#my internet was out today so i actually did pass the time digging around in my actual saved collection of aew women's matches

[fallout-lou-begas]

starting a collection

[wanderingthroughsands]

II. Long I stood there wondering, fearing

You was the glue that would keep me together Now that you broke the seal I'm finna glow for real Holding the people that was broken together I know we both not healed Never been home I feel

– "Dreamlord" by kenji

The sluggish computer on my desk had never frustrated me as much as it did today. Long minutes passed before I could open the browser, and even longer before Hector fixed the internet connection issue I had reported. Standing over him, impatiently digging my nails into my arms, I listened to Veronica recount yet another nightmare she’d had that night. This time, it was less intense, but still terrifying enough to make her wake up drenched in cold sweat. Not paying any real attention to what she was saying, I repeated the advice I had given her yesterday, to which she merely waved her hand dismissively and muttered that no amount of rationalization had helped her wake from the dream.

"Maybe this job is just too stressful for me?" Veronica pondered aloud, staring at the tiny cracks in the ceiling.

"This job?" I muttered incredulously, unable to hold back my thoughts. Hearing my derisive tone, Veronica froze for a moment, then burst into short laughter.

"You may be right, I can't think of a single thing here that could stress me out. So maybe it's because of Luke? Maybe my body is sending me signals that he's not the right man?"

"I don't think it's Luke's fault. Thanks, Hector," I said, nodding to our IT specialist as he left, and immediately pounced on the keyboard. Veronica's resigned expression stopped me from diving into the tasks I had planned to search for. With a soft sigh, I caught her eye with my gaze. "Have you ever tried meditating? Or any relaxation techniques? Try disconnecting from the internet before bed, listen to some soothing music, take a long, warm bath, have a glass of good wine."

"Good wine is actually quite a solid piece of advice," she said, smiling at me. "I could also finally listen to those philharmonic concert CDs that Luke keeps bringing to my place."

"And maybe then you'll stop wondering if the man who brings you pleasant music is the right one or not," I winked at her but quickly hid behind my screen to avoid further discussion.

Throughout the night, I replayed my encounter with the dark-haired man in my mind. In my imagination, I could still see his face, his sharp features, and his gaze, which seemed vast enough to contain the whole universe. I felt the energy emanating from his body as he stood mere centimeters from me. I remembered the threat in his words about danger and irreparable harm. There was a depth and emptiness in him simultaneously, and I couldn't understand why he had instilled fear in me from the very first moment I saw him before the accident several years ago.

The Dream Lord. This phrase was the first thing I typed into the search engine, only to be immediately flooded with countless descriptions of that one character* from a popular TV series. I had to skip several tabs before something new caught my eye. The article was titled: "From Piaskun to Sandman – Figures of Dream across the Ages."

The term "Dreamlord" appeared several times, along with others like "Dream," "Oneiros," "Morpheus," and "Sandman." The latter yielded significantly more results. As I read, I learned that the Sandman was a character inspired by European mythology, a being who put children to sleep by sprinkling sand in their eyes. However, this name was also associated with rulers, gods, and guardians of sleep from various mythologies around the world. The Dream Lord I encountered must have been a creature existing for millennia, perhaps since the very creation of the universe.

And now, this creature wanted me dead.

Having perused most of the available online sources, I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes for a few moments. Dreamlord had found me in Fiddler’s Green, where I usually rested between nightmares. He sought me out because I was traveling through other people's nightmares, rescuing them from their terrors, although it seemed no one from my world should be doing this. If he had forbidden me, I would likely have agreed to stop… despite the fact that, for the past few years, it had been my sole, genuine purpose. Yet, in my desire to help, I had no idea I could cause anyone harm. That I could inflict "irreparable damage"…

But it wasn’t only my wanderings through nightmares that made the King of Dreams want to destroy me. It was the power that enabled these journeys — a power that had manifested the first time I saw him in that park.

Suddenly, a surprised gasp from Sophie, the head of the marketing department, broke my reverie. She stood in the doorway to my left, staring at something behind me.

“Oh my, girls, look at that enormous bird!”

Frowning, I turned toward the window to see a large, black raven clawing at the outer windowsill.

"Disgusting," Veronica muttered, grimacing at the sight. "I wonder how long it's been sitting there. It doesn't seem afraid of us at all."

"I'm a bit afraid of it, to be honest. Kind of reminds me of Hitchcock's movies," Sophie said, then moved towards Veronica, and in a moment, they were engrossed in a conversation about the cover of the latest book we were publishing.

Taking advantage of their distraction, I moved my chair a bit closer to the window and carefully examined the raven, which hadn't flown away despite our movements and gestures. I looked into its eyes, and it met my gaze with surprising awareness—it didn’t turn its head, not even a twitch. For several long seconds, we just stared at each other, and only when it finally flew away did I realize I had been holding my breath the entire time.

Under the influence of that familiar mix of fear and anticipation, I typed into the search engine: The Dream Lord’s Raven. An image appeared—a dark, faceless figure dressed in black with an enormous raven perched calmly on his shoulder. The picture led to a link where I found the portfolio of an illustrator employed at some agency in California. Beside the graphic were the title and caption: Lord Morpheus, King of the Dreaming. Illustration for the book "The History of Dream" by Rose Walker. Release date: November 18, 2022.

The Dreaming. That was precisely the word Dreamlord had used to describe his realm when speaking with me.

A quick glance at the calendar revealed that there was just over a month until the book's release. I bookmarked the image, also noting Rose Walker's name. Such similar terminology could only be a coincidence, but the image, which so faithfully depicted the statuesque man from my dream, suggested otherwise. Perhaps someone else, besides me, had encountered the Dream Lord. And perhaps that person could help me free myself from him.

That day, I saw the black raven several more times. When I left work, it was perched on a lamppost, staring at me motionlessly. During lunch with my mother, it pecked at the restaurant window several times, and later, as we walked home, it flew over our heads so low that its claws nearly grazed her hair. It also appeared in my bedroom window as I was getting ready for bed, wrapped in a robe after a long shower.

It took me only a moment to decide what to do. I shouted "Goodnight" to my mother through the ajar door, then closed it and walked towards the window. I opened it abruptly, but even that didn’t scare away the raven. It merely shook its wings slightly and cawed, its piercing yellow eyes still fixed intently on me.

The chill of the night air swept into my room, but that wasn’t what occupied my thoughts—I had a message to convey.

"Tell your master, the Dream Lord," I said through clenched teeth, weighing each word carefully, "that I will stop my journeys through nightmares if he stops threatening me and sending his spies after me. Like him, I don't want anyone to get hurt, but I will not allow myself to be killed for a skill I never asked for. So be kind enough to tell him to leave me alone."

"Technically, he cannot leave you alone, Rebecca," to my astonishment, the raven responded in a human voice, firm yet tinged with compassion. "You are the child of his Nightmare."

"I am..." the shock left me unable to decide what was more absurd to me: the talking raven or the words it had spoken. "…what?"

"You are a threat to the Dreaming," the bird's voice was that of a man, and suddenly I saw something human in its eyes, a hint of pleading. "As long as you can freely wander his realm, you will continue to wreak havoc in it… just as you have done so far."

"But... I don't understand any of this. I haven't destroyed anything in any of the nightmares; I only helped people wake up, which would have happened sooner or later anyway. How am I a threat to the Dream Lord if I stop interfering in others' nightmares now?"

"It’s not just your wanderings that are dangerous to him, and us all. Your power to travel through the Dreaming comes from a Nightmare that once defied Morpheus. You are the last remnant of that Nightmare, lingering here in the waking world."

"I'm not a nightmare!" I raised my voice, drawing the attention of people walking on the sidewalk beneath my building. "I help people; I don't torment them with horrific visions of pain, suffering, and death. If anyone here is a nightmare, it's Dreamlord, because he's the one terrorizing dreamers, bringing forth their deepest fears!"

"Shit, I don;t think he’d like that..." the bird shook its head nervously and quickly looked around, as if expecting someone to emerge from the shadows at any moment.

"You know what, raven?"

"My name is Matthew," it mumbled, clearly growing more uneasy.

"Alright then, Matthew," I said, leaning closer to its beak and speaking very quietly, mustering all my strength to suppress the mixture of fear and anger rising within me. "I won’t let the Dream Lord capture me or kill me. Tell him that if he wants to catch me, he will have to chase me to my death, through all the nightmares of this world. Either that, or he finds a way to take away the power that terrifies him so much. If I am a mistake of your Lord Morpheus and his Nightmare, then let Lord Morpheus correct his mistake... but I did nothing to deserve to die for it."

I slammed the window shut before the bird could say anything more. In a surge of raw, bubbling emotions, I sat on the bed, burying my head in my arms, my fingers tangling in my hair.

I seems that from now on, every night would be a flight into nightmares. Dreamlord would never forgive, never forget the defiance I had shown him, and he would undoubtedly defend his realm at all costs.

Defend... against me... a child of his Nightmare...

The memory of his infinite eyes came back to me unexpectedly, stirring the familiar feelings that always heralded a nocturnal journey. I hoped that in my own world, I was safe, far from him. And in the Dreaming... there, I had always known quite well how to hide.

*The Dream Lord – one of the main antagonists in the TV series "Doctor Who".

[dollarbin]

Sandy Saturday's #13:

Pass of Arms

I'll bet there are already far more words written about T. Swift's new record than in all of the Mahabharata (that's the Hindu holy book that contains the Bhagavad Gita; it's around 13,000 pages long).

The opposite can be said for Pass of Arms, a 1971 half hour film that contains two stand alone Sandy Denny songs. The film does not have a Wikipedia page and is not available in any form anywhere as near as I can tell: it exists but you literally cannot watch it.

Having a Wikipedia page is a pretty low bar. Without knowing, I bet there are extensive ones dedicated to Chewbacca's family tree and Joe Biden's dog. I'm right on both counts of course: I just looked.

But google to your hearts content: the internet confirms that the short film existed, that it claimed to be "award winning", and that a guy who worked marginally on the 80's buddy flick Spies Like Us, in which I seem to remember that Dan Aykroyd and Chevy Chase save the world from nuclear destruction while failing to make us laugh, directed it; and that's it.

Happily, we can still hear the songs at least, something I've never done with any real focus until this moment. Let's start with Here in Silence.

Okay, I'm digging it so far. I picture a knight in his pensive non-warrior boy clothes looking longingly at his maiden, fall grass billowing between them in slow motion; but then that scene gives way to that same knight, now in full armor, gearing up for gnarly battle and then we realize this is actually a film about the Children's Crusade, or maybe it's all a chunky metaphor and it's actually about angsty and hirsute teens in jolly old 70's England: they're looking to stick to the man, or bloke I guess - this is England - and, well, maybe there's a reason no one other than me is angry they can't watch this film anymore because this song, which Denny clearly did not write, kinda sucks. Sandy sounds glorious, as always, but I'd rather hear her sing The Wheels On The Bus.

Have some faith though, people. We've got the marginally more famous Man of Iron track left to consider. I've definitely heard this one before, but I can remember nothing about it other than the fact that it's really long and moody with strings. Here goes!

Yeah, those are strings alright. Today the students at my tiny high school were all bent out of shape - it's Spring and everyone's either breaking up, thinking about it or striving to create similar drama in their life asap, so I led a full school game of musical chairs on the basketball court and declared in advance that I would win at all costs. I did not win but I shoved a bunch of giant teen boys aside in the effort and everyone laughed at their weird teacher and got into it.

