#like i did all the paperwork and worked and only called the insufferable bitch for a signature. she never did shit

[bitchy-peachy]

My son has been let outta school early cos his last 3 teacher's of the day are absent for some reason.

Waiting to see if today is another early release so I can have a big lunch prepared like I did yesterday.

Him and his classmates get released usually before lunch time so yeah.

School has barely started and already the schedule is messed up. A lot of us parents keep our kids going cos it's a "prestigious school" that's literally a historical landmark in our town but they changed so much shit to the point it no longer feels like a school.

[sukirichi]

wine: ingredient 44 + sugar 7 + spice 12 for gojo satoru *slams table* thank you for feeding us kind maam

for sukirichi’s milestone event: 

the meal order : 🍷 + 44 (hate sex au) + 7 (forbidden relationship) + 12 (praising kink) your dinner has been served! also bruh LOL you’re a choso simp this is hilarious spspsps

— who are you to deny him when he only wants to worship you?

gojo satoru x fem! reader

contents/warnings: nsfw, slight angst, reader is hot girl shit, gojo long schlong, hate sex, car sex, spanking, riding gojo, slight angst, praising kink taken to a DIFFERENT LEVEL (i want to make people question the extent of their praising kink), body marking, rough sex lol it’s always rough in my stories, unedited

Your friends pushed you out of the club, all of you laughing, hands clutched around your waists as loud, drunken giggles fill in the night air. It was a wild night; your friends invited you to the club to take your mind off your stupid boyfriend. You thought you’d end up moping around, too much of a buzzkill to ever let loose because it wasn’t that easy to stop thinking about him, but even you were surprised when you started grinding with people on the dance floor just three drinks later.

The gals were more than delighted to see you enjoying your night, only dragging you out the club when you nearly shoved your tongue down another man’s throat.

Scratch that – your friends called you to hang out because you lied about having a shitty day at work. You’ve had your fair share of shitty days, but you were one of the most prominent lawyers in your firm, no one dared gave you a bad day. Your subordinates knew that if they even looked your way without your permission, you wouldn’t hesitate to dump paperwork on them, or assign them to the nastiest cases just to piss them off.

Yeah, you were sort of a bitch, but you didn’t care.

It took a lot to get where you were now. It wasn’t easy to be a woman in a male-dominated workplace and you were forced to strip your softness off, replacing it with hard armor and sharp tongue concealed under bold red lips, a tight pencil skirt that accentuated your curves, and a pair of black suede pumps.

You deserved all your success. You were smart, stunning, confident, powerful – so then why did you feel like shit around your shitty boyfriend?

The answer was loud and clear. It bothered you to no end that he wanted to keep your relationship a secret because his family was too different from yours, coming up with a shitty excuse that you were just “too different.” He never bothered explaining, and every time you confronted him about, he’d only wave his hand, distract you with those delicious and soft lips of his until you forget it over and over again.

You were okay with it at first. It wasn’t a really serious relationship; you only started dating him because you saw yourself a lot in him – confident, self-assured, maybe even a little cocky – plus, he was extremely attractive.

But the longer you spent time with him, you were beginning to fall in love.

Yes, you, the ice princess of one of the most respected law firms all over the city was beginning to soften up at a certain blue-eyed man who had magical hands.

But tonight – tonight you’d forget about him.

Your stomach was heavy with expensive liquor and you were nearly staggering on your knees, the only thing preventing you from falling were your more sober friends. The others were holding you close to keep you upright, while one of your friends moved to a quieter part of the block to call an Uber for you. Your friends were all happily married, some with children, so they couldn’t really stay out too late at night and chaperone you all the way back home.

You were well-aware you were being a bother, but fuck, couldn’t you lean on someone for just once? Sighing, you leaned closer to your warm friend, mumbling something about wanting to forget about everything you’ve been through.

“There, there,” she patted your head comfortingly, “You’ll be fine, babe, you’re a strong woman. I know you’ll get through this.”

“But I hate it,” you drunkenly admitted, lips trembling the more you thought about him, every stupid little thing about him – his soft white hair, those pretty blue eyes he always hid under shades even at night, his large, calloused hands that always felt so rough when keeping your legs open for him and you couldn’t even start talking about his cock, he was just so blessed and perfect in every little thing that you hated it. You hated him. “I don’t like this feeling,” you sniffled, “I feel like I’m being looked down on, that I’m being pushed to the side. I feel unimportant, like I’m not good enough.”

“Who said you aren’t?”

You froze in your friend’s arms, eyes meeting with those blue ones you could never get enough of. As if noticing your silence, your friend immediately covers you with her arm, glaring at your boyfriend. “Do we know you or something?”

“No,” Satoru replies coolly, brows furrowed in the state you were in. You turned away from him with a scoff, arms crossed on your chest. Why did he have to be here out of all places? Wasn’t he busy with work or whatever family shit he apparently couldn’t tell you about even though you’ve both been dating for a year and a half now? He just wasn’t giving you a break, and the hairs on your arm stood up when he said, “Not that you have to, but may I please drive Y/N home?”

“She’s not going anywhere—”

“She’s a friend of mine,” he insisted, turning to you with a pleading look in his eyes. You almost melted. Almost. “I need to talk to her about something.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped forward, your friend’s arm latching onto yours. You could tell she was worried from the way her gaze darted back and forth between you two. Satoru was, after all, clearly uninvited, and he didn’t seem like your type either. You always insisted you preferred refined man, men like his friend Nanami Kento, but alas, you were stuck dating this one instead.

“It’s fine,” you told her with a fake smile, “I’ll call you later when I get home.”

You never got to call her – simply because you didn’t make it home. The moment Satoru closed the car doors behind you, you both got into a heated argument. Satoru hated silences and always made sure the car was filled with music, but this time, he didn’t notice there weren’t any songs when you opened your mouth.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the anger and pent-up tension of not being able to hold him and kiss him in public like normal couples did, in addition to the fact Satoru never explained why he insisted on keeping you a secret – whatever it was, you just snapped.

“I don’t even understand why I’m still dating you!” you huffed, legs crossed on top of the other as you gazed out the window. Lips trembling, you tried so hard to not cry, especially not in front of the man who was breaking your heart. “This is hardly a relationship when I’m not free to call or text you as you please, when I can’t go out with you on dates and we’re always hanging in my apartment. I’m your girlfriend, Satoru, we’ve been together for a long time but I honestly don’t even feel like it. What the hell are we dating for then?”

Satoru clenched his teeth, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. “How many times do I have to tell you that I love you,” he said coolly, acting unbothered and unaffected as ever, but the clench in his jaw said otherwise. “If that’s not enough—”

“Of course it’s not enough!”

“I’m trying here too, okay?” Satoru slammed on the brakes and parked on a desolated spot, hands running through his hair while he breathed heavily. Once he’d calmed down, he shook his head, refusing to look you in the eye like a man. “I’m trying my best. It’s just hard. It isn’t as easy as it looks.”

“What isn’t easy as it looks? Dating me? Letting the whole world know I’m yours?” when Satoru didn’t respond, you scoffed, patience running low and thin. “You’re pathetic, Satoru. Dating you was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, and I thought I was a smart woman.”

With a shake of your head, you slung your purse over your shoulder and reached for the car door. You were about to leave when Satoru suddenly pulled you towards him, his lips slamming into yours.  Like always, you fell into his trap, into the blissful pleasure that was his lips and his hands, and you hated it, hated him, hated him so fucking much because you were so tired of his entire existence.

You wanted to let him know he was insufferable.

You wanted him to feel the pain and misery he put you through.

“I fucking hate you,” you snarled as Satoru kept fucking into you, the entire car windows fogged and the vehicle shaking. “I wish I never met you, you asshole,” Satoru, displeased, only buries himself deeper into you, as if they would erase his mistakes and shortcomings.

Satoru’s large hands snake to your waist and onto your breasts, expertly tweaking them between his fingers. Your head fell back to the crook of his shoulder, your back pressed against his hard chest as Satoru trapped you in his strong arms, impaling you on his cock over and over again. “You’re lying,” he whispered into your neck, tongue and teeth playfully sucking at the tender flesh. His grip on your hip was bruising and possessive, and your breasts bounced fervently at how he snapped his hips upwards to feel your walls coat him and hug him tightly and warmly. “Why would you hate me, sweet girl? Don’t I always make you feel good? Don’t I remind you enough that you’re the best fucking thing ever?”

You didn’t respond right away, your breath taken away with how you could never get enough of this, of him. He was right no matter how much you denied it. Despite being terrible in everything else, Satoru knew and respected you, even admired your dominance and intelligence when other men were intimidated by it.

No, he worshipped you. He made you feel like you were a divine goddess when he tugged at your hair to tilt your cheek to him, his tongue slithering to your lips to taste himself on his tongue from when you previously busted his nut with just your mouth.

Lipsticks smeared on his cheeks and crescent moons on his pale thigh from your nails, Satoru looked wonderful beneath you like this.

He was beautiful, so damn beautiful, but it didn’t change the fact he’d put you through hell these past few weeks. 

No, it wasn’t just the past few weeks. Things were always complicated with him. He was perfect in everything else but when it came to you, he made it a mission to hide you and your relationship, changing your contact name to a totally random one “just in case.”

Your mind was confuzzled and you felt like you were on the urge of breaking apart from both his ministrations and his confusing treatment over you. Before you knew it, you were kissing him back fervently with the intensity of your hatred over this man.

Your hand reached his to guide it to rub at your clit, and Satoru, eager to make you feel good as always, happily obliged. Satoru kept bouncing you on his cock until you were too overwhelmed to speak, crying and mumbling incomprehensible words. 

Him, only him, would ever have the ability to let the sharp-tongued and intelligent woman who never bat an eye in court lose her wide vocabulary, falling apart in his arms while his long length abused your puffy lips.

“You made me feel like shit,” you finally admitted, tugging at his hair until Satoru is lowly groaning at the slight sting. But did you care? Of course you didn’t. You wanted to hurt him too.

“How so, sweet girl?”

“I can never have you the way I want,” you answered through gritted teeth, moaning out when Satoru suddenly thrusted too deep, hitting your most sensitive spot that had you quivering in his hold. “You don’t—” you gasped, “You don’t understand what I feel, how you make me feel like I’m never good enough for you. That’s the reason why you don’t want anyone else knowing, right? ‘Cause I’m not good enough for you, never gonna be good—”

Satoru didn’t let you finish your words, shutting you up with his cock instead. The vehicle shook uncontrollably with your mating sessions, and Satoru silences you by pulling at your leg to press it on his chest instead.

The sudden switch in positions had your muscles tensing and stretching, adding only to both your pleasures with the new thrown in factor of slight pain. You felt Satoru kiss your neck down to your shoulders, scraping his canines until you were absolutely lost. You gave in, you gave up, head lolling back next to his loving lips that murmured sweet nothings.

“Not true, sweet girl,” he reminded you, flattening you on his cock and making you roll your hips while you slid up and down his pole sensually. Unlike the previous pace, the slow sensation of your pussy hugging his cock with your arousal letting him slide in easily allowed you to feel every part of him, almost mind-wrecking at how good he’s able to make you feel even after such a long time of having him already.

“You’re the sexiest and most intelligent woman I’ve ever met, the best, the absolute blessing of my life, and I just want to protect you, sweet girl. You’re too precious for me to lose,” Satoru kept mumbling over and over again.

You could no longer process his words functionally, not when he’s slamming you down his length like that and burying himself in you as if he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Satoru’s hands were still curious, appreciative and gentle as he runs his hands, dipping into all your curves and pressing into your most sensitive spots the way you liked it.

“You’re always so good for me so no, sweet girl, never gonna let you go, not when you’re so perfect for me,” Satoru eased your worries – temporarily – with his words, and you’d believe his lie, you’d fall into the same mistakes over and over again because you were just that weak and powerless when it came to him. “You’re made just for me, sweet girl, you’re the prettiest and your pussy is the prettiest – I worship you, I adore you. You’re so divine.”

You blamed it all on your ego.

He praised you so well, made you feel so good and always placed you on top of the world when he’s inside you like this. Even if you knew he’d knock you down the pedestal just hours later, you opened your doors for him all over again.

Satoru knew this too, because he rammed inside your walls and ruined everything that you held firm beliefs in, his large hands smacking your ass to urge you to bounce on him like you weren’t made for any other purpose than to be the woman he adored.

You lied to yourself – you always did – but did you care? So what if you couldn’t be the one he really loved? What did it all matter when you were the one he worshipped?

For the sake of the praise and the compliments, you’d let him fuck you and play with your heart over and over again. It was a toxic routine you’d never get tired of, and you no longer complained, forgetting about everything he’d done and every heartbreak he caused you because he was there, whispering into your ears how good you made him feel and how you were the only one made to take him, and you didn’t care. Not anymore – not when you were worshipped.

[voiceless-terror]

Ink (TMA Fanfic)

For TMA Gerry Week 2021 Day One

Pairings: Jonathan Sims/Gerry Keay/Martin Blackwood

Rating: T

Summary: Art’s how Gerry shows his love- a few snippets where he does exactly that. No powers-au, Gerry and Martin own a bookstore. Takes place in this universe but can be read alone!

He’s getting used to having people who want him around.

