice from the other side of the line.

Doctor? You squinted your eyes, watching the man in front of you. Accomplished, was the world that boiled in your mind, this man was incredibly accomplished, how old was he exactly? It made you wonder, honestly. You were in your last year of college, ready to go full time after this year, but not without your sister. You still had so much you wanted to do with her.

The phone call ended, you had tuned out the entire time, "you're skilled teammate, I suppose," you raised a brow, your lis quirked slightly upward.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you'd make a one hell of a profiler." He grinned back, eyes lingering.

Your heart thrummed in your chest, oh no, your subconscious screamed, but your conscious replied anyway, "and what do you know, Doctor?"

He snorted, "alright, first of all, it's Spencer, second of all," he lifted and pointed a finger at your clothing, "you stress easily, you clean up neater when you're trying to mask something, probably juggling being a full time student and full time rookie cop," his eyes dipped to your bag, where a pin of a true crime show you loved sat perfectly, "you have interest in crime, but you'd hate the profession because of the long hours." He reached for your bag and instead of stopping him, you watched, amazed,"you prefer alone time," he placed your current read in front of you, "which means you're most likely single and have been for while," he glanced at you momentarily, then went back to rummaging, "you listen to music when you're trying to focus," he set down your headphones and sets your bag to the side again, "and I can't prove it on my own, but I guarantee if you open your phone right now and look at your purchase history, it'll have more than the average orders spent at the coffee shop across from campus."

You nodded and gulped, "a magician."

He tilted his head with a crooked grin and raised and eyebrow, "no, it's–it's just–"

"–fucking awesome?" You asked, amazement written stark across your face.

"Yes," he cleared his throat, "well, anyway," he forced his gaze back down at the list in front of you when his phone rings.

It's the girl again, says a woman, Emily, had more information and thinks he may have a location. From what you got, your sister was most likely captured by a sex trafficking ring. Your heart sinks when you hear the new, hoping and praying they were able to find her, but you knew the probability, it had been months. "She could be half way across the world by now," your throat was raw and thick.

"Hey," Spencer placed his hand over yours, "it's going to be okay. I promise." But he didn't say they'd find her, he didn't say the probability of her being found at all could be a one in a million chance, and that's when you thought almost irritatingly, he is way too good at his job.

You stood outside the coffee shop a day later, watching the downpour of the day, huffing as you stepped inside the offered warmth of the shop. There was the usual barista at the counter, her smile genuine, "hey, I was just talking about you."

"Really?" You try for a smile, not wanting her to think your sour mood because of her.

"Yep, you want the usual?"

You nodded and stepped up to the counter, "actually can I add a chocolate croissant, too?"

"Sure thing," she rang you up and you sat down near a window to wait. Your fists strained against themselves, anger had racked your brain this morning. It was all you could think about, how you'd kill the people that hurt your sister, that could even think it okay–

You heard your name being called as the door to the coffee shop rung, you glanced up to see an odd looking abominable-Spencer, you snorted, "are you okay? What are you wearing?"

He approached you, his eyebrows scrunching in confusion as he shrugged off the giant, apparently rain- repellent coat, "it's a puffer jacket."

You smiled slightly, one of the realest smiles you've had since the kidnapping. "Did your team find something?" You asked as he placed the jacket on the chair across from you and sat down. You'd assumed so, since he had been the one to email you this morning during your fist class. The fog had cleared away, so you walked instead of driving, leading to regret as soon as you reached your destination, when the rain began to pour.

"Yes, actually," he nodded, "my...they found the drop off, where the gils were being held. You would have perked up if you didn't know what the look on his face meant.

"You didn't find her," you amended, an aching sadness falling over you. You thought it might have been because you'd spent all this time looking for her, trying to prove she wasn't a runaway, and you were so close. Even though you knew the probability of finding her was slim to none, you couldn't give up, your heart and mind wouldn't let you, as long as she lived, and she was alive, you'd never stop looking.

"They're interrogating a few of the..." he cleared his throat, noting the glistening of your wet cheeks. "They, they're also going over what the victims remember, hoping it'll give them some clue as to where...uh, the others were taken."

You gulp, nodding. For a second, you felt an urge to say her name, to tell him, but that wouldn't be fair, "thank you, for everything, Spencer."

"Of course," he frowned, without thinking his hand shot out and lifted your face, eyes darting over you, he was analyzing you.

Your lip quirked, "are you profiling me right now?"

His mouth hung ajar for a moment, eyes searching, then, "no, I've already done that."

You nod, "right, last night, you know my favorite book."

"That's not what I meant," he sighed, then, as if just no realizing, dropped your face so abruptly, you had to catch it. He leaned back, then stood, "I'm...gonna go order."

You nodded, your mind racing with the thoughts of your sister. How you just wanted to hold her hand one last time, press her against you, and tell her how sorry you were. That you didn't mean it, any of it. You had no idea where she'd gone after she'd left your apartment, she had just left.

The fight was stupid, it could have been avoided completely if you'd just been a little more understanding. You hated yourself for that, how could you be so selfish, it was just one person! It wasn't even a boy, it was her friend. Your reasoning may have been a little justified, but just because you didn't know this girl–your brain stopped. Your head shot up and you wiped your tears, waiting eagerly as Spencer sat back down.

"What?" He furrowed his brows, "what did you remember."

Damn him and his profiling skills, "there was a girl, that day, my sister and I had got into a fight, we have our own apartments, but mine's closer to campus, so when she's tired she'll usually crash at mine, sometimes with friends. I only had two rules for that, one there could be no more than 2 of her friends, and that I had to know them. But I didn't know her, and that's why we got into a fight." You take a breath as you ramble out all this information, "I'd thought it was strange, I even told the cops, but they brushed it off–she–she would have never done that. She never broke my rules, that's why I was so annoyed–" you murmur, "H, her name started something with an H, I think," then you remembered.

You told Spencer her name and he had his skilled teammate, Garcia, run that name through the universities system. Of course there were multiple, so you began trying to recall things that stood out.

"Got her," came the reply, "running background check, Rossi's on the other line, brb my sunshine," a click and the call was disconnected.

You stared in awe at the phone on the table, and then you grinned, you lifted your face and was met with an equally proud expression. Your order was called soon after and you stood to grab it. As you passed Spencer his arm shot out and halted you, you looked down at him questioningly, he opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it and let you go, "it's nothing."

You nodded, a little nervously. You suppressed the butterflies in your stomach, this could only end one way, he was comfortable with you, he was helping you find your sister, the entire reason you'd began auditing his class. You had told him it wasn't for him and it wasn't, but what would be the point if now...

No, you would find your sister and cease contact with him, that'd b how this ended. I'm his superman, you thought, cringing slightly, and unfortunately I only have one weakness.

They'd did it, they'd found your sister. She was being rushed to the hospital and you and your parents were doing your best to contain your relief. You couldn't help but yell at them. "I told you so, I told you!"

You had emailed Spencer the good news, though he'd probably already knew. You emailed on sing your personal emails, seeing as the university monitored the ones on canvas.

The rush of excitement and thrill was frightening. The bags under your eyes would now disappear and you could sleep again without having nightmares.

"Where is she?" You all but screeched at the receptionist, your parents took assertion, and you let them. It was evident, even to you that you were not in the right state of mind, nor were you physically great. It had taken them four days. Four days to find your sister, all this time you were out searching, it felt like a waste of time.

You couldn't face her, you took a step back, terrified of her reaction. As your parents rushed to the elevators, you stayed where you stood. You ignored their calls to you, you face unreadable in their eyes. As the elevator door shut, your took a shuddering breath. The hospital was full, which didn't seem unusual for the staff, but it was too loud for you.

Too loud, you wanted to scream, and cry, and break down, but you didn't deserve that. Not after all your sister went through.

"Hey, hey, hey," calm and gentle, his voice tugged at you like a life raft. You turned as and soon as you met his eyes the tears fell, you let out a loud wale as he wrapped you in his arms.

"She was–over two months!"

"Shh, shh," he rubbed your back and cradled your neck, you buried your face into his shoulder, "hey, it's not your fault," his voice went high for a second and then lowered again. You heart boomed in your chest–you loved that about him. The uncertainty in his voice, the way he didn't know if what he said was going to make the situation better or worse. In the single four days you had known him on a more personal level, he had grown and grown like a weed.

His presence made everything just a little bit bearable. Why, you didn't know, but you could not do this to him. You could not be the person he comforted on a daily basis because that's just what he expected of you, why he was weary and displeased with you in the first place. You could not feel this way about him, especially because it was almost mad–again you hadn't known his name more than three days.

"What did you mean?" You asked suddenly, pulling away, "when you said you had profiled me before?"

He pressed his lips together and used his thumb to wipe the tears that kept streaming down your cheek, the lights in the hospital seemed to dim and the nose seemed to filter out, "it's nothing, it doesn't matter now."

"It matters to me," you pressed, and then you thought his eyes held warning and you hated yourself all over again. "Right," you unlatched yourself from him, feeling caught it a lie, "I, I should go. Thank you for," you chuckled out a cry, but not for your sister, for you stupidity, and possibly the lost of your just formed friendship, "my families waiting."

He nodded and took–what seemed to you a bigger than necessary–step back. "See you later, then, superman."

You stifled a new set of tears and forced a smile to your face, and turned around, your face instantly falling. You stepped into the elevator, hyper aware of his eyes still watching you. You clicked the button, any button, just fo the door to shut and kept your head down, and when the doors closed, you fell to the floor, wrapping your arms around yourself.

A few floors later, you found your sisters and your parents. She was in bad shape, she had bruises all over her body, you watched your parents stand over her bed, trying to talk with her. It was okay at first, until the doctors brought out a rape kit, you just...you couldn't watch that. You needed air, you headed back toward the the elevator, your eyes rimmed red with crying and dark with the lack of sleep.

When you the elevator opened on the first floor, you kept your head down and your arms wrapped tightly around you, you walked swiftly toward the exist, too wrapped in your emotions to notice the person following you.

Once outside, you headed toward the side, where a small playground sat. You didn't know if you wanted children or not yet, or maybe you did want them, you couldn't think straight. The darkened playground comforted you. You found yourself coming face to face with a rock wall. Not too tall, but challenging enough for 10 year olds. You smiled to yourself and climbed until you reached the top, which was pretty disappointing, but it got you off the ground.

"I hope you're not thinking of jumping," his voice startled you, what was he doing here?

"Didn't you go home?" You questioned, you calfs coming face to face with the top of his head.

"I thought about it," he admits, his hand running along the wall, stopping as it finds one to grip, "but then I remembered," he hauled himself upward, "a friend I made just recently," he grunts as he pulls himself upward one final time, leaving a small space between you, "likes to watch the rain."

"What?" You your voice quivered as the word floated from your lips, but you were smiling...slightly.

He cleared is throat and held out his wrist, "one...two..."

You cleared your throat, trying to make is a bit firmer, "why are you counting–"

There, just the tiniest drop of water fell into you eye, you wiped it away, turning to him with widened eyes, "why didn't you stop me?"

You brace your hands against the rock to jump off, but Spencer stops you, grabbing you wrist, he called your name once and you made the mistake of looking into the big, brown, puppy dog eyes.

Soaked were you a few second later, Spencer too, though you weren't sure if that made up for it. There were no stars, clouds blocked them from your view. You smacked him on his chest shouting through the rain, "what the hell, Spencer?!"

"Technically, Hell is considered insanely hot by many of its believers!" He replies, earning another smack, this time to the shoulder, a laughing fit entangles the both of you as the rain fell around you and after a moment of absolute madness, you caught his eyes and you wondered if this meant what you thought it meant–what you couldn't stop your heart from hoping this meant.

"Thank you," you shouted once more, finding the courage to lean against him. It was odd, the colder you physically got, the warmer your mentally grew.

"Anytime, superman," he brushed strands of wet hair out of your face and you knew, you just knew what you felt, but it's not real, not to him. You were superman and Achilles said it best, "They never let you be famous and happy," and you knew how that story ended.

The weather seemed to ease up this morning, you were happy, two weeks had gone by and your sister was back at home in time to celebrate her birthday. You stopped auditing classes and seminar's, but you still found reasons to email Spencer. Yeah, you still emailed him, if he wanted you to have his number, he'd give it to you or ask for yours–besides, yo9u had grown fond of this way of communication, leaving everyone off with sincerely yours, superman.

He didn't seem to mind and alway replied instantly, he had become one of your closest friends, which awkwardly wasn't hard because–as he had stated previously, you preferred your alone time, which was a nicer way to say you didn't have many friends, but you didn't mind at all.

"Are you texting him?" Came your sister's question as she hopped next to you, wrapping an arm around you, leaning over your shoulder to get a better look at your screen.

"God–no," you grinned, standing up, pulling the phone out of her reach. "And it's emailing," you grumbled, heading into the kitchen.

"Emailing," she widened her eyes, following you to your kitchen, "honestly, I don't why you bother."

"He's more comfortable this way."

She took a sip of orange juice, nodding, "mm, right," she set the glass down, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, "because he's the hot professor girls were swooning over."

"It was harassment," you pointed out.

"Oh, right," she nodded, "and you just happen to come into his life at the perfect time." She put a hand over her forehead, "my savior, my superman." She giggle as you through a jolly rancher at her.

She dodged, "ow hey–those things hurt!"

You snorted, "mmhm."

"Ssss," she hissed holding her side.

Your rushed to her, worried eyes raking up and down her body to find the cause, "hey, are you sure you're fine? We don't have to go out tonight, like I said, Mom and Dad don't think it's a good idea either."

"H-hey," she laughed, but it was pained; you helped her get to her feet again, brushing a lock behind her face, "come one, I've been through hell and back, that basically means I'm invincible now."

You frowned, then smiled softly when she met your eyes, "okay, okay fine. But the second you seem off, we're coming home."