We're a pretty cool school so one of our tenth graders, who's already a semi-professional cellist, played whatever came into his head for each round, which sure beat dancing around the chairs while T. sang 65 new songs about her loser boyfriends or whatever. My student's cello sounded, some of the time, a bit like the vibe that starts the track, only better. Then for the next round he'd play Mozart at triple speed.

But now there's a whole mess of fifes involved and this thing is starting to sound silly. Bring in Sandy Denny soon, please.

Oh thank the sensitive medieval Jesus who probably repeatedly appears to the lead character in this film swathed in psychedelic splendor: here's Sandy, and she's brought a whole pack of Cinderella's helpful birds with her to twitter about, somewhat helpfully.

But these lyrics are unbearable. When I was in seventh grade I committed the cardinal sin of writing an earnest original poem about "the roller coaster of life" and then turned it in to my earnest, no clue teacher who of course then read it to the whole class while on the verge of tears - someone had finally attempted something, anything, of marginal note in his earnest but lousy class - which turned my pimply face red, then white, then putrescent purple with shame as the other 13 year olds around me murmured then moved on to mirth and then on to all out rage: never would I be forgiven for writing sensitive poetry in earnest. Jeff Stimpfig, the school's stock character bully, declared me both gay (it was 1989; "gay" equaled uncool and homophobia equaled cool; what a dumb world...) and soon to be dead through his potent fists. Anyway, my seventh grade poem was surely terrible. But it contained far fewer cliches than this claptrap.

Was this end you chose Sir Knight?

Was this why you were born so bright?

The wolves will chew your bones tonight...

Sandy clearly needed a sizeable offered payday to have ever uttered these words; Trevor Lucas, or perhaps Stephen Stills, surely talked her into the whole gig. The guitar is nice though... I wonder if Sandy plays it. Sounds like her...

But good grief, now we've got a stomach churning drum thing going on. I'm starting to think this whole film may have been a Stephen Stills vanity project: it probably centers on Stills's broriffic relationship with Joe Freakin' Lala; they're on a quest to no longer suck and it's going nowhere fast as their stuck in a room of lemons, all of them worth sucking, and buxom ladies who admire them for no discernible reason whatsoever; and then, at the end of the film / this terrible song, aliens in sunglasses descend and take Steve and Joe to their leader for an extraterrestrial blues jam complete with wolves and low production value fake wind. Clearly, they didn't have Neil Young's budget for fake wind: he's got a huge budget when it comes to producing fake wind.

I'm guessing that Sandy's estate is responsible for insuring this film can no longer be seen by anyone. Indeed, The Dollar Bin itself may soon be hacked so as to eliminated this entire post one conniving letter at a time in their nefarious quest to separate Denny from any observable connection to the film Pass of A....

[sauteing-the-horrors]

The cemetery lies before me, rows upon rows of headstones as far as the eye can see. The sunlight filtering through the trees makes for a beautiful dappled pattern along the carved names of the dead. I do not remember how long I have been in here. I should have turned away the second I saw my second gravestone with the same name. I should have turned away when I began noticing that all the graves had the same bit of cracked stone along the right edge. But in I stayed, walking in deeper and deeper, looking for the one headstone that had caught my eye. It was a stone with my mother’s name on it, matching her birthdate. My mother has a fairly unique name, and only two other women share her name in this part of the town. This I know because of an internet search I did out of curiosity; to see if her name was really as unique as she claimed. You can imagine my surprise, then, when I saw her gravestone in this cemetery. When I saw the grave, I knew that it was hers. Something told me that this grave was meant for my mother. What’s more, the carved stone spelled out exactly what I had planned for her when she would pass. A bit morbid, I know, to have your mother’s epitaph planned out, but that’s the way she raised us, always at comfort with our mortality. That comfort, however, did nothing to ease my horror at seeing her grave in front of me while she was alive. The first time I saw it, it felt so real, I tried digging through to make sure she wasn’t actually in there. I do not remember how long I dug, only that when I stopped, my nails were bleeding and my eyes were heavy, as if I hadn’t slept in a week. How was it so dark already?

I turned around to leave, but the infinite rows of headstones looked so eerily similar in the dark, I couldn’t figure out which way to go. It wouldn’t be so bad sleeping in the cemetery itself – the graves made for a nice bed and it doesn’t get too chilly here around nights. So off to sleep I went, above my mother’s grave. At least, it felt like going to sleep. When I awoke, the rows of headstones around me seemed to extend far beyond where they did yesterday. I made my way through the uncannily similar rows, trying to remember which way I came in through. That’s when I saw it again. The grave. It couldn’t have been the same one, could it? I had been going straight for a while now, and two turns don’t make a circle. Or maybe it does? The heat of the day was beginning to get to me. I stumbled around, trying to find the entrance to the cemetery. I didn’t remember it being this big. Another grave with my mother’s name. And another. I saw one for my childhood best friend. Then another. Eight in total. Five for my father. Seven for my mother. Three for our family dog. Twelve for my high school girlfriend. This cemetery is filled with everyone and everything I have ever loved. I am pretty sure that if I look hard enough, I will find my own grave. Then another. And another. I don’t think I will go looking today, however. Mom seems lovely today, and there’s more of her surrounding me in this graveyard than she ever did when I was growing up. I can have her for lunch, the way I always dreamed when I got a place of my own. There’s certainly plenty of her to go around. I found this out when I saw the old shovel lying against one of the trees. I still had some hope back then, that these graves were empty and not real. But then I dug up my best friend. And then my dad. And then my best friend again. It is lovely to be surrounded by the people you love. And I suppose love does nourish you where food doesn’t. People break into my home sometimes. But they join the family soon enough. There rises my grave now. I suppose it’s time to join the rest of my family.

[amorousadepti]

❈ flood in my heart (childe x reader)

another belated birthday fic, this time for dear rat boy (*￣▽￣)b honestly did not expect to fall so hard for this bastard but here we are!! he’s an absolute fave and im not ashamed. actually Would have gotten this one out at the right time but my internet decided to quit on me so :^) sorry 

summary: childe has plans for you on his birthday. you have plans of your own. the day takes a turn neither of you expect, but you’re not complaining (gn!reader, no pronouns or anatomy descriptions)

warnings: loosely-described fight scene, vague violence, childe being childe

length: 2.7k

The letter is delivered first thing in the morning, sitting on your tray of breakfast and propped against your steaming teacup.

You take your time before opening it. When your belly is pleasantly full with crab roe tofu and you're sipping from your third cup, you finally deign to lift the plain envelope from the tray, studying it intently. Though it bears no name, you already have an idea of the sender; you'd never admit it, but you've been anticipating this day for a while. 

Your suspicions are proved correct when you slit the envelope and find a letter written in Childe's familiar chicken-scratch scrawl. It no longer occurs to you to wonder how he knew where you were staying - by now, you know that if Childe wants to find you, he will. Munching idly on a crisp lotus flower, you consider the invitation. 

If you have no special plans, how about you swing by my place? 

Was it just wishful thinking, or was he—

You shake the thought from your head, taking another emphatic bite of lotus crisp. The day is still young. You have plenty of time to bathe, dress, and then make your way to Liuli Pavilion. 

(And if you spend just a little more time than usual on your appearance, making sure to spray the perfume he'd once impulsively bought you on each pulse point - well, that's no one's business but yours.)

"Comrade!" Comes the customary greeting once you finally wander into the Pavilion. Childe bounds up to you with a vibrant grin, sweeping you into an embrace that lifts you onto the tips of your boots. "I was hoping you would come!" 

You hum, leaning into his embrace and desperately fighting the instincts that tell you to bury your face in the crook of his neck and breathe deep in his familiar scent - saltwater and cold iron and the warm musk of his skin. You allow yourself to indulge only for a few seconds, then step back to a respectful distance (though Childe, disregarding the memo, follows and keeps an arm linked with yours.) 

"Happy birthday, Chi—"

"Ah, ah, ah!" He wags a finger at you, a cheeky smile playing on his lips. "It's my birthday, comrade - the least you can do is call me by my name, no?" 

"Happy birthday, Ajax." You squeeze his hand, his fingers moving to twine with yours. "And many happy returns." 

Childe beams at you, a faint glimmer in the usually dull blue of his eyes as he starts to pull you after him. "Now, I did say I have some plans for you—" 

"You don't want your gift first?" The way he whirls on his heel, clearly thrilled at the prospect of being lavished with gifts, is... endearing. You raise the bag in your free hand, wiggling it tantalizingly. "It comes in a few parts, actually."

"You spoil me, comrade," he simpers, unsubtly trying to swipe for your bundle of treasures and pouting when you withdraw. You roll your eyes in fond exasperation, pulling out the first part of your gift: a small white box that fits in your palm, bound with a delicate blue ribbon. 

"Open this first." You don't even need to tell him, really - he's quick to snatch the little box from your hand, though you notice he takes surprising care in untangling the ribbon. His expression softens when he holds your gift in his palm, rolling the little white whale between his fingers as he studies every intricately carved detail.

"It's made from a whale's tooth, too," you blurt, suddenly desperate to fill the silence. "It's from Inazuma - the merchant said she only had a few left, managed to snag them before the border closed. I thought of you when I saw it. Thought maybe it could be a good luck charm or something." 

"Coming from you, it has to be lucky," Childe says, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. He tucks the carving into a little pocket (just over his heart) and pats the spot where it rests gently, his smile small but honest. "Thank you. I'll take good care of this." 

You clear your throat, averting your eyes as you thrust the rest of the bag at him. "These, too."  

He peers inside, and you watch his brow furrow as he studies your prizes: an array of shackles and chaos cores and a few jars of slime concentrate to boot. The fruits of many battles, compiled over the past two months. Comprehension dawns quickly, his hands clenching into fists around the rucksack as he glances up to meet your eyes. 

"That bow of yours could use an upgrade, right? Especially if you want any chance of beating me today," you say demurely, a faint smile pulling at your lips. "Once you're done, meet me at the Golden House. But don't expect me to take it easy on you just because it's your birthday." 

The smile that curls his lips is nothing short of bloodthirsty. It makes your heart flutter. "I wouldn't dream of it, Comrade!" 

The sound of his laughter follows you through the streets, spurring you onward. Sneaking past the Millelith is easy enough - this is far from your first time, after all. Honestly, you're pretty sure none of them are willing to deal with the hassle of you and your Fatui opponent. You slip through the great door with only the faintest creak, stretching to loosen up your muscles as you amble down the sloping stairs to the center of the floor. Your favorite battlefield. 

You're still stretching casually when the hair on the back of your neck prickles, carefully honed instincts suddenly crying danger! You call your sword as you stand straight, rising just in time to bat away the Hydro arrow that would have caught you in the right shoulder. Droplets of water splatter your face, a cool spray that sets your nerves ablaze with anticipation. Your blood pumps quick as Childe steps into view, Vision glowing at his hip. 

"Oh, comrade," he sighs, almost dreamily. "You really do know just what I like!" 

His voice is drowned beneath a cacophony of water as he launches himself at you, barely giving you enough time to raise your shield before he crashes into it with a splash. Your muscles strain, a fine tremble in your limbs betraying the force of his blow. Your heart pounds with excitement, a grin twisting your lips in answer to his eager smile. 

He leaps back, dodging a slash from your dagger, and knocks you off balance with a Hydro attack to your knees that sends you staggering back. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to cook you a hearty meal after I beat you." 

"Don't get cocky, now," you huff, finding your feet. You move together in a predatory circle, each waiting for the other to strike. "You haven't beaten me yet."

