#its not JUST a phone call. it's everything that the phone call means. its the start of calamity. everything's downhill from here.

[littlelamy]

you were right!

a/n: okay, i know you guys might be tired of me doing these but this is my last one! i hope you all like it 😜 gifs from @rafeyscurtainbangs

The blazing Moroccan sun beats down on Rafe, its intensity mirrored by the firestorm raging in his mind. Dust hangs in the air around him, adding to the harshness of the moment as he stands over the well. Below, Groff coughs and groans, his face contorted in pain, but Rafe barely spares him a second glance. His rage overpowers everything else, even the satisfaction he should feel. He narrows his eyes, voice laced with anger and finality.

“Checkmate, bitch!” he yells down, his words slicing through the hot, tense air. The motorcycle engine he’d used to get out here sits idle a few feet away, rumbling like his frustration.

He turns on his heel, muttering a curse, fists clenched. As he stalks away from the well, he pulls out his phone and dials Sofia’s number, his chest tight with the realization that everything he thought he knew was a lie.

Sofia answers after two rings, her voice as casual as if he hadn’t just found out about her betrayal. “Hey, babe, what’s up ?”

Rafe’s voice is steely, cold. “Is it true? Is it true, what Groff just told me? Is it?”

The silence on her end is all he needs. He can practically hear her scrambling for words, but she never manages to answer. His face twists in anger.

“Pack your shit. Get out of my house,” he snarls, a final, unforgiving edge in his voice. “God, after everything I did for you? We’re done. Done.” He hangs up before she can say another word, shoving his phone back into his pocket with a bitter scoff. Betrayed, twice over—and he’d ignored the only person who saw it coming.

He stands there, baking in the Moroccan heat, his mind racing back to a month ago in Kildare, when you and he had argued over Sofia. You’d warned him that she wasn’t who she seemed. He’d brushed you off, accusing you of jealousy—knowing damn well that there was more to it. You were his best friend, but it was complicated; that line had already been crossed too many times, with late-night kisses and tangled sheets. But you two hadn’t spoken since that fight, since the way he’d brushed you off had hurt deeper than either of you cared to admit.

Taking a breath, he pulls out his phone again, fingers hovering over your name. He hesitates, swallowing his pride, before finally pressing call.

The phone rings, and you pick up after a few moments, your voice tight with annoyance. “What, Rafe?”

Your tone makes him pause, but the way you sound almost comforts him, even with the irritation clear in your voice. You’re there—back in Kildare, probably sitting cozy in your little apartment. Meanwhile, he’s out here under the scorching sun, alone, trying to piece together his pride.

He clears his throat. “Hey… princess,” he says, voice softened, the pet name slipping out before he can stop it. He can almost feel you rolling your eyes on the other end, but he presses on, the words weighing heavy on him. “I—uh… Look, I’m sorry. You were right.”

There’s a surprised pause, and he hears you shift in your seat as if you’re debating whether to hang up or let him speak. When you do answer, your tone is a bit softer, cautious.

“What happened?”

Rafe lets out a dry, humorless laugh. “Turns out Sofia was exactly who you said she was. A snake. And here I was, thinking you were just being… petty. But I guess I’m the idiot, huh?”

You breathe out, and he can picture you shaking your head, lips pressed together. “You wouldn’t listen,” you say quietly, as if the words hold more hurt than anger.

He sighs, running a hand through his hair, the frustration evident in his voice. “I know. I was so damn sure you were just jealous. I mean—” He pauses, grappling with how to say it. “Hell, I thought you were jealous because you… I don’t know. I thought you didn’t want me with her because we…” His voice trails off, but the implication lingers between you.

“Yeah,” you say softly, almost to yourself. “I get it.”

Rafe bites his lip, letting the words sink in. “Can I see you? I’m done here in a few days, and I could be back in Kildare very soon. I could stop by, explain… properly.”

A beat passes, and when you finally speak, it’s careful, guarded. “After everything you said last time, why should I?”

He laughs softly, almost self-deprecating. “Because I think you might be the only person I can trust right now. And… I miss you.” His voice drops, laced with a warmth he can’t help. “Even if you’re just going to gloat and rub it in my face.”

You chuckle, and he smiles, savoring the sound. “I don’t know if I miss you or if I just feel sorry for you,” you tease, but the playfulness is back in your tone, if only faintly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, amusement lacing his words. “Act like you don’t care. But come on, you miss me. Admit it.”

A small silence follows, and he imagines the way your lips twitch into a smile. Finally, you relent. “Maybe a little. But you’re bringing wine. Good wine.”

“Oh, don’t worry, baby,” he says, the flirtation back in his voice. “Only the best for you.”

You scoff, but he hears the hint of a laugh. It’s the closest thing he’s had to a good moment in a long time. He takes a breath, savoring the thought of leaving this mess behind and getting back to Kildare—back to the only person who knew him well enough to call him out, and care anyway. As the call ends, he puts his phone in his pocket, a grin spreading across his face, motivating him to get that crown and go to his princess.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif

[vampireids]

perfect stranger

summary: lauren reynolds is dead, emily prentiss along with her, and spencer finds himself alone, struggling and in need of company (smut, angst)

warnings: former emily prentiss/spencer reid, exploration of grief, references to addiction and divorce, spencer acts questionably in this but he's struggling so forgive him, reader has some backstory, reader is referred to with she pronouns and wears makeup and a skirt, reader smokes cigarettes, spencer POV (third person limited). very, very angsty.

word count: 7.8k

a/n: the first half of this is quite spencer/emily centric in its themes, but the second half focusses more on the reader character. reader means everything to me and i am cradling her so gently. posting on mobile so let me know if there are any formatting issues!

Three weeks.

Three weeks since Emily Prentiss had died and taken half of Spencer Reid with her.

Three weeks that tasted of ash and bile, where no matter how brightly the sun shone everything still looked grey, where every smile he passed on the street seemed to be mocking him.

He hadn't had an easy life, not by any standard, but even he had been unaware of just how keenly he could hurt, just how painful and violent breathing could be. It was an agony that seemed to persist beyond any capacity a human being could feasibly endure, a constant bleeding wound in the cavity of his chest.

It hadn't been long before daydreams of oblivion took hold of him. Murmurs of a phone number he couldn't forget as hard as he tried sounded in his mind, growing louder and louder as days went by. If he called it, he could remember peace. More crucially, he could forget everything. A call, a deal, a prick, a push, and every screaming agony in his mind could go away. The sweet, muggy bliss of a syringe of dreamless sleep. It would be so easy.

A disapproving voice in his head that sounded uncannily like Emily pleaded with him to resist the allure. She wouldn't want him to submit to the urge. She'd want him to withstand the pain, to feel the burn of grief boldly and without reprieve, to let time heal him with all the swiftness of a wounded sloth.

But it had been Emily who had loved him enough to keep him grounded and sober. And without her, how could he ever be strong enough to do it? The constant craving for quiet had been drowned out by the sounds of her soft sighs as his body pressed against her, by the consuming sensation of her around him and on top of him and in the beating heart in his chest.

And slowly, an idea formed. He couldn't have Emily anymore. But he could find something close enough. Some approximation to act as a temporary sigil to ward off the ghosts at his door. It had been an old coping mechanism he’d turned to in the early days of his sobriety. Nothing was more deadly to an addict than solitude, so he’d sought out company where he could get it, in faceless women in bar bathrooms and parked cars.

It had worked before, and it could work again.

At the very least, it forced him to shower and put on nice clothes, to brush his teeth and hair and remember the feeling of being alive. With his face clean and his body dressed, he could almost pass for human instead of the walking gaping wound he felt like.

The bar was an old favourite of his. The lights were dim and low, the music soft and unobtrusive. It wasn't any kind of high class establishment, but it didn't need to be for his purpose. With any luck, he wouldn't be here long.

He walked to the bar and ordered a neat whiskey. Drinking in his fragile state was unwise, but he needed to feel the burn of it sliding down his throat to remind him he was still capable of feeling anything but grief. After a bracing sip, he took a seat on a barstool and surveyed the milling revellers. They all seemed carefree and happy in a way he resented, drinking and laughing and dancing with one another, lovesick like he’d once been.

One woman caught his eye on the other end of the bar. She was alone, like him. Nursing whiskey neat like him. Seeming just lonely enough to make his own crushing solitude feel less isolating. She noticed him watching her and smiled, a coy edge to it that made heat start to simmer in the core of him.

She wasn't Emily, but she had a similar fire in her eyes, the same challenge in her smile, a striking beauty to her face that stung as much as it excited.

If he could find her beautiful, then beauty was still attainable to him. Things could still be wonderful in some far off life.

He was so lost in his thoughts he didn't notice she'd stood, approaching him and sitting in the stool beside him.

“Waiting for someone?” she asked softly.

Yes, he thought, I’m waiting for Emily, and I’ll be waiting for as long as I live.

But for tonight, he would temporarily cease his waiting. So he smiled, shook his head, and said. “No. Are you?”

She grinned at him, and the expression was so reminiscent of Emily's sly smiles that it hurt. “I was. But I think I found what I was waiting for.”

The line was so cheesy and silly he couldn't help but huff out a laugh. “And what would that be?”

“Someone pretty. Someone who looks like they might have stories to tell.” She tilted her head. “You know anyone like that?”

“I might,” he shrugged. “I’m Spencer.”

She told him her name and he barely heard it but he knew he wouldn't forget it. He knew he was supposed to say something, so he breathed, “that's a beautiful name. It suits you.”

Her smile was like the sun and he almost believed he could feel warm again. “You're not so bad yourself.”

He’d never grown used to accepting a compliment so he ducked his head to hide his face. She was already talking again, saving him from the awkwardness of knowing how to reply.

“What brought you here tonight?”

The truth wasn't something he was ready to share with a stranger. He approximated it with, “I’m looking to feel a little less alone.”

Her hand on his was soft and warm. “What a coincidence. I’m here for the same thing.”

He couldn't fathom someone like her, so beautiful and confident and with such a warm presence, being lonely. So he raised his eyebrows. “You're really wanting for company?”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she laughed. “But yes. I am wanting for company. I just moved here.”

“What made you move here?”

“Nothing special about here. I needed to leave my life behind and threw a dart at a map of the states and moved where it landed. Well, technically it landed on Virginia, but I overruled that. This was close enough.”

Needed to leave her life behind.

She'd said it casually, but it was an interesting thing to note. Like him, she was lost, alone, hiding from something. Seeking comfort in the arms of strangers who wouldn’t stick around to fix her messes. He hummed thoughtfully. “Running from something?”

With a shrug, she murmured, “aren’t we all?”

“Most people,” he conceded.

“You?”

“I don’t like to think I am. But I don’t think I’d be here tonight if I wasn’t.”

She smiled at him slightly. He was only just starting to realise what else about the smile reminded him of Emily - the slight undercurrent of sadness to it. “That’s the nice thing about running.” she said after a pause. “Sometimes you look up and realise your feet took you somewhere good without you even realising it.”

“Are you somewhere good?”

“You’ll have to tell me,” she said softly, and leaned forwards, capturing his mouth in a kiss.

It took a moment for his brain to catch up with his situation before he was kissing her back. She tasted like whiskey, fiery and hot and intoxicating. He reached his palm up to rest it on her cheek and she made a soft noise of encouragement, sliding her tongue into his mouth.