She nodded, "it's just an arcade, what worse could possibly happen that hasn't happened already?"

You frowned, glancing away, and bracing your wrists against the kitchen counter, "if you say so..."

She ran to your room and began picking out outfits, a few of her friends were meeting you at the arcade. You were kind of there to keep an eye on her, you still hadn't apologized for kicking her out that day with the girl–that witch. Too many times did you have dreams about wrapping you hands around her neck and squeezing until there was nothing left but dust.

You vowed to have Spencer have his tech genius friend, Garcia, run backgrounds on all of her friends moving forward. No one was safe anymore. Of course, you kept that bit to yourself.

"Come on, we're going to be late!" Your sister grabbed your arm, tugging you toward the front door, for a moment, your mind took you back to the day in the coffee shop around three weeks ago, when Spencer had grabbed your arm, he'd looked like he wanted to say something, and that was the first moment you realized you might've had a crush on him.

You frowned, feeling bitter about it. It was a shitty thing, a shitty thing for you to do, but you supposed you could not exactly control your emotions like you'd wished.

The day was clear and so far, the night was too, three of your sister's friends, ones you knew well and had more than once crashed at your apartment before, had met up with the two of you.

They headed into the arcade, getting halted do to a line. They pouted and poked fun at each other for almost running into a few children. It was a good time so far, and you were having fun, if not for you sake, for your sister's all the more, but there was an ache. Something was missing and you could feel it.

"You know," your sister fell back, letting the entrance to the arcade go, "he told me everything." You jolted, your gaze jerked watching her saddened expression. She watched the concrete, "you never stopped trying to find me," she lifted her gaze then, eyes sparking and frown flipping, "I guess he thought I should know because he probably knew you'd be too scared to tell me yourself."

Was she talking about Spencer? You couldn't breath, of course she was, who the hell else was there?

"Thank you," your heart melted at her words and tears sprang in your eyes, "and I forgive you, so don't worry about it. Besides, you're not the only one to blame." She threw her head back and snorted at herself, "I broke a rule, you've had them since the beginning. So don't be too hard on yourself okay?"

Her eyes caught on something behind you and her face lit up, "Spencer! Hey, glad you could make it."

He huffed, glancing down at you while you stared up at him in complete awe. "Magician," you murmured, his gaze settling on you for a second, "no, it's just me." He turned back to your sister, mouthing a 'thank you', then, "and happy 24th birthday."

"I should be thanking you, this way, she won't be analyzing everything I do."

The threw her head back and laughed, then slide through the door and found her friends in line again.

"Spencer?" You raised a brow, a half chuckle leaving your mouth, "what are you doing here?"

"Well," he stuffs his hands in his pockets, "I have...skilled teammates..." came his response.

"And that includes my sister?"

"No, no," he waved off, "I just was able to get her number." You raised a brow and he held his hands up. "After speaking with her in person–I thought she should know how much you cared–she invited me," he threw his hands up slightly, "here."

You connected the dots easily, this must have been after you'd told her about the people that found her, after you had told her a little more about the rude turned friend professor. Your cheeks burned, though the darkness hid it. As much as you loved and wanted to be around him constantly, it also hurt you, and you hated being around him because you knew, you knew you couldn't feel this way about him.

Except you did and you were bad at hiding it.

"What's that?" He sniffed at the air, turning around and walking toward the edge of the sidewalk, where concrete met blacktop, "it's...rain."

You threw your head back and groaned, "you're kidding."

"Nope," he laughed, holding out his hand where trickles began to fall.

"I have got to have the absolute worst luck," you huffed, smacking your hands to your cheeks.

"That," Spencer said, stepping in front of you, "or," he palmed your hands, pulling them away from your face, eye tracing every line–

"Please don't tell me your'e about to say something sappy." You cringed, then popped open one eye when he stayed silent.

He was huffing, trying to hold in his laughter, "no, no I'm just gonna," he leaned in, hands finding your face, and he kissed you. You'd thought about what it would be like and a few times you even caught yourself day dreaming about it, he smelled like coffee and rain, just how you preferred, and this was real.

Every part of you on fire, despite the wind that started pulling at the trees. Rain poured over you and you jolted, screeching, "no!"

Spencer laughed at you trying to pull him to safety, "what-what? Why?"

"Not this time," you grinned up at him.

"But–but that was the best part," he whined playfully, jabbing a thumb behind his shoulder, still letting you pull him by his hand under the roof of the arcade sidewalk. "I–I thought you loved the rain?" His voice went high, the low again, the way it always did when he was joking or nervous.

"I love watching the rain, I don't like to be in the rain." You corrected.

"But I love being rained on with you," he murmured, tilting his head; his big brown puppy dog eyes shining with affection.

"Maybe next time, Doctor," you huffed a laugh and he held the door open, and you stepped a small spin to walk in, using his arm as a dome.

a/n: (please let me know if there are any grammatical errors) I am so sorry I honestly did not mean for it to be this long when I thought of the idea, but when I began writing, I realized it would be way longer than I intended and actually is now my longest fic I have ever written. I hope you loved reading it as much as I loved writing it <3

[rick-rayson]

LUCY MACLEAN┊ DATING HCS

A/N: I'm back to feed my own obsessions hi hello beenaminit

NOTES: POSSIBLE SPOILERS FOR THE FALLOUT SHOW!! Though I tried to keep it very ambiguous

┊BEFORE DATING:

Let's be honest Lucy probably fell first, whether you're a Vault Dweller or Wastelander it doesn't matter. Despite the privileges of the vaults, Vault 33 has hardwired Lucy's brain to freely feel and act on emotions with vigor.

Having been raised in a meritocracy, Lucy believes the best way to win your affections is through active illustrations of her skills, knowledge, and attentiveness. Very much an acts of service person.

And very, very bad flirting.

"You're really well learned in enacting violence!"

"You're so good at- um- shooting. People."

"How's it going?" She asks as she leans on a rusted mailbox.

It breaks and she falls over.

Just. Really bad.

You're likely aware that she fancies you before she even realizes. She's not good at hiding her expressions at all.

Not so subtly checking you out or admiring you whenever you just, exist, tbh

Despite it all, she won't make the first move to save her life. Tiptoeing on the line of what ifs and what isn't. You're going to have to take one for the team.

┊DATING:

She's actually a huge loser

Absolute girl failure

She's trying so hard though

Proximity is a must. If you're dating Lucy, you quickly become fundamental to her sense of peace.

At first it's a bit much, being in the wasteland kind of messes up her sense of boundaries a bit in a desperation to have you as much as possible.

You have to remind her flat out that it is not, in fact, the norm to follow your partner as they try to find a private place to pee.

She's a bit of a freak honestly.

SOMETHING is up with her but she's so much nicer and kinder than anyone on the surface that you don't mind much.

Uses terms of endearment but sparingly, mostly in private.

You could wake up and look like a feral ghoul and she'd still look at you with a big smile like, "Hey Doll/Hun. Sleep well?"

Craves softness and physical affection but feels as though she cannot have it. Everyone is quick to tell her what kind of person she needs to be on the surface so she's hesitant to express her affections sometimes.

But the more you show her that your touch is not meant to harm, but to love, she'll reciprocate.

Pretty touchy, subtle mostly, a hand on your back, a hand rubbing your arm, tracing your palm with her thumb.

When you two first started dating she very shyly asked if she could place her sleeping bag near yours, you could only laugh.

Whenever she scavenges food (or anything even slightly digestible) she's always offering it to you first.

Sometimes she just craves a really good make-out. She's good at repressing whatever bullshit the wasteland throws at her but she's not about to say no to a make-out session.

Whenever she finds cool knick-knacks she gifts them to you. Pins, random comic books

"I found another Grognak book-! Oh, oh wait, no, no we've already read this one :/"

hats. Lots of hats. Neat hats.

"Well don't you look dapper?" She grins as she places a sun hat on your head.

Honestly depends on you a bit. Though she's aware of the fact the surface is dangerous, it's a different thing to have to experience it.

Tells you all about Vault 33 and what her childhood was like over campfire. You learn very quickly why she is the way she is.

She can be an easy person to sway so she honestly needs you as her rock, her bad cop if you will.

Most nights she'll only sleep if you sleep first, watching over you for a bit before indulging in rest.

Kinda just stares at you a whole lot, but she means well.

Will always be the first to elect to take care of you, and gets a bit possessive in that respect.

Almost completely tackled Maximus to the floor when you got hurt and raced to use whatever she had on hand. She does not care if it's the last Stimpak they have, she WILL do anything to make sure you're okay.

She cares for you so deeply, as you're likely her first ever love.

She falls first, and she falls hard.

Always fixes up your clothes before heading out or patting down your garments, It's a post-apocalyptic wasteland, no one cares about appearances, but you know that Lucy does it to retain a sense of normalcy for herself.

A little thing that she's good at is being persuasive, it's a subtle thing, but Lucy is acutely aware that sometimes batting her eyelashes or giving a pretty please can get her to where she needs or what she wants.

She most definitely uses it on you.

And uh.. NSFW headcanons?

SHE'S A FREAK!

AN ABSOLUTE FREAKZOID!!

That is all. c:

[hard-core-super-star]

if you're weak, come to me [wandanat]

pairing: top!natasha romanoff x bottom!wanda maximoff

summary: wanda gets injured during a mission and natasha is TOTALLY fine with that (not). they seek each other's comfort in the only way they know how.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT -> porn with so many feelings and a dash of plot; mentions of dom/sub dynamics; natasha has so many feelings and no way of verbalizing them; wanda's brattiness is implied; fingering {wanda receiving}; flirty banter; begging; teasing; so many kisses; non-fatal injuries; mentions of blood; not mentioned but this takes place somewhere between age of ultron and civil war

wordcount: 3.6k

a/n: so...this week has been a LOT, i have many thoughts but they're all scattered and filled with rage so i'll save them for another time. the U.S election results have left me feeling both incredibly hopeless and numb and to counteract the heaviness of the moment, i decided to finish this fic instead of spiraling or doomscrolling. easier said than done but it's fine. thank you so much to the lovely person who commissioned this, i had a great time writing for this paring. i still don't feel super confident about my characterization of natasha but it's getting there 😅 anyway, enough rambling, i'm sending you guys all my love and support, my askbox is always open <3

* * * * * * *

No one said being an Avenger was easy.

Outside of the long hours, and the possibility of the world ending every other day, there were the unmeasurable amounts of guilt and regret and worry that seemed to plague each and every one of them. They could probably keep a whole building of therapists employed with the amount of trauma they carried.

Everyone at the compound was well aware of their personal situations, but no two felt it as strongly as Natasha and Wanda. There was no denying how well they worked together, how easy their chemistry was, the way they knew exactly what to do to stop each other from spiraling when they needed it most.

Unfortunately, there were moments where their worries clashed together and left them feeling worse than usual.

Moments like today.

Wanda had been chosen to go on a mission without Natasha and the widow had managed to threaten just about everyone she could think of until she was able to go with her girlfriend.

It all would have been fine had the witch not been incredibly annoyed by what she felt to be an overreaction. Even that would have been fine if they hadn't ended up going on the mission while they were still upset with each other.

They weren't mad enough to not worry about each other, but they still chose to go separate ways and focus on getting different things done. Something that would have been fine had Wanda not been ambushed by far too many enemy agents at once.

Steve had been the closest one to the witch and had managed to get there before things turned too sour. Unfortunately, that had been enough to make the Widow spiral. She'd heard her girlfriend request backup in that shaky voice that gave away her fear and she'd been unable to do anything about it.

If Steve had taken any longer to get to Wanda...she didn't want to think about what could have happened. She couldn't think about it.

And yet it was the only thing on her mind on the way home.

The mission had been successful, but she still felt like a failure. Like somehow, despite how inaccurate of an assessment it was, it had all been her fault. If she hadn't allowed her ego to get the better of her, she would have been there. She would have been able to help her girlfriend before she got hurt.

The witch wasn't mortally wounded in any way, but that didn't matter to her.

Wanda, for her part, felt fine. Sure, she was sore and in pain and bleeding, but she was an Avenger, getting hurt came with the territory.

It became obvious to her that her girlfriend didn't feel the same way as her when the redhead decided to ignore her on the way home. The Quinjet was small, and yet the distance between them felt massive.

It wasn't like her to sneak into people's minds without permission, but this was different. This was Natasha, and her concern for her outweighed most of her guilt around using her powers around her.

Maybe it was a bad idea, but she did it anyway, and it allowed her to see the pain her girlfriend was carrying on her shoulders. It pained her to know Natasha was blaming herself. That she didn't believe she was worth all the love the younger woman had for her.

There wasn't an easy solution to that kind of guilt, but Wanda would be dammed if she allowed her girlfriend to continue to suffer in silence.

The second they landed back at the Compound, Natasha made her way to the witch's side. There was an unreadable expression on her face as she looked her lover over and she silently extended her hand out for her.

Wanda wasted no time in accepting her help.

They made their way to their shared room, holding onto each other a little tighter than necessary. Neither of them commented on it, though, they needed the physical contact more than they were willing to admit out loud.

The silence between them bordered on awkward, but they didn't even attempt to break it. They needed to have a long conversation and it needed to happen away from prying eyes and ears.

After a tense walk, they managed to make it inside their room, and Natasha instantly set the younger woman down on the bed. "Do you need to change your bandages?"

The mention of the badly wrapped bandages made Wanda chuckle despite herself. She wasn't sure whose idea it was to go on a mission without Dr. Banner who, despite how awkward he could be about it, always did a great job at patching them up when they were hurt. Sure, it wasn't his area of expertise, but he was much better at it than Steve.

"No, I'm okay," she replied, not aware of the effect her words were going to have on her girlfriend.

The Widow let out a loud scoff. "Oh, you're okay? You were stabbed and shot at but you're okay?"

"'Tasha-"

"Don't." Her tone left no room for arguing. "You're hurt, I'm allowed to be pissed off about it."