"True! Which will make my victory today all the more special," he chirps, bouncing a little on his heels with glee. "Do I get another gift if I win?" 

"So greedy, Ajax," you breathe, digging your heels in as you weather another rapid onslaught of arrows. "The pleasure of my company isn't enough for you?" 

"I can think of more ways to indulge in your company, dear comrade," he purrs when your blade locks with a ridge of his bow, leaning close over your crossed weapons. His tongue, hot and quick, licks a trail across your cheekbone. 

You lash out with a sloppy swing of your blade, striking only air as the Harbinger leaps back with a gleeful cackle, twisting on his feet so he can fire another shot at you. You roll nimbly out of its path, grimacing as you scrub at your cheek with the back of your hand. 

Oh, you definitely won't be making this easy for him. 

It's impossible to tell how much time passes in the Golden House; whenever you're here with him, it's like the world reduces to only you and Childe, the clash and tangle of your bodies across the hallowed floor. It could be hours or only minutes. Whatever the case, you're both panting, dripping sweat, and sore by the time you see an opening in his guard, launching yourself towards him for the decisive blow. 

Except— 

His bow clatters to the ground, discarded from limp fingers. Childe stands still and quiet, arms hanging at his sides, and the expression on his face as he watches you charge, blade-first, is like nothing you've ever seen from him before. 

You lower your sword, your boots skidding on the floor - but not fast enough to stop your collision, and you faceplant into Childe's chest with a grunt. One arm wraps around your waist, holding you close; the other finds the wrist of your sword arm, extended carefully behind you. For a moment, it feels like an embrace, just as warm and affectionate as the one you'd shared with him earlier. 

Then he twists your arm hard enough that you cry out, your sword falling to the ground with a clang, and the next thing you know, you're flat on your back, Childe's hands encircling your wrists to pin you in place. 

The puff of each exhale fans over your lips, his narrow chest heaving as the two of you catch your breath. You test his grip and find it unyielding, strong as shackles. Childe watches you writhe beneath him with a quiet intensity that both unsettles and thrills you, something about the glint in his eyes making your heart turn over in your chest. Somehow, it feels as though you've lost much more than a friendly spar. 

"My," he chuckles finally, though his grasp on your wrists remains like iron. "I have to be honest, I wasn't sure whether you would stop!" 

You toss your head, glaring up at him without much heat. "That was a dirty trick." 

"I know," he says, releasing one arm to tenderly brush the hair away from your sweat-slick forehead. You don't take advantage of the moment of weakness. He does not apologize. That's good - you think you'd be more annoyed if he said sorry without meaning it. "But it seems that it's my win, comrade." 

You sigh through your nose, exasperated but unwilling to fight. "That it is." 

He hums quietly, still studying you with that strange look - you feel oddly naked, pinned beneath his gaze. The hand that remains around your wrist squeezes gently, gloved thumb grazing your pulse point; you try to restrain a shudder, but from the way his eyes sharpen, you doubt you succeed. 

"Now, now..." He sighs in a show of exaggerated thoughtfulness. "What should my next gift be?"  

You grumble something vaguely along the lines of not having agreed to another gift. Childe ignores you steadfastly, snapping his fingers in realization. "How about a kiss?" 

You snort, prepared to brush the request off as another bit of harmless flirting, but the look in his eyes is not one of jesting. Your mouth suddenly feels dry, and you wet your lips with your tongue before you speak again. The way his cobalt eyes flicker to watch your mouth does nothing to help your focus. "Seriously?" 

"Why not?" He says, shrugging as though he hasn't just knocked your world off-kilter. Your mouth opens, but before you can speak, you feel his fingers caress your jaw, his thumb resting on the pad of your lower lip. The leather is blessedly cool; you feel feverish in comparison. He's looking at you like he could swallow you whole, and you think you would let him. "A kiss from my most beloved comrade... now that's a gift I would really treasure."

You inhale, a ragged, gasping thing that sounds more post-coital than post-battle, and lay still beneath his hand. The thought that you have yet to actually respond fails to occur to your fogged brain - until suddenly the contact is gone, the loss of his touch echoing in your chest, and something in Childe's expression wavers before he's sitting up, a smile that doesn't reach his eyes on his lips. He's shutting himself off from you. Again.

"Ah, well, it was only a jo—mmph!"

Huh. If you'd known a kiss was all it took to stop his rambling, you might've given into your desires earlier. 

His lips are a bit chapped but pleasantly warm against yours, and his breath smells surprisingly sweet - it seems you weren't the only one indulging in Liyue's traditional snacks today. He hadn't been prepared for you to pull him down, and for a breathless moment his full weight rests upon you; there's a guilty exhilaration in feeling the length of him pressed against you, his long legs tangled with yours and strands of his hair tickling your cheeks. Your fingers knot tightly in his red scarf, holding him so close you think you can feel the pounding of his heart in your own chest. When your tongue flicks against the plush of his bottom lip, he moans sweetly, a shudder wracking his lithe frame as he opens for you, a gloved hand cupping your cheek. You taste blood in his mouth and can't tell whether it's yours or his. The thought excites you, your heart hammering as your blood grows hot. 

A strand of saliva, tinted pink with blood, connects your mouths when Childe pulls away with a ragged gasp. His lips are swollen from your kiss, a deep flush coloring his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and his eyes are wide and startled. They almost—

Shine. 

"Comrade!" Childe exclaims, reeling back on his heels. You've never seen him so... off-balanced, his hands twitching helplessly in the air. You decide you like him this way. "H-How bold of you!" 

You blink, lazily propping yourself up on your elbows. "You were the one that asked for a kiss in the first place." 

He seems to fluster even more at the reminder, hiding his mouth behind his wrist. "I didn't think you'd actually do it!" 

"Aw, Ajax," you coo. Much to your delight, the blush on Childe's cheeks grows even darker, a red glow creeping down his neck. "Is the big bad Harbinger flustered all because of a little kiss? What would Scara say if he saw you like this?"

Childe grimaces. "Don't mention him right now, please." 

You laugh, loudly, until Childe's hands clamp down on your shoulders, pinning you to the ground once again. Your breath stutters as you look up at him, finding him watching you intently; that same strange, searching look as before, but mixed with something darker. 

Hungrier. 

"You should be more careful, offering a gift like that so freely," he murmurs - a breathless purr like you've never heard before, the promise of danger in his voice making your thighs clench. One hand moves to gently nudge the band of your shirt off your shoulder, the brush of his fingers against your bared skin sending your nerves sparking. "I might want you to give me even more."

The words spill from your lips easily, without thinking. "Then take more." 

Childe stares down at you wordlessly. He's barely breathing, lashes fluttering when you reach out and catch his hand, slipping your fingers under the tight line of his glove until you can peel it off his fingers. He says your name, soft and wondering. 

"You said that this was a gift you'd treasure..." You guide him to the tie of your blouse. Unprompted, his fingers curl around the loose knot. "So make sure to take good care of me, Ajax." 

Your blouse falls open with a gentle tug, and Childe falls upon you, locking your lips in a messy kiss as his hands roam your body wildly, seeking out every scrap of bare skin he can find. You're pulled onto your knees to straddle his lap as he sits back and pulls you atop him, breaking from your mouth to trail bruising bites down the length of your throat. The force of his desire crashes down upon you like a wave, filling your lungs with only him. 

You're glad to drown. 

[thankskenpenders]

Enerjak Reborn: Epilogue

It’s time to answer the question on everybody’s mind. How did Ken respond to Ian killing off Locke, one of his pet characters?

Well, the answer, as you should expect, is: poorly

Now, it’s important to remind everyone that Ken has not actually read the arc. He never read any of Ian’s run, to my knowledge. But his fans were sure to tell him all about it and ask him how he felt

Eventually, in 2010, two years after this issue dropped, we got a response from Ken talking about how he felt about Ian’s run. (Again, even though he wasn’t actually reading it himself.) Said response is worth reading in full if you’re interested in all this drama and Ken’s mindset. You literally get to see the guy brag about how he actively ignored what Bollers was doing when the two were sharing writing duties, as if this is a good thing that makes him a better writer. He also criticizes Ian for using the previous writers’ characters instead of introducing even more characters to the bloated Archie cast in his first few years on the series. But the relevant part to the discussion of Enerjak reborn is here:

“I especially don’t consider anything either does with any of the echidna characters – especially Locke – to be canon as neither created the characters nor established them in stories as the viable fan favorites they’ve become. No matter what Ian writes, he can never alter the fact that in MY universe, the events of Locke’s passing as depicted in SONIC #143 is canon. Anything he writes can easily be counter-written by a better story with an alternative solution.”

Let’s just brush past the very funny part where he calls Locke a “viable fan favorite”

So yeah. Penders was VERY unhappy with the way Ian wrote Locke, and the way Locke’s death in Enerjak Reborn meant that the timeline depicted in Mobius: 25 Years Later wasn’t the one true future of the series. He’s also gone on record saying that he thinks Ian didn’t get the relationship between Locke and Knuckles. When asked about Ian’s work, this has always been one of the major things that’s bothered him

On a broader level, his ramblings here are reflective of how he views comic franchises in general. A particularly illustrative quote from him is provided in the comments section below the article I linked:

“The only work I consider significant to any character is the work done by the original creators. Anything done afterwards by anyone else pretty much doesn’t count. For example, I consider the original issues of FANTASTIC FOUR by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby to be the only stories that matter in the entire run. Anything being done today is by writers and artists who are simply building off the work Stan and Jack originated. I apply this standard to just about every character I ever enjoyed over the years.”

This odd mindset explains a lot about Ken. It explains why he hates that Ian kept using his characters, and why he actively avoided building off of the work of his contemporary writers at Archie. I can see what he means on some level, of course. When another writer comes in and adds more novels to a series after the original author dies, I generally tend to ignore those. And I skipped a good chunk of Twin Peaks season 2 because it had less involvement from creators David Lynch and Mark Frost, making a lot of it feel like filler. But we’re talking about a licensed comic, one that had been a collaboration between multiple writers based on the work done for the games and cartoons from the very beginning. Ken was never the sole writer--he wasn’t even there for the first year--and he was writing stories centered around characters he hadn’t created like Sonic, Sally, and Knuckles. He doesn’t take credit for creating any of those characters, but the hypocrisy still seems to be lost on him

But of course, we’re not just talking about Ian’s handling of all of Archie Sonic here. We’re talking about Locke. And as Ken has said himself, Locke was based partially on his own father. And that’s really the kicker here

As I’ve said many times before, I try to avoid psychoanalyzing Penders and digging into his personal life. I don’t know the guy, and that’s his own business. But it’s hard not to when he literally says shit like THIS to fans

Locke is emotionally abusive towards his wife and son. Locke is also based on Ken’s dad. Ken refuses to see Locke as abusive, even though that’s exactly what he wrote, because that would mean acknowledging that his own father was abusive. So there’s always an excuse for why father knows best. It was a different era! They’re not humans! He could see the future! He might have hurt Knuckles, but it toughened him up, and he was always there for him in the end! The dad is never, ever at fault. The moms, on the other hands, are mere bystanders to the child rearing done by the dads. It’s just sad, really

I get why Ken would be bitter that Ian took this fictionalized version of his late dad, went “hey, this guy’s an asshole,” and then killed him off. I get why that would upset somebody. He wrote a very personal story there. But it’s not like Ian was pouring salt in a fresh wound--Ken lost his father all the way back in 1982. I know this because Ken literally dedicated the M25YL story about his version of Locke’s death to his dad. It had been nearly 30 years when he wrote this response to Ian’s work. That’s plenty of time to see a goddamn therapist instead of projecting all of your baggage onto Knuckles the Echidna and writing stories for kids about how you should never question your dad ever