The angle of it was awkward, their bodies angled towards each other and hanging off their barstools, but it didn’t make the kiss any less dizzying. It wasn’t Emily, no way to pretend for even a second it was, the taste of her and the shape of her and the feeling of her were all different. But it didn’t matter. It was company, and she was beautiful, and he knew in his heart Emily would want him to do this. She’d want him to find something that would help ease the pain. She would never want him to be lonely.

She pulled away and he gasped.

“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked breathlessly.

He nodded desperately, wrapping his hand around her wrist. “Yes. Please.”

“My place okay?”

“Yes. That’s perfect. Let’s go.”

She picked up her glass of whiskey and motioned for him to do the same. As soon as he did she wrapped her arm around his and linked them at the elbow, holding her drink aloft. It took a second to realise what she wanted, and when he did, he grinned. It was silly, childish, exactly what he needed. She nodded at him and, arms interlocked, they downed their drinks in unison. The liquor burned his throat like a sip of liquid flame and he struggled to keep his mouth neutral as he swallowed, watching as she wrinkled her nose. He couldn’t help his huffed laugh, giddy with the drink and the company.

She led him out of the bar, weaving them around the huddles of drunks and tables of friends in silence, and pounding guilt nestled behind his chest. Three weeks since the death of his lover, and he’d already found his way into the arms of someone else. What kind of man was he? Was his loyalty so thin?

But she turned towards him, glancing back with a mischief in her eyes that was achingly, throbbingly familiar, and he couldn’t make himself pull away.

He wasn’t a man of God. He didn’t believe Emily was watching down on him, in pain at the thought of him with another woman. She was simply gone. He couldn’t live for a ghost he didn’t believe in.

It was all hollow justification, really, convincing himself it wasn’t wrong to do the thing he already knew he would do. Her pulse under his fingertips was thrumming and alive, the sign of a heart that could pump blood and skin that was flush with warmth, and he needed to feel that. He needed to want something that could want him back.

The air was chilled as they stepped outside into the street and he stumbled into her as she came to a sudden stop. She giggled softly and wrapped her arm around him, steadying him and pulling him softly against her. Her body was a column of heat beside him, every breath she took causing her chest to rise and fall against him. Living, living, so alive, something real, something tangible. He’d known this woman all of 10 minutes and he loved her as much as he hated her for simply being alive.

It wasn’t fair on this poor woman, this beautiful woman, this kind woman to be drawing these constant comparisons. That thought, more than any other, almost gave him pause. He vowed to want her for what she was and not what she wasn’t. She was sweet, beautiful, haunted, said he had pretty eyes and looked like someone with stories. She had soft skin and lovely eyes, a smile that held secrets and promises that he wouldn’t get to know. He could want her for that.

She swung out her arm and a taxi pulled in beside them and they stumbled into the taxi, their bodies never leaving each other until she shuffled across the seat to the other side. Even then, her hand stayed on his arm and he revelled in the touch. She leaned forwards to share her address with the taxi driver and they drove into the night, the flickering street lights casting shadows on her face.

He couldn’t help it, he leaned forwards to kiss her again. Her lips were a temporary oblivion, something consuming to drown out the noise of his grief. A comfort in company, a reminder he wasn’t as alone as he felt. The guilt bubbling in his stomach was dulled by the softness of her lips, the gentle movement of her tongue, the sharp bite of her teeth on his lower lip. So different to Emily. Not different enough.

No.

She was her own person.

He pulled away with a gasp, her chest heaving to match his own.

“You’re good at that,” she mumbled.

He moved his thumb across her cheek. “So are you.”

She smiled and kissed him again, and he let himself sink into it, to feel the heat of another person against him, to let the sensations wash over him and through him and stir those familiar desires beneath his skin.

It was a quick taxi to her apartment and then he staggered onto the sidewalk like a man intoxicated. He was dizzy, though he only had the one drink. On a street he’d never been on before despite his years in the city, the buildings unfamiliar, his companion a stranger, and he felt like someone totally different. Someone else. Someone who could be casual and silly and risky and stupid. Not Spencer Reid. Not the grieving man.

His alienation from himself would be frightening if he had the fortitude to care. Instead, he called it a blessing and let his beautiful stranger pull him up the stairs.

Her apartment was four flights up, and by the time they reached her door, he was breathless. She laughed at the pink on his cheeks and he felt a hum of embarrassment course through him.

“Not laughing at you, baby, I promise,” she murmured as she turned to unlock the door. The term of endearment sent something hot running through his veins and his face only got warmer.

The door was pushed open, and she waited for him to enter before shutting it behind her.

Another moment of guilt and hesitation threatened to break him and he drowned it out by pulling her closer and capturing her mouth in a desperate kiss. She made a soft noise of surprise against him before melting into it, bringing her hand up to rest on his shoulder and pressing herself against him. It was soft and sweet and nothing he needed it to be so he deepened it, pressed her against the wall to gain the leverage to kiss her roughly. She let out another low sound of pleasure and it emboldened him, gave him the courage he needed to guide his hand up her thigh and under her skirt, running his fingertips along her hip.

She threw her head back with a soft “fuck,” letting her head rest against the wall as he moved his hand from resting on her hip to tracing over the line of her underwear and brought it down until it was ghosting along her core.

Her softness, pliability, was intoxicating and so different from what he was used to. Emily gave as good as she got, was bared teeth and strength and only going down with a fight. His beautiful stranger seemed happy to let him control the night, and he was grateful for it in that moment, grateful for the opportunity to have the control in the bedroom he’d lost over his life.

She gripped onto his shoulders hard as he pushed the panties aside and ran his fingers over the exposed flesh, spreading the accumulated arousal and circling over the sensitive nub at her apex.

He attached his lips to her neck, grazing his teeth across her collarbone and drinking in the sounds she made as he slowly inserted one finger, and then a second.

“Baby, god, feels so good,” she mumbled above him and the praise went straight to his cock, the taste of her skin against his tongue and the feeling of her around his fingers creating a dizzying cocktail of arousal in his abdomen. He was making her feel good, he was capable of creating pleasure in another, he could do something right even if his life felt wrong and hollow. He clung to that knowledge as he sucked a mark into her neck and basked in her whines.

Years of magic tricks gave him agile hands, a skill at profiling let him read a woman’s pleasure in her gasps and twitches, and it wasn't long before her moans were heightening in pitch and volume and her nails were pressing into his shoulders desperately. He felt a glow of pride as she came undone around him, moaning his name in shaking cadence. He pulled his fingers from her carefully and felt a bolt of arousal at the sight of her, her skirt rucked up around her waist, her cheeks pink and her eyeliner smudged.

“You have wonderful hands,” she murmured after a few moments of loaded silence.

He laughed roughly. “I’ve been told that before,” he mumbled, and didn't mention the woman who’d told him.

“Let me make you feel good too, baby,” she said, and her widened eyes and desperate tone made it sound very much like a plea.

His head was spinning, body alight with lust, too full of want for the guilt to make a dent, and he nodded. He was sick, sick, sick in the head, his agreement a condemnation of himself, and so he nodded.

“Yes. Yes, okay. Let's go to the bedroom,” he tried to speak through the dizzy desire and warring self-loathing and his voice came out thin.

She frowned, eyes big and concerned and placed her hand on his cheek. “Are you okay, baby? You don't have to do anything you don't want to.”

He shook his head almost violently, causing her hand to drop to his shoulder. He felt its absence like a wound. “No. Please. I want this, I want you.”

She still looked hesitant so he kissed her, feeling the tension leave her body as his tongue explored her mouth. The relief of her wordless acquiescence was physical. He needed this, he needed her, he needed his life to dissolve in a melody of moans until he couldn't remember anything but the present, until everything faded but touch and heat and want.

He couldn't bear the weight of his mind alone. She might be a stranger, but he needed her. And curse Emily's voice in his head chiding him softly both for using this poor woman and for so quickly finding solace in the body of another. He was using her, sure, but she was using him too. It wasn’t like she was in love with him, and he wasn’t in love with her either. It was a one night stand, not marriage. And he and Emily had never labelled their relationship, had never been able to communicate well enough to even discuss exclusivity and all of that aside, she was fucking dead so really she’d left him first and didn’t have the right to be judging him.

He was talking so much to the Emily in his head he was starting to remember that he was still in the window for schizophrenia. 

He kissed the woman more desperately, drowning out that thought. She made a keening, broken sound against him, and it temporarily brought him to the present. 

He took a hold of her wrist, still resting against his collarbone and stumbled back. “Bedroom, please,” he begged, too far gone to be self-conscious of the pleading tone. 

She smiled, her pupils blown wide and her lips darkened from the bruising force of the kiss. “Come on, baby.”

She took a stumbling step towards him and he felt a surge of pride he’d taken her apart so thoroughly. He was still a man, after all, and she was a woman, a stupidly beautiful woman he was undeserving of, and it felt good to know he was bringing her pleasure. 

He let himself be led like a lamb by its shepherd to her bedroom. It was clean, minimal, the bedroom of a flight risk who didn’t want anything tying them down. No photographs, no personal effects, nothing in the room that didn’t serve a utility. 

The profiler in his brain was switched off by her hands moving to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them with nimble fingers. Once his shirt hung loose, her touch moved to his bare chest, tracing across the planes of his torso. He felt unavoidably self-conscious under her scrutiny, but she looked at him with such a heat in her eyes he couldn’t help but know she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

He still wanted to know what demons had led her to him, to seeking solace in the arms of a man she didn’t know, but he shoved the thought down. She was well within her right to want a one night stand, she didn’t have to be damaged just because he was. And besides, she’d started removing her own shirt, and it was hard to think about anything other than her chest, framed by a delicate black brassiere.

She caught his heated gaze because she laughed softly. “Like what you see, baby?”

He nodded stupidly. “God, so much.”

And then she was kissing him, walking him backwards towards the bed where he was all too happy to go.

His knees hit the back of the bed and he dropped onto it, looking up at her as she undid the button fastening her skirt and let it fall to the floor. Her underwear matched the bra, and she wore them well, the lines and curves of her silhouette enough to intoxicate him. He leaned forwards to kiss her abdomen softly and she gasped. Their positioning, her above him with his head against her stomach, was some strange parody of worship. In a way, she was a god to him. He was giving himself as an offering in futile hope of salvation, devoting himself to a beautiful concept of a woman. She was nothing real and everything wonderful. A perfect stranger.

Her hands wove themselves into his hair and he groaned out his oblation into her skin.

“I need you, baby, please,” she whispered into the still air of the room, and he was her willing servant.

He sat back, and before his hands could reach down to unfasten his pants, she was undoing them for him, her fingers trembling as she fiddled with his button and then his fly.

There was something unsettling about her movements, and he stilled. “You okay?” he murmured.

“Yeah. Yeah, just want you,” she mumbled as he shimmied out of his pants.

There was something she wasn’t telling him, but he didn’t have time to ask before she was dropping to straddle his lap, his cock only separated from her arousal by the flimsy fabric of their undergarments. He might have been a genius, but even he found it hard to think about anything much with a woman in his lap, her hips shifting against his and sending his senses into overdrive.