"I never said you couldn't be upset," Wanda muttered in response. "But that doesn't change the fact that I'm fine."

It was a shitty argument, but it was the best she could do given the circumstance. There was no way to win out over Natasha's stubbornness, so the only thing she could do was hope her words would eventually get through to her. That seeing her so sure that everything was fine would bring her out of the spiral she was stuck in.

The only response the Widow gave was a long sigh, her eyes betraying the true weight of her feelings.

Her hand reached out before she could stop it, and Wanda met her halfway, leaning into her touch with a small smile.

Natasha's fingers trailed across the witch's jawline as her eyes took in every little scrape that painted her delicate features. A part of her knew  she was overreacting. That they're safe and sound and Wanda's injuries will heal in no time.

And yet, it was impossible to stop desperation from building within her. The worries that threatened to swallow her whole if she allowed herself to think about things too much.

"'Tasha." Wanda's voice was barely above a whisper as she tried to get through to her lover one more time. "I'm okay."

"You were hurt."

"I've been through worse."

The words were meant to be reassuring, but they had the opposite effect. If anything, they made Natasha feel more helpless. Like despite all her skills, all her knowledge, all her training, she'll never be able to keep her lover safe.

She'll never be enough.

"Stop that, you're more than enough."

Her eyebrow raised involuntarily in response. "Get out of my mind, little witch."

"Hey! It's not my fault your thoughts are so loud."

Despite the heaviness that still lingered within her, a chuckle managed to escape past her lips. In an instant, she leaned forward to press a quick kiss to Wanda's pouting lips.

It amazed her how soft the witch could be after all the pain and violence she grew up in.

More than that, it amazed her how quickly her mood was able to shift when she was with the younger woman. How easy it was for her fears to disappear when they were together.

A soft smile was written across her features when she pulled away from her lover, her eyes a mirror that reflected the affection that was clear in the witch's eyes.

"Let me fix you up, detka." Her voice was barely above a whisper, but there was no denying the weight behind her words. "I promise I'll be quick."

Wanda couldn't help but shift nervously in response. It wasn't like she didn't trust Natasha, of course she trusted the redhead, but she knew how she could get. How easy it was for her to get caught up seeing monsters instead of shadows.

"I...are you sure? My bandages should be okay for a few hours."

"Not with the way Steve wrapped them," Natasha replied with a hint of humor in her tone.

The humor wasn't enough to mask her worry, and yet Wanda felt herself relaxing a little. If it helped her girlfriend feel better, she had no complaints about allowing her to clean her wounds up a little.

"Okay."

It was a single word that conveyed the trust she held in the redhead.

Wanda shifted back on the bed until she was laying down with her head resting on their pillows. She'd been in this position many times before, but this was different. There was an edge of vulnerability that clung to the air between them, a need for reassurance that neither of them could verbalize.

Natasha moved closer, not quite settling between the witch's legs, simply coming close enough to reach for her shirt. Her hands shook slightly as she lifted her girlfriend's shirt, her eyes taking in every inch of smooth skin that was revealed to her. Her heart ached in her chest as she examined each and every one of the cuts and bruises that littered her torso.

"I promise I'm okay," Wanda whispered, noticing her girlfriend's hesitation.

"I believe you."

Still, her head ducked down until her lips met the skin that had been revealed to her.

The gasp that escaped past the younger woman's lips made her smile. She still didn't feel completely okay but the helplessness that had settled in her chest was slowly easing away.

Her lips traced every inch of battered skin they could reach, her hands pushing the fabric up and over Wanda's head. With her shirt out of the way, she was able to fully look over the  bandages wrapped around her girlfriend's injuries. They didn't look as bad as she had expected them to and she subconciously let out a sigh of relief.

It didn't matter how many times she was reassured that the younger woman was fine, she needed to see it with her own eyes. To realize she wasn't bleeding out, there was no bullet lodged inside her, no sharp knife sticking out of her. She was fine.

She was safe.

And she was already arching her back in the way that made the Widow lose all of her control.

It wasn't about the pleasure, though. They both knew that. It was about comfort.

About being there for each other in the only way that was able cut through their anxieties. Maybe it was wrong to have to rely on the physical to get rid of the mental strain they were always under, but it made sense to them. More than that, it worked.

Because as much as they trusted and loved each other, being vulnerable wasn't something that came easy to them. Especially not after a mission when their fight or flight insticts were still on.

"I'm here," Natasha mumbled, shifting until she was hovering over her girlfriend. "I'm right here, Wands."

The words brought a beautiful smile to the witch's face. "I know...but you're still too far."

Wanda managed to work up enough courage to wrap her arms around Natasha's neck. She tried to keep her grip loose, just in case the Widow wasn't ready for too much physical contact.

"Patience," she replied. "I'm in the middle of something here. I still haven't cleaned you up."

The witch couldn't help but roll her eyes at that. The last thing on her mind right was her injuries. She felt fine. More than that, she felt weirdly needy and she needed her girlfriend's lips in a completely different spot.

She knew complaining probably wouldn't get her very far, but she couldn't help it. Maybe some light playfulness would help Natasha feel better.

"Come on, 'Tasha, that can wait. I need you right now."

The redhead paused for a second, green eyes focused intently on Wanda's face. She thought things over for a second, silently analyzing the situation in front of her. Her girlfriend seemed fine. All that seemed to linger were her wounds but not the pain they had initially brought.

It was irresponsible, she knew that much, but how was she supposed to deny her beautiful lover?

"How are you always so needy?" She replied, her soft smile growing just a tad bit teasing. "Don't tell me I've spoiled you too much."

"Maybe you have." Wanda shrugged. "There's nothing wrong with that."

"I beg to differ."

Natasha leaned down to capture the witch's lips again. This time, there was a little less softness to the contact and a little more urgency. And a lot of unrestrained desperation neither of them knew what to do with.

One kiss turned into two which turned into Wanda digging her nails into Natasha's shoulders while her hips bucked involuntarily. The Widow's thigh was too far to provide the witch with any real friction and yet it only made everything feel ten times more intense. An intensity that always seemed to catch up to them when they were together in such a way.

"Nat..." Wanda groaned, head tilting back in both pleasure and desperation.

"I know." Despite the teasing edge to her response, there was nothing but affection in her tone. Nothing but devotion for her lover. "What did I say about patience?"

One of Natasha's hands made its way between their bodies, her fingers tracing a path she knew by memory. The witch didn't seem to be in the mood for much teasing but she couldn't help it. There was something so exciting about turning her girlfriend into a desperate mess.

She knew, on some level, where it came from. That Wanda needed to be taken care of just as badly as she needed to be in control. They were on opposite ends of the same spectrum.

The witch arched her back in an attempt to push her chest further into Natasha's hand, a quiet moan leaving her lips as she teased her hardned nipples. "Stop teasing."

"I've barely started, detka. Don't tell me you already can't handle it?"

"You're so mean."

"You like it."

Wanda didn't have any time to refute that claim because right when she opened her mouth to speak, the redhead decided to finally give in to what her body needed.

"I oh-" The witch's body shuddered as Natasha's hand moved down, slidding into her tight pants and cupping her wet heat. The fabric of her underwear was still in the way, but neither of them cared too much about the obstruction.

Matching moans left their lips as the Widow found the wet spot staining the younger woman's underwear, her fingers moving over the soaked fabric with renowed purpose.

"What was that?" Natasha teased. "Were you going to say something?"

Her girlfriend's tone had Wanda clenching around pure air, her hips bucking involuntarily in search of more friction. "N-no."

"Are you sure? I can stop if you need me to."

"Fuck no. Don't stop...please."

"Good girl."

The praise sent shivers down Wanda's spine and effectively turned all her thoughts to pure mush. It should have been embarrassing how quickly she fell apart for her lover and yet all she could feel was pleasure. And maybe a little pride at how fast she managed to make Natasha give in to what she wanted.

That sort of pride was mutual, though, and it caused desire to thrum in their veins. Desire for what? That wasn't as easy to figure out. Thankfully, they had nothing but time to try.

Natasha quickly grew tired of teasing her girlfriend. Not because she didn't want to keep doing it (she really really did), but because she could tell she needed more. And after the day they'd had, she wasn't sure she'd be able to deny the witch anything.

Her fingers slid inside Wanda's ruined underwear, relishing the loud gasp that escaped the younger woman when she brushed against her clit. The witch was always sensitive, and today was no exception. It made these kinds of moments all the more exciting for her.

"Oh, fuck." Wanda's voice came out more like a whine than anything else. "Please."

"Please what?" She responded, leaning down to trail kisses down the witch's jawline. "Use your words like a good girl."

The only response she could form for a few seconds was another whine. Natasha always knew exactly what to do, exactly what to say, to help her sink down into that fuzzy, submissive headspace she was slowly getting used to. They hadn't done much exploring, too busy with never-ending missions to safely allow the witch to slip, but the safe experimentation they'd done had taught them both more than enough.

Mainly, it taught them how much they both thrive in that type of scenario. How much they depend on each other, on and off the battlefield.

"Don't stop," Wanda begged, feeling her hesitation fade away with every second that went by. "Touch me, fuck me, anything, please."

If Natasha was in a crueler mood, she would have taken her time to tease the younger woman. To play with her until she was a writhing, whimpering mess beneath her.

As fun as that sounded, she wasn't in the mood for that today. She wanted to let go. To help Wanda let go until all that was left was the two of them, locked together, in the sanctuary of their room.

"That's my girl." Her words were accompanied by the movement of her fingers. They slid through Wanda's slick folds before slowly easing in to her cunt. "Fuck, you're soaked for me, detka."

The witch was more than wet enough to take Natasha's fingers but the Widow still took her time, working two fingers inside and diligently watching her lover's face contort with pleasure. The way her walls fluttered around her was intoxicating, drawing the digits in deeper and practically begging her to stay buried inside her.

She moved slowly. Not because she wanted to tease but because she wanted to draw out the sensations. To overwhelm Wanda with the devotion she couldn't properly express most days.

To be fair, it didn't seem like the younger woman minded. They were both broken, albeit in different ways, and they seemed to understand eachother without words. It was the most comforting thing either of them had ever known.

But God, she was so afraid of losing this. Of losing the one good thing she had. The one person who didn't see her as the Black Widow or a S.H.I.E.L.D. product. To Wanda, she was simply 'Tasha and it meant far more to her than anything else.

It wasn't hard for Wanda to realize the change in her girlfriend's thoughts. The sudden change in her breathing, the glosiness that overtook her eyes. She knew exactly what it meant and she knew she had to do something before the redhead started drowning in her thoughts.

So, she did the only thing she could think of right now. Mainly because thinking was getting difficult and it wasn't like she could move around too much with the Widow's fingers buried in her pussy.

Her hands moved to Natasha's face, cuping her cheeks and bringing her closer until their lips met once again. The kiss was a stark contrast to the movements of the redhead's fingers, but neither of them seemed to care.

All they cared about was being together.

Wanda pulled away first, her panting breaths turning into whimpering gasps. The coil in her stomach was about ready to snap, her hips bucking desperately into the readhead's hand. "Nat- I can't, I need-"

"What do you need, detka?" She asked, even though she already knew the answer. She couldn't help it, she loved the way the witch's eyebrows furrowed in frustration when she interrupted her just to tease her.

"Need to cum, please-" Her words turned into a moan when Natasha's thumb found her swollen clit. "Please, can I cum?"

The desperation in her girlfriend's voice made the redhead smile proudly. It was hard to think about her fears when she had the witch like this. Completely and utterly under her spell.

"Of course," she replied, speeding up the thrusts of her fingers in an attempt to bring Wanda even closer to falling apart. "Come on, be a good girl and cum for me."

The witch felt overwhelmed in the best way. All she could think about, all she could feel, was Natasha. Her words, her hands, the pleasure only she was able to bring her. It was all too much yet it felt so good.

Her walls clenched around the Widow's fingers as she lost control of herself, giving in to the pleasure and letting everything else fade away. All it took was a few sharp thrusts of Natasha's fingers before she was moaning her lover's name, her eyes squeezing shut while she rode the waves of pleasure that crashed into her.

The redhead worked her through her orgasm, making sure to slow down a little to avoid overstimulating the younger woman. She leaned down to pepper kisses across each and every inch of Wanda's neck to help ground her a little more.

Neither of them were sure how much time went by before Wanda was able to open her eyes again, but when she finally did, the large, slightly goofy, smile on her face instantly gave away how she was feeling.

Still, Natasha asked anyway.

"You okay?"

"Hmmm, yeah."

The Widow chuckled, her heart practically bursting out of her chest at the sight of Wanda so happy and relaxed. It was a sight that never failed to make her feel better, no matter how shitty her day had been before.

"Good." She placed a few extra kisses across Wanda's face before shifting further down her body. "Because we're not done yet."

Natasha was talking about the remaining injuries she hadn't taken a look at yet but if they got up to other things too...well, she wouldn't complain about that.

[girlgenius1111]

Always Will

After a bad game, Claudia takes her frustration out on you. You realize it runs deeper than just one game, and Claudia realizes that she can’t push you away very easily.

Shorter than normal, and probs all you’ll get for a couple more days, but I hope you guys like it anyway ☺️☺️

——-

Claudia sat in the front seat, glaring out the window. Her anger was palpable from where you sat in the drivers seat. You were tempted to break the silence, assure her that she didn't really have that bad of a game, but you knew better. Your drive continued in silence, and you wanted more than anything to reach over to her, and grab her hand, but knew she wouldn't accept the comfort. You'd allow her time to cool down, and then you'd talk to her about it.

What you hadn't considered, though, was that Pina wasn't just frustrated with herself- she was frustrated with you. This was made clear when she bolted out of the car as soon as you pulled in, and slammed the front door shut behind her before you could reach it. You walked in after her, slightly bewildered, as you couldn't think of what you'd done to make her upset.