Gerry’s had friends, sure. Once he left the institute and began working odd jobs, he realized how much he genuinely enjoyed having company. He still isn’t the most social of creatures, but he does enjoy a night out with old coworkers who enjoy his stories and laugh at his jokes. But now, with Jon and Martin, they want him around all the time. Even after they started dating, even after he moved in, he was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. It never does, though. And Gerry, in spite of himself, begins to relax. Begins to feel at home. 

He’s laying on the couch, scribbling in his notebook when Martin surprises him with a peck to the top of his head. “Whatcha drawing this time?” He was very excited when he heard Gerry liked to draw, immediately asking to see his notebook or anything he’d done. He’d only recently shown him some of his work; he knows Martin would never make him feel embarrassed, but, well. It’s another part of himself no one’s ever been interested in. Until now.

“Jon,” Gerry responds, leaning into the touch. It’s an amateurish attempt in his opinion, just a rough sketch. But he’s got the proportions down and he never forgets a face. Couldn’t forget, in Jon’s case. 

“That’s…” Martin trails off, peering closer at the page. “That’s really good. You’ve even got him smiling!” It’s not that Jon never smiles; he smirks and laughs and snarks. But he’s managed to capture that rare, bright grin that makes Gerry’s heart skip a beat.

“Mhm.” Gerry nods slightly, pen tapping against his sketchpad. He turns around, seeing the naked fondness in Martin’s eyes and has a particularly wicked thought. “Y’know, this is how he looks when he’s watching you.”

Martin sputters, turns a lovely shade of red. “W-What? Really?”

“No,” Gerry smirks. “It’s the way he looks at the Admiral.” A groan and a light smack to the shoulder prove his joke is unappreciated. “Sorry, sorry! I’m sure he also looks at you that way-”

“You’re an ass.” Martin rolls his eyes but oh-so-gently picks up his hand, pausing to inspect the ink-stained fingers. “A very talented ass.” His mind blanks as Martin kisses them one by one.

Thoroughly distracted, he never gets around to finishing that sketch.

_______

Painting, as it turns out, is a lot harder than it looks. Still quite fun, though.

They’ve just found the perfect space- a little out of their price range, but Gerry’s got savings and Jon was willing to part with a bit himself. Martin fretted over his ‘meager contribution,’ as his savings were depleted in the final months of his mother’s care. Ridiculous that he would ever think his contribution meager, considering he’s the one who scouted for locations and did all of the paperwork and stayed up late, agonizing over their finances. Some days, Martin’s the only one keeping them sane. Gerry and Jon are due to remind him of that.

Which is why they’re handling the decorating. Jon claims to have no artistic talent, but he does have a knack for making places seem like home. There are boxes filled with knick knacks and rugs and pictures, all waiting to be hung somewhere once Jon’s finally settled on a layout. Gerry’s left with painting the walls, labeling the different sections in whatever way he sees fit. He’s currently at work on the horror section, painting a stylized eye above the tarp-covered bookshelf when he hears the sound of the bell; Martin must be back from the store. They’d run out of appropriately-sized nails and after a minor freak out, he’d been on his way.

“Find what you were looking for?” he calls, listening as Martin’s footsteps grow closer, the crinkle of bags in his hand. “Here to save the day?”

“I wouldn’t call it saving,” Martin snorted, setting them down on the ground with a thump. “But it’ll certainly help. That looks nice.”

Gerry pauses, considering his work. He really needs a darker green for this. “Thanks. It’s a work in progress.”

“I’m sure it’ll turn out great,” he murmurs distractedly, and Gerry turns to look back at him. The lines of his face are more pronounced than usual, as are the shadows under his eyes. A sure sign that the stress is getting to him. Gerry understands, and he’s not much for being particularly sappy but he does what he can to help.

“Hey,” he calls down to him from his ladder. “C’mere. Need your opinion on something.”

Martin sighs, but heeds the call. “What is it? You know I’m rubbish with this art stuff-”

“It’ll only take a second. Come closer.”

“What am I supposed to be looking at-”

“Closer.”

As Martin huffs and leans towards him, Gerry darts his paintbrush out, drawing the quickest of hearts on Martin’s cheek before he can pull away. 

“Gerry!” Martin startles and his hand reaches up to wipe at his cheek.

“Don’t smear it, it’s a heart.” He pauses, going for his gravest voice. “Because I love you so much. I’ll be devastated if you ruin it.”

“I don’t appreciate that.” Martin sighs but drops his hand, his face softening already. Exasperation has never been paired with fondness, not when it’s aimed at Gerry. Another thing he’s starting to get used to.

“Shame. It looks good.”

Martin goes home with a heart on his other cheek as well. He looks ridiculous. Gerry loves it.

_________

When Jon’s particularly stressed, Gerry leaves him post-it notes.

Often he leaves before Gerry even wakes, so he’s got to do them the night before. A little cat here, a little caricature of Bouchard there. He leaves a variety, depending on his mood. Jon always gives him a kiss when he gets home, a soft ‘thank you for the note,’ and that’s all he needs, really, to keep doing it. He likes making Jon smile.

Martin’s gone grocery shopping and Jon’s pulling a late night again, so Gerry’s alone in the flat looking for something to do. There’s nothing on Netflix worth watching (or at least, worth watching by himself) and he’s not in the mood for his latest novel, so he decides he’s going to be productive, make a list of all the things he has to do this week. Jon’s always going on about lists, though he leaves them everywhere and never seems to accomplish everything on them. Maybe it’s the act of making them that’s relaxing. It’s worth a try.

He makes his way over to the second bedroom they (mostly Jon) use as an office. He’s sure Jon’s got a little notepad here that he can use, and he wants it to look as official as possible. He opens the left hand drawer but only finds Martin’s receipts, and on the right he finds a plain-looking notebook, a little worn with use. Maybe that’s what he uses-

Gerry opens it. Pauses. Blinks. Feels something heavy and thick form in his throat.

It’s his notes- his stupid little sketches, his ‘have a good day at work’s, his smiley-faces and little hearts. Each carefully placed on page after page with an accompanying date, neat and tidy, like a little scrapbook. Mum used to throw out his ‘doodles,’ as she called them, told him his time was better spent on actual art, but Jon’s kept all of them. Like they mattered. Like they were important. He sets it back down on the desk and just stands there, heart beating hard in his chest.

Gerry’s tearing up like some sort of moron so he’s distracted and doesn’t hear Jon come home, doesn’t hear his usual grumblings and sighs. Doesn’t hear him until Jon’s right behind him, startling him with a hand on his arm. “Sorry, I was just- Gerry, are you alright?”

Alright. Alright. It’s a word that doesn’t encompass everything he’s feeling. Wanted, embarrassed, a little overwhelmed. And so, so happy. 

He turns around and grabs Jon in a fierce hug, overcome with affection and eager to hide his stupid tears as he squeezes Jon to his chest. “You’re adorable, you know that?” he says, peppering kisses to the top of his head despite Jon’s weak protestations. “Real fuckin’ cute.”

Jon melts into his embrace, even as he complains. “I’ve got no idea what you’re on about, Gerry,” he says into his chest, the words muffled. “You’re being absurd.” Jon’s just about the only person he knows that uses ‘absurd’ on a daily basis. It’s insufferable. Gerry loves it.

“Just let me hug you, you little ogre.”

_________

Sometimes, Gerry’s the one who’s got to be up early. Doctors appointments are a bitch, and after a brief scare last year, it’s important that he keep up with them. Martin helps him schedule, marking the appointments on the calendar with a bold black marker that can’t be missed.

This morning’s particularly brutal, with an eight o’clock appointment an hour’s commute away. Jon went to sleep at a reasonable hour last night and he needs the rest; Gerry knows if he wakes Martin, he wakes them both. Jon’s never been good at sleeping alone. 

He’s stumbling blearily around the kitchen, about to put the kettle on when he notices it. On the table is a post-it note; he doesn’t remember leaving one for Jon last night, but he’d been rather tired, so who knows? Gerry putters around, fixing his tea and nibbling at toast when he finally spares it a glance. 

It’s not for Jon. It’s for him.

Good luck at your appointment! It reads in Martin’s familiar, neat script. Accompanying it is a small doodle that has to be Jon’s; it’s not particularly good, but it clearly shows a little Gerry, makeup and all, with a plaster on his cheek and a heart over his head. It looks like Jon spent time on it. Spent time on some stupid little post it note to make Gerry smile. 

He puts it in his pocket. Takes it out a few times in the waiting room, stares at it. Everything looks fine, the doctor says at the end of the appointment. He’s so lucky.

He’s so lucky.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29635833

[notmrskennedy]

Eight Seconds

Howdy! I’m honestly freaking out bc this the first Spencer Reid anything I’ve written and bc I try not to out myself as country too much bc well the world right now. (I honestly wish there was more people out there who had a thing for cowgirls/boys as I do.) I hope at least one person enjoys it as much as I liked writing it. 

Summary: Spencer Reid meets the cowgirl of his dreams...

Warnings: I think I swear like twice? other than that it’s fluff

Word count: 4.5k

----------

He doesn’t think that it would be Penelope Garcia to catch him. Sure, she’s a genius and a tech wizard and an overall queen at gathering gossip. But she  isn’t around him as much as JJ. Or Emily. Or Morgan.

What gave him away to her and not everyone else?

Because he knows he’s given something away when she texts him. Urgent. Batcave now! He’s hopeful. Optimistic. Maybe Penelope’s got some burning question about Star Trek. Or Doctor Who. Or when the next convention is. Maybe it’s a serial killer.

But he isn’t that lucky. Spencer Reid never is.

He knocks hesitantly, worried for exactly what’s to come. Her gaze snaps up from her tablet. Snaps to him in an incessant kind of ‘I know what you did’ way. It’s a look for scolding children. Not a pleasant, let’s have a tea time chat, gaze.

Spencer settles into the extra chair and waits. There’s a storm brewing behind her eyes and when she finally speaks, she doesn’t disappoint.

“What’s her name?”

And he can’t stop it. Lovesick smile, starry eyes—Penelope doesn’t have to be a profiler to see it before he sobers up. Her mouth opens into a toothy grin. An insufferably contagious grin and he knows he’s caught for sure.

He leans back in the desk chair, stares up at the ceiling and breathily whispers, “Shawn.”

“Oh!” Penelope gasps. He can hear the mental scolding. There’s backtracking with no end in sight. “Well, I didn’t mean to presume and it’s—it’s okay if Shawn is—or you’re—and I just didn’t know—you never said anything—“

“Relax,” he chuckles and grins at her softly for good measure. “Shawn is a girl. Her legal name is Shawna if you’re that curious.”

And he knows Penelope is curious. She’s grinning and waiting and listening. He can tell she wants to prompt. To ask questions. To dig through every tiny detail she can. Is it bad to make her wait? To not want anyone to know about the girlfriend he’s kept hidden for so long?

“Tell me more,” Penelope buzzes, bouncing in her seat, monitors—work—forgotten. “Where did you love story begin?”

He smiles to himself. It’s not a matter of when, but how long.

It took eight seconds. All of eight seconds.

#

At first, he wasn’t even sure it was eight seconds. He’d been running, running harder than he ever had. Chucks flapping against the hard packed dirt. Horse trailers flying by him as he jumped hitches and slipped through patches of mud.

It was five minutes of burning lungs and dust caked nostrils before those eight seconds. Quick glances between trailers. Got to keep moving, Reid, got to keep up. Because Morgan’s chanting was getting distant, too distant. The last time they’d split up—

Five minutes of a maze he hadn’t learned. Five minutes of being utterly lost, following the sound of Morgan’s thundering boots and desperation. They were all desperate. It was a desperate move to keep running, not to find solace in an empty horse trailer on the killer’s part. The bastard thought he could lose them, shake the FBI agents off his tail.

Reid knew better, but he was getting desperate too. His lungs were burning. It’d only been five minutes.

“FBI! Stop!” Morgan shouted from behind him. Reid skidded through a patch of horse shit into the main thoroughfare. Thank god. No more trailers. A walkway, a solid walkway, a clear line of sight. The man was running. Why do they always run?

Reid picks up his lungs in his desperate hands and pushes on. Grits his teeth, clenches down on every spare inch of fortitude left. Morgan catches up easily but doesn’t surpass. They’re both tired. They’re both panting. They’ve both got weapons drawn, but who could make a shot at 50 yards with a moving target?

Not Reid. He knew better.

But Morgan tried one more time. Shouted and called and screamed. The man didn’t look back. Prison was on his heels and he was desperate enough to keep running. A coward. There wouldn’t be a standoff. Smart enough to not get cornered, not smart enough to keep from getting caught.

They both pushed harder. This was their eight seconds. They were getting close, they reasoned to themselves, hearts panting to the same rhythm. They could keep it together for these last seconds. He’d get tired—they were getting tired—he had to be tired by now.

He was racing in snakeskin cowboy boots. How could he be keeping that pace in those shoes?

Reid hoped his lungs would give out. Save the heroic work for Morgan. Morgan could get the bad guy. Morgan could get the girl. He could have anything he wanted. Reid just wanted to fall face first into the dirt and let the fresh mud extinguish the flames in his lungs. In his throat. In his mouth.