He begged a silent plea of forgiveness to the Emily in his head. She remained stonily silent. He took it as permission and put his hands around the waist of his perfect stranger, using his leverage to twist them both until she was lying beneath him on the bed.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly, and the tender words felt like more of a betrayal than the sex.

“So are you,” she whispered, and he kissed her gently. The kiss was short, chaste, before his lips were moving - kissing down her jaw, the column of her throat, her chest, her abdomen, her stomach. She gasped softly as he reached the waistband of her panties, and he lingered there just a moment, looking up at the rapt expression on her face.

He noticed, not for the first time, how very sad she looked behind the desire. Maybe she knew he was thinking about someone else. More likely, she was thinking about someone else. It wasn’t his business. He understood what it was like to need to drown out the ghosts.

It was the echo of that thought that played in his head as he slowly pulled down her panties. Drown the ghost, make her feel good, bask in the warmth of another, remember what it means to live and breathe and feel. Simple instructions, a defined victory condition, something black and white and real. He tossed her underwear aside and looked up at her, propped up on her shoulders to watch as he exposed her.

He must have stayed there a moment too long, because she made a soft, plaintive sound and mumbled, “Baby, please. Don’t tease me.”

“Sorry,” he grinned, not sorry at all if it made her call him baby in that desperate, whining voice, and licked a stripe up her core.

She made a harsh, pleading noise at the contact, and he felt it like lightning under his skin. He pushed away the thoughts of the sounds Emily had once made, and moved to suck gently on her clit, summoning more sweet whines from her lips.

Her hands came down to twist in his hair and he groaned against her. He felt hot, shivery, alternating waves of lust and guilt rocking through him like a boat tossed about through the surf. Something about the sheer wrongness of it was only heightening his desire. His grief was getting tangled in his need and his body was turning all of it into heat and want.

Eventually, she gasped raggedly and used her grip on his hair to pull him off of her, looking down at him with eyes turned the inky black shade of lust. “Need you, now, please, baby,” she groaned, and what man could say no to that?

He nodded, dizzy and hazy, and lifted himself onto his knees. “Condom?” he managed to force out through the white noise of his mind, and she sat up to lean over to her bedside drawer, rifling through a little box to pull out a Trojan.

He pulled off his own underwear hastily as she unwrapped it, and hissed as she leaned forwards to roll it onto him. He hadn’t realised how hard he was until her soft hands were ghosting over him, and the touch felt like little lines of fire over his skin. He groaned thickly and let his head fall back as she stroked him experimentally over the latex.

He didn’t want to wait any longer, couldn’t risk being still when the thoughts of everything he was hiding from could come back. Emily was being quiet in his skull, probably furious at his betrayal, but it was still quiet, no voice in his head but his own. So, he gently pushed her back until she was lying against the pillow, and put his weight on one arm as he guided himself to the centre of her arousal. He teased for a bit, sliding his length along her a few times to hear her breath hitch.

Finally, slowly, he pushed in, his eyelids fluttering as he was constricted by the tightness inside of her. It hadn’t even been that long since he’d had sex, but after years of having it almost daily, his body had grown accustomed to a certain frequency, and the tight heat felt like home.

As soon as he was fully immersed inside her, he let out a ragged, hoarse groan. Her own thin whine was in harmony with his, the musicality of their pleasure intertwining as their bodies did.

His vision blurred as he started to move, the friction sending sparks up through his skin as she gasped his name underneath him.

“Oh, fuck, Emily,” he groaned in return.

He didn’t realise what he’d done until she stilled completely under him.

“Emily?” she said quietly.

It was like a bucket of ice water had been thrown over him, every nerve going dead with the shock.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, and it felt so inadequate to the scale of his mistake.

She swallowed under him, her throat bobbing. Something was playing out behind her eyes, something not even years of profiling could clue him into. Eventually, she shook her head, the movement minute.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I understand. I can be Emily. If that’s what you need, I can be Emily.”

The words broke his heart. Who was this woman? Who had broken her down to the point she was willing to contort herself to be another woman for a man she’d never met?

“Does that really matter?” she whispered. “No one’s watching. I’m saying it’s okay.”

He shook his head. “No. You’re not Emily. You’re you, and that’s a good thing to be. Don’t- you don’t- I’m an asshole. My head is a mess right now, it’s nothing to do with you. You’re wonderful, you’re beautiful, you’re kind. I want you.

She smiled thinly and brought her hand up to rest against his face. “It’s okay, baby. It’s one night. I’m whoever you want me to be, okay? Whatever you need. Let me take care of you.”

He groaned slightly, a war in his torso as her words cast a sick sort of spell on him. The person he wanted to be fought the battle, screamed at him that she obviously had her own demons, that he’d be taking advantage of what must be a self-esteem issue, to be allowing him - asking him - to pretend she was another woman. “It’s not right,” he mumbled.

“Why?” he said desperately. “Why would that be okay?”

“We’re using each other, that’s all this is, right? I don’t know your life or your last name or your job or your friends, you’re whoever I want you to be tonight. I can be whoever you need me to be. It’s only fair.”

Her words made a strange sort of sense, or maybe he was choosing to believe that to stymie the guilt bubbling behind his ribs. He was using her, plain and simple, no matter whose name he was saying. If she didn’t care, why should he?

Because you’re better than that, the Emily in his head murmured disapprovingly. But who was she to talk when she’d left him all alone, when she’d lied to all of them to follow a terrorist without thinking of the wound she’d be leaving behind. So he nodded. “Okay. Okay. Are you… Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes. Please,” she said, eyes big and pleading, and he gave only another cursory thought to wondering if she was okay before starting to move again. She wasn’t Emily, there wasn’t really a way to pretend that she was, unless he closed her eyes and that seemed too sick even for him. But the feeling of it all was still so achingly familiar - the heat, the tightness, the slick sounds of bodies connecting and the shaking gasps of pleasure.

He couldn’t pretend she was Emily, but he could pretend he loved her and she loved him. And with the way she looked at him, her jaw slack in ecstasy and her pupils blown with lust, it wasn’t hard. She looked beautiful, genuinely divine in the throes of her desire, in that way people only do at their most unrestrained. He leaned forwards and kissed her, drinking in the sounds she made against his lips and revelling in her hand gripping his shoulder like he was a lifeline, the thread connecting her to reality.

“Baby, oh, baby, I’m close, please, just like that, fuck,” the words were mumbled against his lips, garbled among gasps and soft whines, and it took a moment to decipher what she was saying. But once he’d decoded it, he glowed in his pride.

“Come for me whenever you want to, sweetheart,” he groaned, “Let me make you feel good.”

His tone was tender, fragile, delicate, the words of lovers and not strangers, and maybe that was the fantasy he was fulfilling with her. One where he loved freely and received it in return like he never could with Emily and her shroud of secrets. He’d pretended with her, and he was pretending again now, playing the role like he was born for it.

And when, maybe seconds or years later, her noises climbed in pitch and she tightened around him, he pushed her hair out of her face gently and fucked her like he knew her beyond the feeling of her body and the sounds of her bliss.

Her nails dug into him, and she called him, “baby,” again in that sweet, overwhelmed voice, and it was that which pushed him over the edge to his own undoing, his rhythm faltering and stuttering as he twitched inside of her.

This, the release, the moment where the world stopped and all he could feel was beautiful, perfect pleasure, was why he'd gone out tonight. A simulacrum of hydromorphone all released in one, lovely moment. One addiction swapped for another, oblivions traded. Her hand ghosted back over his cheekbone as he slowed and stopped, his head leaning into her palm as he stilled.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he laughed, breathlessly, smoothing out her hair before pulling out of her with a wince.

She sat up and watched as he tied off the condom. “I know, but I want to. I needed this. Let me take that, I’ll bin it in the bathroom.”

He smiled weakly and handed it to her, watching as she walked into the little ensuite next to the room. She shut the door behind her, and he sat awkwardly for a moment, his nakedness suddenly visceral in the solitude of another person’s bedroom. He stood and found his underwear, discarded next to the bed, shimmying into them as he waited for her to be done. He never knew what to do in this part, never knew the etiquette of the afterglow. Eventually, he heard the toilet flushing and the sound of the tap running, and she emerged from the bathroom clad in a short white satin robe, tied loosely at the waist.

“I’m going to have a cigarette,” she said with a little smile. “Care to join me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he said, his voice hoarse, and followed her outside to the balcony. It was nice, a wrought iron railing shielding them from falling into the city skyline, two chairs nestled around a small round glass table. On it lay a crystalline ashtray, stained with dead embers, and a small pack of Marlboro Golds.

She sat on the far chair, motioning for him to sit too, and picked up the pack, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it up. She took a long drag and let her head fall back as she exhaled the smoke.

“I know it’s a bad habit,” she said quietly. “But I can’t bring myself to quit.”

He tilted his head as he watched her take another drag. “I used to tell my mother every cigarette she smoked was 6 less minutes she’d get to spend with me.”

“The way I live my life, I’m not expecting that to be an issue,” she shrugged.

“How do you live your life to expect to die young?”

She gestured at him. “Bringing strange men I meet while alone at a bar to my apartment, for one,” she deadpanned, and he couldn’t help his exhale of a laugh.

“Mm, touche, I suppose,” he sighed. “What makes you like it?”

She raised her eyebrows. “The cigarettes or the strange men?”

“Both, I guess.”

“It’s the same reason for both. Makes me feel like I have some control over things. Forces me to… confront my mortality, to get comfortable with the idea of death. It can’t scare me if I’m inviting it.”

He frowned. “You’re suicidal?”

A long pause where she seemed to be thinking, her eyes fixed on the twinkling lights of the city around them. “No. I’m not. But I’ve spent a lot of time living in fear of things that are inevitable, and I’m tired of that.”

He couldn’t help himself from wanting to pry. It was like that, sometimes, in the afterglow of sex. After the intimacy, the bedroom could become a confessional. “What inevitabilities are you scared of?”

She sighed and took another drag of the cigarette. “I married my high school sweetheart a year after we graduated. Our relationship was… fine. Good. He was the only man I’d ever been with, the only one I knew how to be with. Even when I knew he was having an affair, I couldn’t bring myself to let go of him. He was an asshole, sometimes, and a cheat, but sometimes he was so wonderful. He worked and supported us the whole time I was in college, he’d plan these extravagant dates and trips for us, always remembered birthdays and anniversaries. And I’d been with him since I was so young, I didn’t even know who I was if I wasn’t his wife. Even when I knew he didn’t love me anymore and I barely loved him, I stuck around. In the end, he left me. He got the other woman pregnant and owned up to everything I already knew. I didn’t even have the guts to tell him that none of it was news, because I felt so pathetic for tolerating it. That night, I quit my job, threw a dart at a map and moved here. Just like that. I didn’t want to be scared anymore. I wanted to just… live.”

He was quiet for a long time. “I’m sorry,” he said eventually, and it was a pale pleasantry against the scale of her admission.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “Not like it’s your fault. Just illustrating the point. I knew the relationship was over years before it actually was. But I was so scared of the unknown I refused to admit it. I’m not going to do that anymore.”

“That’s a good philosophy,” he said softly.

She smiled at him, the look stained with melancholy. “Yeah, I like to think so.”

The silence dragged, unobtrusive and comfortable as she ashed her cigarette and lit up a second. “Who’s Emily?” she asked eventually, and he startled.