"Babe? What's wrong?" you ask calmly, watching as the striker practically throws her bag down, stomping into the kitchen.

"What's wrong? Are you being serious?" She asked, whirling around to glare at you.

"Calm down, Clau, and tell me what's bothering you." You work hard to keep your voice even, despite feeling yourself getting annoyed with the other girls' behavior.

"You!" she shouts, and you step back, startled. "It isn't enough that I have the worst fucking game of my life, miss every shot I take, but you have to hover over me afterwards like I'm incapable of handling myself. It was humiliating, y/n, you treated me like a child."

You assume she's referring to when you tried to comfort her after the game. Her frustration had been evident, and you'd just wanted to make sure she was okay. She'd ignored you though, until you pulled her aside in the locker room, and she'd told you she was fine, which you didn't believe. To be honest, what you'd done didn't really warrant this reaction, and you knew that she was just taking her frustration out on you.

"That wasn't my intention. I just wanted to make sure you were okay," you tell her, inching closer when you notice the tears in her eyes.

"Well, I didn't need you to. I'm fine. Now leave me alone, yeah?" she snaps, before marching off into the bedroom, yet again slamming the door behind her.

You sigh, running a hand over your face. Claudia got like this after she didn't play well, but you'd never seen her this upset before. Deciding to give her some space, you head into the kitchen, grabbing a snack, before settling on the couch and flicking on the TV. You'd showered in the locker room, and Claudia had not, so you expect her to do so now.

You tried to lose yourself in the show on, but your thigh ached from where you'd been stepped on. It wasn't a big injury, just a couple cuts and what was sure to be a huge bruise. You're sure Claudia didn't even see it, having gone right into the locker room when she'd been pulled off in the 80th minute. It had happened a couple minutes later, and the physios had thrown a bandage on it before sending you back in. That same bandage was wrapped around your leg now, under your sweats, and you elected to ignore it for the time being.

Claudia hadn't come out of the bedroom, and it had been almost an hour, which you judged to be long enough for her to have cooled down. Standing, you walked to the door and knocked lightly, before pushing it open.

Claudia was sat on the floor, chin resting on her knees. She hadn't showered, and she looked to be completely lost in her thoughts.

"Clau?" you murmur, trying to get her attention. Her head turns towards you, and your lips tug into a frown when you see her flushed cheeks and watery eyes. Deciding to give her a few more minutes of quiet, you walk over to her wordlessly, and hold your hand out. After a second, she grabs it, and you lead her into the bathroom, turning the shower on. You're about to reach out, and pull her top off, but her hands stop you, and she does it herself. Claudia seems intent on showering by herself, but you don't feel particularly like leaving her alone in this state, so you perch on the bathroom counter and pull your phone out as she gets into the shower.

She finishes quickly, sniffling every so often, and you pretend to be engrossed in your phone, when really you're watching her every move. It's unlike your girlfriend to be so quiet, and paired with her earlier behavior, it worries you. She remains silent as she dries off and you follow her out of the bathroom.

This time, though, when she tries to head to the dresser and get clothes out herself, you stop her, and nudge her in the direction of the bed. She frowns but does as you direct, sitting on the edge of the bed in just her towel. You grab comfy clothes from your side of the dresser, walking back over to her. You take your time, gently pulling the shirt and hoodie over her head, as well as a pair of shorts onto her legs.

“Stay here, alright?” You tell the brunette, heading back into the bathroom with her damp towel and return with her hairbrush. She’s right where you left her, staring at the ground. You’re trying to get a good read on her emotions, but her face is blank. The only thing that tells you she’s upset is her shoulders, a slight slump in her usually perfect posture.

You brush through the knots in her hair, and you’re almost done when she reaches out to grab your wrist, bringing your motions to a halt.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” She asks quietly. You realize the emotion playing across her face is one of guilt.

“Why wouldn’t I be nice to you?” You reply, setting the hairbrush down and stepping in closer to rest your hands on her cheeks. She shakes you off though, standing and walking a short distance away from you.

You allow her the space, but turn towards her, waiting for her to explain.

“I was so awful to you, and you’re acting like I haven’t done anything,” she chokes out, and you soften.

“Claudia, don’t worry about it, I’m not mad,” you tell her, because you’re not. She can apologize later, but now, she’s so upset, you don’t care about anything other than making her smile.

“You should be. I was horrible to you in front of the team, and—“

“— and nothing. You were frustrated and embarrassed and I wasn’t helping. You can tell me sorry later, love, but please let me hug you.” You insist, walking towards her. She shakes her head at your words, but you pull her into your arms anyway.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbles into your chest. “I don’t know why I acted like that.”

“It’s okay, baby.”

Claudia settles against you, relaxing slightly in your embrace.

“Why were you so upset today? I mean I don’t think you played that bad, Clau.” She scoffs in response. “Seriously, love, everyone has off days.”

“I feel like I only have off days. I haven’t scored in games, amor, I’m letting everyone down,” the striker responds, tears beginning to fall steadily down her cheeks. You realize that this goes deeper than just one bad game, and you curse yourself for not noticing earlier.

“Oh, baby. You’re not letting anyone down. It’s just a slump, you’ll come out of it.” You tell her, placing a kiss onto her head. She just shakes her head in response, though, and you sigh, before pulling her over to the bed. She sits on the edge, and you stand between your legs, guiding her chin up to look at you.

Her eyes are wide, eyelashes wet, as she gazes up at you. You can’t resist kissing the tip of her nose gently. It scrunches adorably and you smile, before you speak.

“You haven’t let anyone down, Claudia. Not me, and not anyone on the team. You have to be patient with yourself. You aren’t going to be perfect all the time, and no one expects you to.”

She looks only slightly reassured. “I just get so into my head. I don’t know what to do, I’m so stressed all the time,” she admits, and you frown down at her.

“Why haven’t you brought this up before?” You ask, because although you knew she was struggling slightly, you didn’t realize she was having an entire crisis of confidence. It explained her moodiness recently, and her outburst today.

“You’re stressed too, amor, I didn’t want to add to that,” Claudia dismisses.

“No, baby what stresses me out is not knowing why you’re so upset. Please, tell me when you’re feeling like this. You’re supposed to lean on me, Claudia, just like I lean on you.”

“Okay,” she mumbles. It isn’t much, but you can see a determination in her eyes that wasn’t there before, a spark. You know she’ll try to open up to you more, even if it’s a slow process.

She leans in, resting her head on your stomach, reaching her arms around you. In the process, her elbow clips your thigh, right over your wound. You let out a hiss, involuntarily jerking back.

“What? What is it?” Claudia asks, eyebrows knitting together as she scans your fully clothed body for injury.

“It’s nothing,” you say, leaning back into the hug. Claudia is insistent though, putting her hands on your legs to stop you. Again, you wince.

“You’re hurt.” She accuses. There’s an unspoken rule between the two of you that you always tell the other when one of you is hurt, which Claudia clearly feels you have broken.

“I’m fine,” you dismiss, but Claudia is already standing, pulling your joggers down your legs, and carefully pulling the bandage off, then dramatically gasping at the sight of your injury. It’s really not that bad, but Claudia is looking at you like you’ve been hiding a gunshot wound.

“Claudia,” you begin.

“No! Now I’m mad!” She says, lips twisting slightly into a smile, and you know she’s only joking. She turns, heading to the closet where you keep the first aid kit.

“I didn’t hide it!” You call after her and she sends you a glare over her shoulder.

“What would you call not telling me you were hurt?”

“Well, if you hadn’t stormed into the locker room before the game ended, or shouted at me when we got home…” you say casually, dodging the box of bandaids she throws at your head, laughing.

“I thought you weren’t mad,” she says, beginning to treat the cuts on your leg. You don’t tell her they’ve already been cleaned, enjoying the gentle way she’s pressing a light kiss to each cut before running the alcohol wipe over it.

“I love you,” you say suddenly. The way her attention has completely flipped, from her own horrible day, to your slight inconvenience, laser focus on making sure you’re okay, makes your heart flutter.

Your girlfriend looks up at you, a small grin on her face. “I love you too, amor.”

Claudia wraps a new bandage around your leg, before heading off to get some ice for it. When she returns, she finds you tucked under the covers already. She puts the ice pack on your leg, before settling into your side.

“Thanks for making me feel better, even when I wasn’t very nice.”

“Always, love. Always.”

She presses a chaste kiss to your cheek, before resting her face in the crook of your neck. You hold her tight, like you always will.

——-

Lord I hate writing on my phone. Also I think this ending sucks. But! Hope you enjoy anyway :)

[lanawinterscigarettes]

No Pickles (Blair Waldorf x gn reader)

Summary: Blair insists on sending your food back when you're given the wrong order

Warnings: the reader is implied to be a bit of a picky eater and have social anxiety/people pleasing tendencies but I think that's about it besides that

A/N: based off that one relationship meme of "they asked for no pickles" because that would totally be blair and her partner in my mind (that's also where the title comes from haha)

Blair loved taking you out places. Shopping, movies, restaurants, you name it. At this point she'd probably taken you to every upscale place on the Upper East Side at least once.

Dinner dates were possibly her favorite. She loved getting all dolled up for you in one of her favorite dresses, doing her hair and makeup before heading out for your reservation. Seeing you dressed fancier than usual wasn't a bad perk as well.

One thing she always knew to keep in mind, however, was making sure whatever place she took you had a menu she knew you'd enjoy. There were certain things you just couldn't stomach eating, and she completely understood that, having gone through her share of aversion when it came to certain food before in the past.

That's why it was so important to her for you to feel comfortable and safe with whatever you were eating, no matter how big or small. In fact, she often ordered for you just to be certain nothing was miscommunicated between you and the server.

It was a Friday night, which naturally meant the two of you were out at dinner together. You usually tried to go out with her at least once a week, just so you could spend some time with her and make sure she wouldn't have to worry about feeling neglected or anything like that.

You decided to order your own food for once, which is something you almost never did and something you were certain you wouldn't do again for a while after this. Everything seemed fine at first when the server brought the food out, but you soon realized they'd put the one thing on your dish that you'd asked for them not to add.

Most people wouldn't see it as that big of a deal and would probably tell you to just take it off, but Blair knew you well enough to know you still wouldn't eat it afterwards because you wouldn't feel comfortable with it. Still, you decided not to say anything, electing to remain quiet and simply eat around the portion of food that you didn't like.

Blair picked up on your sudden silence and hesitation to eat almost immediately, her brown eyes narrowing into a calculating gaze as she watched you. "What's wrong?" She demanded, her tone firm but not quite harsh in a way that was always reserved specifically for you.

"Nothing, it's fine," you responded quickly, far too quickly for what you just said to be true.

Reaching her arm out across the table, she set her hand on top of yours in order to get your attention. "Hey. I know you, and I know when you're upset. Now tell me what's wrong."

Letting out a quiet sigh, you set your fork down and explained. "It's nothing, just- I asked for them not to add something to my plate, and they did it anyway. But I can always eat around it, it's fine."

"Absolutely not. You asked for your food to be prepared a certain way, and I'm not letting them off the hook for it until your order's correct," she stated firmly before snapping her fingers at the nearest server, trying to get their attention. "Excuse me, I'd like to make a complaint," she said while keeping her hand resting on yours in a reassuring manner.

You listened quietly as she told the server what they'd gotten wrong, to which they very profusely apologized, taking the dish back from you before vowing to fix it. That wasn't much of a surprise, as nobody (especially those in the service industry) wanted to risk getting on Blair Waldorf's bad side.

"They'll be back with your food in a minute, sweetie, okay?" She gave you one of those rare genuine smiles of hers that wasn't either condescending or fake, her thumb rubbing the back of your hand as she continued to hold it. "Would you like to try some of mine while you wait?"

Contemplating her offer, you thought for a moment before nodding your head, albeit a little reluctantly. You didn't always like trying out new types of food, but you knew she wouldn't be offering to give you something that she thought you wouldn't enjoy.

Letting go of your hand, she picked up her fork and got a small bit of the food from her meal on it before leaning over the table and feeding it to you. It wasn't something you'd order for yourself, but you could appreciate the flavors and didn't necessarily regret trying it.

She let you have another bite or two before the server returned with your own plate of food, apologizing yet again for the mistake as they set it down in front of you. This time, the dreaded portion of the dish you always ate it without was nowhere to be seen, much to both you and Blair's delight.

Thanking the server, you began to happily dig in to the meal, your spirits successfully lifted and your mood notably brightened compared to earlier when your food first arrived. It tasted even better when you didn't have to worry about accidentally eating the wrong thing.

"Next time they end up getting your food wrong, I want you to tell me right away and I'll make sure they get it fixed, understood?" Blair said in an almost stern matter while watching you eat, looking pleased that you weren't upset anymore.

"Okay," you agreed without protest, eating a little bit more of your food before adding in a somewhat shy manner, "thank you for telling them about it for me so I wouldn't have to."

"Of course. That's my job as your girlfriend, to make sure you always get what you want," she replied as if it was nothing. "You'd do the same thing for me."

You couldn't argue with her there. You'd do anything to make Blair happy, even if it meant doing something as big as going to the ends of the earth. And she'd do the exact same for you, even if it meant doing something as small as sending your food back because they got your order wrong.

End notes: I thought it would be very in character for blair to do something like this and I'm pretty sure I actually talked with @sparklingbutterflies about it one time which is where the idea for this fic initially came from

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[igglemouse]

Ugh...

Sorry, no posts today. I know I never talk about politics its because this website is my one safe space from politics. Unlike others, I'm unable to escape politics. I wish I was like my mom who said she simply won't listen to a thing he says but I must.

This sucks. I was so confident this cycle that she'd win, I did everything in my power to help her, and it hurts that she didn't, it doubly hurts that latinos have basically sent him into office again. I have a feeling many of us will forever regret this, I hope not, but based on his entire campaign being deporting millions of people and I guess putting them in camps...the only hope is that the GOP is very dysfunctional whenever they do get power like this and usually end up doing very little as they all scrabble for power and positions.