But then the eight seconds came.

In the first second, he realised his heart didn’t gallop. It didn’t have the imprints of hooves. It wasn’t the two thousand pound animal gaining momentum behind him. His heart was clogging his ears that badly. Thankfully, with his wits about him, he looked back.

In the second second, Reid saw the animal. Mid-step, perfect stride. A plastic figurine of a race horse, nostrils wide at the end of its long face. It took only the second second to see the crazy in the horse’s eyes. How they focused and blinked and bled the insanity. How it was more beast than domesticated pet. Reid was convinced the black stockings on its legs were dripping grease from its gears. He could see the muscle in its shoulders and flanks. Muscle groupings bigger than him. An animal that could crush him. A machine running with a single thought: faster.

He saw the rider in the third second. One he didn’t expect. Maybe it was his own memories of cowboy movies, but cowboys weren’t supposed to be dipped in glitter. Weren’t supposed to be such overtly female. But there she was. Her dark curls billowing behind her. Sun glinting off the gold of her hat. Glinting off the impressive amount of glitter on her eyelids. And the rhinestones on her black button-down. She was stunning. Furrowed in her concentration. Elated in her grin.

The rope came in the fourth. It was twisting in her hand, coil and reins held precariously in her other. It loops over her head, slack enough to swallow her whole. Slack enough to get caught on her. Get caught on the horse. She keeps perfect control and the hand comes around and around until she—

In the fifth second, the rope releases and Reid slows his feet to watch it. The horse has gained on the man, so close that teeth could get involved. The man doesn’t seem to know, or is too desperate to change direction. Because he’s gone straight and the horse has followed and the rope is sliding through her hand like it’s meant to be there forever. It goes and goes and goes. He thinks the loop is bound to catch her foot, a hoof, something. But it doesn’t. It never does.

With six seconds down, the man finds he doesn’t have feet anymore. The loop of the rope tightens around his legs and he’s falling. He doesn’t have feet under him. Barely hands to save his face. Reid hopes the fall is harder than it needs to be. But he’s not focused on the man, he’s focused on the girl. The girl who expertly catches the rope in her hands. Who expertly ties the end around the saddle horn. Who’s horse pulls the rope taut and the man goes down.

At seven seconds, the horse is still backing. It knows. It’s practiced. Reid can see the elation on both rider and animal. Their pride is palpable. He doesn’t know it, but this is the best run they’ve done together. Not the fastest, but the best.

Eight seconds is when the girl turns to them. Grinning, hollering, hands up in the air. Reid watches as they catch up, slowing down to match the horse’s speed. The man tries to flip himself over, dragging on his back towards the federal agents. Reid can feel his heart and he wonders if it’s beating harder from the run or the thrill.

He’ll never admit it but he’s always wanted to be a cowboy. This girl has his other dream in her hands, wearing it as her favourite belt buckle.

Eight seconds later and she’s smiling down at the agents, still hollering some form of yeehaw! Reid grins, dragging his aching limbs forward to help Morgan flip the man onto his stomach and cuff him. The dragging discontinues and the horse knickers his anger that the trial is over.

Reid loosens the rope from the man’s feet, working the fray between his fingers. He moves to hand it to the cowgirl but she’s already snapping it from him and coiling it back up. She latches it back to her saddle, chest heaving with the excitement of it all.

“Bitch!” the man spits as Morgan hauls him to his feet.

The girl just smirks and tips her hat back. Reid can’t help but watch her pretty red lips as she says, “I’ll stick my foot so far up your ass, you’ll taste my good leather if you don’t shut your goddamn mouth.” Vulgarity has never sounded better off of anyone else’s tongue. She’s got the first sermon he’s ever wanted to listen to sitting on her lips and he wonders if this is why people believe in God. If pretty girls have always made men believe in things they shouldn’t.

Her drawl is thick, sticky, and unsweet. She’s got more threats bubbling up in her chest, sitting precariously close to her heart. She comfortable in sliding off her horse, landing softly in the dirt.

He won’t admit it, but he can’t ignore how round her ass is in those tight jeans.

She pats her horse, sliding her rough hands under its harnesses and it’s mane. Reid knows enough about horses to distinguish several muscle groups and bone structures from others. He feels out of his depth. He’s drowning being so close to a dream he can never have. He wonders if he should ask her to stay. Tell her there’s reports. Witness statements. Paperwork. Anything to get her to stay longer, to prolong the closeness to the dream. The closeness to her.

The horse gives a bleated scream as Morgan passes with the handcuffed man, both human males looking equally frightened of the animal. It settles into a role of domestication as the girl lets the horse throw its head into her shoulder begging for pats.

Spencer knows he supposed to follow Morgan, but he can’t move. She’s everything in that moment. And just as he gets the courage to thank her, thank her for stopping the burning, she meets his eyes and drops her jaw.

“Well as I live and breathe!” she shouts. It’s too rough for a squeal, more of a whistle of her words. “Spencer Reid, not even a day’s difference. How in the hell are you?”

Is he breathing? He doesn’t think he’s breathing. She knows him. She knows him. She knows him. And he has no idea who she is. He searches her beautiful face. Running over the ruby lips. Over the pink blushing cheeks. The glittered eyelids and the long eyelashes.

She’s so unfamiliar it hurts.

Morgan stops in his tracks. There’s blood in the water for the first time in ages. The last time these waters were chummed was a bartender who called him exactly once.

And it gets worse. Her face falls. Emily and JJ are rounding the corner. Everything in him sinks to the floor. Every details about himself becomes apparent. He’s gangly and uncoordinated. His hair’s too long and he’s got circles under his eyes darker than the grease stains on her horse. He’s so unperfected and this girl reminds him of the girls in high school he could never have.

He wonders for a moment if she’s from high school. She can’t be though, he thinks as he fights the bile in his throat. She’s younger than me.

“You know boy genius?” Morgan asks, handing the killer off to Emily. He’s strutting. Ever the first impressionist. The girl barely glances at him, still studying Reid with a crestfallen little smile perched on her perfect lips.

“Not really,” she settles on, getting a better grip on the reins she’s holding. Getting a better grip on herself. “We met once. In Vegas. I was 15 and I’ve done my growing up since.”

Reid still hasn’t moved. He’s not sure he can. His feet are putty from the run. Putty from her smile. Just ask for her name, he screams at himself, but he can’t. There’s no guarantees. There’s no ‘of courses’, only ‘what ifs’. The what ifs can consume you and he’s worried he’s going to let them.

Morgan extends his hand in the stretching pause. And she shakes it. All crimson lips and pearly teeth. “I’m Agent Derek Morgan. You obviously know, Dr. Reid.”

Her eyebrows raise for half a second. She’s surprised. And impressed. And Reid’s heart warms for no longer than she answers. “I’m Shawn, Shawn Healy.”

“Shawn? That’s an interesting—“

Everyone pauses at the sound of hoofbeats. Whips around to see another girl, a blonde in even more glitter, ride up on her own horse. Shawn swings back onto her horse and spurs him off, following the other girl. Spencer doesn’t see the flags they’re carrying until it’s too late. Until she’s already apologising for leaving. She’s late.

Spencer wonders if he’ll ever see her again. Black curls bouncing over her shoulders. Stained lips. Sun glinting off every inch of her.

In another eight seconds, she’s gone. Eight seconds to win his heart. Eight seconds to ride off with it.

#

He gives Penelope some condensed version of the story that she’s hooked on anyway. She’s leaned forward, elbows on knees, perched on every word that leaves his mouth like it’s from God himself. It’s comical, he thinks. Spencer’s never really been invested in anyone else’s drama, not for longer than five minutes.

Penelope’s going to be invested, heels sunk in, holding on for dear life. She’s invested for life.

“So, how’d you get her back?” she asks. Starry eyed. Concerned. This is her white whale and she’ll go down with this ship. “She could’ve been anywhere! How’d you two get together?”

And he knows this part isn’t complicated. And it’ll be enough to tide her over.

#

The quick answer is that he googled her. Read every newspaper article, column, and paper mentioning her. Shawna Healy had been mentioned more times for winning rodeo competitions than he had papers published. She was accomplished in her culture, in her part of the world. She’d won up to regionals while in college. Even boasted to being the first girl on the UT Dallas Rodeo Team. Currently employed at Montgomery’s Cattle Ranch just outside of DC. The same ranch who was hosting a For-Charity Bull-riding Competition.

Spencer hadn’t known what to do with the information so he sat on it. For a month. Until he couldn’t wait any longer. The competition was that weekend. He had to go.

He just kept repeating to himself, this is for academic purposes. This isn’t stalking. You might not even see her. This is for—

And he stops thinking. There’s no reason to think anything other than: I’m sorely underdressed. He’s sinking to the bottom of the deep end of the pool, lead weights tied to his ankles. Every man, woman, and child here is nothing sort of their earned Country label. There’s boots and buckles and ball caps. There’s dust and dip and drawl.

And he’s in a cardigan. Why was that a good idea? He doesn’t know, but he’s tempted to shrug it off and disappear. To run right back out of gates. To get swallowed by everyone staring at him. Gawking at him. He’s back in high school again and he wants to drink bleach.

He’s almost to the bleachers, past the makeshift bar, just at the corner of the dirt arena. Spencer knows he should just go home, shake it off, and dissolve into wishing the world takes pity on him. He’s too out of his depth. These other people belong. He most definitely does not.

And just as he’s about to turn tail, pussyfoot out of every bit of confidence he’s ever had, when he sees her.

She’s on a different horse. One not quite as beastly as the other. This one’s mellow, waiting on the edge of the arena, while she’s chatting absently with another man on horseback. She looks different. She’s far, but there’s no glitter. No outstanding colours. No glinting under the fluorescents. She’s in a cowboy hat, tipped forward over her loose braids. She’s traded her button down for a flannel, rolled up to the elbows and he finally understands why Penelope said it was such a turn on.

There’s no words as the announcer suddenly comes on and a bull bursts from the chute. It’s one of the most terrifying things he’s ever seen. A tiny man holding onto a two ton absolute beast with one hand—it’s absurd! But he can’t stop watching. Can’t stop being impressed. Waits on bated breath for the man to get bucked off after his nearly eight second run.

He does and Spencer has had falls like that. They aren’t pleasant.

The bull bucks and kicks for another few seconds. Shawn and her friend lazily canter forward, guiding the animal back to the other side of the arena and through a gate. She whistles and the gate closes behind it.

The pair retreat back to their corner and the process starts all over again.

“You look a little lost, honey,” a sweet voice chirps beside him. He startles, head caught up in Shawn and every single perfect What If. This girl reminds him of a movie star he can’t remember the name of. Big blonde curls. Big eyelashes. Big smile. Tiny waist.

She’s amazingly beautiful. Amazing doll like. Amazingly…not his type.

Spencer still nervously smiles and clears his throat. “I kind of am.”

“Cardigan gave it away,” she giggles, turning him towards the edge of the stadium seating, dropping them onto the bottom row seat. “I’m Kaley Montgomery. My brother and my sister are this shift’s pick up riders.” Spencer nods along like he knows what she’s saying. “I tell ‘em I’m here to support them and my daddy—he put this whole thing on you know—but I’m just here to pick up cute cowboys.”

“I’m not a cowboy,” Spencer blurts. Her laugh is slick like the sugar in a Venus fly trap. He tries not to get drawn in, but she’s all encompassing. Bright perfume. Colourful clothes. Soft skin and warm empathy. There’s nothing uninviting about her and he wants to move back.

“No, honey, you aren’t.” Kaley pauses to look him over. Whatever she sees makes her softly grin. “Why are you here anyway?”

There’s no judgement. She’s safe and alluring and exactly the opposite of what makes him nervous at that moment. The confidence surges for a moment and he answers, “I’m actually trying to find this girl I met a while ago.”

“Must be a special lady. What’s her name?”

“Shawn Healy,” Spencer sighs. It’s wistful. It’s longing. It’s half desperate. It’s been a month since he’s seen her. A month since he snuck back to see if he could catch her at the rodeo one more tine.

Kaley snorts. Her lady-like instincts kick back in and she covers it was a giggle. “Honey, you met the right girl. Shawn’s like my sister. Her shift ends in a few rounds, and she’s meeting me here if you just wanna stick around for a second.”

And he does. Kaley keeps him laughing, has him singing the high praises of Rodeo sports by the end. It’s maybe another ten minutes. Ten minutes of calming down, easing into the world. Kaley looks like she has whiplash with all of the questions he’s asking. And she’s a little dazed when he blinks at her sheepishly.

“Told he was smart, didn’t I?” a voice says behind him and Spencer jumps out of his skin. He’s desperate to slip it back on without seeming desperate. Without seeming nervous. But it all melts. Shawn’s in front of him. Shawn’s grinning. Shawn’s even more beautiful without the glitter.

“How did you recognise me?” he blurts. There’s stumbling as he tries to backtrack. Shawn’s eyes are green this close up and she smells like leather and oats and apples. His sentences lose traction as she peels her hat off, and sits down next to him.

There’s nothing soft about her. She’s callused. Rough. Nothing like any other girl he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting. Spencer doesn’t need more than ten seconds to know that Shawn’s never worn glitter more than the one time and never will again. To known that Shawn is simple and complicated and every grey area he’s ever wanted to explore.