He watched her hands as she let the cigarette dangle between her fingers. “It’s a long story.”

“I have time,” she pressed. “Story for a story.”

“I have a… stressful job. One where I have to travel a lot. And I had a coworker, Emily. We started sleeping together as a way to let off steam on tough days. I fell in love with her. I think she loved me too. We never said it. She’s a… flight risk, I guess, runs away at the first sign of anything emotionally scary, and any time things between us got too real, she’d freeze me out. I learned to keep my feelings to myself. But I was in love with her. There’s nothing I wouldn’t have done to keep her near me.”

“That’s hard,” his perfect stranger murmured. “Where is she now?"

“She’s dead,” he said flatly, as if keeping the emotions from his voice would stop it from hurting him. “She was murdered.”

“Oh,” she said softly. “Fuck, that’s- I’m sorry. That’s horrible.”

He shook his head, the ugly bitterness in his chest building up and spilling from his mouth. “She knew. She knew he was coming after her, she knew what he was capable of, and she never told me. I could have done something, and she took that chance away from me. And I’m so angry at her, but I can’t be angry at her because she’s gone. What use is it being furious with a ghost?”

“It’s normal to have mixed feelings when a loved one dies, baby,” she says softly. “In a way, she left you, even if she didn’t want to. It’s hard. It’s a breakup with no room for self-reflection and no way to change things. The loss of your future and the shadow over the past. There’s a lot of different stuff going on in your head right now. There’s no wrong way to feel about it all.”

He knew that, was intellectually versed on the complications and machinations of grief. He’d seen all kinds of people in the throes of their losses - mothers who’d lost children when their last words had been in anger, husbands whose wives had stormed out and never made it home to talk it out, children who’d snuck out and returned to find their parents dead. He was acquainted with the intricate weaving of love and guilt and grief, had read every study on managing loss, had sat in the room with countless people in the seconds after learning their loved one had been taken from them.

And yet, there still lingered a revolting feeling of wrongness in his grief. For all that he knew the way he was behaving and feeling and coping was normal - all of it, the sex, the cravings, the depression, the bitter, cruel anger - he couldn't help but sink into the belief he was wrong for all of it.

But the look on her face, wide eyed and earnest, her brows slightly furrowed as she watched him intensely, made him believe her. This was a woman acquainted with loss, he could tell. He didn't have to pry to know that. She understood him in a way the journal articles didn't quite seem to.

Maybe, for all his overreliance on academia to navigate the world, he needed people like everyone else did. Emily had taught him that loving was worth the agony of losing.

He was quiet for a while, thinking through her words.

“Why were you willing to pretend to be her?” he asked.

She pursed her lips. “I liked what we were doing. I didn’t want you to stop. And you seemed like you needed it.”

“That's it? I mean, I called you the wrong name, I would assume that would be a dealbreaker for anyone.”

“I'm not under any illusions about what this was. It was a beautiful thing, but nothing to do with who I am or who you are and what we deserve. Just… people fucking for the sake of it, like they’ve done through all of human history. I wanted it to be good for you, just like I could tell you wanted it to be good for me. It makes it feel better if you're both getting what you want. And I've been a lot of people for a lot of people. It doesn't bother me.”

It still didn't seem quite right to him, but he nodded anyway. He just watched her for a moment, watched the movement of her irises as she looked at the shimmering skyline of the city, the careless elegance of her cigarette drags, the way her robe split over where she crossed her legs to reveal the soft skin of her thighs. She seemed solid in a way he deeply envied, a steady contrast to his own flickering identity.

“Thank you,” he said softly before he even thought the words. “Tonight could have been a bad night. But it wasn't. This has been the easiest night since-” he swallowed, stopping the thought there. “I feel… lighter.”

She made a quiet humming noise in response. “I feel the same. You're a nice person to be around, baby.”

He flushed a little at the endearment, a little token of affection she seemed so at ease sharing. She was a forthcoming person, he was noticing - quick to give. Her thoughts, her kindness, her love. It was an interesting counterweight against a scarcity in her home that spoke to solitude and distance. In just the short time he'd known her, she had shown her share of little contradictions. Clearly self-assured, but willing to pretend to be another woman to please a stranger. Clearly loving, but isolated and lonely.

Before he could stop himself, he said, “I'd like to get to know you better.”

The statement was innocent - he truly meant exactly what he said. She was, in many ways, fascinating to him, and solving her was a welcome distraction from trying to solve his own issues. He liked being around her. But her eyes widened and then crinkled sadly.

“I'm not- you're sweet, baby, and you're handsome, too. Your Emily was lucky to have you. But I'm not ready to be anyone's love anytime soon. And I don’t think you're ready for that either.”

He shook his head. “Oh! No, I didn’t mean- no, I'm not ready for anything like that, I'm- I just meant… I don’t have many friends, or at least friends who didn't know her. And you said at the bar you were lonely too, and I just thought- I'd like to be your friend. If that's okay with you.”

She looked at him for a while, as if trying to find a double meaning behind his irises. Then, wonderfully, she nodded, her lips quirking up at the edges. “I'd like that, baby. Let’s be friends.”

He felt a strange sense of gratefulness bubble in his chest. This could be something good, even if it came from something bad. He held out a hand to shake. “Friends.”

She shook it with a little laugh. “Friends.”

Trying his luck, he added, “And if friends involves doing,” he gestured back towards the bedroom, “that, I wouldn't complain.”

She raised her eyebrows and ashed her cigarette. “Give me a second to brush my teeth and we can demo it, try out our new friendship arrangement?”

He nodded quickly. “Yes. Please. In the name of trial and error, I think we should definitely do that.”

She stood and leaned over to kiss him gently on the forehead. “Wait for me in the bedroom, baby. We've got some friendship to do.”

He watched her go inside. her robe swaying softly with her movements. Emily was quiet in his head, but the silence didn't feel reproachful. He allowed the grief to take hold of him for a second.

And then he followed the perfect stranger inside.

[lookingforariaa]

Attack On Titan: Workplace Romance AU ᝰ.ᐟ

ᯓ★ Y/N is a top gossip columnist at the magazine Quill, but her coworkers are convinced she’s hiding some juicy secret to always land on the front page. Little do they know, she’s secretly dating Eren Jaeger, the magazine’s annoyingly hot CEO. While Y/N works overtime to keep it under wraps, Eren thinks “discretion” means making everything a flirty game. With her coworkers watching her every move and Eren gleefully toeing the line, Y/N is starting to wonder—how long until the real gossip columnist gets out-scooped?

ceo!eren jaeger x employee!reader

You were typing away at your computer in your light pink office chair—one of those ultra-satisfying chairs that squeaked just enough to remind you it was doing its job, and made you feel like you were floating on a cloud of marshmallows.

A fluffy white pillow was wedged behind your back, offering that sweet, almost therapeutic support that made you feel like you were part-time journalist, part-time office chair connoisseur. Honestly, you’d never felt more at home in an office setting. Sure, your job was basically to stalk celebrities for a living, but at least you were doing it from the coziest nook in the entire building.

The gossip columnist team’s office? A Pinterest board of pastel-colored dreams—more comfy living room than corporate cubicle. No one else got to write gossip surrounded by throw pillows and candles.

You finished typing up your latest scoop—something about Aidan West, a popular actor known for his smoldering looks and slightly questionable life choices—who had been caught making out with his co-star in his car. While married.

Oh, and the car was parked on a busy street, practically begging for a photographer to snap the money shot. You decorated the column with pictures of the makeout sesh that were definitely taken by someone who had a clear view of everything.

You even included a particularly unflattering one of Aidan looking like he was mid-kiss and mid-crisis, and slapped a question at the end, as always, to leave the readers wondering: Is this a case of true love, or just another day of bad decisions in Hollywood?

You leaned back in your chair, swiping your fingers over the keys like an artist putting the finishing touches on their masterpiece. You took a moment to admire your work. Classic Y/N. Another gossip column ready to rock the world of the rich and famous.

Then, with a satisfying click, you sent it off to be published.

You could practically hear the storm brewing on the other end of the phone. Aidan’s publicist was likely already dialing the number of your office, getting ready to unleash a 20-minute rant about how this was an invasion of privacy, how his “personal life” was off-limits, blah blah blah. You knew the drill.

The angry, breathless phone call would come. The team would shout at you about boundaries—while ignoring the fact that Aidan was making out in broad daylight in a car that was parked on a main street like it was an undercover mission to make headlines.

Honestly, if you were trying that hard to keep a secret, maybe you should try, you know, hiding? In an alley? Under a blanket? Maybe next time, try not to let your tongue get tangled in your co-star’s while parked next to a paparazzi hotspot, Aidan.

"Done with your piece, Y/N?" Edith asked, leaning over her desk with a smile that could’ve melted an iceberg. You could tell she was genuinely fond of you.

And, honestly, who could blame her? You were the epitome of a stereotypical gossip columnist—pretty, thin, charming, with a smile that could light up a room (or a red carpet), and of course, your stories were always right there on the front page. If anyone deserved a "Most Likely to Ruin a Celebrity's Day" award, it was you, and Edith knew it.

"Yup, done," you replied, pushing your chair back a little and stretching, the smug satisfaction of a job well done settling in.

"Great, ah. I love you." Edith practically gushed, her voice syrupy sweet as she reached over to ruffle your hair. You couldn't help but laugh a little as her fingers tousled your perfectly styled locks. But you also secretly enjoyed the affection.

Edith was the head of the gossip team, a woman who could make or break a career with a single look. And she loved you. "Thanks, Edith," you said, running your hand through your hair after she pulled away. "Glad to have made your day."

"Oh, you did more than that," Edith said with a grin, eyes glinting as she glanced over at your computer screen. "You guys should learn from her," she continued, her voice raising just a touch to get the attention of the other three desks in the room.

The room was arranged in a square—two desks on one side, two on the other, facing each other like some kind of office showdown. Edith’s desk was at the head of the square.

You could feel your colleagues' eyes on you as Edith made her proclamation, and you almost wanted to laugh at the look of mixed jealousy and loathe on their faces. They'd always been jealous of your exclusives, and to be honest, you didn’t blame them. You were kind of a walking goldmine of celebrity scandals.

"She's the only one on my team that gets so many exclusives," Edith continued, practically glowing with pride. "Ugh, I’m so proud of you.

You could feel the weight of their envy. You could almost hear the mental sighs as they all shifted uncomfortably in their seats, trying not to look too sour. Of course, they didn’t know how much you enjoyed this kind of attention.

It was like a nice little bonus to your daily hustle. You put in the work—digging up dirt, charming sources, and cracking open secrets that others couldn’t touch—and now it was paying off.

"I’m just doing my job," you said, giving her a playful grin. "But thank you, Edith. It means a lot."

The other three glanced at each other, one of them named Ellie rolling their eyes dramatically. Edith caught it, though, and shot her a look that had her scrambling to pretend she was busy.

"You all could learn a thing or two." Edith added with a sigh, looking back at you with that fond gaze. Before getting up from her chair, Edith balanced a heavy stack of papers in her arms like a professional juggler. With one hand, she grasped the pile, and with the other, she pulled open the glass door to the office, the soft click of it echoing through the room.

"Where are you going?" Ellie called out, twirling her chair around to watch Edith head for the door. You could hear the annoyance in her voice, like she was still salty from Edith’s earlier praise of you.