I don't know if I'll have posts tomorrow either, I'm just down a little, i didn't feel like writing or posting. It's a day to day vibe check.

HOPE

I want people to know this is not the end. They want 'liberal tears' so I'm sure they got it for a few months, let them enjoy it. Once he's sworn in we give them liberal anger.

It looks like the main culprit is a lot of democrats stayed home and didn't vote (again) so the good news is the country is not this red. We just have to find a way to motivate people to get up and vote again.

So we fight back. We have two years of fighting back, that's it. Be loud, be visible, be heard. Elections matter, and 2026 will be here before you know it...they want you to give up. They want you to roll over and feel like their rule is inevitable. We do not consent to that and we will not go back. No matter what.

And pray to whatever god you believe in that Sotomayor hangs on. The goal is to hold serve, gum up things for 2 years as much as we can by letting them know their policies are not popular and they will be punished for enacting them, then make him a lame duck in 2026.

[quinsixtridrupled-k]

Disney TVA Platform Fighter

Last December, I thought it'd be neat to have a Disney-focused platform fighter especially since Nick had some success with Nickelodeon All-Star Brawl 2. So I figured... why not a Disney one? For those who don't know, platform fighters are a sub-genre of fighting/party games - the most famous and primarily example being Super Smash Bros.

And so, with that idea, I asked a friend to assist me in aiding with creating a graphic for this hypothetical game's roster, lo and behold:

Pretty neat, eh? Now you might be asking... why Disney TVA specifically? For one, focusing on the animated tv production side might be more feasible compared to the whole Disney library, that, and it allows some spotlight on very interesting and varied roster choices.

And for another... I just like the animated series side of Disney better. Now, the most important thing to remember is that this encompasses strictly the Disney TV Animation production label only, so any animated series not created under that studio will not be included (more so to keep consistency). I've also elected to choose some more unconventional picks (Yzma, Genie, Bonkers, for example) just to give some variety.

And what's a fighting game without DLC characters, eh? So here are the three waves of it:

(Wave 1, featuring Stitch, Wasabi, Kick Buttowski and Shego)

I'll admit that Shego's placement as DLC over base roster in favor of Drakken is purely thinking from a marketing standpoint, but it does make sense on the long run. In Stitch's case... I mostly forgot Lilo & Stitch had an animated series while making the base roster lmao.

Wasabi was left out of base roster because of limitations, and I felt Hiro, Go Go, and Fred offer a more balanced variety of size and playstyles but I still didn't want to leave him out, so I figured DLC is his best bet.

(Wave 2, featuring Mike Wazowski, Marcy Wu, Spinelli and Zurg)

Color me surprised that Monsters At Work is a Disney TVA production - Mike was chosen over Sulley or Tyler as the main rep for that series because he feels like he'd have a lot more interesting potential and material to work off of with his general slapstick and comedy routines.

Figured I'd complete the Calamity Trio with Marcy as DLC - just like Wasabi, she was left out of base roster because of limitations.

I figured people would want a Recess fighter, so I chose Spinelli since she's one of the more popular character and she'd serve as an analog to Helga in the first Nick All-Star Brawl.

Zurg was originally meant to be a boss character only, but I opted to put him as DLC because well... it is Zurg. I feel like you could incorporate a lot of Dr. Doom's MvC moveset on to him and they wouldn't feel out of place lmao.

And finally, they're here for you - they're the third wave of the DLC crew!

(Wave 3, featuring Oscar Proud, Simba, Moon Girl & Devil Dinosaur and Oswald)

This is... definitely the most experimental of the DLC waves. I think I've exhausted a lot of the picks I wanted at the time so I figured we could do with a more different direction.

Oscar is definitely there to ride on the coattails of Hugh Neutron in Nickelodeon All-Star Brawl 1 as a funny joke pick. I haven't actually watched The Proud Family so I don't think I would know if there are better picks, but still... I enjoy the wacky picks, they make a fighting game a fighting game.

Simba was gonna be in as far back as Wave 1, but I held off because... I'm not really sure why, but I forgot about him until I was making the third wave, so there he is now!

Moon Girl & Devil Dinosaur are definitely there for being the main Marvel series under the Disney TVA label (alongside Big Hero 6, by technicality), and would definitely make an interesting choice considering Devil's size - you'd probably have to shrink him down to a point where he still manages to be big, but not... gargantuan big, which may seem like a disservice to a character who is a large T-Rex but I think you can still make it work (it worked for Ridley in Smash, and Iron Giant in MultiVersus).

Oswald is included by a mere technicality, due to having a small cameo or two in the Paul Rudish Mickey Mouse shorts, and I figured he has a big enough fanbase to warrant an inclusion, so yeah there he is.

And just for fun, we also have a bonus character:

Powerline! From A Goofy Movie!

Powerline seems like a very out there choice, but I figured you could make a moveset for him entirely out of his theming of electricity! And if you think he'd overlap with Megavolt... then, yeah I guess you are right on that part. But I figure you can differentiate them with how they play (Megavolt being a zoner, Powerline being a rushdown). Note, this doesn't mean he's only available through pre-order, but you'd get him free with it - otherwise you'd have to pay, but he's separate from the DLC characters.

So yeah that covers the playable roster. I understand that there are still a lot of series I didn't rep mostly because of limitations, or I forgot to put them in (Fish Hooks, for one) but I'm only human in how I make these, mistakes do happen so please understand...

I do hope that Disney takes a dabble on this someday, although I'm not sure how keen they are on their characters fighting each other in a silly fighting game. Still, it'd be an interesting thoight, what do you think?

[eden-3000]

Hey, I would like to ask you to write a comfort for Rosekiller. Or something like that.

Modern AU, Barty shows up at the door of Rosier Manor, at night, knowing that Evan's mother will be indifferent to his arrival and whether he will stay due to his father kicking him out of the house. Evan lets him in and they talk.

Too simple, bc this is my first request on tumblr<3. Have a nice day!

(Don't worry about it. This is my first request as well xD. It's also my first time writing these two, so I hope it isn't too ooc and you like it <3)

Tags: Active Homophbia, mentioms of parental alcohol abuse, light angst with much comfort

Wordcount: 506

------

"What the fuck are you doing here?" The shock on Evan's face was more than obvious when he saw his boyfriend at the door, drenched and shivering from the rain.

"Sorry, I didn't call... Can I come in?" Evan simply nodded and moved to the side so Barty could escape the cold.

"What happened? You look like shit!" "Gee, thanks." "You do though... Come on." One hand on his shoulder, Evan led him through the house and up to his room. "Can I use your shower?" Once again Evan nodded, showing Barty the way to the bathroom. He understood that Bary needed a moment to warm up and calm down. "Thanks, Rosie." "Any time."

Evan started feeling useless after just a few moments and decided to make tea. In the kitchen, he found his mother with a can of beer. "Who was that at the door?" "Barty. I think he's staying around for a bit." "Alright, just don't be too loud. And stay away from the liquor cabinet." "Sure, mom." As if she'd notice.

He took the two mugs and a bag of chips upstairs to his room, grabbing a bottle of whiskey on his way, then knocked against the bathroom door. "Bee? I got you some fresh clothes. I'll just leave them here." "Cheers..." A few moments of silence, then. "Rosie?" "Yeah?" "Love you." "Love you too, you prick."

A couple of minutes later, Barty - now with dry clothes and not freezing his balls off - lay on Evan's bed, while the other boy opened the chip bag. "I wasn't sure what you wanted, so I got you something for the body and something for the soul." Barty took a deep swig from the bottle.

"You wanna tell me what's going on now?" Barty sighed. He lay down with his head on Evan´s lap, closing his eyes for a moment, letting the alcohol do it´s work.

"My dad threw me out." That explained a lot. "It's kinda hard to convince people to elect you for the next super-conservative-super-safe prime minister if you have an openly gay, leftist son. So he told me he wanted nothing to do with me. And honestly, I'm fine with that. It's not like I liked him or anything. Just sucks that I can't live there anymore, so now I need to find something else." "Ugly bastard. He´s just frustrated he can´t pull a guy as handsome as me." Barty softly huffed and opened his eyes, looking at him with pure adoration and thankfulness. "Probably."

"And you can stay here. At least for a while", Evan assured him, playing with his wet hair. He knew Barty liked it. Depending on how he did it, it either furiously turned him on or calmed him into an almost meditative state.

"Maybe we can get a house together. Or a flat. How much does stuff like that cost?" Evan just laughed and leaned down to him to press a kiss to his lips. "Guess we´ll have to go looking for something to figure it out."

[shaneyunfiltered]

I think I might stop trusting Tumblr when it comes to politics. Remember the old days of the internet when Tumblr was widely mocked for its irrationally liberal leaning? The same Tumblr that was dumb enough to think it could take on 4chan and win?

Yeah, Tumblr is really starting to regress to that same point now. It might be even worse now, due to the absolutely violent lack of decorum and decency this recent infestation of whiny, unhinged liberal fucknuts have for anyone who dared to vote third party instead of an establishment Zionist who has practically the exact same platform as Trump, and may or may not have even proven that the Democrats have observably failed to convince the American people that they have any convincing plan worth a damn other than the extremely vague, uncertain, fearmongering suggestion that they might be less oppressive than Trump. Keyword being might.

It's just fucking weird and disturbing that these liberals are calling for literal death threats towards anyone who didn't vote for Harris, I shit you not. I'm getting a very strong feeling that this all might be a highly elaborate Zionist psyop, because you know which exact voter demographic Kamala Harris ended up alienating the most?

Muslim Americans.

Just look at any fucking interview with any American citizen of the Muslim faith, many of these people who actually come from Palestine themselves, and how personally they express that they don't feel represented sufficiently enough by either the Republicans or the Democrats, that they only felt heard by third-party candidates such as Jill Stein, who actually had their best interests in mind instead of exploiting them for their vote just so they can continue to be ignored and oppressed in this already godforsaken country. Look at any of those and then TRY to tell them to their faces that they're somehow terrible people for not voting for the politicians who very clearly do not give a single, solitary fuck about them. I fucking dare you.

On that note, does anyone else find it absolutely sad and pathetic that these dumbfuck liberals honestly believe that things would've been even slightly better under Harris than under Trump? Did they not witness the absolute incompetence of the Democrats as they didn't do a goddamn thing to stop the Republicans from getting more of what they wanted under Biden than they ever did under Trump? What in the actual ass makes you idiots think Harris would have done any better? Because she's not a bumbling geezer like Biden? No, her policies are literally the same as Biden's, as the rest of the inherently inept, castrated state of the Democratic Party. She wouldn't have done jackshit, she'd just quietly allow those ruthlessly bigoted Republicans to continue getting what they want and wouldn't do a damn thing to stop them. You're a fucking idiot if you genuinely believe otherwise.

I am not kidding or exaggerating in the slightest when I say that I have heard exponentially more informed, balanced, rational, and most importantly, properly researched takes on this current election on motherfucking LeftTok than I ever heard from any of these insufferably whiny, disturbingly vicious Tumblr liberals. For as much as Tumblr loves to constantly dunk on TikTok for being Gen Z/Alpha brainrot, they sure aren't doing anything to prove that they're actually better at any of the legitimate research and thought that goes into LeftTok's political coverage. Congratulations, Tumblr liberals, you're the new boomers. And you have exactly the same violent disdain for anyone who believes differently from you to match.

Whatever the outcome of the election, I'm not any more worried than I reasonably have to be. Innocent people in marginalized groups are going to suffer tremendously no matter who wins the election, because they already face systemic oppression in this godforsaken country on a regular basis to begin with, no matter how much help they receive to improve their situation. Neither party gives a fuck about them, the Democrats just lie about caring about them, like they always have. Malcolm X was right; Republicans are wolves, and Democrats are foxes. The point is, we can't rely on anyone in this neoliberal late-stage capitalist establishment to actually do anything to improve any of the problems we face. It's been made abundantly clear over the last several years that our "representatives" don't actually represent us. We can only rely on ourselves to represent ourselves. That means putting actual pressure on the oligarchs in power, force them to meet our demands one way or another, by any and all means necessary.

As much as I've recently shat on the repulsive liberal cowardice and naivete of Charles Xavier, there is one quote of his that exhibits far greater character, nobility, and pragmatism than any of these fucking Tumblr liberals could ever hope to even think of:

"Those with the greatest power... protect those without."

That's exactly what I'm going to do. Real political action does not begin and end at the ballot, and election results, subsequently, do not automatically determine the fate of the country and the people within it. That is up to us, and only us. We, collectively, have far more power than we realize.

Donate. Volunteer. Organize. Protest. Strike. Hell, maybe even riot, if you have absolutely no other choice. But don't think for even a microsecond that viciously attacking people out of pure emotional incontinence without any further elaboration or action is going to do jack-fucking-shit.

And yes, I am addressing some of my mutuals here. Block me if you must, that's your prerogative. We all know Tumblr was never a popularity contest to begin with anyway.

[liquidorcard]

Lily Orchard is very politically opportunistic and her posts on Palestine show how blatant this is. She presents herself as militantly anti-fascist and anti-hate, she claims to hate centrists who try to give fascists a space to speak (instead implying she'd be willing to use violence to stop them). But like, as soon as it comes to electoral topics, she aggressively, AGGRESSIGELY insists that the liberal centrist parties are the only viable option. Like, the guys she pretends to hate. To the point where she's victim blaming activists for Democrats losing the election and telling people not to listen to activists when they call for a boycott against the liberal centrists who are upholding the right for fascists to speak and politically act. She pretends to be a leftist, but it's blatantly performative, the reality is that she is centre right and she seems to hate herself for it. Kind of sad, honestly.

I've said something before here that Lily and I grew up in similar environments? Well, I honestly think that has something to do with it.