Shawn’s eyes are still and focused. She follows Kaley as the girl stands and leaves. Returns the gaze to Spencer with a glint he can’t categorise. There’s a pause. Lead up to another eight seconds of life changing to be done.

“You were sitting by yourself at a sorting event at the South Point,” she breathes, brushing a piece of dirt off the hat in her hands. Setting it beside her on the bleacher. She gives him plenty of time to stare. To appreciate her.

There’s plenty of time, Spencer thinks and he keeps her gaze with a nervous grin.

Shawn brushes a hand over the frazzled bits of her hat hair. “I came and sat next to you because you looked so lonely. You were so afraid.”

His brain fires and spits and roars to life. He can remember the strange girl who came to sit by him, a sea of empty spaces around him. He’d just committed his mom. Was just about to leave for MIT. He’d been swimming in a sea of self-hatred when he’d been greeted by braces and pimples and too much dark hair. She’d explained every second of the calf sort, almost unprompted, and sussed out every single one of his questions.

It had been as close as he ever dared get to being a cowboy. A decade later and she was every introduction to this world he’d ever had.

Shawn’s got two seconds left on the clock and she doesn’t disappoint. Her fingers are delicate as she places a precarious hand on his knee. There’s a soft pressure to his patella. Shawn’s touching him and he can’t help the shock.

“I had one of those day long crushes. You were the smartest man I’d ever met.”

And no words are suddenly good enough. He wants to tell her that he’s fallen in love now. That he can’t help it. That all he wants is to listen to her drawl on for the rest of his life. That she’d made that last week in Vegas bearable. That she’d been everything. Still was.

But there’s no good way to articulate that. And maybe she knows that. Maybe Shawn Healy was a profiler in a different life because she lets go of his knee and switches subjects. Leans back against the seat behind her, stretching out into the spot of sun.

“It’s my lunch break,” she announces, her boots drifting closer to touching his chucks. The eyes don’t matter as the bleachers stare. What matters is Shawn’s tricky smile. “Have lunch with me.”

He nods and doesn’t think he could bear to disagree with her. Shawn disappears for a moment long enough that he’s worried she isn’t coming back, but she plops french fries into his lap not a second later than the worry begins to fester. Shawn’s not one to back out of commitments, he learns, and ends up hearing enough bad stories that Spencer isn’t sure how they’re getting along so well.

Because they’re getting along so well. Too well. Like they’ve never stopped talking since she was 15 and he was 18. Three hours is too early to say I love you, but he’s thinking it as she talks through a basket of french fries. As she sneaks them to some tiny kids in even tinier cowboy boots.

He’s thinking it every time she laughs.

He’s thinking it as she shoves his shoulder and demands to know why he doesn’t own a pair of jeans.

He’s thinking it even as she stands and apologises and stuffs her business card in his shirt pocket. “We’ll get you cowboy’d up one of these days, Dr. Reid. Now, don’t you forget to call—I’m late again.”

She runs off and he can’t stop thinking I love you so much as she waves at him over her shoulder and once again when she’s in the arena, back on a new horse.

#

Penelope is near tears at the end of Spencer’s story. He relaxes into the new world he’s entering. The one, two years later, where he’s wondering exactly how much he can keep to himself. How much Garcia will suss out and how much he’ll tell her himself.

Penelope folds her arms and suddenly frowns. She’s got a bee in her bonnet and Spencer’s afraid of what it means.

“Shawn,” she murmurs to herself. “Spencer Reid is shacking up with a cowgirl. I can’t—I’ll see it when I believe it.”

This is her attempt to get Spencer to show her pictures, or call Shawn, or even bring her around. But he doesn’t. He just smirks. No matter how much he actually can’t work the phone in his hands, he doesn’t want to. Shawn’s worried enough about meeting the team, she doesn’t need one Penelope Garcia tracking her down and tackling her.

“How ever much I love this chat we’re having, I have to get back to work,” Spencer announces. He stands. Walks off before Penelope can ask more questions.

And despite all of her yelling and protests and shouting for him to just come back here and tell me if she’s your girlfriend, Penelope knows she won’t get anything more. She’s determined anyway, and plans to corner JJ later on.

She finds doesn’t have to ask JJ, cornered or not. Because not four hours later, does Penelope find one Dr. Spencer Reid admiring the diamonds on the wedding ring he’s holding up between him and the coffee pot. He’s quick to shove it in his pocket as Penelope enters the little kitchenette. Quick to stir sugar in his coffee like nothing’s happened. Like Penelope definitely didn’t see the ring he’s waiting to give Shawn.

“When did you get the ring?” she asks, quietly opening the box of tea.

“Promise not to think I’m crazy?”

Penelope nods, turning just enough to see just how love stricken the poor boy is. “I’d even pinky promise, my love.”

He smirks and softens and says almost so quietly she doesn’t hear, “It was about two weeks after our first date. It took about eight seconds to find the right one.”

[wildly-lost-lantern]

Seven Point Star

A/N GUESS WHOS BACK!!! IS ME BITCHES! Ah this took so so so long to write and get out. I’m sorry. But, I’m having a grand ole time writing, and I’m already working out the third chapter. 

Pairings: OT7 x Female OC

Genre: Lowkey crack, lowkey fluff.

Warnings: None right now!

Word count: 2500+

Chapter Two: Meeting Them

Two days after my audition, I was sitting in a café with my best friend, Jennie. She sat back in her chair, a smug smile playing on her lips. All I could do was groan at her.

"Seriously, Yuna. I'm sure you have nothing to worry about. You'll be fine, I promise!" her voice conveyed an amusement I wasn't happy about. I glared at her slightly, annoyed that she didn't understand my concerns.

"Look, I'm just concerned. What if-" my sentence was cut short by my ringtone. I looked down and saw BigHit flashing across my screen. Immediately, I answered. "This is Park Yuna," I said, professionalism lacing my words. The woman on the other end of the line told me that I have officially been offered the job, and to look at my email for the paperwork and see when my first day was. After a brief conversation, the call ended.

"Told you so," Jennie's smug response made me roll my eyes. She was insufferable when she was right about something. I simply ignored her and looked out the window. A face caught my eye, and for a brief moment, I thought it was my mom.

"Oh my god," my voice was barely above a whisper, and by the time Jennie turned to see what had caught my attention, the woman was gone. I brushed it off and we continued our conversation.

"So? You never did tell me if you met any of the idols," she said to me, leaning forward as if we were talking about some big secret. I shrugged in response.

"Yeah, I met Namjoon and Hoseok, so what? They're people too, you know," I pretended to be disinterested, obviously to mess with her. She always got so excited by meeting new idols. She worked with them on a daily basis, so how she was always so excited was beyond me.

"And your point is, exactly?" she sassed back, her left eyebrow raised in a 'try me' way. I simply giggled.

"They're nice. I mostly spent the time teaching, you know, trying to get a job and all?" I let my snarky attitude come out in full affect. She simple scoffed and pouted my way.

"You're no fun," she said. If one could speak in tiny font, she would be. I just smiled at her, raising my cup in agreement. “Anyway, I’m proud of you. When’s your first day?” She then asked, subtly asking when I would see those men again.

“Monday. I’m teaching them choreo for their new song. They’re getting ready for a comeback,” I said, drinking the last of my coffee. I noticed a younger girl watching me, so I leaned in to Jennie to whisper, “We should probably talk about this in private.” I glanced back at the girl, noticing she was still watching.

“Yeah, so, let’s grab some more coffee and head home, how’s that sound?” She asked, making sure it looked like we were done having a conversation and just leaving.

“Honestly, I’m ready to get out of these, clothes. Let’s do it,” I said, standing with her to go to the counter. When I glanced back at the kid, she was whispering to her friend, point at Jennie and me. As soon as our drinks were up, we left the shop and walked to our shared apartment.

“Anyway, I got asked out, again. Like, can’t these guys realize I’m not the dating type? I like being able to just go out and have fun, and,” Jennie looked over at me, realizing I wasn’t listening, “sleep with whatever dumb guy looks at me for three seconds to long? Getting wasted every night. You’re not listening anymore.” She crossed her arms over her chest, sending a soft glare my way.

“Oh! Sorry, sorry, I zoned out. I should be getting the track shortly after my forms are completed, so I was working through some things in my head. I’m all ears now, though!” I smiled and nudged her gently, guiding her back to her story.

Once we both made it home, we got comfy and put on a Netflix show, mostly for background noise as I worked on my paperwork. Shortly after I emailed it back to the company, I got sent the new albums completed track list. Much to Jennie’s disappointment, I couldn’t share it with her at all. I downloaded the files onto my phone and plugged my headphones in, getting right to work. Writing down counts, moves, positions for each of the seven men, transitions, and everything else took nearly two and a half hours. That was only one song. I spent the rest of the night working on other songs before I caved and went to sleep.

I woke up the next day, getting right back to work, finishing up the choreographies for the last few songs through breakfast and the first half of the day. After I ate lunch, I went to the dance studio I practiced at, and worked out the kinks in as many songs as I could get through. Then my phone rang. “Hey, Jennie. What’s up?” I answered my phone, chugging down some water after a particularly difficult dance sequence.

“Hey, it’s almost six-thirty. Want me to bring dinner to the studio?” She asked, obviously cooking. If it was already six-thirty and I got through two and a half songs, I could probably go home for the day.

“No, I’ll come home. I’m done for the day I think. I got a lot done,” I said, starting to pack my stuff. By the time the call ended, I was already out of the studio, walking to the apartment. Then, my phone rang again, this time and unknown number. Not knowing who it could be, I sent it to voicemail. Thirty seconds later, the same number called again.

“Hello?” I said, answering it this time. I tried to stay as neutral as possible, not knowing if it could be a fellow staff member or not.

“Hi, is this Park Yuna?” the person on the other end asked. I thought I recognized the voice, but I wasn’t sure.

“Yes, may I ask who’s calling?” I responded, keeping my voice respectful. I felt myself walking quicker due to nerves.

“Ah, sorry, it’s Kim Namjoon. I was wondering, have you been working on the choreography? I know it was all kind of quick, but seriously, you are the best we had seen. You even taught me a lyrical piece,” he quickly explained. I laughed softly, shaking my head.

“Yes, I’ve been working on it. I have the title track down, and another one finished. We can get started right away tomorrow morning,” I said, keeping my confidence high. “Why did you call me about that, though? Wouldn’t it be better left to managers or something?” I asked, coming to a stop outside my apartment. A soft laugh came from the other side, as I rested against the door frame.

“Well, yeah. But as the leader of this group, I like to know all the people we work closely with,” he said with a sigh. I felt like he was hiding something, but I decided not to push my luck.

“That makes sense. I’ll see you in the morning, Mr. Kim,” I said, getting ready to hang up the phone call.

“In the morning then, Miss Park,” He said, ending the call. I smiled softly at my phone, slightly amused by the leader.

I entered my apartment, wrapping my tail around my calf. “Jennie? I’m home,” I called out as I took off my shoes and put my bag down.

“Ah! Yuna, I’m in here. I’m almost done,” Jennie yelled from the kitchen. I smiled, walking in that direction. “I made a stir fry, babes. How did it go at the studio?” She was putting food onto plates for us when I stepped into the room.

“It went great, I got two done. The title track and an extra one just in case they want to work on something else tomorrow,” I said as I sat down at the kitchen island. Jennie sat across from me and smiled.

“So, are you excited?” she leaned forward slightly, her eyes shining with interest. The way she sat, staring at me was making it known we were having this conversation even if I didn’t like it.

“I’m really excited actually. Maybe a little nervous,” I started, taking a bite into my food. “This is really good! Thank you,” I immediately started shoveling food into my mouth, having not realized how hungry I was.

“Jeez, lady, breath!” Jennie laughed out loud at me, obviously amused by my antics. “Anyway, did anything interesting happen today?” She asked me, trying to pry some sort of gossip from me. Her face was easy to read, having known her most of my life.

“Uhm, nothing much, I think? I’ve just been, you know, working?” I giggled at her softly, my natural snark coming through.

“Yeah, okay. But seriously, did you get to meet anyone new? Make any friends?” She asked, quickly finishing up her food. All I could do was shake my head.

“No, I locked myself in the sound proof dance studio and just focused,” I said, getting up to help with the dishes that needed to be done. Just leaving them out would stress me out. After the small chore was done, Jennie and I sat on the couch, watching some show on Netflix. A few hours had passed, and I was getting tired, so I stood up. “Alright, it’s late, so I’m going to bed, babes,” I told her. I gave her a hug and went to my room to crawl into bed.

The next morning, I woke up to my alarm blaring my favorite song. I knew Jennie was already gone, so I loaded up my Spotify and started to get ready for my day. I threw on my favorite work out leggings and paired them with my favorite long-sleeved shirt. I pulled my dark brown hair up into a messy bun. I ate a quick breakfast, and then collected my dance book, phone charger, water bottle, and a change of socks. I threw it all into a small back pack, and then grabbed my lanyard with my keys and wallet. Pulling on my sneakers, I headed to the building. I had to get a badge for being able to get deeper into the building without having to get a security escort if I was going to continue to work there full time.