"There's a board meeting with all the team leaders and the CEO. I'll be back in half an hour for lunch break," Edith said, her tone cheery. Ellie just nodded, though it was clear from the look on her face she was already over it.

As soon as Edith left the room, Ellie groaned audibly, rolling her chair back like it had a mind of its own and sliding it toward the desks on the other side of the room. Her desk was next to yours, and you both knew it was like the universe had conspired to make her loathe every second of it.

Honestly, it wasn't even a stretch to say that Ellie hated you. The three of them, Emma, Elena, and Ellie, had always been like this tight-knit little squad. You were the odd one out—invited to a few things just because they had to include you. But the underlying tension? You could cut it with a knife.

"Fuck, whenever she brings up the CEO's name… god," Ellie groaned from the other side, almost sounding like she was about to have a moment of religious revelation. "He's so hot, I can't even."

You could practically hear the eye roll from across the room, but you chose to ignore it, swiping at your phone mindlessly to pretend you're busy. You didn't need to give them the satisfaction of knowing you were paying attention.

"I know, right? God, one time I saw him walking down the halls... he's so gorgeous. Those emerald eyes," Emma chimed in, her voice all breathy and dreamy, probably twirling her blonde hair around her finger like she thought that made her more charming.

"I talked to him once! Even his voice is so soothing, and ughhhh!" Elena squealed from the far corner. You could imagine her fanning herself like she’d just encountered a literal Greek god in the flesh.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, feeling a bit smug as the conversation played out on the other side of the room. There was something oddly satisfying about hearing those women—who barely tolerated you—fawn over Eren. They were practically worshipping the ground he walked on, all while you sat there, silently relishing the fact that he belonged to you.

It was like some sort of secret victory, a quiet reminder of your position in this weird little office dynamic. You didn’t have to announce it to the world, but knowing that you were the one who had his attention—it made you feel like you had something they would never have. That kind of power? It was intoxicating.

You leaned back in your chair, a smug little grin pulling at your lips. How lucky you were. Not just because of the high-profile job you had, not just because of your talents and connections, but because Eren Jaeger—the CEO, the legend, the man with the emerald eyes—was obsessed with you.

He would go to the ends of the earth for you. Hell, he’d burn the entire world down just to catch a single glimpse of your face.

You almost laughed at the thought. The guy was so over-the-top obsessed when it came to you. It was a bit ridiculous, honestly. He would drop everything at the slightest hint that you needed him.

He was yours, body and soul, and you couldn’t help but feel proud about it. While they were dreaming about him, you were living the dream.

And that? That was a kind of power no one else could touch.

"Y/N," Edith called as she walked into the room, her grey hair pulled back in a neat bun, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. Without even glancing at you, she pushed them up impatiently, the way she always did when she was busy flipping through some important document, her fingers sticky from licking them to turn the pages. "Eren's calling for you—something about the recent article you published."

"Oh, alright." You flashed a quick, mischievous smile at Ellie, who was practically scowling at the sight of you. The sour look on her face made you bite back a laugh—it was so satisfying to watch her stew in jealousy.

With a slight roll of your eyes, you grabbed your phone and headed for the door, walking with a confident swing in your step. Before exiting the room, you quickly applied a coat of lip gloss to make sure you looked perfect—you never knew when you'd need to throw a dazzling smile his way.

You could practically feel the eyes of your coworkers burning a hole in your back as you made your way to the elevator, stepping into the opulent space as the doors closed behind you. You pressed the button for the 15th floor, allowing the soft hum of the elevator to mask your thoughts as you prepared yourself for whatever Eren might have in store.

When the elevator doors opened, you stepped out into the familiar sleekness of his floor—everything about this place screamed power, prestige, and Eren Jaeger. You approached his office with purpose, walking past the impressive glass walls and knocking lightly on the door before entering.

Eren was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to you, looking out over the city with his hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored suit. His hair was tied back into the usual bun, the sharp lines of his face softened by the glow of the afternoon sun.

You cleared your throat lightly, standing at the door, your lips pulling into a playful, innocent smile. "Hi, sir. You called for me?"

"Ah, yes. Yes, I did," Eren said with a smirk, playing along with the unspoken game you had both become experts in. His voice, low and smooth, gave you chills. "I needed your help with something, actually. Would you come here for a second?"

You grinned, not missing a beat. You walked over to his massive desk, gliding past it, the soft click of your heels the only sound in the room. You rounded it carefully, pausing just in front of him, where a series of sketches were laid out. They were potential logos for the new column that was set to launch in Quill.

You bent forward slightly, inspecting the designs, your fingers hovering over a few, teasing them with the thought of selecting the best one. Eren’s towering figure loomed behind you, the warmth of his presence unmistakable.

Then, his hand landed on the desk with a heavy thud—an action that immediately drew your attention. But the real shock came when his other hand slid down your waist, pulling you closer. He leaned down, his lips barely brushing the edge of your ear as his voice dropped to a whisper.

"Which one do you think looks the best?" Eren asked, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. The touch was gentle, but you could feel the heat radiating from him, pressing you against the hard edge of the desk.

You felt your breath hitch slightly as his proximity intensified. You smirked to yourself, trying to keep the situation light. "You needed my help with this?" You whispered back, keeping the playful tone in your voice, even as his fingers tightened around your waist.

"You couldn’t have figured this out yourself?" You chuckled softly, your hand lifting on its own accord to wrap around the side of his neck, fingers grazing his hair, pulling lightly at the ends. The movement pressed you closer, your back now flush against his chest, solid and unyielding.

Eren’s laugh rumbled in his chest, warm and dark, the kind of laugh that always seemed to promise something more. “Actually…” His voice was thick with amusement, as he leaned even closer, his breath skimming your ear, sending another shudder through you. “I needed help with something else…”

He swiftly turned you around, your breath hitching in anticipation as he lifted you effortlessly onto the desk, the cool surface contrasting with the heat radiating between you. His hands gripped your thighs, prying your legs open and positioning himself between them with an urgency that made your heart race.

His lips crashed against yours, a frenzied hunger igniting the moment. Soft sighs escaped you, merging with his groans.

It had been an agonizing week apart—a business trip that felt like an eternity. Each day without him had worn on you, but now, with his body so close, the need you’d tried to suppress surged to the surface. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper against you, coaxing him to close the distance that had felt insurmountable just moments ago.

His grip on your waist tightened, possessive yet electrifying, while the other hand tenderly caressed your cheek, grounding you amidst the rising tension.

“God, I missed you so much,” he breathed into the kiss, his voice thick with desire. The warmth of his breath fanned over your lips, sending shivers down your spine.

“I missed you too,” you gasped, the words barely escaping as he began to trail kisses down your neck, each touch igniting a fire beneath your skin. His hand, once resting on your cheek, now slid down your body, fingertips grazing over your curves before venturing beneath your mini skirt, teasingly caressing your inner thigh.

“Did you really have to go away for a whole week?” you whined, your voice a playful mix of frustration and longing as you pulled his head up gently, your foreheads meeting in a tender connection.

“Trust me, I was dying without you,” he admitted, his voice warm, laced with sincerity. He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the closeness and the feel of your presence. “Everywhere I looked, I saw you. Your laugh, your smile—they haunted me every moment.”

You felt a flutter in your chest at his words, a rush of affection mingling with the lingering tension in the air. “You have no idea how much I counted the days,” you replied softly, your gaze locked onto his. The truth of your feelings hung heavily between you, the longing palpable as you both shared the weight of the past week apart.

He smiled, his expression was a mix of relief and adoration, and you simply couldn’t help but lean in closer, your lips just inches from his. “I’m so happy I’m with you now,” he whispered, his breath a warm caress against your skin.

With that, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss that deepened with every second. You could feel his passion envelop you, as if he were trying to pour a week’s worth of missing you into this single moment. His hands moved to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair and pulling.

One of your hand went to the desk to support you and hold you up while the other went to grab at his forearm which was wrapped around your waist.

“Ah, Eren, I needed to ask you one thing—” Edith’s voice drifted into the room as she walked in, eyes still fixed on a stack of documents, completely oblivious to the scene unfolding before her.

Your heart dropped, the pulse in your ears drowning out everything else. Oh no. No, no, no, you thought, the thrill of your stolen moment vanishing in an instant. You felt the color drain from your face as you registered the look on Edith’s face.

“Oh my—” Edith froze, her mouth slightly open as she finally looked up from her papers and saw the two of you—very much entangled, with you perched on Eren’s desk, your face inches from his, his hand resting a little too intimately on your waist.

Her face went through a series of emotions—shock, realization, maybe even a little amusement—before she stammered, turning beet red. “I’m… so sorry… I’ll, um, leave,” she managed, holding up her papers in some vague, futile attempt to block her view as she quickly backed out.

The door closed with an audible click, leaving you both in stunned silence. You exchanged a wide-eyed look with Eren, who broke into a guilty, lopsided grin.

“Well…” he murmured, scratching the back of his neck. “So much for keeping secrets.”

Fuck.

[naomi-nana]

hi ! how does suo, sakura and kaji (of u write him) when they annoy the hell out of the reader (playfully) and the reader doesn’t want to talk to him anymore how do they comfort the sulking reader?? thank u! i hope you dont die

apology (un)accepted! . wind breaker

where wbk men annoys the hell out of you and you sulk. how do they convince you to forgive them?

featuring : suou hayato, sakura haruka, kaji ren.

cw : fluff fluff fluff, sakura and kaji not being able to apologize, kisses in suou(i just like him ok)

a/n : OHMYGOD ITS ALMOST THE END OF THE YEAR—and i just wrote this?!?! this request has been sitting in my inbox for MONTHS... anon u might as well be dusty rn😕😕🙏 also that last part... r u threatening me😱😱

KAJI REN :

seriously? you're upset over that? he knows you're a little sensitive sometimes, but he didn't expect you to be this sensitive. he just put your water bottle on top of the fridge and laughs at you because you couldn't reach it, and now you're mad at him because of it. he's been 'trying' to apologize, but you would just ignore him.

well, of course, since his apology attempt is just him trying to make small talk with you. he's not good with it, okay? he's been trying to get you to talk just atleast a little, offering you one of his candies, sitting besides you, and even took off his headphone to put besides you and act as if he had lost it so you could give it back to him. he was sure you both would talk like normal again after that, but he was oh so wrong.

you were still upset.

after many unsuccessful 'apology' attempts, he pulled out his phone from his pocket and text his friend, kusumi, to ask for advice. he knows that kusumi probably has never been in a relationship before, but he's great at communicating with people. so he could probably help him, that's what kaji thought. after texting him, kusumi told kaji to "just apologize directly and everything will be okay:)".

well, that doesn't help. after reading kusumi's text for what felt like an hour, he finally mustered up the courage to approach you on the sofa and apologize. "sorry, for earlier." you were happy that he actually apologized, but you want him to be more genuine. so you told him that. "ugh, i'm sorry, okay? dont...ignore me like that again, dumbass."

he may have called you a dumbass, but you're 100% sure that he didn't mean it.