I grew up in a very right-wing household in a very right-wing community that like, I knew I knew from a very young age I wasn't ever going to be accepted in. Assigned Reject at Birth. You know, it's one of the many ways religious and right-wing spaces just tare apart interpersonal connections important to the human psyche. That makes a wound in people. I won't go into detail, but my home life was bad to begin with. Being queer just made it that much worse.

Before moving away for college, I very much believed I was the most left-wing any human being on this earth could possibly be. I thought I was going to be met with open arms and the unconditional human acceptance I had always wanted, even though I wasn't fully cognitively aware of that.

I wasn't. And I feel people were even less forgiving of my lack of leftist literacy because I was a queer AFAB and concluded there was no excuse for me to be as ignorant as I was.

Now, I know the discussion of the social policing and virtue grandstanding gets flattened of any nuance online so the right can use it against the left, so I want to make sure I'm clear with what I'm about to say. No, the left should not be tolerant of bigotry. No, not every right-wing nut job can be deradicalized by hand-holding them through their own come to Jesus moment. Nor is anyone owed that emotional energy from you. But when you were raised right-wing, even if you grew to resent it, a person needs time to be deprogrammed. And, I know this might upset people to hear, but you won't understand how much of a privilege it is to be raised in a more liberal household unless you weren't. People who were can sometimes be, what I feel is unreasonably hostile to those of us who don't know any better because we haven't had the chance to learn.

It also just so happens I started college in 2015, right when gamergate went down. And it was an art school. Really, it was a uniquely not very ideal environment to rid myself of right-wing brain worms. And in a very real way, it retraumatized me getting rejected for not having the sociopolitical context to understand everything I was expected to. I'm not blaming anyone in particular for that-- that is more an unfortunate symptom of the anti-social rot the right causes, but it wasn't a good time. I think some people could have been kinder, and to this day I do my best to be charitable with meeting people where they're at myself. And I do think there is a problem in the left, especially online, failing to read between the lines and respond appropriately-- especially when it comes to vocabulary choice. You know, sometimes people use dogwhistles without the proper context to understand they are dogwhistling, sometimes people are just genuinely misinformed and lack the language to ask the questions they have, and vocabulary does shape perception. Right-wing ideology only can survive on the basis of rigid, strict, conceptually or literally divine hierarchy. Right-wing language is shaped on the premise of that hierarchy. The reason why a lot of social progress doesn't make sense to right-wingers and is almost impossible to communicate properly in right-wing language is because it disregards the premise of that hierarchy. Right-wingers don't literally live in a separate reality, but they kind of functionally do. Mentally. For people who are more on the right, but open minded enough to genuinely learn and want to, it's better to use as their language as much as possible to explain to them things that can ease them out of the premise of that mental trap of explicit social hierarchy in a gentler fashion.

With all that said, the root cause was still that right-wing upbringing.

I feel I have more than enough reason to very confidently say Lily went through a very similar experience to me. A shitty childhood for a lot of reasons, but one of them for sure being a queer person in an extremely right-wing household. She has a hypersensitivity to feeling shame and will go to extreme measures to avoid it, she feels isolated and desperate for acceptance in an extremely unhealthy way. In one regard she was knee-capped significantly in her ability to function socially that I wasn't, in that her parents decided she was a simpleton when she was very young, basically wrote her off and conditioned her to never take accountability. Though being overly critical of children is equally harmful (though in different ways), dismissing a child of all agency because you think they're too stupid to handle it can result in a lot more damage to everyone around them aswell as themselves and is a form of emotional neglect.

Online I think she searched out for a community that would accept her, and when that did not work out for her, when she experienced that retraumatization again of rejection . . . She took some very interesting lessons away from that. The wrong ones.

And, glass houses, it took me a whole journey aswell to get where I am. But I was conditioned to internalize social rejection, for better or worse. Lily was not. She is aggressively, profoundly, depressingly incapable of self-reflection, in healthy or in unhealthy amounts-- and even though that's not wholly her fault, she's a big girl now, and she's the only one left to accept responsibility for that. As someone myself who feels deeply angry at the ways I was psychologically damaged, I'm speaking as someone who has accepted that dwelling on how unfair it is that I have to be held accountable for that isn't going to improve my situation.

Believe it or not, I don't think Lily is inherently stupid. I think she was treated like she was stupid since she was young, and has put a lot of energy into pantomiming intellectualism instead of actually learning stuff. Again, glass houses, I also learned how to pretend I am smarter than I actually am out of an extreme aversion to shame-- but I can tell I have more actual knowledge, interest and curiosity to learn than Lily does.

I don't think Lily has any interest in learning about left-wing politics, and I don't think she has actually deprogrammed herself from the right-wing environment she was raised in. She has no motivation to care, and likely still is deeply bitter about the social rejection she's experienced in left-wing spaces. However, she has a lot of social capital to gain by PRETENDING she is.

And pretending is enough for the people she courts in her audience.

[caeli0306]

Chapter 5 of Violet Sorrengail's Guide to Spinning a Scandal is now up on AO3!

Chapter 5: Make Counter-Accusations is now posted on AO3: READ HERE

WAIT THIS IS SO CRAZY DID WE JUST FINISH WRITING VSGTSAS? WE TOTALLY DID! Hope you enjoy this 22.4k chapter bc hoo boy was it not fun to edit. On a more serious note, THANK YOU to everyone who loved this fic and cheered me on as I wrote it. It's such a privilege to be a part of such a supportive fandom. See my end note for full thank you :) For those unfamiliar, this is my @rq-gift-exchange fic for the wonderful @witch-and-her-witcher who has been so insanely patient waiting for their gift fic to be finished! I'm going to go sleep for three days straight now, brb.

Summary:

Violet Sorrengail is a highly effectively political crisis consultant. Xaden Riorson is poised to win his late father's old senate seat. The hatred between the two runs deep, but its been years since their fiery classroom debates in college, and Violet was certain she'd never cross paths with him again, until her expertise is required to keep doctored stories that could sink Xaden's campaign from gaining traction just before the general election.

The chemistry is off-the-charts, the tension has every other staffer fleeing when the two end up in the same room, and the fire that existed between them is as hot as ever. But as time goes on, Violet begins to realize exactly how true the saying, "There's a thin line between love and hate," really is.

===

I lean forward, closing the short distance between us, and strain upwards to brush my lips across his forehead the same way he’s taken to doing. When I pull away, I see my own feelings reflected on his face. Once this is over, once I’ve pulled off this final spin, I need to give him the answer I should have given him a year ago. “Thank you,” I say softly, not breaking eye contact so he knows how much I mean it. I’m thanking him for so many things, and I’m not even sure he knows. I twist my hand in his grip, so our fingers intertwine, and I squeeze just a bit. The smile Xaden gives me in response is soft – a word I rarely use to describe a man like him, so full of sharp edges and jagged lines. But with me, when he’s just Xaden and not the businessman or politician people expect him to be, the word fits in the best ways. “Like I said, Violence – I trust you implicitly.” His free hand comes up and boops my nose, and my face scrunches up on instinct. He smirks. “Besides, solving problems is what you’re good at. I can’t be sidelining you from what you do best.” I grin. “Truer words were never spoken.” Xaden’s thumb begins moving back and forth against my hand, a soothing motion. 

[sapphirerogers]

মনের মানুষ - Soulmate

[Steve Rogers x Indian!bengali!GN!reader

Summary: your heart is aching for a home that no longer exists. Steve finds you in the middle of emotional turmoil.

Warning: homesickness, childhood trauma if you squint, mention of political disturbance, fluff, cursing, Steve being an absolute sweetheart, Steve also getting the feels]

After the third round of knocking incessantly at your bedroom door, Steve huffed. He didn't want to intrude, in case you weren't decent or something.

"Sorry y/n," he muttered before twisting the handle, fully expecting to find it closed, unyielding.

His eyes widened, first in mild surprise at the ease with which he'd made it in: no locked doors. Then in shock, since his favourite person - you - was currently curled up on the floor, facing the sunset. Knees pulled up to your chest and tears streaming down your face as you whimpered softly now and then.

The next emotion was confusion at the music playing in the room - something that sounded like a folk song sung by a gravelly male voice in a language he didn't understand. However, he'd heard you speak or sing in it to yourself enough to know it was Bengali.

He joined you on the floor, quietly tapping your arm.

You turned your head to look at him, making no effort to wipe away the salty moisture on your cheeks. "I miss home."

Three words. Just three words from you tugged violently on his heart-strings, making him scoot closer and wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer. You let him engulf you, finding comfort in him.

He didn't bother asking any questions. He knew the answers. Unfair elections and totalitarian practices had completely destroyed the political opposition in India five years ago. You'd watched democracy fall apart slowly but surely within fifteen years. Your beloved state of West Bengal, safe from the ruling party till then, had been overpowered too.

You'd run. You'd wished you could stay and do something, be a patriot, but you'd run. Forced yourself to throw yourself and your best efforts into medical school, even if your heart had ached for a different subject instead. You'd clenched your jaw and survived five years of suffocating dictatorship (nobody ever called it that but that's what it was) and communal riots. Then, the moment you'd graduated, you'd packed your things and left your homeland for a stable future.

You hadn't taken anyone with you. Your family wasn't the best and you'd made the decision to go no contact with them while still in high school. You'd lied to them about where you would be living, promised them you'd call. At the airport, just before boarding, you'd sent your mother the final text you'd silently prepared beforehand, listing everything she'd done wrong and refused to make up for and why you felt wronged. You'd apologised for being so harsh, and for abandoning them, but explained that you needed to protect yourself and you couldn't do it while staying with them. Then you'd thrown away your phone.

It was for the best, for your best, but you still missed the carefree life of your early years. Carefree, not in the sense that you weren't being hurt over and over, but carefree in the sense that you were naïve enough not to realise you were being hurt. You were alone in this new environment. Yes, you'd found friends, you'd found Steve. But a part of you still felt lonely.

Steve knew all of this. He'd held you close the day you poured all of it out. And he held you close now as the homesickness returned.

"I'm a fucking coward," you sniffle. "I should've stayed and tried to fight. Spoken up. Done something. Said something. Anything. I didn't even try. Like a selfish bitch."

He pressed a kiss to your head, stroking your hair and shushing you. He'd save that conversation for later. Right now you didn't need a response from him, you needed to let your feelings out. He'd always be here to wipe your tears away and get you back on your feet.

You hugged him tighter, and he pulled you into his lap, leaning against the bed as he closed his eyes, focusing on the song playing on loop.

Weirdly, it felt like home. Nevermind that he understood nothing. There was something earthen and rustic about the song and its ambience, something that called to him. He thought of his mother. A little voice in him said she'd love this music too. He felt his own eyes water as well, and blinked to prevent them from spilling.

You turned in his arms a little so now your back was to his chest, and you both watched the sun go down in silence.

When you'd calmed down, he brought one of your hands up to his lips. "Do you feel like going out and getting some ice cream? Or brownies?"

You giggled - despite the surge of emotions earlier. "I'd love that. Thank you," you met his calm and loving eyes, genuine gratitude in your own.

"Of course, honey."

Minutes later, as you held on to him from behind while his motorcycle wove in and out of traffic, you felt some of the weight lifting off your chest. Life had been rough, but it was better now. You were better now. Safe and loved. You'd be okay, right?

You rubbed his arm softly. He found your hand and squeezed it three times at a red light.

Yeah, you'd be okay.

[AN: This is the direct product of me being homesick, while sitting in my hometown, and being terrified for the future. Steve is my comfort character so I wrote this solely to calm myself; this is the most self-indulgent piece I've ever written. I know most of you won't relate to this much, but I hope that for once, you can put yourself in my place and at least try to understand the emotions in this fic rather than agonise over the details which don't apply to you.

AN 2: India is quasi-federal in structural, meaning while there is a Prime Minister to govern the entire country, every state also has their individual Chief Minister and Cabinet of Ministers for the affairs of said state. The party in power at the Centre isn't always the ruling party in every state. West Bengal is one of such states where the part in power is different from the one at the Centre...so far.

Current affairs in the country are really bad. Abuse of legislation, silencing the national press, completely altering the Constitution, bribing the judiciary, rigging the polls - it's all happening. It's bad enough that the UN and even other countries have criticised the central administration here. This fic is me being super scared that what I mentioned here will actually happen. Elections are this month, and like many other civilians, I'm desperately praying it doesn't take a turn for the worse.

AN 3: The song linked above is the inspiration for the title. মনের মানুষ (moner manush) translates to "soulmate". It is one of the most popular Baul songs. Baul are a category of Bengali folk songs which have double meanings. Most songs, at first listen, appear to be aimed at a lover, however, they can also be meant for God. It depends on how you wish to interpret them. They're a highly respected part of Bengali heritage and can be easily identified by the sound of the ektara in the instrumental, a one stringed musical instrument.]

Tagging my desi friends:

@mainly-marvel @slut-for-henry-cavill @averageambivert

[fleckcmscott]

Bountiful

Summary: As autumn leaves fall, Y/N and Arthur reflect on how much they have to be thankful for.

Words: 3,643

Warnings: None

A/N: Though Thanksgiving is alluded to in Backward, Forward - Part 2, this is the first piece I've written featuring the holiday. I hope you all like it! 😃 Lots of love and appreciation for @sweet-nothings04 for beta reading! And a happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate! 🦃

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

The door flew open at the exact moment Y/N turned the key.

All teeth and boundless glee, Arthur's handsome grin greeted her. "Hello, Mrs. Fleck." A thorough kiss when he grabbed her hand to pull her inside. "Come here."

Intrigue arching her eyebrow, she followed on eager feet. Toed off her heels at the kitchen partition, dropped her tote bag by the floor lamp, lost her purse somewhere behind the sofa. The sleeve of her speckled wool coat hung at her wrist, a captive of his firm grip.