It was nine when I arrived at the BigHit building, which was just enough time to get all settled in before the group was scheduled to arrive. From the moment I stepped foot in the building, it was a whirl wind of chaos getting me in their employee system and my security badge. Before I knew it, I was in the practice room, reading over my notes. Five minutes later, BTS started to stream in through the door. Once they all had arrived, I smiled softly and shook my head. This was it. Time to prove my worth.

“Alright! Let’s get started,” I clapped my hands to get their attention. I suddenly felt a little over whelmed with all seven pairs of eyes on me. Nevertheless, I continued on. “I’m Yuna, your new choreographer. J-Hope, I’ll probably work closely with you. Anything I need to know about you all before we get started?” I asked, looking around the small circle. Immediately, J-Hope stepped toward me and smiled brightly.

“Nice to see you again, Yuna. Welcome to the team. You did really well, and I’m glad the company decided to choose you. Let me know if and how I can help. Again, please call me by my real name, not my stage name,” he said, gently patting my shoulder.

“You’re not Korean? Where are you from?” Taehyung, the ever curious guy he is, asked me. I looked at him shocked, not used to being asked that so directly. However, before I could reply, Yoongi stepped in.

“Taehyung, you can’t just be so blunt with people. It sets them on edge,” He scolded softly. I just shook my head and laughed.

“Well, it’s okay. I’m from America. I moved here to work for companies like BigHit, because they best options in America was ballet companies, and that just wasn’t for me,” I explained to them. They all looked at me with wide eyes.

“Wait, so you just left your home country and moved somewhere different… for a job?” Jeongguk asked me, looking amazed. I simply nodded in response. “Whoa, noona, you’re so cool!” He clapped slightly, his bright smile making me smile.

“Actually, you all are older than me,” I said softly, suddenly unsure if they’d be so happy to have me here if they knew I was young. There was a collective gasp throughout the room.

“Really?? What year were you born? I can’t believe you’re younger than me,” the overly excited youngest asked me, nearly bouncing with joy.

“Uhm, ninety-nine,” I said, suddenly overwhelmed by his energy. “Alright, we should get started. Which song do you guys want to start with?” After a brief discussion on the best place to start, we decided to go with the chorus of the title song. I jumped right in to blocking making sure the boys knew which direction they were going to be coming from as well. “Now, you, Hoseok, you’ll come center for twenty counts. Okay, good. Now you have this move,” I said, demonstrating the arm movement with the foot work I decided on.

“Wow, you’re really a great teacher, Yuna-ssi,” Seokjin said, grabbing my shoulder gently. I flushed under the praise, although it was completely innocent. We continued through with learning the transition into the chorus, out of the chorus formation, and the dance during. After about an hour of hard work, I decided on a break.

“Yah! Don’t touch that, you brat. You’ll break it,” Yoongi said to Namjoon, unsurprisingly. I turned around to see him trying to mess with the speakers and sound system in the room. I giggled and went back to looking over my notes, taking long drinks of my water.

“Yuna! Watch this! I turned to see Jeongguk goofing around with Jimin. I shook my head at their antics. All of a sudden a familiar song started to blast through the speakers. My phone had started to ring. When I looked down at the caller ID, I almost stopped breathing. On my screen, in bold lettering, was my mother’s name. With shaking hands, I disconnected my Bluetooth and answered it.

[sugarless--girl]

Day 2: Pink – Nyo!Rusame

"Amelia's too sexually frustrated for her own good and she thinks that the solution is to pick on her coworker, Anya. Good thing Anya isn't a pushover, otherwise this would've been worse. Not that I think this is a healthy way to cope or anything. Still it could be worse, I suppose." -- Arthur Kirkland, Head of Accounting

"Eh? Amelia likes Anya?" -- Matthew Williams, Marketing Manager

"Me? Like Anya? Pfft!" -- Amelia Jones, Financial Accoutant

"I understand that Amelia is only picking on me because she has....feelings for me. However, she's going to need to try harder if she wants me to acknowledge her." -- Anya Braginski, IT Director

Read it on AO3

“Do you think Anya’s underwear is pink?”

Arthur choked on his coffee before turning to his blonde companion. “Amelia, what the hell??”

“What?” Amelia asked innocently. As if she was anything but innocent, Arthur thought mutinously. “She’s always wearing pink. She has like twenty stupid pink jackets, and a bunch of pink purses, too! It makes sense that her underwear would be pink too.”

Amelia had been staring holes into the back of Anya’s head at the company lunchroom. Arthur tried to put up with her ‘obsession’ but it seemed like it was getting out of hand. Initially, it had simply been Amelia picking stupid fights with Anya by insulting her—Anya always retorted back with her own quick retorts—but it seemed to be escalating much beyond that…..to daydreaming about her underwear. Arthur knew it was some ridiculous that Amelia refused to admit, most likely on the grounds that they were workplace rivals.

“I don’t know why she wears so much pink. Didn’t anyone tell her that it’s a kids color? Seriously, only Barbie wears pink. And I bet her underwear is pink too. Like Barbie. If Barbie wore underwear.”

“Amelia, keep your voice down.” Arthur hissed. He did not want to get caught talking about a coworkers choice of underwear.

“I mean, it can’t be easy to find decent underwear with those knockers.”

Arthur groaned and rubbed his face. Why was he even friends with this woman? Oh right, because she was the only one that would put up with his bitching.

“What size cups are those even? Triple D? E? How the fuck does she walk around with an entire watermelon attached to her chest?”

Arthur glanced around surreptitiously, hoping that no one was listening in on their conversation. He wasn’t popular around the office and this would only make things worse.

“I bet she’s padding it—or they could be fake. I bet she could some underground Russian plastic surgery to make them that big.”

“Amelia, your obsession with Anya is getting out of hand.” Arthur said, as he glared at the blonde. When Amelia first began talking about Anya he initially thought it was just some way for Amelia to motivate herself to work harder. Oh how wrong he was. How terribly wrong he was.

“Are you seriously telling me you’ve never taken a look at those badonkers?” Amelia asked incredulously, turning to face Arthur for what felt like the first time that lunch. It was a little sad that his only workplace friend spent half their time obsessing over her ‘rival’ but, again, Arthur didn’t have a large selection of people he could even be friends with so he had to put up with some flaws here and there.

“I don’t make it a habit of staring at my coworkers….assets.” He ground out.

Amelia considered his words. “I forgot you were gay.” Probably her way of saying how can you not worship those amazing tits. Really, things would be so much easier if she was honest with herself.

“I don’t think straight men are staring at Anya’s…chest area.”

Amelia looked at him with an expression that seemed to ask are you stupid? Arthur frowned. He hoped that his fellow male coworkers weren’t ogling the female employees. That was literally sexual harassment.

“Okay, just imagine it’s Antonio’s perfect ass. Like, of course you’d be wondering who he sacrificed to the devil to get that ass.

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Amelia, I don’t stare at our male coworkers' ass either. You’ll get written up for harassment if this persists.”

“I wonder if they’re like the plain underwear or the fancy lacy shit.” Amelia mused. “I bet she’s stuck-up enough to wear lace.”

Her face showed Arthur how ‘stuck-up’ Amelia was hoping that Anya was.

“Why don’t you ask her?” He said, almost petulantly. He’d feel bad for how rude and unhelpful he was being but, again, Arthur really didn’t want to spend his lunch break discussing his female coworkers choice of undergarments.

“Shh! Shut up! Shut up, she’s coming this way.” Amelia said hitting his arm. Arthur froze at that and saw the tall Russian woman walking towards them. Did she hear them talking? Surely not….

“Hello, Amelia! I noticed that you were staring across the lunchroom at me and I cannot help but wonder why you were doing so. Do you need anything from me?” Anya asked sweetly. Despite her cordial tone, a chill ran down Arthur’s spine. Being near Anya always triggered his flight or fight response. Being around the two of them, doubly so. He feared that they might suddenly just start throwing down. Something he did NOT want to be around. Call him a bad friend or whatever but he couldn’t go against his self-perseveration instincts. They kept him alive for a reason.

Arthur turned to look at Amelia and saw her with a stupidly dazed expression on her face. She was staring straight at Anya’s breasts. The Russian woman frowned when she saw that Amelia wasn’t looking at her and followed her gaze. Arthur paled as Anya’s expression changed. He had no idea how to interpret it but he wasn’t sticking around to find out.

“Oh dear, it seems as though Matthew is calling for me. Isn’t that so, Matthew? Well, I suppose this ends our lunch. Good bye, Amelia. Be sure to get me the reports by today afternoon,” Arthur said making a beeline for the bewildered, bespectacled man—one of the few unfortunate souls that ate lunch with Anya. Amelia didn’t even bother to say good bye, which he was not in the least bit surprised by. What an amazing friend she was. He’d blame it on sexual frustration.

“Wha—Arthur??” Matthew asked in confusion as Arthur dragged them away from the nuclear meltdown that was sure to happen.

“Keep walking.” He muttered. He had no desire to watch this stupid office Cold War play out into World War 3. He had work to do.

Two Hours Later

Amelia dumped the reports onto Arthur’s desk. He looked up to see her wearing the most insufferably smug expression. Dear lord, was that a hickey on her neck?? “I was right.”

Arthur just sighed. He turned his attention to the paperwork at his desk.

“Amelia…..these numbers are all wrong.”

[lfthinkerwrites]

Monsters and a Man

Title: From the Case Files of Edward Nigma, PI

Fandom: Batman

Rating: M, for violence and murder.

Summary: Penelope’s testimony inspires some different reactions from some very different men.

Author’s Note: There is a murder and some ableist language in this chapter.

AO3 Link

1:30 pm

Edward had decided to stay with Penelope for a while that afternoon. It had been a week since he'd seen her last after all, he reasoned. And it wasn't as if they didn't have quite a bit to talk about. For her part, Penelope did not seem in a rush to shoo him out either, working away at her paperwork while he chattered on in the seat in front of her desk. "...So then, the girls decided that just telling Ellen stories about our exploits wasn't enough, they had to show her pictures as well! So there I am, having to explain to my fifteen-year-old daughter why I decided to rob the First National Bank dressed in a green jacket with light up questions marks!"

Penelope smiled slightly and continued writing. Edward was beginning to slowly, but surely be able to read her body language. This was genuine amusement. He smiled a bit himself, then continued on. "Nina and Deirdre then proceeded to tell her that when Batman arrived, he foiled our getaway by aiming a Batarang at the emergency sprinkler system. When my jacket got soaked, the lights short-circuited and I had to throw it off because it started to smoke!"

Then Penelope did something Edward didn't expect. She laughed. A short laugh that she immediately covered up with a hand over her mouth. She looked up at him and her face flushed a bit. She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh at the thought of you catching on fire."

Edward shook his head. "It's not that," he said. "I just...I don't think I've ever heard you laugh before." He liked it. "Besides," he said with a smooth wave of his hand. "I've learned to recognize some of the absurdity of my former life. I wouldn't hold it against anyone if they laughed at it every now and then." Within reason. Briefly.

Penelope smiled again and shook her head. "How magnanimous of you." She turned her attention back to her paperwork, then paused. Her smile fell and her expression became almost blank. She put her pen down and rubbed the back of her head. Edward frowned.

"What's on your mind?" he asked.

Penelope sighed. "This morning. This whole week. I just...I keep going over everything that happened in my head and I wonder. Did I do enough? Is there something else I could have said?"

Edward let out a sigh himself. "Well, speaking as a member of the gallery, I'm not sure that there's anything more you could have done. Well, legally at least." If Strange and the Commission members were hellbent on running Gordon and the rest of GCPD out, then there wasn't anything Penelope could do or say to change that, not unless she was willing to resort to drastic measures. Looking at how uncertain she was though, Edward stayed his tongue. That wasn't what she needed to hear now. "You don't seem the type to worry about what-ifs anyway."

"I'm not usually," she admitted. "I've always thought of myself as being in complete control, of always knowing exactly what to do in any situation, but..." she sighed again. "I have to know that I did everything I could. If I didn't, I don't think I could ever forgive myself."

Nearly two years on and the shadow of Arkham Asylum and TITAN hung over her still. You and I are alike I think. We've both lost a part of ourselves, haven't we? "There was something I've been wanting to ask you," he said cautiously. "At the end of your testimony, you said something about how thinking of the denizens of Arkham as monsters can cause a person to justify committing crimes against them. I couldn't help but notice that you were directly addressing Ward." Penelope's face settled into a blank expression and she looked down at her pad of paper. Edward took this as a sign that he was on point. "That was about TITAN, wasn't it? He was involved?"

Penelope slowly nodded. "Ward transferred Bane to Arkham Asylum so that I could-" her voice hitched slightly. "So that I could begin the process of extracting venom from his body, for the formula."

Edward nodded. "You threatened to expose his involvement in that affair to undermine the Commission."

Penelope's voice came out in barely more than a whisper. "Yes."

"Even if that means destroying your career and reputation?"

Penelope looked back up at him, her eyes icy and a determined expression on her face. "It wouldn't be an effective threat if I wasn't willing to go through with it, now would it?"

"No, it wouldn't," Edward admitted. He couldn't approve of her willingness to sacrifice herself for an institution like GCPD, but this determination, this internal fire...he greatly preferred this to the hesitant, almost fragile woman he'd seen minutes earlier. "If he calls your bluff, give me warning at least before you do anything. Exposing sensitive information about prominent city officials is something of a specialty of mine."