The irony, though, is that Ian’s different take on Locke is arguably way more nuanced than Ken’s ever was. In his final moments, Ian’s Locke turns into this tragic figure who only realizes too late that the way of life the Brotherhood had raised him to believe was a mistake, that he had failed his son by passing those beliefs on to him. But he’s still held responsible for what he did. He’s a horrible dad, and the characters around him call him out for his failures, but you pity him for only now realizing what he had done

Ken, on the other hand, gestures at Locke doing horrible things, then tells you to forget about all that and stop questioning him. Knuckles pretends he has a totally normal Leave it to Beaver-ass father-son relationship as soon as they reunite in the Knuckles series. As an adult he thinks back on how great a job Locke did raising him, even though Locke literally took him from his mother, raised him to believe that his mother and the rest of his species were all dead, and then pretended he himself was dead for six years of his son’s childhood (among MANY other things)

M25YL gestures at those very same themes of not repeating your parents’ mistakes that Ian touched on in Locke’s final moments. Knuckles is raising Lara-Su very differently from how Locke raised him, and Locke admits that he wishes he had raised Knuckles differently on his deathbed. But his decision to suddenly admit wrongdoing in this flashback to his death feels unearned and arbitrary. Locke is never at fault. We cannot question Locke. Knuckles turned out fine, so don’t worry about it. Locke might regret the way Knuckles raised him, but Knuckles is not allowed to hold any ill will towards his father or question his methods whatsoever. We’re allowed to gesture at the idea that Knuckles doesn’t want to repeat the mistakes of the previous generations, but those vague mistakes aren’t allowed to be anyone’s fault. That’s just “how things were”

Ken would do a lot more than just complain about Ian’s handling of Locke on the internet, though. Because you see, the way Ian wrote Locke is commonly cited as one of the main reasons why Ken started copyrighting his work, right up there with Bioware basing the story of Sonic Chronicles partially off of the Knuckles comics without his blessing. And those copyrights, of course, were what started the legal battle that would kill off the original Archieverse

[muwur]

snapchat headcanons

✧ hc’s ✧ for using snapchat w ur boi toi ft. the pretty setter squad

❧ gn reader

✎ 3.1k words

a/n: kinda a combo of how they use sc and the kinds of snaps they send you! along w wat u send them, and uh... dating stuf n shenanigans? texting/snapping habits? my fantasies? IDEK ANYMORE EOFHEFJ

this was born from the recesses of my mind , which desired nothing mor than snapchats from suga , us sending cute selfies , others bein dumb n chaotic , no context videos , n him snapping me photos of some mangoes on sale he said he’ll buy for me DXX it’s too late for me now

doing research on hq bois and surfing thru sc features (im just now realizing theres quite a bit?? im hoping i address most of them at some point lolol) instead of real life tings aHHhhhHAHA

requests: open! will be working on a suga one i got, dw, requester!

sugawara

✧ sends good morning and good night snaps

✧ so he’s rlly good at keeping streaks, probs has the longest ones (one of them being y’alls streak)

✧ posts tidbits of volleyball practice on his story every once in a while

✧ snaps you pics of his sleeping teammates when they’re coming back to school after a long day of matches , adding a single ‘❤️’ as a caption

✧ he will also create colorful masterpieces on all of them

✧ gives daichi a santa beard, tanaka a squiggly stache (i imagine it to look like spongebob n patrick’s seaweed ones now that were mEN), n kageyama sum angry brows,,, wait he already has them lolol u good der kags

✧ posts a picture of you when you’re hanging out, captioning it: “🥰“

✧ has conversations with you purely via snaps

✧ ranges from casual chats and checking up on u to crackwhoring ( ** indicates the photo, while the “” quotes indicate the caption, all snaps are italicized, otherwise its regular dialogue)

✧ suga: *peace sign* “hey sweetheart, how r u?”

✧ you: *pics of homework* “ahh, drowning in school ;-; i cant wait for this week to be over fghjkl”

✧ suga: *close up with :o on his face* “let’s study together tmrw!”

✧ or

✧ suga: *complete darkness* “its 3 am n i cant sleep”

✧ you: *the top half of your head, laying on a pillow* “ ;( aw babe. do u want me to send something to help u sleep?”

✧ suga: *still in darkness* “y u still up?? go sleep. n 🥺 yes pls”

✧ you: *snaps pics of feet* “that’ll be 50 bucks, pay up” 

✧ suga: *darkness remains* “can we make a trade instead? i promise to make it worth ;)”

✧ ok now u BOTH cant sleep (im sry my crackheading be acting up around 2am eeryday, i stan a mischievous suga--)

✧ video chats (in the darkness lol) instead until you both pass out (im not in luv u r 😭)

✧ super down to take filtered selfies w you

✧ does all the silly ones with you (things like ’angry face’ or the frog one)

✧ but also rlly digs lookin cute with you using some heart crowns, y’all an aesthetic (n crakhead) duo fosho

✧ def subscribes to life hacks and tries them out himself, has a 50% success rate

kageyama

✧ doesn’t rlly use snapchat too much

✧ but when he does

✧ will either send you a picture to indicate he’s at volleyball practice (wow wat a sexi lookin gym floor)

✧ or some random picture of whatever he’s doing at the moment (*drinking milk*)

✧ this is mostly in order to save streaks

✧ he’s so bad at streaks

✧ “why does it matter?? what’s the point of sending just black screens or whatever’s in front of you at the moment??”

✧ can’t keep a consistent streak for more than 3 days and also doesn’t care (until hinata challenges him to see who can have the longer one)

✧ when you send him videos of him playing, he really focuses on them to try to improve his technique. asks you to send those vids to him (assuming u saved them, which u did)

✧ but when you look over his shoulder when he’s watching a video and give him some compliment (“i recorded at the perfect moment! that was a really good set, kageyama!”), he gets a bit flustered

✧ gets even more flustered but pretty happy whenever you post videos on your story showing karasuno winning some points with captions like:

✧ “footage of the legendary quick >.>” or “karasuno crows flyin high!” or “these bois make my heart 😭 im so proud”

✧ you WILL catch him off guard in photos, using filters that surrounds his head w/ emojis like 🥺💖🥰💘

✧ you also put these on your story (to his dismay)

✧ ppl comment on these mor than anything else (n for those who dont rlly kno kageyama, theyre kinda surprised to him like this)

✧ hinata snickers “hey kageyama you look pretty good here--”

✧ takes some selfies with you, mostly cuz you want them

✧ saves them after u send them over (n secretly cherishes them)

✧ occasionally watches his subscriptions, they’ll usually involve sports, mostly volleyball (who woulda guessed)

✧ you use his bitmoji to test out random facial expressions you would never see him wear

✧ you: “can you smile and wink like this? act like you’re the obnoxious charming guy in a shojo.”

✧ will actually attempt, but it looks so bad that you die inside and he never wants to try again cuz of ur laughing outburst (you: “😭😭 bb im sorry i couldnt help it”)

oikawa

✧ literally sends you anything and everything

✧ morning bathroom selfie to show off how good his hair came out that day, saying:

✧ “he has risen”

✧ or “i woke up like this”

✧ and my favorite, “you’re lucky you get this content for frEE”

✧ selfies with iwa, who just looks annoyed and exasperated at the camera

✧ sends you pics of his lunch and snacks (“bet u wish u had milk bread too”)

✧ always packs extra milk bread so he could convince you to stay at his practice after school--

✧ FILTERSS

✧ I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENUF

✧ will either use the filters that make him kayooottt (cute)

✧ loves the ones named ‘hearts,’ ‘soft,’ ‘peach,’ ‘butterfly cheeks,’ vsco filters LOL, etc

✧ uses ‘big mouth’ when he feelin a bit sASSY; also loves to use this one when he rants, it channels his inner valley girl

✧ sometimes he’ll be snacking or drinking something while he does so (“hey guys today im gonna eat these milk buns from my favorite bakery and this bomb orange juice and complain about this little kid who talked smack to me earlier and almost made me cry--”)

✧ takes cute selfies with you, is an aesthetic selfie king, puts them on his story to show off he’s hangin with you

✧ but on your story you only post the ones he looks bad in LOL

✧ has separate stories for his every need, some r private (and lucky you, ur included in all of them)

✧ titles them ‘mean things iwa said to me today,’ ‘ranting hotbox + mukbangs,’ ‘a day in the life of oikawa,’ ‘volleyball 🏐,’ ‘unpopular opinions,’ etc. 

✧ fitting room photoshoots lol

✧ “y/n, what do you think of this??” “and this?” “oOH WHAT ABOUT THIS??”

✧ ends up calling you through video chat so you can live critique his choices

✧ “oikawa, please no, i can’t be seen with you in public if you wear those--”

✧ also changes his bitmoji’s outfits from time to time, hopes you’ll notice, but you don’t LOL (oikawa: ;((((((( )

kenma

✧ uses sc usually just to reply to messages ppl send him

✧ indifferent about streaks, but keeps a few with ppl he’s closer to

✧ mindlessly plays the snapchat games with you, finds some of them kinda cute

✧ you both made his bitmoji for him, dressing his up in the orange cat suit

✧ you also helped make kuroo’s and put his in the black cat suit to match--

✧ snaps you every time he gets a new game, starts playing it, and once he finishes

✧ started to post some gameplays and reviews on his sc story (might as well add them to sc since he was already on other social platforms), and ended up amassing a large following

✧ follows the tech and gaming stories on sc

✧ as well as the ones with cute animals--

✧ open to selfies with you, usually wears a calm expression and holds up a peace sign

✧ even occasionally sticks his tongue out

✧ his story is occasionally heavily bombarded with candids of him w/ pretty sc filters, all taken by you

✧ but of all the filters, you love using the clout glasses on him

✧ especially when he’s just minding his own business

✧ “kenma, in his tru habitat” when hes cocooned in a blanket

✧ “kenma, on his way to steal yo manz” while on his way to the bathroom

✧ “kenma, next iron chef. watch out gordon” as he’s cooking instant ramen

✧ “kenma” n das it

✧ but he thinks it meme-y so he lets you do whatever you want, kinda digs it

✧ you end up dedicating your snap story to memes of kenma and the nekoma volleyball team. ppl are in it for the shits n giggles n hot bois

✧ you later discover someone else did the same thing with their volleyball team filled with hot bois from shiratorizawa, and you befriend tendou and share funni internet tings

akaashi

✧ 99% of his photos include either you or bokuto or both

✧ bokuto spams akaashi’s story and contact list with selfies and videos of himself using weird filters, often gets you to join him

✧ has several streaks, but will send something with more substance than a black screen or his bedroom window

✧ will usually involve smthng that just happened to him or smthing he saw, like:

✧ “a kind older lady offered me some apples in return for helping her”

-or:

✧ “how do i break the news to bokuto that the yaikniku place he’s been wanting to go to for the past week ,,, is closed today”

✧ o n let’s not leave out:

✧ “is it possible to conjure a ghost using a wooden spatula, ketchup, and a chalk drawn hexagram? bokuto’s been paranoid ever since he tried last night and i dont know what to tell him. seriously, help”

✧ looks through stories occasionally, comments whenever bokuto makes questionable decisions

✧ also comments on whatever you’ve posted. his words range from “you’re cute” to “why,” depending on the content

✧ ppl know when y’all are hanging out cuz he’ll post smthing to indicate he’s with you, usually it’s some candid and you’re not paying attention

✧ appreciation posts for you as well! esp if you got him something, like onigiri or his fav, Nanohana no Karashiae , for lunch! (akaashi: *snaps a pic of his food* “thank you y/n for feeding me”)

✧ prefers video calling over texting/snapping whenever possible tho

✧ occasionally reminisces thru his sc memories

✧ enjoys the flashback feature and will send them to you and bokuto (cuz they’re about y’all anyway lolol)

✧ also has secretly saved a bunch of selfies of himself, consists of him trying out a lot of the filters (he feelin himself)

✧ you, one day, looking thru his phone and discovering them: “akaashi, you’re so pretty wtf”

✧ akaashi: “...”

koganegawa

✧ sends you selfies of him before practice

✧ during breaks

✧ and after practice, usually makes a comment about how it went for him that day like:

✧  “i hit a decent toss today and futakuchi actually complimented me!”