SUOU HAYATO :

would immediately notice your change in behaviour, and he would immediately apologize. but, you being you, stays upset for the whole day. he is so confused on what to do. he offers you tea, he apologized again, but you still won't budge. what do you want him to do? get on his knees so you would forgive him?

well, he can do that. when he does, you immediately told him to stand up and asks what he's doing. "what do you mean? i'm just asking for your forgiveness, love." he says, as if stating the obvious. you waved both your hands in panic infront of your face, saying that he doesn't have to go that far for your forgiveness.

"oh? what do you want me to do, then?" he asked once again, and you go quiet. your fingers are trembling because you can't just possibly tell him to do whatever you want for your forgiveness. but you did anyway. not with your words, but with your actions. you lift your hand and use your finger to point to your lips, asking him to kiss you.

his eyes went wide slightly before he chuckled and approached you. he grabbed you by your chin and gave you a peck on your lips. he pulled back then whispered, "if you want that as an apology, you could've said so since the beginning."

SAKURA HARUKA :

oh, oh no. he's upset that you're upset. well, he's not angry at you. he's confused as to why you would get so upset over a simple little joke. all he did was hid your phone under the pillows in the living room, pretended not to see it—although it failed because he's bad at stifling his laughs, then reveals it to you. he doesn't understand why you would get upset over that.

not only that, sakura is the WORSE(with italic and bold) at apologizing. even worse than kaji. he has way too much pride in himself to actually apologize, which make this predicament much worser for the both of you. but of course, since you're his lovely partner, he'd try his best to apologize to you.

it took a lot of practice in the bathroom, and he finally had the courage to approach you and apologize, even though he is still stuttering. but, when he had the courage, an hour has passed already, and you aren't even upset at him anymore. so when he came up to you and mumbled, "hey, i'm... um... s-sorry, y'know. for earlier. i didn't mean to hurt your feelings." you just chuckled softly at him before quickly pulling him into a hug. you tell him that no, you're not upset anymore at him, and that you appreciate his effort to apologize at you by practicing his apology over and over again for an hour.

he asks you to never mention that last part ever again.

naomi-nana. do NOT repost, do not use,(with or without permission), do not reccommend or talk about my works outside of tumblr.

[svtcupid]

Oppa am I dreaming?

'Jieun come to my dorm now.' Jeonghan demanded with a panic; worrying the idol on the other side of the phone.

'What's wrong?' Jieun asked as she turned the tv off before changing her footwear to leave her place.

'Just come quickly.' Jeonghah ended the call making jieun more worried for the elder causing the girl to speed walk to the elevator that was all the way down the basement floor. Jieun opted to take the stairs instead and rushed towards the dorm to only be met with silence and smell of food she couldn't exactly decipher.

'Hannie. Where are you?' Jieun announced her arrival

'In the kitchen.' Jieun went to the kitchen hoping everything was okay to only be met with an unexpected scene infront of her. Jieun stood frozen with her mouth agape at the door frame as jeonghan sood next to her watching the scene occuring infront. of them.

'Oppa, am I dreaming?' Jieun whispered

'No. Its real alright;' He told her. Seungcheol was there, but that wasn't a surprise or the fact that he was in the kitchen but what really shook jieun to the core was the fact that the leader was cooking in the kitchen.

'That's why I called you.' Jeognhan revealed Jieun finally understood the emergency of this situation even if it wasn't serious it was still an emergency. Oh for crying out loud SEUNGCHEOL IS COOKING AND ITS NOT RAMEN!

'Carat-duel jieun has arrived.' Jeonghan announced to the camera as he discreetly warned the member the presence of cameras and that were recording their movements.

'Cheol oppa, do you need help.' Jieun asked as she watched over the leaders shoulders what he was doing.

'No. I'm okay. Don't worry.' Seungcheol reassured the younger who knew better to not believe the words coming from his mouth at that moment of time.

'Its boiling. Add the soy sauce and the fish sauce.' Jieun instructed as she watched the leader cook who followed her guide. Seungcheol would never voice it out due to his stubborness but he was glad jeonghan called Jieun otherwise it really would have been a disaster.

After finish cooking the dishes the three members sat together with one of their managers at the dining table to eat. Seungcheol waited for his members who helped in the kitchen reaction to the taste.

'its good.' jeonghan complimented to only jieun to slightly cringe at the saltiness of one of the dishes. She knew this meal was enough for her salt intake for that day.

'Did you add more salt when I told you to stop.' Jieun scolded the leader who had a pout.

'I couldn't taste anything.'

'Because it was still boiling.'

'You cant tast it when you have it with rice.' Jeonghan adviced the younger who nodded.

After they ended the recording Jieun finally decided to ask the question thats been bugging her.

'But why did you decide to cook today?'

'I wanted to be able to cook and be more independent and I would be able to cook you healthy meals in the future.' Seungcheol answered shyly causing jieun to pout in adoration and awee while jeonghan cringed

'Yah! Why are you so cheesy.' Jeonghan complained ruining the sweet moment.

'Jeonghan you wouldn't understand.' The manager answered getting an offended look from the male. Seungcheol and Jieun glanced at each other taking their bowls leaving the table.

'What is that supposed to mean?' Jeonghan asked offended their manager taking the hint and stood up from the table.

'Yah! Hyung! Na Jieun! Choi Seungcheol! Answer Me!!!!' Jeonghan demanded as he watched the three leave him alone at the dinner table.

[yall-batman-fanfic]

A Promise Across Time | Bruce Wayne/Batman x Magician!Reader (Part 1/3)

Synopsis: Bruce remembers the first date he had with Vivian and the time he truly felt alive again.

Bruce messed up. While it wasn't entirely his fault, he felt guilty to have seen Vivian all dressed up that night and ready to meet him inside the restaurant only for him to apologize and take a raincheck on their date. Their first date. She tried to be understanding by giving a smile and reassuring him that “these things happen” but he could see that she was looking forward to their dinner. He was too. 

After their brief partnership in taking down Deacon Blackfire, Bruce wanted to get to know the Symbologist and Witch-out-of-practice a little more. She was intriguing, insightful, and sincere. Vivian did tell him that she didn't like politics, hence her preference to work in academia to get away from corporate politics. Despite her work dealing with symbols and icons, and many layers of research in sociology, history, geology, and philosophy, she prefered that people talked without the double meaning. That they stay true to their word. To be kind to one another. To tell it to her face than have someone stab her in the back.

But it can't be helped. People are people. So she just went to a place that has that kind of decency. Or at least have a bit more decency than in a corporate office. 

It took him a while to find time to reach out to her again. He did try to call her hotel after that night but it was her father who answered and dropped the phone on him. Bruce was a bit surprised. No one really drops the phone on Bruce Wayne. Batman, sure. But Bruce Wayne? It was rare. 

With everything going on with his day job and night job, Bruce decided to just approach her again once he's finished the Firefly case with Batman and some meetings with the board in Wayne Enterprise as Bruce Wayne. For Vivian, he waited until her family had gone back to Liverpool. He had a feeling that her father would slam the door at his face if he came to their hotel. 

So, here he was now, entering Gotham University years after graduating. Walking down its familiar halls, Bruce recalled his undergraduate years there before continuing his studies at Yale where he got his degree in law. He was mostly familiar with the campus grounds of the Criminology, Information Technology, and Engineering campuses as he took those understudies when he was twenty-one. He remembered running through these halls with Harvey Dent, both young and full of themselves. 

There were still happy times, he thought as he remembered his best friend. But it was mostly overshadowed by the bad memories. The struggle he went through. 

Bruce rarely entered the Classics Campus where the literature and history majors were. Sure he would visit the library there and go to some classes in that building, but he can't say he knew the layout like the palm of his hand. So, as he entered the large and classical looking building with its pillars and statues, he had to ask his way around. Specifically to where Professor Vivian Pryor was at his hour.

Maybe surprising her at her place of work wasn't such a good idea. He forgot, Vivian was a professor, she'll be moving around than staying in one place. 

A couple of students he asked were in shock that he was there and stammered in giving directions,” Bruce – Mr. Wayne – Mr. Billionaire Bruce Wayne,” the student said when he approached them, “Professor Pryor's — uh — it's around 2PM now, and it's a Friday… I think she'll be at 304, the Symposium.”

“Symposium?” Bruce said.

“Right, sorry, just a campus joke – Elliot's Hall.”

“Thanks.”

He found classroom 304 easily as it was the first room he saw upon taking the final step at the stairs, and just in time the students were exiting the classroom. Some paused as they saw him and then moved along when Bruce greeted them and asked if Vivian Pryor was still inside. They said yes and he went.

The amphitheater-styled room was empty, save for the red-haired woman packing her things at the center stage. Her hair was styled to a bun this time, a bit out of place now since it was the afternoon, her clothes were similar to the one she wore in her first book launch – the tweed high-waisted pants, a white button-shirt, boots, and a coat which she was just about to wear until she saw him approaching her.

“Bruce Wayne,” she said, quite surprised to see him there.

“Professor Pryor,” Bruce smiled and held out the small bouquet he brought. “I hope you're not busy.”

Vivian thanked him for the flowers. “Why?”

“I was wondering if we can talk? We didn't really get the chance to since I canceled our date at the last minute.”

“It was an emergency. Things happen,” Vivian shrugged. “Don't tell me that's been bothering you all this time.”

“It has.”

Vivian hid her blush in the flowers. “That must have been awful for you. You could have called or dropped by if it bothered you so much. I wouldn't mind… but I understand you're busy so I just thought it'd be best not to bother you too much.”

“I did, actually called and dropped by the hotel you and your family were staying at… but your father wasn't too happy about it.”

“What?” Vivian raised a brow at him. 

“He never told you, didn't he?”Oops.

“That son of a – sorry, grandma but your son is such a…” Vivian got her phone and typed furiously fast and hit sent. “He will not be doing that again. I am so sorry about that, Bruce. I hope this doesn't give you a bad impression on my family my dad is just –” 

BING! 

Vivian opened the chat – it was their family group chat – and typed a quick reply and turned the chat in silent mode, knowing it was going to be flooded with messages from her stepfather. 

Turning to Bruce, who had an amused smile on his face, Vivian said, “Again, I am so sorry about that – just so we're clear, that wasn't me telling my dad to slam the door or drop the phone, he did it. If you called, I would have answered the phone.”

“It's fine. I’m glad you're not mad at me for that night.”

“Bruce, shit happens,” she sighed, he was surprised with her language, “While it was a little shitty that I got dressed up only to spend my night drinking beer in the nearest bar that night, you had an emergency. It happens, and I'm sure it will happen again along the road. You can't beat yourself over a date that didn't go as planned.”

“Well, I promise that this time it won't. Maybe we can have another try? This Friday, afterwork. I'll pick you up at your hotel.”

“And where will we go?”

Bruce sighed. “You know, I've been asking the same thing myself. I was thinking of the museum tour but then I'm sure you’ve memorized Gotham Museum by now.”

“I work there, Bruce. Part-time,” she grinned.

“So, I was thinking something different for the both of us. So we'd be at par with the experience.”

“And what do you think that would be?”

“There's a nice restaurant not far, it's new, and it's got music. Not too loud that we won't hear each other. And room to dance.”

“I didn't know Bruce Wayne could dance.”

“I don't. Do you?”

“Not particularly… alright, Friday. My last class is at four. You can pick me up at five – to give the lady a little time to prepare?”

“Your hotel then?”