"I can handle Ward. You don't have to get involved-"

"I want to. I've never liked Ward." Edward tapped his finger on the armrest of his chair. He could never get back what he lost, but Penelope could find herself again. She just needed a push. "It's not a question of your abilities. I'd just prefer not to see you lose everything. You deserve better than to become a martyr for GCPD."

Penelope looked almost taken aback by Edward's statement, which perturbed him somewhat. What's harder to believe, he wondered. That you deserve better, or that I care enough about you to say it?

"I'm not trying to make myself a martyr," she said finally, her voice low. She wasn't angry, or put out. She seemed more resigned. "I just...if something goes wrong, you have a lot more to lose than I do."

Edward blinked. So her going solo for the Commission wasn't just about her proving a point. She was, in her own way, trying to protect him. He felt a surge of fondness for this brave, stubborn woman. He wagged a finger at her. "Really now, dear doctor, have you forgotten who you're speaking with? Edward Nigma, formerly known as the Riddler? I was risking life, limb, and livelihood on the streets of Gotham back when you were choosing what classes to take your freshman year of college. I'm a resource."

"Your condescension is not appreciated, Edward," Penelope huffed. Her serious expression gave way to a small smile. A smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, but a smile still. "But thank you."

Edward smiled back. He liked her so much better when she let herself be happy. "Think nothing of it. Besides, worst case scenario, you could always join me on Vicki Vale's show and do a tell-all interview."

This quip had the desired effect and she let out a small laugh again. "God no," she said. "I don't know how you can stand being as much in the public spotlight as you are."

"I consider it my due," Edward said, leaning back. A return to their usual banter would be welcome after everything they'd experienced the last week. "After all, what good is a dazzling intellect and persona without an audience?"

Penelope rolled her eyes, but in a good-natured way. "You're impossible."

Edward chuckled a bit. Any further talk about the Commission, about Strange, about Harley, about regrets could wait. For now, for just one afternoon, he simply wanted to enjoy her company. "I know it."

6:00 pm

The elevator stopped on the third floor of City Hall. The doors opened almost immediately, but Ward hesitated before stepping out. He'd dreaded having this conversation since the end of Young's testimony but it couldn't be helped. He sighed, stepped out of the elevator and walked down the hall to the Mayor's office. Most of the staff had left already, leaving only the security personnel and an odd staffer or two finishing up on work. As he thought back on the day's events, Ward ground his teeth. He'd anticipated Leland being a threat, but Young? Who could have seen that coming? The insufferable bitch would ruin everything. She needed to be dealt with quickly. He reached the end of the hall and was now standing in front of the solid wooden door of the Mayor's office. Ward let out a long breath and brought his hand to the door. "Quincy? It's me."

"Come in," a deep voice sounded from the other side. Ward frowned. This wasn't Sharp. He opened the door to find Dr. Hugo Strange standing with his back turned towards him, looking out of a window that overlooked Downtown Gotham. "Good evening, Warden," Strange greeted without looking behind him. "Shut the door."

Ward closed the door behind him. "Where is Quincy?"

"He is running an errand at the moment. He won't be in tonight." Strange slowly turned around, his dark brown eyes peering intently through his glasses at Ward. He'd worked in corrections for most of his adult life, seen every type of scum and monster Gotham City had to offer, but something about Strange's sheer presence made him shiver. "He will be informed as to what we discuss tonight."

Ward gulped a bit. "Fine," he said. "We need to talk about Penelope Young."

"I heard that she made an impression at the proceedings today," Strange said without any trace of amusement. "It seems that she was not quite content with playing the role of aggrieved damsel in distress."

"It's worse than that. She's a threat, Hugo."

Strange gave a small incline of his head. He didn't seem to be surprised, a fact that worried Ward. "Go on."

"She approached me after her testimony. She all but stated that if we continue our attacks on Gordon, she'll publicly expose the TITAN Project." Ward wet his lip. "We need to deal with her."

"She certainly has proved to be more meddlesome than I had originally anticipated," Strange admitted. "However, we cannot move on her. Not yet."

"Not yet?" Ward repeated. "Hugo, if she goes public-"

"It would be damaging, yes. You would have to resign. We would have to put one of our contingencies into effect to ensure that Mayor Sharp would get out relatively unscathed. But the alternative could be costly. We have to consider what it would look like if she were to have an unfortunate accident so soon after her testimony."

"I understand that. I wasn't suggesting we do it right away. But-"

"There is something else to keep in mind as well," Strange interrupted. "Who was it that saved her from an unfortunate fate, and what might he do if she were to meet one?"

Understanding dawned on Ward. "Nigma. You don't think-"

"Nigma is not now nor has he ever been capable of loving anyone," Strange responded. "He is capable of some degree of sentiment, however. And I believe that she is useful to him in some capacity. He wouldn't have lifted a finger for her otherwise. We've been able to keep the man at bay for the time being, but he will perceive an attack on her as an attack on him. We cannot move on her until we have a sound plan to contain him."

Ward wanted nothing more for Young than to have her car brakes fail, or to meet a random mugger in a dark alley, but he could see Strange's point. Nigma had been one of the most formidable criminals in Gotham history for a damn good reason. Ward had seen that for himself in person more than once. If the man wasn't a complete lunatic he'd have had the city in the palm of his hand years ago. "We need to tell Quincy at least."

"And we will," Strange assured him. "He is going to need more...convincing in order to fully turn on her though. He still sees himself as almost a father to her. I told you, he tried to offer her employment at the asylum again."

"I remember," Ward answered. He shook his head. "She should have died that night. Or stayed in hiding. Why the Hell is she starting up trouble now?"

"Her motives are immaterial. We can wait to deal the death blow to Gordon. Her testimony, as unexpected as it was, can't take back the damage done to Bullock and Montoya. As long as even one of them resigns, it leaves Gordon vulnerable. Do not let your anger at Young's presumptuousness distract you from the greater goal."

Ward nodded. "You're right. Of course. Greene and Roberts are still on board with some of Quincy's suggestions. Young undermined their credibility in front of most of Gotham's press corp though. They're going to be reluctant to approve all of them, especially the harsher ones."

"That was to be expected. Even if Greene and Roberts prove to be useless cowards, we have other means to ensure changes are made. Was there anything else?"

Ward shuffled a bit. "Where exactly is Quincy?"

A smile came to Strange's face. "About an hour before you arrived, he received a call from Bolton that made him quite agitated. He said he had an unfinished matter at the Asylum he wanted to personally see to."

Ward furrowed his brow. An unfinished matter at Arkham? What could Sharp possibly need to do-Victor Goodman was at Arkham. "Oh, God."

7:00 pm

After winning the Mayoral election, Sharp honestly hoped that he would never have to set foot through the doors of Arkham Asylum again. That he'd never have to walk through the dark, cramped halls, that he'd never have to listen to the moaning, the shrieking, the laughter, the pleading from the wretches that resided in them. It was blissfully quiet tonight though, the only sound the echoes of the steps he and Lyle Bolton made down the hall. "It's quieter than usual tonight," he said.

Beside him, Bolton grinned. "Yeah. Curfew's at 6:30. They know better than to act up after that." He chuckled. "Amazin' what electrified bars and floor panels can do."

"Quite. And the Rogues?"

"They're still in the Isolation Ward. What's left of it anyway." The pair came to a stop right in front of the last room at the end of the hall. "Here we are. You sure you want to do this, Mayor?"

Sharp's grip on his cane tightened when he thought of the animal that lay on the other side. "Yes."

Bolton opened the door to the Arkham Infirmary, or rather, what passed for it. The official infirmary had been destroyed during the Joker's takeover almost two years ago. Now it was a repurposed recreation room, with six cots and three medical machines. The Asylum had received a grant to rebuild and update the infirmary, but Sharp had ordered the funds to be allocated to Hugo for his own research needs. What point was there to rebuild it if the animals were just going to destroy it anyway? The room itself was empty, save for one patient lying in a cot in the far left side of the room, and one young male orderly standing over him. As Bolton and Sharp entered, the orderly spun around, his eyes widening in shock. "Mr. Mayor!? What are you-"

Sharp held a hand out. "Good evening, Mr..." his eyes peered at the man's nametag. "Mr. Sanchez, is it? I wonder if you would be good enough to give us the room?"

Sanchez looked from Sharp to the patient to Sharp again, almost bug-eyed. "The room? Why-"

Bolton stepped forward, jerking his thumb to the door. "You heard him hombre! Clear out of here!"

Sanchez's face flushed, but he did as he was told, leaving the room with a final backward glance at the pair.

Sharp looked at the patient lying in the cot with disdain. "You may leave, Lyle."

"Mayor, I don't think that's-"

"I can more than handle this degenerate," Sharp insisted. "Make sure that Sanchez finds himself occupied with something else. If I need you, I'll call you."

Sharp didn't look up but heard Bolton's steps out of the room and the sound of the door shutting behind him. Now, for the first time, he was face to face with Victor Goodman.

Goodman's health had deteriorated since being brought back to Arkham. His skin was deathly pale, his face sunken in, his chest nearly concave. Lying in the cot as still as he was, wearing only a thin hospital gown and covered with a single white sheet, he already looked like a corpse. It was only the rhythmic beeping sound of the medical machine that informed Sharp that he was even still alive. He looked at Goodman without a trace of pity. It was the least the filth deserved, he thought, after all that he'd done. "Victor Goodman," he commanded. "Wake up."

Goodman made no movement or sound. Sharp frowned, then poked at his body with the end of his cane. Both of Goodman's wrists were securely cuffed to the sides of the cot, not that Goodman was in any kind of shape to offer resistance. "Goodman!" Sharp barked again. "Wake up!"

Goodman let out a soft groan and slowly opened his eyes. It took a moment for them to focus, and when they did, they narrowed. "Sharp," he muttered, his voice a hoarse croak barely above a whisper.

"That's Mayor Sharp to you, scum!" Sharp huffed. "I have a question for you about your actions last December. You will answer me, do you understand?"

Goodman's eyes shut again. "I've said all that I need to say. Let me live out my last remaining days in peace."

"It's about Penelope Young."

Goodman's eyes opened again. "Penelope...Odysseus' wife and the mother of his son. She waited for him faithfully for twenty years, keeping other suitors at bay through trickery, never losing faith that he would come through his trials and return to her. What do you want to know about her?"

Sharp rubbed the head of his cane. "When I was told that you had abducted her," he said in a low tone. "I believed at first that it was a crime of opportunity. That you simply needed a human shield and that she was the easiest to take. Bolton, however, informed me today that that was not the case. That you specifically targeted her. Why?"

Goodman let out a wheezing noise that might have been laughter once. Sharp's eyebrow twitched. The filth actually had the nerve to laugh at him. "A suitor? She has her Odysseus and it isn't you."

Sharp slammed the end of his cane onto the ground. "Don't be puerile! And if I wanted to talk about dratted Greek mythology, I'd speak to Zeus! Tell me!"

Goodman let out a sigh. "After our meeting at the old nightclub, I was disappointed with who Riddler had become. I had my Ankhesenamun follow him, to see if we could find anything to use against him." His voice turned almost plaintive. "Where is my Ankhesenamun"? I haven't seen her in so long-"

"She's in a Women's Correctional Facility. You'll never see her again. Go on."

Goodman let out a small groan but continued. "She followed him to a coffee shop in Downtown. That was where he met his Penelope."

Sharp growled. "She is not his Penelope." Inwardly, he was confused. Penelope had met with Nigma? Why? What could she possibly have to say to that thing?

"Isn't she?" Goodman mocked. He actually had the audacity to mock him. Him, the Mayor of Gotham, the Savior of this City. Sharp resisted the growing urge to throttle him. He needed to hear what he had to say. "I saw the photographs my Ankhesenamun took of them together. I saw the look in his eyes when she left him. He desires her. He may not acknowledge it, but I know desire when I see it in a man."

Sharp wanted to wretch. How dare he. How dare that preening, self-important, arrogant, maniacal degenerate have the gall to have designs on an innocent girl so far above him? "That was why you kidnapped her? Because you believe he wants her? Sharp would kill him first.

"I don't believe it. I know it. I saw how furious he was when I had her in my grasp, when I took her. And do you know what else?" Goodman smirked a bit as if he knew the words he'd say would harm Sharp. "She desires him as well."

Sharp barely heard the sound his cane made when it slipped from his grasp and fell to the tiled floor. Penelope wanting Nigma? He couldn't believe it. He wouldn't believe it. She was too smart, too driven, too sane to follow in Quinzel's footsteps. "She doesn't-she wouldn't-"

"She does. Even when she was bound and helpless, she tried so hard to protect Riddler from my final trap. I saw the tears almost fall from her eyes when she thought he was dead. I saw the look in her eyes when he came for her. She wants him as much as he wants her. He is her Odysseus, and she will wait for him no matter how long it takes."