✧ that, or:

✧ “i got yelled at 17 times today 😢😩”

✧ has quite a few streaks, his longest ones being with you and hinata

✧ def uses filters

✧ tries out every funny one he finds and sends you videos

✧ “look y/n im an aaaaAALlliiEEENnnNNN oo oo hoo hhhooOOh”

✧ “now im a chicky nuggy!!” (chicken nugget)

✧ also enjoys the doodle feature

✧ but he uses the filter with the clout glasses unironically--

✧ usually when smth good happens to him and he feels happy and/or cool about it

✧ “just beat the boss in this game on my 69th try B)”

✧ “kogane, that’s--”

✧ plays sc games with you and thinks bitmojis r cool

✧ kinda sad he cant find a hair option that matches him tho lolol rip

✧ you: “you hair’s just,,, unique,,,”

✧ subscribed to anything sports and fitness, as well as pop culture so he can stay in the loop

✧ also watches everyone else’s stories, pointing out whenever he sees smthing cool and/or interesting

✧ “woahh, karasuno’s at nationals right now! i wish we could’ve won, but next year for sure!!”

✧ you encourage him at all his games, hyping him up irl and online

✧ “koganegawa: best setter 😍!!”

✧ luckily you didnt record the parts he completely messed up LOL

semi

✧ before going out with you, snaps you a pic of his casual outfit like:

✧ semi: “does this look ok”

✧ you: “babe you look great, tendou was just messing with you”

✧ will make unwanted appearances on tendou’s snap and complains to you about them

✧ “i didnt consent to being part of his meme page” and

✧ “okay, but he didn’t only have to share all the moments i messed up--”

✧ also indifferent about streaks but will do them

✧ sometimes sends snaps/streaks indicating he’s practicing his music

✧ when you see these you usually ask him to send you vids or if you can come over n watch

✧ initially is a bit shy about it but he loves what he does and you and knows you’re genuinely interested and supportive so he agrees

✧ secretly rlly enjoys having you as his personal audience

✧ lowkey into asmr, like the soap cutting shit as well as chewing crunchy things

✧ also watches food porn and clips of mukbangs, then can’t resist going on youtube and watching the whole thing

✧  “y/n, can we try this, it looks so good--”

✧ will also often watch oikawa’s stories, especially his ‘ranting hotbox + mukbangs,’ and makes comments about him being an idiot

✧  “this kid he’s talking about is a savage”

✧ but admits they’re quite entertaining

✧ just looks serious in all the selfies you take with him

✧ you: “can you look like you’re enjoying yourself?”

✧ semi: “i look cooler like this tho”

✧ sc memories filled with shenanigans from you and the volleyball team, doodles, and mirror selfies with him experimenting diff looks (you: “tendou, you got him way too concerned about this”)

✧ also enjoys showing off he’s with you, taking a short video of you when you hang out

✧ you: “semi, i look bad right now”

✧ semi: “but you can never look bad”

✧ you: “🥺 bb”

✧ viewers: “aw”

✧ shiratorizawa: “can he be this nice with us LOL”

shirabu

✧ his main mode of communication with you is mostly through the regular messaging app, so he doesn’t use sc too much

✧ also doesn’t care for streaks and is bad at keeping them

✧ will answer to you or his senpais rather soon tho

✧ but lets all his other notifications pile up a bit before finally going thru them

✧ goes through the snaps he receives really fast, spending like 2 seconds each to look at them cuz aint nobody got time for dat

✧ doesn’t even rlly open goshiki’s LOL

✧ you have fun using filters on him and taking videos while he’s just doing his own thing peacefully like studying

✧ it takes him a second to notice and when he finally looks up, he just gives you an exasperated look

✧ cue you cracking up with laughter bc the filter finally shows up on his face

✧ his eyes and mouth are now on mike wazowski

✧ that, or his face becomes so disturbingly moRPhed like an alien

✧ caption: “ken-chan, my future medical man 😍”

✧ “y/n, please, this is like the 7th time in the last 20 minutes--”

✧ finally convinced him to take a study break and hang out with you

✧ which usually consists of snacking and light banter while you lay your head on his lap

✧ and scrolling through snapchat stories and showing him what everyone else is up to and cool things you’re subscribed to

✧ “loooook, dr. miami’s doing another butt job! is this the line of work you’re studying so hard for?”

✧ “no, it’s really not”

✧ is actually very soft with you and likes having the photos and vids for memories

atsumu

✧ sends you snaps where his brother looks bad, captioning it:

✧ “this is evidence that im the hotter twin”

✧ likewise, osamu sends you snaps where atsumu looks even worse

✧ like, the mans passed out, looking rekt and open mouthed, drool seeping into his pillow

✧ osamu: “u still have time to break up with him”

✧ also lucky for you, atsumu also loves to take unflattering photos of you and send them to you randomly at like 2 am

✧ you: “nani tf when did you even take this??”

✧ usually posts a snap while he’s out somewhere like at a match, the gym, outside on a run, a party, or just hanging out with you or his frens

✧ however, makes sure you look good if you show up on his story cuz he wants to show you off

✧ doesn’t really care for streaks, but has a lott

✧ but also has a tON of unopened snaps

✧ is the type to send just a black screen n call it a day, or maybe spice it up by sending a pic of the sexi gym floor (a comeback) w his shoe in the corner

✧ will, however, consistently respond to you and kinda looks forward to ur snaps (secretly hopes you show ur face)

✧ but when you dont:

*in class*

✧ atsumu: *a smirk on his face* “your content’s kinda dry today” 

✧ you: *your sexi desk* “my nudez ain’t free, i demand compensation”

✧ atsumu: *grasped his chin in thought, but angled the cam up bc he needa hide his phone in class lolol* “what if i... take you out on a romantic excursion”

✧ you: * your face but with ‘sausage’ filter* “🥵🥵🥵🥵 yessir, what u want”

✧ rlly only wants to have pics of your face wat a closeted sOFTIE

✧ likes to have content on his flashbacks

✧ usually has other social media sources to keep up to date with things

✧ actually rlly digs using sc filters, mostly ones that’ll make him look like a queen

✧ captions a selfie of you two like: “me >>>>>>> y/n”

✧ but nearly everyone who comments on it is like: “i think you flipped the sign, bro 🤥”

✧ judges ppl who are into soap cutting asmr (you will never hear the end of it if you also like it)

a/n: sc kinda dying for me, my use went from suga to an atsumu to like nearly nonexistent LOL

also o gawd i already have ideas here n there for a pt 2 so stay tuned fjxnwfesd hope it takes me less long cuz this one took me fkin foreva LOL

idk y i made semi like mukbangs but i feel like he’d be rlly into them--

[reminiscing-writer]

Off The Deep End

-

4

Warnings: violence, harsh language, fainting, miscarriage, and lots and lots of crying.

-

Derek Morgan, if you go over to those curtains one more time, I swear on all my plushies back at Quantico, I will beat your ass myself.” Penelope threatens for the fourth time in the past few hours. She receives a smile from Emily who’s seated beside a napping JJ.

“Babygirl. I’m just trying to open a window, it’s too hot here.” He squints at her, with sweat beads on his forehead.

“I don’t care!” She snaps, placing her laptop aside a little rougher than she'd like. She gets up from her spot on the couch, and shoves Derek aside from the open window, “You’re going to sweat through your clothes, you are going to make a puddle on this floor. I don’t care! But, we are not opening these, because if these open, then my internet fades away, and if my internet goes away, then I can't do any digging to find Spencer. So, no, Derek, you may not open the window!” She snaps.

He stares at her for a moment with wide eyes silently. As she returns back to her spot he follows her and sits at her feet.

“What?” She growls frustratedly. He softly takes her glasses off her face and folds them, putting them aside. “I can't see without those, Derek.” She huffs, going to take them back. He stops her hands, and brings them to his mouth and gives her knuckles soft kisses.

“Sweetie, I know this is stressful. It’s hard on all of us,” He speaks to her with love, “but, it's important we don't lose our temper with each other.” She looks at him dearly with teary eyes.

“I just wish I could do more.” She sniffles quite like a mouse, tears dripping from her eyes, “I feel like we’re not doing enough to help him.”

The team is all at wits end. It’s very clear. Earlier, Hotch had lost his temper with JJ because she hadn’t ‘talked to the local police about the case yet’. Even he knew that was a ridiculous thing to argue over, because, the local PD had nothing to do with this case. But, nonetheless, he had yelled at her, and she had argued back, causing the both to walk away from each other heated.

“Well, then talk to me. Tell me, what is it that can help you work better.” Derek wipes his dear friends cheeks, “Want me to help set the internet a little better?” He asks, stroking her cheeks with his large hands.

Her lips perk up at the corners, “Now you're talking my language, Baby.” She nods like a little child. The two continue back and forth for a bit. They don't realize they have a watcher from afar.

From the dining table in the kitchen, Amelia sat watching the two agents longingly. She knew they didn't have a romantic relationship, but she envied the way they were touching each other and smiling and loving. She envied them and she hated herself for it. Because, with every hour that passed without Spencers being found, was another hour that she was growing angrier.

Not at the team, she knew they were trying their best. But, at herself? She didn't really know; she just needed to be angry at something, or someone.

“How are you feeling?” A hand on Amelia's back startles her. She looks up to see Aaron.

He was older than her by a good decade or so, but Spencer always spoke with such respect to his name. Not so much as a father figure, but more so an older brother. So, eventually that's the role Amelia gave him in her life also.

“Alright,” She lied, taking a sip of her unintended cold coffee.

He takes a seat beside her. He’s about to say something when Derek and Penelope both call for Amelia.

Both of the two seated in the kitchen come into the living room. Hearing their call startles JJ awake, as she was napping on the love seat opposite to them. Emily places a hand on her thigh to reassure her nothing has happened.

“Ameilia,” Garcia starts off just above a whisper, “did you ever have anyone come and check your internet?”

All eyes are on her, “Yeah,” she's confused. She already said the internet was slow. Why does it matter? “I called someone a couple months back, but he didn't really help. In fact, I think it just got worse after he checked it.” She half shrugs. “Spencer thought I was crazy when I told him that.” She gives a ghost of a smile.

“What exactly did he do? The man you called for the wi-fi?” Penelope pries.

“Why does it matter?” Hotch asks.

“Just give me a second to figure this out,” Penelope stalls, looking back to Amelia, “What did he do when he came?”