He took a seat at his desk. Four bills were piled to the left, a torn open cardboard mailer to the right. He gestured towards the mailer. "Look what came today."

She wriggled free and picked it up. Skimmed Gotham Bank's return address and dumped out the contents: a vinyl checkbook and four check booklets. The source of his excitement stood nonchalantly in the upper left corner.

She traced the italicized letters. Arthur & Y/N Fleck. "Our names go well together."

"We go well together." He swept her onto his lap, pecked a line from her lips to her temple. Shifting forward, he snagged the checkbook and a ballpoint pen. "I wanna make out the first one." She studied the subtle movements of his hand as he printed "City of Gotham - Sewer" on the payee line. His strokes were slower than usual, the serifs neater, as if writing a sacred declaration instead of paying for flushes.

Delight flitted through her, light as a feather.

He'd been buzzing since their trip to Niagara, and she'd found herself buzzing right along with him. At the office, she'd blurred between drafting motions, reading complaints, and offering sanitized answers to suggestive questions about their romantic weekend. He'd pinned two postcards featuring the falls to the room divider at his desk, stuck their corny Honeymooning portrait on his vanity. The props from Houdini Magic Shop went straight into his plaid bag.

In bed last night, he'd squeezed her hand and said he wanted the honeymoon to last forever. That with her, he was sure it would.

She'd swallowed the thickness in her throat and squeezed back.

The telephone rang the second he finished the k on the signature line. When she moved to stand, he picked her up and plopped her on the chair. Pecked her forehead and took off for the kitchen.

Once he'd rounded the corner, she turned back to his desk with a smile. She ran her palms along the worn maple, feeling like the recipient of an exclusive invitation. Nosey fingers itched to open the drawers, her thumb dangling dangerously close a pull handle. Knowing all there was to know about Arthur, learning his innermost thoughts by heart was an ever-present longing. What would be the harm in seeing if the drawers were locked?

Get a grip, Y/N. He's your husband, not a case.

Rolling her eyes, she tore the check from the booklet and stuffed it in its envelope.

His dusty baritone caught her ear. "No, it's okay. I just got back from my honeymoon." An extra emphasis on the last syllable to make it stick. "Thanksgiving? Well, maybe that Wednesday. Let me check my calen..."

Words went to fuzz as the whole of her attention turned inward.

The last three weeks had been wonderous, if overflowing. With the burst of getting hitched; Halloween with its pleasures and poignancy; the mayoral election and Thomas Wayne's dastardly win; Niagara Falls; and Arthur's upcoming birthday (for which she'd pull in a favor from Patricia), Thanksgiving hadn't been on the furthest recesses of her mind.

Family had filled her past, get-togethers that'd inspire Norman Rockwell to paint a new Saturday Evening Post. Visits from her grandparents, her mother's older sister and husband, who'd stolen Y/N's nose until she was twelve and always carried a flask. A televised parade from some faraway place called Gotham, construction paper headdresses and pilgrim bonnets. Her mother's cornbread dressing and butterscotch pie. Rowdy older cousins spilling gravy and running around the kids' table. And, when it all became a little too much, slipping her hand in Mabel's and slipping onto the porch. Imperfect but wonderful with love at its core.

The click of the receiver cut through the sunny recollection, a rarity she'd uncovered thanks to Arthur. A lightness she feared would shift to shadow, given its Ever After.

"That was the children's clinic," Arthur called as he crossed the living room. "The activity coordinator's out. They want to hire me for Thanksgiving, the Wednesday before."

"That's your third job there, right?" she asked "They're going to have to keep you on retainer."

"She said they had crafts, but- I dunno what a clown's supposed to do." He shrugged, huffed a chuckle through his nose. "Gobble, gobble?"

"They already have a plan. That'll make it easy. Just be yourself. You can't go wrong there. Which reminds me..." Y/N swiveled to fully face him. Away from the There and Then, to the Here and Now. "What do you want to do for Thanksgiving?"

Dimples dappled his cheeks. "It's been a long time since I've done anything." He said it in a manner she took to mean never, and her breastbone became a dull ache. He crouched to retrieve her purse from the floor. "What did you always do? You and your family?" It was one of the handful of occasions he'd asked about them directly. "We can do that."

"No," she said, a bit too fast. His black brow raised a fraction. She knelt next to him and gathered her coat. Smoothed it over her lap. Consciously softened her voice but still pushed back. "We should start something ourselves. Make our own history."

The glow of nostalgia illuminated his green eyes. "Make it about us." He tugged at the lapel of her blazer, drew her in for a kiss. A damp press of his mouth with no teeth or tongue.

She sank into his solid frame, a haven from what she couldn't yet mend. "We'll just have to figure out what to do with the leftovers."

~~~~~

In the sunniest section of the common room, Arthur took a brown crayon from Timothy, a boy with a bandaged head and right arm in a cast, the aftermath of a car failing to yield at a crosswalk. "Here, I can do it," Arthur offered. Timothy splayed his hand on the horseshoe shaped table.

Arthur traced around his palm, each finger, his skinny thumb. "That's good," he said, reaching for a shoebox of felt cutouts. "What color feathers do you think he has?"

Arts and crafts were not a part of Carnival's repertoire. A magic wand and a record player were a more comfortable fit, a twirl and a stomp to top off a silly dance. But he and a couple of candy stripers had spent the afternoon helping patients choose between handprint turkeys and leaf friends, replete with googly eyes. And he found the more he offered assistance, the easier it was to discern when it was appropriate. To make their Thanksgiving better than his own.

In the Before Y/N period, a holiday to celebrate plenty had been as inaccessible as full cupboards and a full heart. How could there be freedom from want, when he'd wanted his entire life?

School had been a morose monotony, but the week of Thanksgiving break had meant missed meals. The roar of his stomach and embarrassed, stifling laughter had annoyed enough to earn a free lunch tray whenever there were leftovers. Two or three times a week. Far from prying eyes and piercing words, he'd sat in an empty classroom and munched on dry chicken and bouillon flavored rice. Saved his chocolate pudding tin for dinner in case Penny had forgotten groceries again.

After dropping out of high school to work, holiday shifts had been his bread and butter. People lost a bit of their edge, he got time-and-a-half, and it was less painful to be around those who didn't know him than the mother who never would. Dishwashing at the Logerquist Hotel came with the perk of smoking away and swaying to a live jazz band between loads.

Then there was the Thanksgiving he'd spent in Arkham.

A four-year-old's disappointment from the right. "I dropped it."

Red and blue rubber shoes slid along polka-dotted vinyl. Arthur made a show of retrieving the paste stick from under the table. Presented it to April with the IV with a bow. Without bills to pay, her giggle and body scrunching with glee would be the only hourly he'd need.

"Excuse me, Mr. Fleck?"

He straightened and turned towards the nursing station in the back corner. A crucifix hung on the wall next to the L-shaped counter, and beside it an icon of the clinic's namesake Saint Philomena, arrows and anchor firmly in her grasp. An unfamiliar face stepped out from behind the station, a woman with a shock of brunette corkscrew curls.

She stuck out her hand. "I'm Concetta, the woman who called. I'm lucky I found your card on Holly's desk. Thank you for squeezing us in on such short notice. I was wondering if you might have a slot open for Christmas."

It hadn't been short notice, and he hadn't booked anything for Christmas, but he didn't have to tell her that. He attempted a confident handshake - and succeeded. "Um, yeah. I should have one. Did you want to put me on retainer?"

She was kind enough ignore the left-footed use of the term. "Let's start with Christmas, first. Holly'll be back by then. It'll be a nice surprise for the children and their parents. Let me give you my card and we can iron out the details." She plucked it from her pocket without pause. "I'm out tomorrow but feel free to leave me a message once you've checked your schedule."

He gripped the card between thumb and forefinger, but it took three seconds for him to take it. Assurance swirled and spiraled upwards into an appreciative nod. "Thanks."

"You're very welcome. Congratulations on getting married, by the way. Do you and your wife have big plans tomorrow?"

Entire face creasing into a smile, he answered, "Well, her family's in Missouri, so just dinner at our place. I'm- I'm really looking forward to it."

And, if luck continued to shine on him, Part Two of the conversation started on Halloween night. A chance to follow all the breadcrumbs she'd strewn about her earlier years - before she could sweep them away and erase the trail. To prove she could mend with him, the way so much of himself continued to with her.

~~~~~

By the time Y/N turned on the TV, the Killinger's Thanksgiving Day Parade was getting underway. Special Presentation on NCB, led by Gotham City's Police Department's Highway Patrol, hosted by Murray Franklin and sidekick Barry O'Donnell.

Pursing her lips, she debating changing the channel. Having this on in the background was a rare childhood tradition Arthur and she shared. She wasn't going to let Franklin's smarmy smirk and O'Donnell's desperate laugh-alongs sully that.

She twisted the volume dial. The cries of bugles hushed to whimpers and the roars of hosts became murmurs.

When she padded into the kitchen for another cup of coffee, Arthur was leaning on the counter with both hands, a book open on the Formica, concentration deepening his crowsfeet. Freed from its netting, the Lil' Butterball lounged in an aluminum roasting pan in the sink. She'd suggested chicken, but he'd insisted on turkey, and with this being his first real Thanksgiving, she hadn't argued.

His lips moved as he read, pointer finger tracking each word. She filled her mug, glanced at the cookbook, the yellowed photograph of a roasted turkey surrounded by pale parsley and wrinkly tomatoes. A nervous palm rubbed the nape of his neck.

She wrapped an arm about his middle, planted a kiss between his shoulder blades. Disheveled curls caressed her cheek. She rubbed a soothing circle on his taut stomach, through his thermal shirt. "Did you find a recipe you like better?" she asked.

Adopting an uneven slouch, he brought her to his side. "This says to put oil on the skin, but this-" he pointed to another paragraph "-says to use shortening. I don't know what that is. I bought this the other day." He reached for a nondescript plastic baggy that smelled of rosemary, oregano and sage. "But there are no directions. Do we put it in the turkey or what?"

Fingers fidgeting in a way they never did when they held a cigarette, he pushed out a breath. "I haven't cooked one before."

"Neither have I," she said. "My mother did all the cooking. And Jeff and I alternated between his parents and mine. The most I did was bring a pumpkin pie."

"You made pie?"

"'Made' is too much credit. I used store bought crust and canned filling." She nudged him in the ribs and offered her coffee, which his fidgety fingers gladly accepted. He added two more sugars as she continued. "If we try to make this perfect, we're going to drive ourselves crazy."

She skimmed the recipe, reviewed the roasting table, and set the oven to 325 degrees. "Rub the seasoning under the skin, and I'll brush the margarine on."

Four hours later, she could barely see the table for all the food.

Roasted turkey, golden with a buttery crisp. Green bean casserole in eight-by-eight Corningware. Arthur was skeptical of the sweet potatoes topped with marshmallows, but she was certain it was a combination his sweet tooth would cheer. Confusion narrowed his eyes whenever she referred to StoveTop as dressing. Laughing at herself, she shook her head. ("You call it stuffing up here.") Brown 'n serve rolls baked in the oven for twelve minutes. A tube of jellied cranberry sauce slid out of the can with a satisfying plop.

Offering a Hamilton Beach electric knife (a steal at Donahue's for $21.99), she asked him to carve the turkey. His glistening gaze and closed mouth grin sent jumbles through her middle.

He'd said he'd been the man of the house for as long as he could remember. Pearled the grit of taking care of Penny into gems. Polished the story of a trapped adolescence into something he could, should be proud of.

But now he was the man of their house. Pearling was no longer needed, polishing no longer necessary, because a life lived with Y/N was what he'd chosen. What they'd chosen A certain kind of light that shined on them both,

Arthur rubbed the tops of his thighs. "There's so much. I'm not sure where to start." After a moment, he scooped a spoonful of the potato casserole. Tested the mash of marshmallow and sugary starch with a cautious nibble. A hum of pleasure behind smacking lips. "This is good."

"Let me see." She stole a forkful from his plate. The cozy warmth of cinnamon and nutmeg melted on her taste buds. Her sigh was equal parts satisfaction and relief. "It's always hit or miss when I try my mother's recipes."

"Well, this one's a hit." He paused. "What else did your mom make?"

"Just the usual," she said with a dismissive wave. She snagged a roll and ripped it in two. Steam rose from the dough in hot waves.

A knife clinked against ceramic, jarred gravy cascaded over turkey. He sampled the green bean casserole and said nothing. Dug into the StoveTop and said nothing. Sipped coffee and said nothing.

Her cheeks turned to coals, a sudden flush of shame. An unwelcome echo of Halloween. How could she have given this man her whole heart, then shut down his loving inquiry like she was shutting a barricade? As if he was the one who'd erred instead of her? It wasn't as if she didn't get what he was feeling. Only a couple weeks ago, she'd had to stop herself from shuffling through his drawers.

Contrition rose in her throat. She cleared it, offered a small smile of apology, and started over again.

"She made cornbread dressing - stuffing - with buttermilk, eggs, celery... Everybody loved it. She made enough batches to send home with everyone. Even the years Jeff and I were with his family, she'd come over the next day with a big pot."

She smeared margarine on her roll. "My sister has that recipe."

"Maybe she'd send us a copy?" Arthur said.

"I'll ask when I call tonight."

"It's nice to hear you talk about your family."

Her shoulders drew together. "I know."

Two more chews and he sliced into the cranberry sauce with the side of his fork. "I was in the hospital one year. For Thanksgiving. There were visitors from a local church or parish or whatever. They served turkey dinners and ate with us, like we were normal people." He took the jiggly jelly off the tines with his teeth. "There were Looney Tunes on the TV - Arkham plays cartoons all the time. We didn't talk a lot, but I liked it. It was nice not to have to cook for my mother and be alone."

Alone but with his mother. Alone but with her father. Two by two they'd marched through their days to make their way to each other. To sit at this table. To be brave enough to share themselves.