Sharp's fists clenched. He remembered Penelope as she was when she had started her internship in Arkham, how bright she had been, how she had been the only one of that group to have real ambition and a vision for what Arkham could be. How quickly she had taken to the place, how he could see her coming around to his line of thinking. How she was everything he had hoped his daughter would be if he had ever had one. The idea of that girl giving herself to Nigma...he wouldn't let it happen. He would save her from him, being her back to where she belonged, part of the new order he would create.

Goodman wheezed again. "Do you know what I regret the most? That I didn't kill her when I took her from GCPD. Riddler's reaction to making it through the trials of the Underworld, only to find her mummified body? It would have been glorious."

Something inside of Sharp snapped at that. With one sudden movement, he wrapped his large hands around Goodman's throat and squeezed. He dimly heard the sound of Goodman's cuffs rattling as he tried in vain to lift his arms to defend himself. His grip tightened. Goodman was making no sound now, his mouth hung open, his dark eyes wide, almost bulging out of his head, just like the others when Sharp had delivered his divine justice. Sharp didn't acknowledge the smell coming from the sheets, nor the fact that his eyes were rolling back. He didn't see Goodman anymore, but another Rogue, one with a tacky suit, a green suit, and a smirk on his face. "You will never have her," Sharp fumed. "I will protect her from you! Do you hear me, Nigma? I won't let you take her from me!" Nigma said nothing, Goodman said nothing. Hours seemed to pass, but Sharp's grip did not loosen. Finally, he heard a long continuous beep coming from the machine. Goodman was dead. He removed his hands from around his throat and surveyed his handiwork. Another wretched soul, cleansed from this City. Soon, Nigma would join them.

When Ward and Goodman arrived, Bolton and Sharp were both in the ramshackle infirmary. Bolton at least had the decency to look slightly embarrassed at the scene. Ward took one look at the body that lay in the cot and nearly vomited. "Jesus!" he hissed. "Quincy you can't start this again! You're the Mayor, for god's sake!"

"Yes," Sharp answered as if he was in a daze. "I am. I am the protector of this City. I will cleanse it of the filth that inhabits it."

"Of course you will," Strange said patting him on the shoulder. "You've had quite the exciting evening, haven't you? Come, let's go to my office and have some tea."

"Alright," Sharp answered. "Thank you, Hugo. Yes, I have had quite a day..." Strange gave Ward a sharp look before he led Sharp out of the room.

As soon as they were gone, Ward turned on Bolton. "And just where were you when this was happening!?"

"Right outside," Bolton shrugged. 'I didn't think he'd actually kill the guy. So, what do you wanna do? Make it look like a suicide?"

Ward sighed, then nodded slowly. "Yes. Help me get his body in a noose by the window. Then strong-arm one of the doctors to sign off on it. Then cremate him. I don't want this coming back to haunt us, understand? What about that orderly that was here?"

"He was on the other side of the building when Goodman died. He doesn't know jack."

"Good. And Bolton? The next time Quincy gets one of these urges, call me immediately. Understand?"

Bolton huffed but nodded. Ward took a breath. He'd lived in Gotham all his life. He'd seen first hand what criminals had done to it. What were a few dead freaks against finally restoring peace and order to this town? "Good. Now help me with the body."

[bluboothalassophile]

A Weekend We’ll Never Forget!

Off to a Memorable Start!

Jason Todd was many things, stupid was not one of them. But he would admit this was the stupidest thing he had ever been doing as he pressed the throttle harder and the slight body clung a bit tighter to him as they rounded the corner.

Jason pulled a gun as he fired behind him. There was a curse in a foreign language he didn’t know as the girl behind him lifted her hand over his shoulder. Just as he looked up he saw the SUV heading for them and the portal opened. They zipped through it and came out still speeding down the interstate as the SUVs slammed into one another behind him.

There was a ringing phone which the woman behind him answered.

“Hello?” her smoky monotone answered. Jason swiveled his bike, as he roared down the exit.

Now, let Jason back up, because to explain the situation he had to start from the beginning.

~~~*~*~*~~~

80 Hours Earlier…

“Kori, this is a job, not a social trip,” Jason pointed out again as he collected the equipment he needed. Jason had gotten soli intel on the Zucco family, and they were making moves against his brother. Which wasn’t acceptable.

“Please, I have not spoken to friend Raven in such a long time. It would be most pleasing to have a girls’ weekend in the Las Vegas,” she smiled.

“Kori, I’m working, I’m not entertaining you and your friend,” he said levelly. He honestly didn’t even want to go to Las Vegas, the heat alone had him wanting to go back to Gotham but he was going. There was work to be done and he wasn’t one to ever back down from a job.

Also, Kori was trying to talk him into bringing Raven. RAVEN of all people.

Jason would never admit this out loud, but he had always had a massive crush on the demoness, even before his death.

And why wouldn’t he?

Raven was fucking gorgeous. She had those high cheek bones, her pert chin, squared/round jaw, that fuller upper lip, her slanted eyes, the sharp nose, those innocently arched brows, her large brow and that gem on the center of her brow. For as innocent and delicate as she looked, she had odd features which he had always thought to be breathtakingly gorgeous. It wasn’t like she was Kori or Donna, the heart stopping, breath taking, look at them gorgeous features. Raven’s were quieter, not softer, but definitely prouder.

Then there was her love of books.

Yup, he had always been hopelessly crushing on the delicate demon, and she was so damn intimidating he didn’t know how to approach her or what to say.

After his death though, she was just way too good for him. That was a woman who could be truly evil and destroy them all if she decided to, and she chose to be good. He found it admirable and all the more intimidating. Raven was out of his league, and his biggest crush despite whoever he was dating or trying to date.

And now Kori wanted to drag Raven off to Las Vegas, Jason wasn’t sure how to react to that.

“I promise that we shall stay out of your way,” Kori said. “And is it not less suspicious for a man to be seen with women than alone?”

Jason glared at her then.

“You are really going to push this aren’t you?” he sighed.

“Yes,” she grinned.

“Fine, fine, just fine! But I don’t want to hear any bitching from either of you during this trip. I got work to do and it’s bad enough Dickhead has decided he’s coming I don’t need more trouble,” He groused. Jason wasn’t really annoyed with Kori, he could never be annoyed with Kori, Kori was a queen among women.

But Kori was also oblivious about some earth things, and his jobs at times.

“Dick has decided to come?” Kori said softly.

“Yeah, princess, he’s coming along, I couldn’t get rid of him,” Jason sighed.

“I see,” she whispered.

“Look princess, if he causes any trouble for you I’ll shoot him myself, but for now, he’s coming as it does involve his family.” Jason looked over his equipment again.

“No, that is understandable, very well, I shall call friend Raven and we shall have a glorious weekend in the city of Las Vegas and we shall have a blast!” Kori grinned as she flew off.

Jason’s head fell as he sighed.

Why did it have to be Raven?

Dick he could handle. Hell, even a Roy who wanted to go binge drinking in Vegas he could handle (and Roy’s sobriety was the only reason Roy wasn’t coming on this trip). But Raven? Jason didn’t know how exactly to feel about that.

He hadn’t really talked or interacted much with Raven since his resurrection, though both Roy and Kori were tight with her. He had kind of been avoiding her.

Now she was coming along on this trip.

He just shook his head.

That wasn’t his problem. He was going to Vegas on a job. Not a vacation. Kori and Raven would do whatever it was that girls did when they hung out together and he would drag Dick along with him for duration of his mission. Which meant he would mostly be brushing off Dick’s poor attempts to be his brother again and ignoring Kori’s determination to drag him into her antics. Because Kori would attempt to drag him into her antics with Raven for relaxation. Kori was like a sister to him in that way, because Steph and Cass both did the same thing to him when he was in town.

Bending over Jason continued packing his stuff now, selecting the books he would want while waiting and listening. Then he got a text from Kori.

-Raven is coming!

Wrong Image! Screamed in his mind as he threw his phone from him like it was a grenade. This was going to be a long fucking weekend!

~~~*~*~*~~~

Jason pressed the bike harder as he popped a wheely, they hit the car and launched into the air. Raven threw her hand in front of him as black materialized before him and they landed hard.

There were bullets whizzing past him as he went full throttle and Raven continued to materialize a shadow path before him. He pulled his gun an fired wide at the assholes as they landed behind them on the interstate. Raven continued talking on the phone.

“Little bird! Who the hell are you talking too!” Jason shouted over his shoulder.

“Star!” Raven shouted back. There were two SUVs closing in around them.

“Oh,” Jason managed. He couldn’t demand she hang up on Kori, but this girl chat had to happen later. “Could use a lift first, then you can girl talk,” he shouted.

“One second Star,” Raven replied and he watched as Raven materialized another path for them.

~~~*~*~*~~~

72 Hours Earlier…

“Las Wages!” Dick shouted gleefully as he all but bounced off the plane with Kori right behind him. Jason just grumbled as he got up to follow, his bones were hurting, and his mind was exhausted, also Raven still looked fucking amazing and it was distracting.

Seriously, the woman still looked fucking gorgeous, hands down the prettiest woman he had ever seen.

“Jason! Raven! We must participate in the drinking of shots! Gambling! Poker! Slap Jack! And the many touristy things at Las Vegas!” Kori announced as she stood at the bottom of the tarmac waiting with that smile.

“Black Jack,” he and another corrected in unison which had him doing a double take of Raven who was giving him the same look he had no doubt.

“Next vacation I want to not be in a hundred and twenty degree heat,” Raven muttered as they walked onto the tarmac. It made him wonder what kind of vacation she would prefer. But he quickly walked for the airport rather than dwelling on this as Dick slung an arm around the small woman’s shoulders.

“This will be most glorious! We must take many photos for Roy, Jay!” Kori decided grabbing his hand as she bounce a bit. Keeping her feet on the ground was a bit of a genuine challenge for her, still.

“Uh-huh,” he nodded automatically. “No flashing your boobs though Kori.”

“Is that not an earth custom in Vegas?” she asked.

“New Orleans on Mardi Gras,” he answered.

“Very well. Oh! Raven! We must do a spa day before we leave!” Kori announced releasing his hand to speak to her friend. Jason took this time to fill out the paperwork for a rental car. He knew they were going to need it.

“Excellent, you girls have a nice relaxing time and Dickhead and I will do the mission,” Jason decided handing back the papers to the clerk.

“Who died and made you team leader?” Dick sputtered.

“This is a team? I thought I was on vacation with Kori for girl talk,” Raven flatly stated.

“That’s the spirit! Come on little bird, we’ll get the car,” he decided. This was Dick and Kori’s chance to hash things out because he didn’t want to deal with that awkward mess all weekend.

“So, Jason, why are we getting the car?” Raven asked as soon as they walked out the doors of the airport.

“This is Dick and Kori’s last chance to hash things out so we don’t have an insufferable weekend with their awkward dancing around one another,” Jason stated.

“Ah, that is very wise,” she nodded pulling her long black hair up into a pony tail. Fuck she was gorgeous.

“So, anything new for you?” he asked awkwardly.

“Not really, you?”

“Nope.”

“You like books, right?” she asked nervously.

“Always,” he answered.

“I have a new book,” she decided.

“What book?” he asked with genuine interest.

“I have recently started reading Jo Nesbø,” she said apprehensively.

“No shit!” he grinned; alright, he could talk books with her. She relaxed a bit.

“Yes, I’m thoroughly enjoying his portrayal of his characters, it is fascinating. I’m also enjoying the pace of the story so far, it is a pleasure to try to think ahead in this story,” she smiled. She was gorgeous, and Jason smiled a bit.

“I like his work, he’s got good mysteries, and I also like his characters,” he said as they made it to their car.

“Really?”

“Really,” he smiled.

“What else have you read?”

“How do you like Dumas?” he offered.

~~~*~*~*~~~

Raven and he slowed into a parking spot. She swung off the bike, pulling off the helmet as she shook out her hair and handed it to him.

“I’m going to go meet Kori, I can drop you at your hotel,” she offered.

“Thanks, gorgeous,” he smiled as she unzipped that leather jacket.

“No problem,” she shrugged out of the jacket and tossed it to him. he packed it away.

“Now, I must know, why the hell would a beautiful woman like you root for the Mets?” he asked slinging an arm around her shoulders as they walked through the parking garage.

“Because, Jason, I am a New Yorker, and Mets are the soul of New York.”

“Thought that was the Yankees.”

“The Yankees are the gods of baseball, they don’t count,” she stated seriously.

“A woman after my own heart,” he snickered.

In the past seventy-six hours he had really hit it off with Raven and honestly it was like she had known her all his life. She was like a best friend for him as her other arm wrapped around his waist. He liked this familiarity between them.

“My Mets are better than your Knights,” she stated as he fixed his cap.

“Next game I’m getting us tickets, and loser has to take the winner on a date,” he decided.

“Oh, is that so?” Raven chuckled.

“It is, so prepare to lose queen, because your Mets SUCK!” he snickered.

“Your team lost, to the Diamond Backs!” she countered.

“So?”

“You’re delusional to think they’ll beat my Mets.”

[runningwitches]

Buddy and Ummi: The Realization (Damian Wayne x Mother Figure!Reader)

Summary:  As Dick Grayson’s girlfriend, you meet his new younger sibling, Damian Wayne. The young boy doesn’t know how to express that he needs a mother figure, but once you figure it out, you’re happy to be just that. This is the third part in the series. If you haven’t read the first two parts you can find them in the masterlist below.