Amelia licks her dry lips, starting to get anxious, “Um- he checked our router and our modem. Said it was old school, and he would give us a new one free of cost.” She takes a shaky breath in, “Why?”

“Where’s the new system he set up?” Derek asks, standing up from the couch he was seated on.

After Amelia points to the closet in her room, she comes back to Penelope. “Pen, what is it?”

“I have a hunch,” Garcia says, typing on her laptop, “I don't want to be right about it.” Derek comes out of the room with a tiny black box with flashing red lights. He hands it to Garcia, who without a beat says, “But, I'm afraid I am.”

“Sweatpea, this isn’t a new modem. This is a blocker.” Penelope says, turning it around and switching off numerous buttons on it. “The guy, whoever he was, came in here, and planted this on purpose.” She speaks directly to Ameila, though the whole team is watching her with wide eyes.

“Why would - why would someone do that?” Amelia stutters.

“It all makes so much more sense now!” Penelope's brain switches a flip and she tosses the blocker onto the floor, and starts typing hard on her computer. She laughs, “My internet is back! And I got something else too!” JJ gets up to stretch her legs and is instructed by Pen to go and open the curtains.

She's confused, but follows orders as told.

“Derek Morgan, I could kiss you.” Peneople is in her own world.

“I would love that, I really would. But, if we could know why…?” He snaps in front of her screen but she shoos his fingers away. She's in a trance. Maybe it's just because her internet is back up and running, but Amelia begins to get impatient.

She finally turns the screen around to show the team what she's looking at. She's panting as though she ran a mile in under a minute.

The whole team looks at her screen in confusion. “Is that-?” Emily starts.

“Is that us?” Amelia finishes.

“That's us.” Morgan confirms as he raises his arm just to watch his arm raise on the screen.

“What is going on?” Aaron looks at Penelope.

Penelope waits for a dramatic pause, and then she says with complete confidence, “Amelia, someone has been watching you and Spencer for a while now. That same someone was the one who had that blocker planted in your apartment, so they could block any interruptions in and out of here. My bet is,” She turns her laptop back around, “they’re the ones in charge of Spencer's kidnapping.”

Amelia takes in all the information one by one. “But, I called the internet guy just out of chance.” She recalls her memory.

“Where did you find his number?” Emily asks.

“Spencer gave it to me. Actually, he’s the one who called him.” She remembers, “I had complained to him that I was having trouble working on my kindergarteners report cards, so he said he had found someones number on a bulletin board. He’d spoken to him himself, and said the guy would come over the weekend.”

“This is good,” Hotch says, “this is the closest thing to a lead we’ve had since Spencer has gone missing. Emily and Derek, you two go and check out the bulletin boards back at the office, and check if you can see what number Spencer had gotten in contact with.”

The two agents nod, and head out of the apartment, “Penelope,” Hotch says. As she looks up, he replies, “great work.” She beams a smile.

Amelia feels something deep in her stomach. Maybe it's the baby she never forgets about. Or, maybe it's the sense of guilt taking over her. Because, if she hadn't complained to Spencer about the crappy wi-fi, then the man wouldn't have come over. If he didnt come over, he wouldn't have planted the blocker which would mean they wouldn't have surveillance on them. Which would mean Spencer wouldn't have gotten kidnapped, and then he’d still be here today holding her close and-

She begins to feel lightheaded and loses her footing slightly staggering in place. Aaron quickly catches eye of her losing balance and runs up to her. He quickly places a hand on her back and seats on the nearest couch.

“Amelia, we will find him, you have to take it easy..” He reassures her. Most, if not all, of the team knew about her pregnancy. Only the females had made it verbal, but the males also showed just a little extra care towards her in the past 24 hours

-

-

Emily and Derek roll up to their Quanatico office half an hour after the conversation back at the Doctors apartment. They both step out of the car. “So, what are we looking for?” Derek asks, taking off his sunglasses, tucking them into his back pocket.

“Well, Amelia said Spencer had found the electricians number on the bulletin board. Our first best bet is probably the one in the kitchen.”

“But,” Derek opens the door for Emily, “is it really like him to just call a random stranger over to his apartment? I mean, the guy doesn't sound like he worked for a big company.”

The two file into the elevator and start heading up, “Well, he's not really one for technology, is he? He wouldn't really care as long as the problem got solved. Amelia said herself, the problem wasn't bothering him, it was bothering her.” Emily walks out of the elevator first after it stops.

“And, he would do anything in his power to help her be happy.” Derek says as they walk into the bullpen and head for the kitchen. “Even if that meant calling up a stranger and asking for help.”

When they walk into the kitchen nothing stands out to them. Coffee is brewing for other agents, sing has a few dirty mugs, and the bulletin board is just filled with papers they'd seen before.

Derek skims the pages and doesn't seem satisfied, “This is all the regular stuff. Flyers for newbies, orientation timings, and lectures by older agents. Nothing about electricians.”

“Well, there has to be something somewhere.” Emily grunts as she goes to fill herself a mug of hot caffeine. She offers to make Derek a cup, but he declines politely.

“Okay, so I’m Pretty Boy, okay?” He looks at Prentiss, “My wife needs help with the internet at home. I don't know jack squat about that stuff, so what do I do?”

“Ask someone else for help?”

“But, I'm also too shy to ask someone myself. I don't see any flyers here at work, so…” he trails for a second before continuing, “maybe, i see a flyer at my regular cafe.” He lifts an eyebrow suggestively.

Emliy hums in agreement, “Could be.” She nods, “He does get to work with coffee in hand, so he has a regular spot. Someone was already watching him, so they probably knew that. Could’ve planted a trap for him there.”

Derek takes out his phone and dials a memorized number on speaker, “Speak to me, Chocolate Thunder.” Penelope answers.

“Hey, Mama. I need you to look up the route from Spencer's apartment to work. Tell me what coffee shops you see between us.”

Typing begins on the other side before the hear Amelia's shy voice.

“Is this regarding Spencer?”

“Yeah,” Emily answers, “would you happen to know where he got his morning coffee from, Amelia?”

“Uh, yes,,” she replies, “it’s this small cafe like ten minutes from here.” She pauses, “I think it's called The Corner Brewery.”

“Already sent you the address to your cells.” Garcia adds.

“Of course The Genius marries a Genius.” Derek smiles, “You're a lifesaver, Amelia. You too, PC. Get back to you two soon.” He hangs up.

“To the The Corner Brewery we go.” Emily jangles the keys.

-

-

Amelia is in the kitchen making some pasta. No one is hungry, including her. But no one stops her, because she needs something to keep herself busy or she goes back into overthinking mode. Unhealthy for her and the baby.

Penelope sits clacking away at her computer. She had a router backtracking number from the camera she had gotten connected to (the surveillance footage one), so she was hoping she could find the location it was coming from.

Hotch sat across from her, on the phone with Strauss because she was on his ass about his entire team being absent from work with no notice. Hotch was winning the argument, he usually is.

JJ walks into the kitchen, “Can I help?” She offers.

“No, thank you.” Amelia says quietly and politely.

“Amelia,” JJ calls for her attention, “Em and Derek are so close to getting more information. We’ll find him. I promise.”

“Aren't you not allowed to give empty promises like that?” Amelia locks eyes with JJ for the first time all day. It knocks the breath out of Jennifer because she sees just how broken Amelia looks. Her eyes are puffy and rimmed red from constant crying. Her nose is red, and her lips are trembling.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“It’s okay, I just-,” Amelia turns back to the pot she was stirring, “I really want him to come back home, but please stop giving me false hope.”

It breaks JJ’s heart seeing Amelia so broken. They were never super close, but Amelia was Spencer's wife. And, Spencer was her best friend, and that was enough for her to love Amelia.

A knock on the front door breaks the girl's attention away from their brief conversation.

Hotch stands up immediately, and JJ protectively stands in front of Amelia, with her hand immediately on the gun on her waist. Hotch takes a slow step towards the door, and calls out loudly, “Who is it?”

No answer.

Hotch looks back at JJ, and when she nods, indicating she's ready to fire on command, he swiftly opens the door, pulling out his own gun simultaneously. There's no one at the door, which makes Amelia exhale a breath she didn't know she was holding.

Theres a small package on the welcome mat outside, and just as the previous package, in messy handwriting, it has Mrs. Reid scribbled on it.

Hotch quickly looks outside the door left, right, then left again, and brings the package inside. After shutting and locking the door, he places it on the center table.

Amelia, still traumatized from the last thing they received slowly approaches it, “What is it?”

Aaron shrugs, “Light,” he lowers himself to inspect the package before opening it, “doesn't seem like there's much in it.”

“Maybe you should go inside,” Penelope offers, “since last time-”

“No,” Amelia quickly interjects, “I can handle it. I can do it, I have to. This is about my husband.” She inhales deeply, “I can be strong for him. Open it, Aaron,” She encourages him with the fakest face of courage she can muster up.

He waits a moment, but realizes she's not going anywhere. He begins opening the packing cautiously, just to realize it's a cardboard box. Inside is just a disk. A CD. No label, no tag, no writing. Just a CD.

All heads turn to Garcia, and she nods and holds out a palm to Hotch, “Pass it, I’ll check what it is.”

He hands it to her and she inserts into her laptop. Amelia is seated beside her watching her work away on her laptop.

“There’s a single file on here. A video.” She squints at her screen.

Without another movement made by Garcia, a video opens up on her computer. Her and Amelia gasp in unison. It’s Spencer. Tied to a chair, bloody rag covering his now four-fingered hand.

He looks scared, and bloodied and bruised. His hair is matted down to his forehead and one of his eyes is so swollen that it’s shut. Breathing labored, he tilts his up towards the camera slightly, his messy hair moving with him.

Amelias eyes water and her lips tremble. She covers her mouth with a shaky hand to stop herself from crying. Be brave, she reminds herself, be brave and strong for Spencer.

Penelope places her equally shaking hand on her friends thigh, just as to remind her, we’re here for you.

“Whenever you’re ready, Spencie.” A voice says from off camera. Garcia places the laptop front and center on the living room coffee table.

Spencer takes a deep breath, “Amelia,” his bottom lip quivers, “I am so sorry, Sweetheart.” At the mention of the nickname Amelia whimpers. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, and I would never have hoped you would be involved in this also.” He shut both his eyes and looked down at his lap. “We’ll figure this out, Buttercup.” This nickname causes Amelia's eyes to water and start streaming silent tears. “Just you and me, against the world.” A small smile from him earns him an identical one from his wife.

“And, Amelia, I promise you,” he swallows hard, looking back up once again. His face almost unrecognizable, this time JJ looks away with her eyes shut, “once I get out of here, you and me, we’ll go on that date to Griffith Park observatory you’ve always wanted to go to. But, maybe we’ll skip the ending, I don’t like the end of the observatory.” Amelia furrows her brows, her heart beating a mile a minute. “And, then, maybe we could watch a movie. Like that one Jim Carrey film. What was it? Something, Ventura? It was top class acting, I know you said that.” Amelia can sense something off, but she couldn’t place her finger on it. She messily wipes her tears, sniffling. She stands up catching the eye of JJ.

“Please, Amelia.” Spencer pleaded desperately, “I love you.” He was crying too. His voice was shaking. He was at his breaking point.

“Hey, Lover Boy!” The same voice from before came loudly. A man walked from behind the camera, keeping in mind of not showing his face. He walks towards Spencer, his back to the viewers, “Would you like to give us the password now?”