“Here is fine. My students are making signs over your shoulder that they'd be the one to help me prepare,” Vivian waved at the group who entered the room and had a large message on their pad saying: Makeover. Room 203. 

Bruce chuckled at the sight of the girls, and turned to Vivian to say, “Here there. Tomorrow at five.”

“Something fancy or casual?”

“A little bit of both if you like. I guess I should get going, your class is here.”

“Yes, go. Before they take this as a sign it's free period… and Mr. Wayne.”

“Yes?”

Vivian held the flowers. “I appreciate the flowers, but it breaks my heart to see them wither at the end of the day.”

“No flowers then. Chocolates?”

“A girl's best friend.”

“Coffee?”

“Now you're speaking my language.”

“I'll take note. See you tomorrow, Vivian.”

“You too.”

As Bruce climbed the steps, he passed by the giggling students and said out loud for Vivian to hear, teasingly, “I'll leave her in your hands. Make sure she's free tomorrow and ready.”

“You got it, Mr. Wayne,” one of them giggled.

As soon as Bruce closed the door behind him, he heard teasing and squeals from the students and Vivian telling them, “At least have the decency to wait for him to leave the freaking door before doing that. Jesus. Come on, I taught you better, didn't I?”

Bruce smiled as he heard the laughter in the room. 

On the day of their date, Bruce made sure to finish all his work in Wayne Enterprise before 3 PM, and went to make sure Gotham wasn't on fire before making a quick change in the office bathroom, which caught the attention of Lucius Fox and asked, “Off to a date, Mr. Wayne?”

“I am,” he said as he tried to fix his tie. Today it just wasn't working with him.

Seeing his struggle, Lucius Fox chuckled and offered to fix it for him, and he let the man. “And who is this lovely lady you're getting all dressed up for today, Mr. Wayne? If it's alright to ask.”

Bruce smiled. “Professor Vivian Pryor.”

“Ah, the author. She's a lovely woman. Going dancing, I see?”

“What made you think so?”

“Your shoes.”

“Alfred picked them for me today. I told him that I was heading to the Black Bird tonight with Vivian.”

“Leave it to Alfred to give you a good suit and shoes for a night of dancing,” Lucius laughed and finished his work and pressed down Bruce's suit. “I think that would be enough to sweep her off her feet.”

Bruce laughed. “Thanks, Lucius.”

“Have fun, Mr. Wayne!”

Driving to Gotham University, Bruce waited for Vivian at the Classics Campus in his pressed suit, heavy coat, and a box of chocolates he thought he'd like. He was a bit early – ten minutes early – but he didn't wait too long because Vivian came out with some of her colleagues who kept gushing over her dress.

And they had more than one reason to.

As Vivian went down, Bruce paused as he took in the sight of her. Her red locks placed in a coiffer with a pearl accessory to keep it up, she wore a bit of makeup that stands out for the evening, and an emerald dress with a square neckline that gives enough skin for anyone to want more, the bodice hugged her body perfectly with a good emphasis on her chest while still being modest, and a skirt made off soft and flowing material that made it look like she was walking underwater. 

“Bruce!” Vivian smiled as soon as she saw him and ran towards his direction to get away from her teasing colleagues “Don't you look handsome. Are those dance shoes? And you said you don't dance.”

“Alfred picked them out for the day,” Bruce shrugged. “I didn't even know I had them. You look stunning, Vivian.”

A blush crept up her cheeks and Vivian looked away to hide it but he saw. It was adorable. 

“You said dancing, so I picked something that looks like it's for dancing… actually, it was my neighbor in the hotel that picked it. He's this fashion designer in Gotham for an event and he gave me this for the night.”

“Well, I guess we're definitely dancing tonight. Also,” Bruce held the chocolates out. “Chocolates as promised, but Alfred said it's important to give a lady flowers on a date, so,” he opened the box and showed the flower-shaped chocolates.

Vivian chuckled and said, “smart. You found a loophole with my no-flowers rule.”

“Shall we?” He offered his arm to her.

“Yes, we shall,” Vivian turned to her friends and called for her colleagues and students, who stayed longer to see her be picked up by her – in their words – “knight in shining armor”, to get her things that they kept hostage so she could show off her dress. “This doesn't exempt you from tomorrow's test. Got it?” Vivian told the students as she joined Bruce.

“Boo!” Her students teased.

“Don't worry, I'll try to get her forget about the test tomorrow,” Bruce joked.

“You do that, Mr. Wayne. You'll be saving our asses from another essay!”

“Thanks for taking care of her for me!”

“Have fun, Vivian!” Her colleagues called out.

Heading to the parking lot, Vivian was in shock to find the expensive looking car parked between two economy-sedans, one of which was owned by her colleague, Justin Kirk, who was about to leave for home and only waved at her goodnight without his usual smile. As she entered the car, Vivian took a breath. 

“A manual,” Vivian commended him.

“If you're going to drive a really fast car, you should drive it right,” he smirked.

She smirked. “If you're going to drive a really fast car, you shouldn't drive it in Gotham, Mr. Wayne. Else you'll find yourself getting troubles. This beast is made for speed not everyday traffic.”

“Good thing we'll be driving on a road that lets me drive fast then,” Bruce left the parking space.

“I thought we were going dancing in Black Bird?” Vivian asked.

“We are. Just not in Gotham City. The Black Bird at the outskirts has a good view.”

Long Island. He was taking her to Long Island.

“I can't believe you're actually taking me outside of Gotham City for our first date,” Vivian chuckled. 

“I gotta make it up to you for cancelling. Besides, you'll see why the original Black Bird is way better than the branch in Gotham. I love Gotham but I think you'll like this place more than the one in Founder's Island.”

“And I thought we're both trying something new tonight.”

“We are. I don't usually dance. But with you, I'll give it a shot.”

The drive to Long Island was quick and fast. Bruce made sure to show her that the car wasn't just for show, that he can really drive it, and the entire time he would see at the corner of his eye the smile on her face. She also liked when he drifted the car. Not a flinch, just her smile reaching her ears. He could only imagine the look on her face if she rode the Batmobile during a chase. She'd love that he bet.

Minus the guns being fired at them or the RPG, which he encountered last week with Penguin's men trying to shake Batman off their tail. 

The Black Bird at Long Island was at the outskirts, atop a cliff that connects down to the white beach. From where they sat at the covered balcony, Vivian could still see the lights coming from Gotham City, and a bit of smog that covered its skies. 

“You're right, this does have a better view,” she told Bruce. “And has good music too.”

“Glad you like it.”

Their food came not long after they finished their wine. It was good food, probably the best she tasted from a restaurant. She shouldn't be surprised since the Black Bird had a michelin star. She ordered an Alfredo, and for a moment she remembered her time eating at one of the restaurants in Rome when she had her semester there. 

They talked about a lot of things as they ate. About their work, and then their studies, which they were invested in learning about from one another. She was surprised when he mentioned he had degrees in Criminal Science, Forensic Sciences, Computer Sciences, Chemistry and Engineering by the time he was twenty-one. But she remembered his little secret, and her little secret, and thought that it made sense for Batman to have those under his belt. Still, considering he still didn't know that she knew he was Batman, the fact he had five degrees under his belt by twenty-one, along with a degree in law from Yale was impressive. 

At twenty-one she was still in uni, going though classes, writing papers, doing her reading for tomorrow's lecture during her part-time jobs. Once, during a slow night, she gave a lecture on Dante's Divine Comedy to a homeless man who asked for a cup of coffee. It was the most philosophical conversation she had since then. She wondered where the old man was now.

When their desserts came, Vivian ordered an Affogato, the band started to play more upbeat music, encouraging people to come up and dance. From their place, Vivian and Bruce watched as some of the guests got up and danced to the upbeat, dance music from the sixties. 

“So, are we going to just sit here and watch them or are you going to use those dance shoes that your butler prepared for tonight?” Vivian said.

Bruce got up from his seat and held out his hand to her. “Don't hit me if I step on your foot.”

“Don't worry, Mr. Wayne, we'll take things slow,” Vivian took his hand and led him to where the others were. 

When Bruce was about to put his hand on her waist to do some ballroom dance he's done in galas, Vivian removed his hand and told him, “This is jazz and blues, Bruce.”

“I told you, I'm not much of a dancer.”

“Just follow my lead,” Vivian grinned and circled him with his hand still holding hers, when she pulled out, Bruce instinctively pulled her back in and kept the rhythm. 

“And you said you don't dance,” he whispered to her ear.

“I might have gone to clubs like this back in Liverpool and learned a thing or two,” she got out of his chest and led them through the dance. Her dress danced the entire time, giving an illusion of the music flowing through them in each twirl and step. Bruce held her hand the entire time and his smile never faltered, and to surprise her he even dipped her back a little and pulled down her hair to add more flare to her get up as she danced.

By the end of the second song, the two left the Black Bird, with Bruce paying for their dinner, but instead of head home, they went down to the white beach. Wearing her coat and holding her shoes, Vivian relished the feeling of sand burying her feet as they walked and the smell of the ocean. 

“You lied,” said Bruce.

“About that?”

“About dancing. We weren't par in this date.”

“I really don't dance, you know.”

“Those moves says differently.”

“I'm telling you, that was just me fooling around,” Vivian laughed. “You weren't bad yourself. I'm sure if you brought me to those fancy places that has ballroom dances I'd be the one following  your lead.”

“Naturally, I was raised by a butler,” it was supposed to be a joke but Vivian looked at him with a sad gaze, but she smiled nonetheless.

“Alfred raised a gentleman,” Vivian squeezed his hand. “He raised a good man.”

“He was always generous and said it was my parents who raised me. They did for a time until they were no longer there. He was the one who taught me all of this – how to talk, how to act, how to dress up, manners, how to dance, and how to woo a woman.”

“Well, he did a good job.” 

“What about you? Who taught you how to dance?” He had a guess it was her stepfather.

“It was my mom who would bring me to those jazz clubs,” Vivian began.  “I know, I was too young to be in those places but she just had to. You see, there was a father-daughter dance in my old school. I didn't go because I didn't really have a dad, and I actually hid the poster from my school diary then so she wouldn't find out. She's been working more shifts that time and I knew she was tired. But some nosy neighbor asked if I was sick since I wasn't in the dance last night.”

“She found out.”

“Yup. What she did was, she got me to wear this old sixties dress she found in the thrift shop. The both of us did. It was a matching set, and we took a bus to some jazz club. She was friends with the security there and she knew the band playing. She told them: “my daughter missed her father-daughter dance, and I want to take her to one”. They played this jazz and blues song and we danced. Then, Adam came and he danced with me too. In fact, all of the ladies and gentlemen there danced with me.”

“I'm glad you have that memory of her. That you still remember the happy times and not just…”

He had slipped. Vivian Pryor hasn't told Bruce Wayne about her mother. She told Batman that time they were in the crypts. But she brushed it off so easily and said, “I try to remember more of the happy things that happened now. For a time all of those happy things were gone and what I remember of my mother was finding her on that pavement, dead. But I learned that there are also happy memories that I can look back to. It was a tragedy what happened but my mom's life wasn't one. She made sure to remind us that she lived happily.

“One moment does not define a person's life. It's the journey they made, the memories they leave with those who mourn their passing. And to have someone to mourn you means you have lived life as it is meant to be.”