When it came to matters of the heart, Arthur's courage was far greater than hers. Of that there was no doubt. Perhaps one day she'd crack open the barricade enough to match it.

Reaching out to clutch his hand, she promised herself she'd try.

The start of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth. He clutched back.

~~~~~

A little girl's excited squeal resounded through Gotham Park, riding the breeze through winding trees. The afternoon sunset cast long shadows across meadows and rippled along Crown Reservoir. Couples strolled curved walkways, impromptu snack stands lined parkways, selling cocoa and pretzels and crepes. An elderly man, toothless and in a fraying baseball cap, sat on an iron bench, laughing as he fed the ducks at his feet.

Gait easy, casual, utterly natural, Arthur put his arm around Y/N's shoulders. When he'd worked the seasonal carnivals, fall foliage's showy scarlets and honied ambers had been a seldom source of beauty. A background to his daydreams while he'd eaten fried dough on his break. He'd wanted to show it to her for awhile, make those dreams come true.

Most leaves littered the ground now, releasing a musky sweetness as they crunched under their feet. But a few still clung to the uppermost branches, huddled together as if trying to keep warm.

A rustic arch bridge spanned the narrowest part of the reservoir, an antique made of stones dredged during the body of water's construction in 1893. As they reached its crest, he nodded towards pine oaks reaching across the water, akin to lovers stretching to meet. Pointed at crimson sugar maples contrasting against clear, blue sky. Admired clusters of eastern white pines, nature's answer to skyscrapers.

"The fall in Boonville is prettiest in November," Y/N said. "Everything peaks about a month later than here. The honey locusts - those don't grow this far north - turn as yellow as the sun."

"Oh." He shoved his hand in his pocket. He'd assumed autumn's prism made his home special.

She stepped out of his embrace. Crossed her arms on the stone parapet. "But there's a catch. They have thorns - longer than my hand. If you're not careful, they'll tear your dress."

That struck him as too specific to be offhand. Going to her side, he jumped at the chance to follow that breadcrumb. "Did that happen to you?"

"Mabel and I were playing hide and seek. I ruined my skirt, and she got nineteen stitches. We tried to avoid them after that. But they kept spreading and spreading and after a few years thorns were everywhere." A hitch brittled the last word.

She plucked a fiery oak leaf from the parapet, mottled with brown flecks. "My father used to go around the table and ask us to name one thing we were thankful for. It had to be different every year."

"That'll certainly be easy now that you're here." He studied the gold wedding band he'd paid off last week. Twisted it around his finger. "I'm thankful I can wear this. That it's real."

A giggle left her. "It suits you." She twirled the leaf by the stem, held it to her face. Eyes shimmering in the sunlight, she gazed over it like a hand fan. "I'm thankful for fewer thorns."

Stare locked on hers, he slowly lowered the leaf. Palmed it and tucked it away to press into the pages of his journal. "You know, no matter what happened, I'm here," he said, closing her hand between both of his.

She kissed the back of his fingers. They curled under the tender fullness of her lips. "I know you are, Arthur." Her palm rested on his sternum, directly above his heart. Pulling him to her, not pushing back. "I know you are." Gentle as a breeze, she raised herself to meet his kiss. He cupped the side of her neck, his thumb at the hollow of her throat.

Ding ding!

A tween on a scooter darted by, missed them by barely an inch. His mother chased him in a haggard, hoofing jog. "Christopher Daniel, you stop this very instant!"

Y/N's laughter rippled against Arthur's fingertips, her chuckles honey on his lips. Elation swept through him, a wave so powerful his knees quaked.

"Come on," she said, lacing her arm through his, and led him down the other side of the bridge. "I think there's a hot chocolate with our names on it."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​​​​​ @ithinkimaperson​​​​​ @sweet-nothings04​​​​​ @stephieraptorr​​​​ @rommies​​​​​ @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1​​​​​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​ @hhandley80​​​​​ @jokerownsmysoul​​​​​ @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics​​​​​ @iartsometimes​​​​​ @fleckficgirl @chaimshelii

[proqhetic]

out of all the yj girls, who'd you think would maintain their duolingo streak RELIGIOUSLY? personally, I could totally see taissa treating that shit like it's the most important thing in her life (especially adult timeline) and you'd always catch her in a public setting just making sure she gets her streak—even if it's at some important political place. also, obviously misty does a lesson everyday, I feel like she'd do it when she wakes up every morning though, and it's like part of her routine.

taissa is on the duolingo leaderboard and she is NOT backing down just for a state election 🙅‍♀️🙅‍♀️

misty’s is also super plausible, her on her lunch break doing her daily lesson. (she’d make edits of the duolingo bird and think that mascot is the funniest thing ever) also super into duolingo character lore

i feel like jackie would’ve downloaded it because she thought it could help her improve her french. she managed to keep up her streak for about a week before forgetting one day and then never logged back in again LMAOO

shauna would’ve downloaded it after that in an attempt to pass jackie’s one week record, but gets pissed at the app so easily 😭 especially the speaking bits. she would have rage quit by the day 3 and pretended this never happened

not exactly a yellowjacket, but coach ben….. 🤷‍♀️ just saying he seems like a duolingo guy !

[cherrycola27]

Star Spangled Seresin

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption. Political situations. Unrequited love, one night stand, military and political inaccuracies. Smut. 18+ Minors DNI. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

Series Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

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

Chapter 1: (I was) Enchanted to Meet You:

After you had left the apartment, Jaycee decided to take some time to herself and get some writing done for work. She was halfway through her article when her phone chimed. It was a text from Jake.

She took a deep breath. She shouldn't have given Jake her phone number. Jaycee didn't do relationships. Not after what happened. But Jake was sweet and made her cum three times and then fixed her breakfast the next day. So, in a moment of weakness, she gave him her number.

She checked his text. It was a message checking to make sure she had made it home okay. After confirming, she was fine, he asked her about her day.

Feeling bold, she snapped a picture of herself with a messy bun, glasses, leggings, and her oversized Georgetown sweatshirt with her laptop. Jake chuckled when he received the image before texting her back a selfie of him in a US Navy tank at the gym.

Jaycee blushed before typing back, "I figured you'd be the kind of guy who works out shirtless 😉." Jake quickly replied, "Normally, I do, but my back had a run-in with some nails last night 😏."

Jaycee's face turned red. And before she could fire off a response, Jake texted her again, "When can I see you again?"

Jaycee sighed. She wasn't a second date or first date, whichever this was kind of girl, but Jake did seem sincere, a nice meal, and some good sex did sound appealing. Of course, she'd have to keep it a secret from you, but that shouldn't be too hard. So, before she could talk herself out of it, she texted him back that she was free on Monday.

Moments later, a smiling selfie of Jake graced her screen with the message, "Fantasic. Meet me at Marcel's at 7:30. The reservation will be under Seresin, party of two."

Jaycee collapsed against the throw pillows of the couch. Was she really about to do this?

The rest of the afternoon was spent texting with Jake. She learned all kinds of things about him, from where he grew up, to his time in the Naval Academy, to his career in the Navy, and some about his family. Jaycee shared more details about herself than she had in a long time. She was about to order some takeout and text you to see what you wanted when she got a message saying you'd be out late and wouldn't be home until after midnight. Something with the campaign.

Jaycee rolled her eyes at how dedicated you were to your job before placing her order.

She'd just settled down to enjoy her orange chicken when a FaceTime from Jake lit up her phone.

"Um, hi?" She said as she answered it. "Hey." Jake said smoothly. "Sorry, I probably should have texted to see if you were busy, but I really wanted to see you again." Jake said.

"It's fine. I just got some takeout and was about to watch some true crime." She told him. "Oh, true crime? Are you more unsolved mysteries or serial killers?" Jake asks. "Unsolved mysteries for sure. And I love a good conspiracy." Jaycee replies as she grabs her chopsticks.

"Conspiracy theories are fun. Once Bradley and I get elected, I can't wait to learn all the secrets they keep locked in the Library of Congress. After the inauguration, I'm heading straight for the JFK file." Jake says without missing a beat. "Why JFK? Is it because he was assassinated in Texas and you're from there, or is it because he was a Navy man, too?" She asks him with a mouthful of noodles.

"Both." Jake confirms

Jaycee snorts out a laugh. "You know that secret section of the Library or Congress is a myth, right?" She tells him. "Guess we'll just have to wait and see. Maybe you and I can look for it together after the election." Jake tells her with a bright smile.

"Yeah, maybe," Jaycee shifts uncomfortably.

"So, other than run for office and fly planes, what do you do for fun?" She asks, changing the subject.

"I like to hike. If I am back home, I love riding horses on my family ranch. A pickup game of football or basketball is fun every now and then. I'm a great bowler, but even better at darts and pool, and I'm a sucker for a good musical or theater performance. My sisters were in drama and dance in school, so I always went to their shows and then started seeing a few shows on my own." Jake tells her.

"Oh, so you have culture?" Jaycee teases him. "What's your favorite show?" She asks him. "Hamilton, obviously." Jaycee can't help but laugh. "Basic." She teases him. "But it could be worse. I figured you would have said something like Oklahoma." She says.

"No self-respecting Texan would ever say their favorite show is Oklahoma." Jake says in a serious tone.

"So what about you, other than grilling potential vice presidents, what do you do for fun?" Jake asks her.

"Um, I like hiking too, I've never rode a horse, I like yoga, and reading, and mini-golf, and kickboxing. And I, too, enjoy the theater."

"So, what's your favorite show then?" Jake asks her. She can tell he's waiting to tease her.

"Wicked." She admits sheepishly. "Oh, and I'm the basic one." Jake rolls his eyes dramatically. "Hey it's a great story about fighting for what you think is right and denying social norms!" Jaycee defends herself.

"If you say so. I've never seen it." Jake shrugs. "What!" Jaycee shrieks. "You said you have sisters. How have you never seen it?!" She asks him. "I tried once. The flying monkeys creeped me out." He admits.

"Okay, okay. I get that." She tells him. "So, I had a really good time with you last night." Jake tells her.

"So did I. Three really good times." Jaycee admits. "I was talking about at the bar. Like, don't get me wrong, the other stuff was great too, but I enjoyed getting to know you." He tells her.

Before Jaycee can answer, she hears keys in the door, and your voice calling out to her. "Jaycee, I'm home!"

"Oh, shit, Jake, I've gotta go!" Jaycee says before quickly ending the call.

"Hey! I thought you said you wouldn't be back until after midnight?" Jaycee asks you. "Yeah, Bradley and I finished up early. Who was that on the phone?" You ask her.

"Um, no one." Jaycee says quickly. "Wait—was that Mr. Tongue Tricks? You gave him your number? Where you guys having phone sex?" You ask her.

"No, no, and ew, no." Jaycee says as she cleans up her mess in the living room. "Okay, whatever you say." You sing-song back to her.

"Hey, do have plans Monday night? Candice and Talia are going to be in town and want to get drinks." You tell her.

"Actually, I do have dinner plans. Sorry." Jaycee tells you. "No worries." You respond before heading to your room.

All of Jaycee's Sunday is spent texting Jake. The two of them talk about everything under the sun. He makes her feel good— happy even, something she haven't felt from a relationship in quite a long time. But then—

Jake had brought up the topic of dumb things he did as a teen and told her about the scar on his ass from a bull. Jaycce laughed at him. Then, he texted, saying how he loved how she had turned her surgical scar into something beautiful. She asked him what he meant. And then he replied, "The one on your side, that's the quill tattoo. Did you have your appendix or something removed?"

Her heart sank, and she dropped your phone. The scar he was talking about wasn't from surgery. It was from the worst moment of her life. She quickly got up and went to the mirror in her room. Jaycce lifted her shirt and traced the jagged lines that ran across her right side.

You had convinced her to get the markings tattooed as a way to reclaim them, but even though she had tried to make them beautiful, they still carried ugly memories.

Flashes of that night flooded her brain, the yelling, the glass, the blood —so much blood. She shook the thoughts from her mind.

Jaycee quickly changed the subject, but suddenly, her heart wasn't in it anymore. Who was she kidding? She couldn't date Jake, she had too much baggage for a guy like him.

On Monday, she barely texted him. And that evening, just as you were able to leave to meet up with your friends, she came out of her room dressed to go out. "Hey, wait up!" She called to you. "You're coming? I thought you had plans?" You ask her skeptically.

"They got canceled. Let's go get drinks!" Jaycee cheered as the two of you walked out the door.

At 7:10, Jaycee, you, and your college friends got a table at the bar right across from Marcel's

At 7:15, she watched Jake enter with a bundle of flowers.

At 7:25, he texted her that he was there.

At 7:30, he asked if she was on her way, and if she was running late, that was fine.

At 7:40, he tried calling her, and she immediately sent it to voicemail.

At 7:45, she stopped checking her texts.

At 8 p.m., she watched a deflated Jake Seresin leave the restaurant. Jaycee finished her drink and excused herself to the restroom.

Once she was alone, she turned off her phone and allowed a single tear to slip down her cheek.

"This is for the best." She told herself in the mirror." But she knew she was lying to herself.

Okay! Here we go yall! Taglist: @daggerspare-standingby @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @hecate-steps-on-me @roosterscock @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @seresinsbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @xoxabs88xox @avengersfan25 @blackwidownat2814 @loveforaugust @mak-32 @cottagecori @amysteryspot @heyimmadisonn @princess76179 @bradshawseresinbabe @sunlightmurdock @lewmagoo @cassiemitchell @die-cunt @mj-l4 @shipinabluebottle @malindacath @violyn20 @imawkwardlysoc @books-for-summer @blackroseboulevard @recordblues @desert-fern @luckyladycreator2 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @sebsxphia @roosters-girl @diorrfairy @je-suis-prest-rachel @dakotakazansky @mizzzpink @a-linabean @amklibrary @gretagerwigsmuse @jstarr86 @actuallyazriel @krismdavis @bradshawsbaby