Amelias breathing shallowes, and she unconsciously placed a hand on her stomach. As she stares at Spencer with wide eyes, the man swings a punch straight to his gut. “Couldn’t hear you, dear.” He chuckles evilly.

Amelia watches in horror as the man cracks his knuckles, “Speak up for me.'' Another punch gets delivered to her husband's chest.

“Please stop.” Spencer pleaded, spitting blood. The sight made Amelia cry loudly, and Aaron tries to move her from in front of the screen.

“Garcia, turn it off.” He orders, equally shaken up.

“I’m trying,” she cries, tapping at herkeyboard, “it won’t go away.” She sniffles desperately.

“You know what I want. Give it to me, and I’ll stop.” The man threatens. He walks away for a second just to return back into the screen with a large metal rod.

“Garcia!” Aaron scolds loudly.

“It won’t turn off!” She yells back, scared.

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut, and as if Amelia's body couldn’t handle seeing her husband get hurt any longer, her eyes shut on her, and she falls straight to the floor.

“I’ll tell you!” The team hears Spencer plead on camera. But, no one is watching the screen anymore. Instead, they all quickly huddle around Amelia, who lay on the floor. Eyes shut with tears streaking her cheeks. The commotion of the apartment is loud for the next few moments.

Spencer in the video giving a password to his captor. Garcia is on the phone with the police, telling them to send an ambulance to her current address. JJ is trying to wake up Amelia, her head being softly placed onto the agents lap.

JJ strokes Amelia's hair softly, “Amelia, please. Please wake up.” She whispers, her eyes ready to leak tears.

Aaron, in the midst of the chaos, turns his attention to Spencer just to hear him say the last few letters.

“That’s not right.” He mumbles, grabbing JJ’s attention.

“What?” She looks up.

“That’s not the code. If the code they want is the Integrity Files one, he gave them a faulty password.”

“Why would he do that?” She asks.

A few moments later, paramedics rush into the apartment. After Garcia argues her way into the ambulance also, JJ and Aaron agree to meet at the hospital.

“I’ll let Derek and Emily know.” JJ says to Garcia as she sits next to a still unconscious Amelia. Penelope nods and the medics shut the ambulance doors.

-

-

Back at The Corner Brewery, Derek and Emily walk with purpose. The barista asks them for their orders.

“No coffee, although, we were wondering if you guys had a bulletin board of any sort?” Emily asks as Derek takes a look around.

The cafe was very large. It was busy, and the amount of customers made Derek nervous if they would find any information they seeked.

“Yes,” the man behind the counter replied bored, “we allow paying customers to post any advertisements they want over there.” He points to a cork board that hung at the end of the store.

Very big, and very much covered in papers, and stickers and flyers.

They nod, and before heading to the board, Derek feels the need to flash his badge. Just to show that he has a reason to be here.

“Where do we start?” Emily gawks at the board. There’s at least 50 different papers layered on top of one another.

The two agents start to remove paper by paper to see if they can see any ads that may stand out. After half an hour of unsuccessful searching, Derek excused himself.

“I gotta take a bathroom break, Prentiss.” He walks away as she nods. He walks up to the barista and asks for the men’s room. As he’s about to walk away, he catches glimpse of a page hanging behind the wall the barista stood in front of. “Hey, my man.” He grabs the servers attention, “What’s that?” He points to the page.

The barista comes by. He tears the paper off the wall and hands it to him. “An ad, probably hung up by one of the other servers here. Customers aren’t allowed back here.” He gives a half shrug before walking away.

Need help with bad internet? Call us today!

Derek rushes back to Em to show her what he found.

“Hey, check this out.” He hands it to her.

She reads it over. It looks simple, like it was printed at home. A stock photo image of a computer with a large red cross over it. The heading was big and bold. Loud enough to catch attention.

At the bottom of the page, there was a name and number.

“Leonel Cassum.” Emily reads the name at the bottom.

“I think we should give him a call,” Derek looks over at the number, “after that bathroom break.” He turns back around to where he was before.

-

“So, Leonel,” Derek starts, sitting opposite of the male they called in for questioning, “tell me, how’s business?”

He’s confused. The freckles on his nose move as he scrunches his nose, “It’s alright, going decent enough.” He looks from Derek to Emily and back. “Am I allowed to ask why I’m here?”

Derek gives a large smile, almost condescendingly, “Of course you are,” he pauses, waving over Emily. She hands him a folder. “now, do you know who Dr. Spencer Reid is?”

The young blonde shakes his head. “No, why am I here?” There’s a shake in his voice.

“Because,” Emily takes a seat next to Derek, “Dr. Reid is missing. And you’re our only lead. The whole case is sitting on your shoulders.” She points her index to him.

He stares back, mouth agape, “W-what? No, no that’s not possible.” He leans forward, “Look, you guys have the wrong guy. I didn’t do anything. I don’t even know who that is!” He looks desperately from one agent to the other.

“Really?” Emily raises an eyebrow, “Well, it says in your call records,” she opens her folder, “that you spoke to Dr. Reid exactly three months ago. It was a five minute long call. He had called you, at,” she squints at her page, “8 in the morning. Early, huh?” She looks to Morgan.

“Well, maybe Leonel here isn’t an early riser. That’s why he doesn’t remember who he spoke with. Right, Leonel?” Derek looks to their guest.

He stares back, “I- I may have spoken to him.” He shrugs, “But, I speak to a lot of people everyday. It’s nothing significant.”

“Well, it must’ve been. Because, you spoke to him on a Friday, and agreed the very next day. Fast service for such a busy company.” Emily counters.

Leonel looks to the dark haired agent, “It must’ve been a slow weekend, I really don’t know what you guys are intending.” He continues his innocence.

Emily stands up slamming the table with her palms, scaring the kid, “We’re intending you spoke to the Doctor, came to his house, placed a blocker in his home,” she inches close to Leonel's face, “and have been watching him like a stalker since then. Now he’s gone missing! So, who’s head is that on? Yours!” She yells in his face.

Leonel scoots back, “I didn’t do any of that!” He cries.

“We have footage of you walking into his apartment, Leonel!” Emily walks around the table so she’s next to his chair, “How much are you going to lie before you break?” She stares at him menacingly. Derek quietly watches, playing the good cop between them.

Leonel's shoulders start to shake.

“I’m real tight on money.” He squeaks. “Some guy came up to me at a cafe and told me he’d pay me hefty if I just go along with a few things he wanted.” He looks to Derek, almost ignoring Emily.

“It started off small, like just making a flyer. Then he told me I'd receive a call,” he wipes his nose with his sleeve, “and after a few days, I did. I was told what to say, and I did exactly that.” He wipes his tears quickly, “All I did was set up a small blocker in his apartment.” His breathing gets shaky again, “But, that’s all! That’s all I did! I didn’t kidnap anyone! I didn’t hurt anyone! I swear!” He cries.

Emily goes back around next to Derek, “If he’s saying the truth, then there’s another surveillance guy.”

“I don’t know who he is,” Leonel speaks quietly, “but,” he swallows hard, “I can tell you where he’s at. I heard the guys who hired me talk about it once.”

Leonel gets sat with a facial artist first, to hopefully get a rough sketch of the man who hired him. And then he gives the address of what he thinks should be the place the creep who was watching Spencer is set up.

-

Derek drives to the given address, which happens to be just a street opposite of Spencer and Amelia's abode.

“Makes sense, seeing as how close this is to Amelia's place,” Emily gets out of the passenger seat and looks up at a tall building, squinting as the sun hits her eyes.

“Well, this is the address blondie gave us, so let's give it a look.” Derek starts to walk into the apartment complex before them.

They walk in and quickly come to realize that anything could happen in this building, and no one would know. The place was empty. Maybe there were residents living there, but whoever they were, they were very much to themselves.

The two agents make sure their badges are on display on their belts, and start to inspect the building. Slowly making their way up each floor, they finally stop at the 7th floor. As the elevator doors open, Derek stops the doors from closing with his hands, “Well, this looks promising.”

The floor seemed to be under construction. Paint buckets laid everywhere, and plastic sheets hung from the walls.

As the two stepped out of the elevator, they hear a paint can fall in the distance. Instantly whipping their head in that direction, Emily calls out loudly, “Federal Agents! Who's there?”

When instead of a reply they hear footsteps running, both of them grab a hold of their weapons and start running towards the sound. Derek gives a quick and quiet hand motion, telling Emily to split up to over more ground.

It a large floor and the place is split into different sections just by plaster or lanky wood. Once the footsteps stop, the only sound they hear is wind and their own breathing. Neither of the agents say a word.

Then, a sound behind Morgan, something sounding like a rustling makes him whip his entire body around and instinctively tackle. And rightfully so, because down goes the man they’re supposedly looking for.

Emily comes running up next to the two men who are wrestling, (although Morgan is most definitely winning). She hands Derek a pair of handcuffs and pulls out her vibrating cell to see JJs caller ID.

“Great time, JJ,” She breathes into the phone catching her breath. “We’ve got good news.”

“I’ve got some bad news.” JJ says at the same time on the other end. When Emily doesn’t say anything else, she continues, “What’s the good news?”

Emily walks a few feet away from Derek as he forces his handcuffed man up forcefully. She walks towards a set up right by an open window. A camera, a laptop, a few other boxes that are beeping green and red, and something that she didn’t expect; a large sniper rifle. All aiming straight at the dear doctors apartment.

“We found our peeping Tom. Well, he seems more like sniping Tom, but you know what I mean.” Emily says, “What’s the bad news?” She furrows her brows.

“Amelia fainted at the apartment.” JJ says, “We received a video of Spencer and she passed out while watching it. We’re headed to the hospital now.”

“Okay, we’ll meet you there.” Em replies, following Derek into the elevator.

“Oh, yeah, and Em?”

“Yeah?”

“This is about the Integrity Case. The kidnappers were torturing Reid for the password on camera.”

-

-

We’re so sorry. Sorry. So sorry. We tried. Our deepest condolences.

It doesn’t make any sense to Amelia. Sorry about what? She can barely remember what’s happened, and here doctors and nurses apologizing to her.

She continues to stay silent as a male doctor stands before her speaking of something that doesn’t register in her brain.

She’s in a hospital. She knows that. She’s been changed into a gown, she knows that also. Her mind feels woozy, that’s something also.

A nurse steps in front of her, “Is there anything I can do for you, Darling? Before we leave you for a bit.”

Amelia licks her lips before speaking, “I’m just a little lost,” as she speaks, she realizes she’s slurring her words slightly, “what’s happened?” She blinks hard.

“Oh,” the nurses blinks, “well, you’re friends out there say you had a fainting episode. And, well, sometimes if the body is undergoing a lot of stress, it can put a lot of stress on the baby also.” She's speaking slowly and clearly- unlike the doctor before her. “Sometimes, that can cause the fetus to get over worked,” she tilts her head slightly, “and, in your case, unfortunately, the fetus was far too young to try and save.”

The words slowly start to settle into Amelia's already foggy brain. Her hand goes onto her stomach.

Sorry. So sorry. We’re so sorry.

“We did try our best, but there was only so little we could do.” The nurse says sympathetically.

“The baby,” Amelia's voice is quiet, “the baby… is gone?” She asks in utter disbelief.

“We are so terribly sorry for your loss, hun.”

And before another word can leave anyone else’s mouth, Amelia's shoulders start to tremble as she breaks down. Loud cries leave her room as she cries over the loss of her unborn child.

A nurse comes outside and informs the team of what happened. Some shed a tear, others conceal their feelings till they’re in private. But they all hear the cries from Amelias room. Loud and clear.