Bruce stopped in his tracks, pulling her to a halt as well. “Where did you read that from?”

“I didn't,” she grinned. “I thought it myself. Right now.”

“No. You can't just say something so deep just out of the blue,” he laughed.

“I swear! I didn't read it from somewhere.”

“I guess you really are an author.”

“An academic author.”

Looking into the darkness of the sea, Bruce sighed. “To have someone to mourn your passing… a haunting thought if you ask me.”

“You think no one will mourn you?”

“When my parents died Gotham mourned them, but there was only a handful of us who truly grieved. A handful of us who Thomas and Martha Wayne meant to. A friend, family, a son… most of those people are gone now.”

“I would grieve,” Vivian said. 

“We barely know it each other.”

“I know but… don't take this the wrong way but I'm more sensitive to life around me than most people,” Vivian chose her words carefully. “It's like… it's like let's say the sea. Whenever it comes to the beach it leaves a mark on the sand. Give it a couple of decades or centuries and it can form something with it. I'm the surface of this sand or that cliff, and each person is an ocean who makes their mark and I feel everything them and everything about them…

“So, when the ocean suddenly disappears or dries up, I would know and it would hurt me more sometimes than it should.”

Because she was a witch. Because her magic makes her sensitive to life around her.

“It's one of the reasons when my pet bunny died I cried for weeks,” Vivian attempted to joke but when she saw Bruce's gaze on her she fell silent because he was loss for words. “We might have just met now, but you've helped me so much for the past few weeks.” As Bruce Wayne and Batman. “And after this night, I will grieve your loss. And I would mourn Gotham for the person they lost. The man who has a vision and has been fighting to save it.”

It was only then she realized how close they were. That he held her waist while still holding her hand, that he leaned down close and that she was whispering the last few sentences as he looked at her closely.

“Do you have rules against kissing on first dates?” Bruce teased.

Vivian shook her head, “Not tonight,” she pulled him down and kissed him. 

Bruce wrapped his arms around her to pull her up. Her lips were soft and had the taste of the Affogato from earlier, and the way she pressed her tongue against his had him hold her tighter and wanting more. That's when he had her wrap her legs around him so he could kiss her properly, and to hold her entirely. At some point, they fell on the sand with Vivian straddling him and their lips still moving with one another.

Before it could escalate, Vivian pulled away. “But I do have one on sleeping with anyone on the first date.”

Bruce chuckled. “Understandable… you have a way with words, Professor.”

“Thank the dozens of philosophers whose works I've read for years now.”

Bruce reached up and brushed back a lock of red hair behind her ear and caressed her cheek. “Thank you for tonight.”

“I should be thanking you, Bruce. You know how to sweep a girl off her feet.”

He shook his head and cupped her cheek, and she leaned into his touch, nuzzling into his palm. “Thank you… I haven't had this kind of conversation for a long time now. Where I'm not guarded… where I can relax and talk to someone who actually listens… and who is not my butler.”

Vivian smiled and leaned down to kiss his lips again. “Anytime.”

“So, are you free again this Friday?”

Vivian laughed, “we haven't even finished this date.”

“Well, I want to see you again.”

“You know where I'm temporarily staying until my real estate agent finalizes the papers for my new condo. And if you ever need a listening friend, you can always call, and I'll always answer. Unless I have class.”

“As much as I want to get you access to Wayne Tower, I want this to be something between us for a while. Something they won't publicize in Gotham.”

“Understandable. I'll tell everyone it was just one date then.”

“But I hope you're free next Friday or maybe tomorrow.”

“I'm needed at the museum tomorrow. Next Friday. I'll make sure to clear my schedule for that.”

“And Vivian?”

“Yes, Bruce?”

“I will also grieve if you were to disappear.”

Vivian smiled. “Then I promise that I won't disappear… as long as you promise too.”

He knew it was foolish to make such a promise but Bruce said, “I will.”

~*~

Standing before Superman and Wonder Woman, Vivian felt her whole world crumbling after hearing what they said. Everything just felt numb after hearing them say to her, “Batman's gone, Vivian. We're so sorry.” And all they could give her was his cape and how it happened. All she heard was Bruce was gone and it was because of Darkseid. 

“No,” Vivian spoke for the first time since Superman and Wonder Woman gave the news. “No, no, no, no!” Vivian cried and broke down. Alfred was quick to catch her and Damian ran to her side as she cried. “No, no, no! He can't,” Vivian clutched his cape and cowl trying to use as an anchor point to find him. Her magic flowed around her along with the Phoenix's magical energy.

“Viv,” Tim tried to console her but Vivian sobbed, her magic no longer glowing around her and a painful cry came from the woman.

“I can't feel him… I can't –” she cried. “I can't feel you…”

Seeing her inconsolable state, Damian faced Superman and Wonder Woman, and told them, “You've done enough.”

“Damian,” Dick chastised him. “It's not their –”

“A Kryptonian and an Amazon, Grayson,” Damian glared at him. “Father was a man… look at her, Dick.”

Dick did and saw Vivian crying on Alfred’s shoulder, still clutching on Bruce's cape and cowl, then to Damian and saw the tears building in his eyes. “Yeah, I think it's best you give us time,” he told the two heroes.

After Dick walked out the two heroes, he returned to the living room where Vivian still held onto the cape as she cried and grieved for the loss of her husband, and tried over and over to look for him. To feel his presence again but to avail. 

“I can't feel him, Alfred,” she cried. “I can't feel Bruce.”

~*~

Pulled through the time stream and thrown to different times, Bruce woke in a convent bed with the sound of a voice calling his name, “Bruce!” Getting up, he reached for the candle on his bedside and lit a fire to bring light to his dark home. 

“Quoth who?”

Silence.

Sighing, he placed back the candle on the best beside him where he saw the picture he drew of the red haired woman he kept seeing in his dreams. Her red hair, he painted it using red clay he found in the ground, and he kept an ample supply of the red clay in his current place of refuge to continue to paint the woman's portraits that slowly became clearer as days passed. It started from glimpses of her hair, then her brown eyes, her face was blurry at first but then her face would start to form.

The wind blew into his home and with it the scent of the ocean and the voice, “Bruce!”

“Vivian,” He spoke the name.

“Who is Vivian?” A nun came to his chambers. He was given his own quarters to keep him from those with fever and other ailments. “Finally recovering your memories, stranger?” Her Irish accent was strong.

“I cannot say for certain,” Bruce muttered.

“And this Vivian, whose name you speak of? Might she be the woman you have been painting day and night?”

“I do not know, Sister.”

The nun looked at him for a moment and said, “Pray, stranger. Pray that you remember so you may return to her whole.”

Bruce looked at the cross that hung on the wall across his bed then again to the portrait of the woman he drew. He chose to take her portrait and pray to her instead. Pray that he may remember and learn who it was that calls for his  name “Bruce.”

Yes. His name. He remembers his name.

“My name, Sister,” he spoke before the nun left. “I remember the name given to me but not the name of thy kin.”

“And what is it?”

“Bruce.”

The nun smiled. “Well, good night, Mr. Bruce.”

The nun left the room and Bruce continued to look at the woman with red hair along with the image of the bat below. In a whisper, he repeated her name again and again. He came to this town with no name and no memory but an image of a woman with red hair. 

“Do not… grieve, my Vivian,” he spoke in a whisper, the words coming from his heart. “I shall find you.”

[bandtrees]

they would get divorced in one universe just to find eachother in another one

alternatively titled: sometimes you're the level-headed token flesh-head impulse-control-and-polycule-member of a stubborn, eccentric, and hearty telephone-headed drug addict, and there's cruelty in the world you deem fit to suicidally fight, and that either goes about as well as you'd expect it to, or you learn about love and the value of your life and junk along the way

[istherewifiinhell]

You know what i will provide for the ppl. To those of relevant interest.

Oh so this guy has a full body render

[ID: TF CV Astrotrain, a massive purple and white bot with cockpit chest, large back section with wings/shuttle stabilizers, and big chunky boots with additional kibble. END]

ya but his scaleee tho

[ID: Crowd shot, there are our regular colourful characters, and the imposing "perfect decepticons" around them, about twice as tall. Then there is Astrotrain, to which the regular bots are about mid shin, and the Perfect decepticons are knee height. END]

but thats so far away. what if it was personal (spoilers... i suppose)

[ID: A scene with OP and Bee in fore, MegatronX in mid, and Astrotrain standing in full in the far. He kneels down to pick up MegatronX beaten body. The step forward making clear how much the distance was obsuring his size. Standing, looking down at the limp body in his hand. Its like the scale of a human holding a real transformers toy. END]

And he sucks <3

[VD: Thunderhowl: They dare think they can keep us prisoner! Astrotrain: They're waiting for their master to arrive. Dead End: Yeah, we don't wanna be here when that happens. Astrotrain: For once you're right, Dead End. Enjoy your final moments! (He transforms into shuttle mode and portals away) Megatron: ASTROTRAIN! END]

astrotrain <333

[carcarrot]

i guess im being offered the job lol

[tiktaaliker]

ITS BEEN A FUCKING WEEK. PASS THE DETRITUS

[hecksupremechips]

Night shift or short attention span for the wip thing?

I’ll choose night shift basically Akihiko has this nightmare based on a real memory where he and Shinji got into a very heated fight that dissolved into like, chaos and angry beatings on Akihiko’s part and his nightmare is a warped version where he just keeps punching Shinji in a blind rage until there’s nothing left of him. He wakes up terrified and unsure of what’s happening and Shinji isn’t there BUT ITS OKAY HES FINE he’s just at work I think sadly unfortunately my man has to work a shitty convenience store job to make some money while trying to figure life out and he’s temporarily working night shifts so that’s why he’s gone and Aki does call him at work in the middle of the night for reassurance and asks if that incident really went down the way he remembers it (it didn’t). It’s kinda dark but has a nice ending at least

[audiovisualrecall]

Last night my mom was like okay tomorrow let's spend the day looking into the state health insurance stuff together and I was like okay great! I'll enroll in the work one and we will see if the state options are any good. I Can dream about doing The Artist Thing and not just continue to try to do the Normal (aka Neurotypical) Thing of a normal Job when my brain isn't good at that and it leads to embarrassing meltdowns and lots of stress for me.

And today.... she apparently asked dad to start working on it with me but I didn't come down for breakfast till 11 at which pt he started working on the easel he's actually decided to Make me for my birthday gift (crazy man! Looks at the ones in stores and looks at plans and decides he can do better and just goes and starts!), and he didn't mention anything to me before that, and she was at services this morning and then got some groceries and got home at like almost 1, had a snack? Lunch? And was like I'm gonna just sit down for a bit and then we can do that, but I started reading and just realized it's almost 2 so went to talk to her and she's napping. So. Idefk. I'm disappointed.

[monsterbisexual]

if i call in sick to work i shld tell them im having symptoms of emotional turmoil, physical agony n excessive bleedinfg so im gonna stay home bye

[betterbekind]

x

[nomairuins]

i want to watch the things on my watchkist but i also never do its rly tragic

[silent-sentinels]

when are you going to get it together.

PREFERABLY NEVER.

everything is only going to get worse as the days go by. you know this. you know this.

even obligation is scared like. jesusssssss...

it's just a phone call. it's just a phone call.

and it's still too much.