Word Count: 1216

Series Masterlist

You spent the next day replaying memories from the lovely dinner you had with your boyfriend’s family. You smiled when you realized that you were nervous over nothing not even 24 hours ago. You were so scared that his family would hate you that you didn’t even know what to do now that they didn’t. And as you sat there thinking about Dick and his family, your mind wandered to Damian.

He grew up in such a different environment. He didn’t have a childhood, and that made you upset. You could tell that he was clinging on to the idea of finding a parental figure. Obviously he had Bruce, but you could see the dynamic between them wasn’t necessarily healthy. It was clear to you that Bruce loved his son, even if he didn’t quite understand him, but you also knew from conversations you had held with Dick that he wasn’t always the best at showing it. The idea of the boy growing up in such a hostile environment and then being thrown into a family who is awful with feelings wasn’t an ideal situation.

And then it dawned on you.

After the initial meeting with him, Damian instantly began to like you. By the end of the evening he was by your side and didn’t seem to want to leave. And you realized that you were the only female in his life, even if you had just met. Obviously he had his mother and people from the league, but he was no longer in contact with them. Now his questions about your family and if you had younger siblings made sense. Even if he didn’t realize or if he would never admit, he was hoping to find some sort of maternal figure in you. And now you were determined to give him exactly that.

It was only one week later when you returned to the manor. Dick picked you up from your apartment despite the insistence that you were able to drive yourself, and the two of you headed out for an early lunch at the manor. It was the weekend, so Damian was off from school (which he was just recently enrolled in), you didn’t think Tim went to school anymore (yet you still weren’t sure the reason quite yet), Bruce had gotten the day off from work and Alfred convinced him to take the day off from being Batman too, and so the only one missing was Jason, who ended up showing up halfway through lunch, claiming he got held up (when everyone knew he really just slept in).

Upon entrance to the manor, Alfred greeted you with a smile on his face as usual before making his way back into the kitchen. Then you were greeted by Damian, who appeared to have been waiting for you to arrive.

You gave him a smile and ruffled his hair. “Hey bud.”

He scowled at you before saying, “It is good to see you, (Y/L/N).”

“You know you could call me (Y/N), right?”

“Tt.”

“I’m pretty sure he calls everyone by their last name babe, don’t worry about it,” Dick mentioned to you. You gave your boyfriend a smile, ruffled Damian’s hair again and walked to the dining room where you presumed Bruce and Tim would be. You found Bruce sitting there working on paperwork and nursing a cold coffee that he must have had since breakfast hours ago. Tim was at the other end of the table with a fresh mug of coffee that had to have been at least his third of the day as he was typing away at his computer. The two of them were both completely immersed in their work, and didn’t notice your entrance until you spoke up.

“Hey Bruce, Tim,” you said, nodding at each of them as they looked up from their work. “Alfred told me today was supposed to be work-free. What happened to that?”

“Running a multi-billion dollar company happened,” Bruce simply stated in a gruff voice, before taking a sip of his coffee and returning to his paperwork.

You smiled fondly at the both of them, taking note of how similar the two were, before making your way into the kitchen and offering help to Alfred, who was still cooking the meal.

While you were in the dining room, Damian turned to Dick, “Tt, I would appreciate it if you told (Y/L/N) to keep her hands away from my hair.” 

Dick simply smirked at him and said, “I don’t know, Dami. If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you enjoyed that.”

“Do not be a fool, Grayson. It is annoying and I do not wish to tolerate it any longer.” Though his words seemed harsh, the usual aggression in his voice wasn’t there, and Dick was happy to know that someone was finally getting through to him. The two of them made their way into the dining room, and sat down. When you came back into the room holding a tray of food, you smiled upon seeing the family that so readily accepted you into their lives (sans Jason), and placed the food on the table. Alfred followed you seconds later with the rest of the food, but he left one plate covered in the kitchen, saving it for Jason’s arrival.

“So Damian,” you began, “how’s school treating you?” Damian was in the seat directly in front of you this time, seeing as last time, Jason occupied that chair in an attempt to prevent Damian from murdering you. (It worked.) The new seating arrangement made it easier for you to converse with the boy.

“Tt, it’s awful. Everyone there is stupid, including the teachers.”

“Are you going to Gotham Academy?”

“Yes. All of the people that paid their way in think that they are the best, and all of the scholarship students think they’re the smartest. I’ve only been there a week and it’s insufferable.”

“Sounds like you have the same mindset that you think they have, buddy.”

Though everyone at the table was doing their own thing (much to Alfred’s distaste), their heads turned to you when you called Damian ‘buddy.’ They were expecting some type of outburst, a thrown knife (which is why he was only allowed butter knives), a punch thrown, some sort of tantrum, but as they looked to the young boy, they saw him begin to contemplate your words instead of overreact to them. Dick was beaming when he realized that you were actually getting through to the young boy. Tim and Bruce sat there in shock as Alfred looked between the two of you. Even he was confused at the sudden change in demeanor.

“I suppose you’re correct.”

“Of course I’m correct,” you stated, sending the young boy a smile, “you should try and give people a chance. I know it’s difficult because everyone probably already has an idea of you in their mind that they want you to conform to, but if you ignore everyone forever and assume that they’re all awful, you’re going to be terribly lonely, don’t you think?”

“I don't get lonely, I'm used to being alone.”

“Okaaayyy,” you simply responded before returning to your food. You couldn't help but notice the beaming smile Dick was giving you.

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[issyaboimoony]

For another rando-AU that will never get finished, I have this one I think named “Call Me” or something else cheesy and lame. This was another work in progress, based off a text post I believe (?) where a lady accidentally calls Satan.

Call One

“Okay, Bulma, you are never going to guess the kind of day that I’ve had!”

Piccolo stared in astonishment at the phone in his hands, and cast a curious glance around him. Sure enough, the flames were still burning bright and there was, in fact, no ice creeping over the place. It stood to reason, then, that Hell had not frozen over, and thus some mortal woman was talking to him through the phone that was supposed to be purely for business transactions.

“Excuse me?” he supposed, in retrospect, he could have said something a little more meaningful. He could have pulled out all the stops, pitched his voice low, and promised the woman a thousand miseries—into the mortal life and the next. And yet he was so startled that he was left squeaking out some inane answer.

“Gee… are you sick?” the woman demanded. “Your voice sounds terrible! I swear—you’re thirty years old, Bulma! Take care of yourself! I can swing by and give you some lozenges after my bath.”

“That’s—no, you’ve made a mistake,” Piccolo protested. He cast a furtive glance around the throne room. There was no one in attendance, but he still felt the need to cup his hand around the receiver. If Nail walked in on him… he’d never hear the end of it, now would he?

“You’re damn right I did!” the woman persisted, her voice reaching decibels that made Piccolo’s ears flap in protest. “When I started dating that son of a bitch! D’you know what he did, Bulma? The dirty bastard went and disappeared. Again. Probably back behind a dumpster somewhere with a concussion! I tell ya—we’ve been together over a decade now and I’m just about at my breaking point!”

“Listen, you’re really misunderstanding—,”

“The hell I am! What if Vegeta just up and walked out on you every time he got to itchin’ for a fight?”

Piccolo paused. Vegeta—oh, he knew that name. It wasn’t often that a person was such a shit stain that Piccolo knew their name from off the top of his head. Vegeta Vegeta (and he was not kidding with that name) was constantly popping up on Hell’s radar—the guy had murdered more than should seem reasonable for a human being, and was, in fact, a just generally nasty person. Honestly, when he finally made his way down here, Piccolo had seriously considered offering him a position. A lowly one in between his torture, sure, but they could use creativity like that.

“For the last time, woman, I’m not this Bulma!” Piccolo gritted out. Though if she was an Earth woman who was apparently ridiculous enough to deal with Vegeta, then… He shuddered at the thought. “What the hell number did you dial?”

The woman on the other end of the line sat still for a moment, before Piccolo heard an aggravated tut.

“How rude! This is a wrong number, and you’re just telling me now?!”

“I—,” Piccolo spluttered, “what?! I tried telling you at least three times, you pathetic mortal!”

“Oh god… are you some weird kid in a phase?” he could practically hear the sneer in the woman’s words. “Listen, I don’t know what your deal is, but you really oughtta talk to your parents about whatever feelings you’re having.”

“Excuse me—?!”

The phone went click, and Piccolo was left staring, dumbfounded, at the receiver. A geyser of flames shot up behind him as his temper swelled, and he snarled at the phone, which he promptly threw to the floor. The bone shaped apparatus skittered across the red stoned floor. Piccolo flopped back in his throne, fingers angrily tapping out his frustrations as he fumed.

Call Two

The next time the phone rang, at precisely 12 o’ clock Earth time, he was once more greeted by the shrill voice.

“Bulma, honey, did you get to go to the doctor?” Piccolo could feel his head pound. “Rashes are no joke. One time, I had one on my—,”

“Mortal.”

“Oh. It’s you, that kid.” The woman sounded entirely nonplussed. “You know, it’s really late at night. And I’m certain I typed the number in right this time—,”

“You clearly did not. And I’m not a child.” Piccolo shooed away an imp in aggravation. The thing had paperwork tottering in its hands, and he was in no mood to deal with that. He had far more pressing matters on his mind. “I’m a demon, from beyond your mortal plane, and—,”

Click.

He pressed his fangs together, and promptly threw the phone across the room.

Call Three

It had been a few days since Piccolo had received a phone call from the strange woman. He kept hoping that she would call back, just so that he could give her a rather nicely worded message about how she was an insufferable human. As it went, he did not hear from her, and was left to simmer.

Finally, though, the phone rang, and when he picked it up, it was once more the woman.

“Bulma—,”

“No. Still not Bulma. I will never be Bulma, and you are a moro—,”

Click.

Call Four

Piccolo was certain that his blood pressure was going to sky rocket. He didn’t know the mortal’s name, didn’t know what she looked like, and was certainly unaware of what to do. Nail had already been into see him multiple times, claiming that his spikes of anger had been causing destruction in lower chambers. He’d sent the man away, ordering him to fix it as he slumped down into his chair in aggravation.

The phone rang, and he snatched it up. He crammed the offensive thing up to his ear, and heard silence on the other side.

“It’s you again, isn’t it?�� the woman sounded defeated.

“Of course, it’s me! How did you even get this number?” Piccolo snarled into the receiver.

“I swear, I’m typing my friend’s number in!” She was angry. He didn’t know what she looked like, but he could imagine the square set of a jaw.

“You’re obviously doing something wrong.”

“Maybe it’s your fault.”

“How could it possibly—listen, mortal woman. You are the one calling a number that, for all intents and purposes, should not even exist on the same plane as you.”

The woman groaned. “Listen, can you just put your mom on the line? This is getting out of hand. This is what, the third or fourth time you’ve done this I’m a demon blah blah line? I honestly don’t have time for it anymore. I don’t know why our lines keep getting crossed, but I’m in no mood for it, mister.”

“I’m probably older than you, don’t talk down to me!” Piccolo spluttered. Nail entered the throne room just then, carrying a stack of papers. Piccolo stared at them for a solid moment, before a malicious grin broke out across his face. “If you don’t mind me asking, what is your name?”

“The hell should I tell you for? Don’t you have a bedtime?”

Piccolo pressed his teeth together into a harsh line and massaged his temple with his free hand. “Woman. Answer. The question.”

“Gyumao Chi Chi… why? You think you know me or somethin’?”

Piccolo chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. You have a lovely night.” He quickly snatched a pen from Nail’s hand, and began eagerly scribbling. He hung up the phone quickly, before picking it up once more to make a few calls.

Call Five

The phone rang, and for once, Piccolo not only anticipated it—but was also excited for it. He eagerly snatched it up, and reclined back in his chair. “Yes?”

“You mind telling me why the hell I have a little green thing in my house?!” Chi Chi screeched. Her voice reached decibels that Piccolo hadn’t known existed, and even as he pushed the phone away from him he cringed. He was certain it had transcended the multiple levels down into Hell.

“Don’t like the present?” Piccolo smirked. After their last chat, Piccolo had done some research on a Gyumao Chi Chi. Thirty-one, Chinese-American, with a childhood best friend turned boyfriend. She was apparently a nurse, best friends to Bulma Briefs, married to the rather infamous Vegeta Briefs. He’d stared at her profile for quite some time, memorizing details that he could possibly use against her in their now-regular phone calls.

“I mean… he’s rather sweet, but I’m not sure why he’s here.”

Piccolo frowned. “Sweet—what the—,”

“Yes, little Dende here has actually been rather good company.” Chi Chi didn’t sound nearly as surprised as she ought to be. “He’s been sprucing up my garden and cleaning around the house.”

Piccolo groaned. “Why did he send Dende?”

“Who sent him?” Chi Chi asked shrewdly. He had her picture memorized in his brain, and try to imagine which way her face twisted. “Why’s he look like an alien, anyways? He just keeps saying he’s from Hell?”

“He is.” Piccolo dropped his head into his hands. Of course Nail sent Dende—the least demonic of anyone in Piccolo’s employ. Sure, he’d told Nail not to send anyone dangerous, but he’d wanted to wreak a little bit of havoc into Chi Chi’s life.