It’s all pent up feelings.

Grief, because even if the baby wasn’t in her arms, it was still inside her. She was still talking to the baby. Telling them about what a great father Spencer is. Talking to them about how wonderful a mother she will be also. How much she’s looking forward to them growing everyday. Telling them just how much they’re loved, even before they’ve entered the world.

Anger, because Spencer isn’t here with Amelia. He didn’t know she was pregnant, much less know she’s lost the baby. She knows it’s ridiculous to be angry, but she is upset. He should’ve been here. If he was here, she wouldn’t have lost the baby.

She knows it’s not his fault. He wanted a family just as much Amelia did. They’d been trying for years, and when they did finally succeed-

Amelia screams. Again, and again, and again.

Some words. Some just incoherent screams. Her voice is not nearly loud enough to express all the emotions she’s feeling. Her screams boom through the whole maternity ward. While some mothers are cradling their newborns, this mother is mourning the loss of hers.

JJ decides to stay back with Amelia, even if it does mean just waiting in the waiting room. Garcia and Derek team together to go back to the apartment to gather all their belongings to head back to the office. Hotch and Emily agree to head into question their newfound suspect.

Amelia is left alone in the room.

Missing her husband.

Missing her child.

Losing everyone she loves, one by one.

-

Tag team!

(Drop a comment if you also want to be tagged when the next part goes up!)

@twentysomethingloser92 @spencerreidsthings @mbowles23-blog @andiebeaword @dontshootmespence @notdisneychannel @wiitchxbiitch @manchildstagram @lagirl112

[rev-1832]

please for the love of all fuck explain mcyt to me

Omg I've been waiting for this

So mcyt means minecraft youtube, but usually also includes Twitch streamers. It's like a in general thing, and not pointing to anything specific

But since you sound so confused, I'm gonna explain to you the Dream SMP lore 'cause why not

TL;DR: Chaos and war, basically also like a hamilton, heathers, and les mis crossover (but i mean if you want to understand everything you should read.)

If theres spelling mistakes, sorry

Note: Everyone on the smp has three canon lives, and when you loose all three you're canonically dead (except philza minecraft. he has one canon life bc hes known as the hardcore guy bc he had a minecraft hardcore series for 6 years until he was killed by a spider while trying to fight a baby zombie lmaoooooo)

IMPORTANT: THIS IS ALL RP. IRL THEY’RE ALL FRIENDS. THERES A DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE PLAYER AND THE CHARACTER. THE RELATIONSHIPS AREN’T ACTUALLY TOGETHER IRL. ITS ALL THEIR CHARACTERS THAT THEY MADE UP. (obviously the best friends stuff are irl)

In the beginning there were 8: The Dream Team (Dream, Georgenotfound [the guy in my pfp btw :)] , Sapnap), Badboyhalo, Awesamdude, Ponk, Callahan, and Alyssa. Around this time, nothing much happened since it was all brand new, uhh yeah (this was around may-july of this year)

Then around late july new members joined: Tommyinnit, Tubbo, Wilbur Soot, Eret, Skeppy, Fundy, Punz, Purpled, and Schlatt. This part is very important to the lore, because the lore kinda started off with the british (so tommy, tubbo, wilbur, eret) Schlatt was banned, cause Sapnap was the one who invited him and Dream didn't know who he was. He'll come up later.

So Wilbur and Tommy decided to create a new nation called "L'Manberg". Also around this time (i think) Nihachu and Jack Manifold joined. They also were part of L'Manberg. There was this huge revolution between Dream Smp and L'Manberg. Very historical period on this smp. In the end, (i think it was?) L'Manberg who won (if memory serves).

After that, L'Manberg had started growing bigger, with a lot more buildings added and stuff, notably Church Prime, which where they created a religion for Twitch Prime, which is how you can sub to your favorite twitch streamer for free if you link your amazon prime account. I'm pretty sure around this time, Quackity, Karl Jacobs (if you watch Mr. Beast; yes, that karl jacobs), HBomb, Technoblade, and Antfrost joined. And then the railway war started. It happened when Tommy accidentally ran over Dream with a Minecart and then took his stuff. This is how the disc war started (once again, if memory serves). The two discs Tommy owns are his prized possesions, and Dream took them. Also around this time the Pet War started, with Sapnap killing someones(i forgot oops) pet. And then more pet killing. Annnnd then even more.

Then there was the L'Manberg eletion. There was POG2020, who was Wilbur and Tommy, SWAG2020, Quackity and George, Coconut2020, Fundy and Nihachu, and Schlatt2020 which was Schlatt. Oh yeah and he got unbanned btw

SWAG2020 and Schlatt2020 decided to combine their votes, thus Shclatt became president and Quackity his vp. Oh and ever since the election Quackity has this grudge against George bc he slept through the election. Schlatt renamed L'Manberg to Manberg, and exiled Tommy and Wilbur from it.

Schlatt is a evil dictator who likes power. He and Quackity started fighting, and so Quackity became part of Tommy and Wilbur's side. Around this time was The Battle of the Lake and The Burning Eiffel Tower, both part of the pet war. (It seems like a innocent war but its actually brutal lmao) Also (irl) Mr. Beast had a $10,000 Taco Bell gift card hunt. Eret won. It was at the cords 6969,420, because haha funny number haha weed number. This has nothing to do with the lore but yeah. Eret also became King of the SMP 

Then there was the Manberg festival. It was to celebrate democracy, but Tubbo puts it as "i decorated my own execution" bc he helped decorate it, but he was murdered there. At the festival was the Manberg Massicare, where Technoblade was forced to shoot tubbo, but he released a firework rocket kiling Tubbo, Schlatt, Quackity, and a few others. Many people lost one of their canon lives. Wilbur went all J.D like and planted 11 stacks of TNT underneath Manberg, and wanted to blow it up.

Pogtopia was formed, which is a ravine which i think is underneath? manberg? Which included basically everybody who wasn't neutral or with schlatt. On November 16 was the Manberg VS Pogtopia war, but the Badlands were also there. The Badlands is a nation of four people: Bbh, Skeppy, Awesamdude, and Antfrost. They faught with the loosing side, so the chaos could continue. Eret disobeyed Dream and got stripped of his royalty, and gave it to George. Oh and during this time, George had no idea there was a war and was building a cottagecore mushroom house with callahan and was very confused with all the death messages in the chat. Schlatt died canonically of a heart attack or stroke (no one knows tbh). Tommy became president, passed it to wilbur bc he still has unfinished buissness with dream (the discs), and wilbur passed it to Tubbo, who made Tommy his vp. Technoblade then argued about how government is bad, and they're just repeating history. Philza Minecraft joined the server, but no one could find him, until Wilbur blew up L'Manberg (they rechanged the name also). Wilbur then made Philza kill him, so Wilbur also became canonically dead. Then Techno, still mad at L'Manberg and governments, summoned two withers and made it attack the others. The Geogre decided to check out what was happening and helped fight. After the chaos, Captain Puffy and ConnorEatsPants joined the smp. About one to two weeks later Vikkstar and LazarBeam joined, then about three months after that Ranboo joined.

They rebuilt L'Manberg on stilts, and there water where the explosion was, but now with coral and stuff to make it all pretty. Tommy and Ranboo decided to go steal from Georges mushroom house, but then also griefed it and burnt it, and Dream, being a George simp, built obsidian walls around L'Manberg. They took Tommy to court, and was put on probation. Then Tommy got exiled (again) but this time by his own best friend. This made Quackity vp and Fundy secutary of state. Dream also took Georges king thing and gave it back to Eret because Eret has a good relationship with everybody, whereas George being King just caused chaos cause hes close to Dream. Quackity and Karl made Mexican L'Manberg, and George and Sapnap joined in also. War against Dream SMP, it was a negotiation and it got renamed into El Rapids (reference to Chilling in Cedar Rapids, which Hilary Clinton once said, and Quackity referenced it, got it trending #1 one twitter (well i mean dsmp gets things trending like everyday but), and got DONALD TRUMP TO SUBTWEET HIM. (This happened irl)

In his exile, Ghostbur (wilbur as ghost) and Tommy made Logstedshire, and Dream was often there to watch him. Dream then blew it up, and now Tommy is living with Techno in his arctic place. Currently, Quackity made a thing called The Butcher Army, so they could execute Techno. Tubbo, Quackity, Fundy, and I also think Ranboo? are trying to get another festival, and yes its a secret execution plan, but for them to kill Dream, who they realized is who they need to kill first. The disc war is still not over. Tommy has one of his discs, but Skeppy is in possesion of the other one.

Unluckily for Tommy (reguarding the discs), something happened in the Badlands. Bbh was digging out his underground statue room (he plans to make a statue of everyone of the server) and found this crimson egg. He, Antfrost, and Captain Puffy kinda got possesed. Also since Skeppy didn't really hang out on the server at night, but bbh does (OF FUCK I FORGOT TO MENTION HE AND BBH ARE BEST FRIENDS) Captain Puffy created Discount Skeppy, which is her in a Skeppy skin. Skeppy found out, had a little conflict with her during her stream, but it was resolved, and at one point in the stream, he asked bbh to choose between him and the egg, and when bbh didn't answer, he went to the egg, put himself inside it, and logged off. Couple days later, bbh and puffy got him out, hes now possed by the crimson, called Technoblade his "best friend" infront of bbh, and is now living in a grass hut. Bad is convinced theres still some skeppt left, but yeah. Skeppy also wanted to burn the disc.

End of lore for now, bc its like if you miss ONE STREAM YOU MISS LIKE A REALLY IMPORTANT EVENT AND ITS STRESSFUL

Not much part of lore but Nihachu and Captain Puffy once went on a date. They’re both bi irl and Puffy was on Nihachu’s Love or Host (twitch dating show. its really entertaining) Captain Puffy was a contestant, and chose love. (LoH is also how Nihachu and Wilbur met.) 

Funfact: Theres 5 irl lgbtq+ ppl on the server (people who came out, anyways cause you never know, ya know?) Antfrost is gay, Eret, Nihachu, Captain Puffy are all bi, and Karl Jacobs is ace spec 

Family stuff: Philza Minecraft (he'll come up later) had two twins with a Samsung Smart Refrigerator in the 70's. The two twins being Wilbur and Technoblade (he'll come up later also) and also had another son, Tommy. They also adopted Tubbo, who they found in a box on the side of the road. When he grew up, Wilbur met Sally the Salmon, and they had a fox together (dont ask just go with it), which was Fundy. (The character) Fundy is trans, and yeah . Bbh is a dad to sapnap and yeah

Oh and a new member is coming on today on Quackity’s stream (twitch.tv/quackityhq at 5pm CST if you want to watch) 

I left out some parts, sorry, but theres always the wiki...

Wilbur Soot is also a musician! He wrote I’m In Love With an Egirl, The Internet Ruined Me, and Your New Boyfriend. (did you know the last one beat taylor swift for #1 trending on youtube? idk why but im really proud of him for that) They’re all catJam’s. Go listen!

[sims2bellaswan]

pas de deux VIII [Bruno Bucciarati x Reader | Risotto Nero x Reader]

[SFW]

AO3 VERSION

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

You’ve worked your whole life to earn a place in the Rome ballet company, yet everyone seems to work against you.

Between the stress of working to match the other dancers to unforeseen romantic issues, problems just seem to pile up.

While your day was busy, your evening was expectantly boring. Risotto did not notice your apprehension, though it’d be easier to say he didn’t care.

Tonight, you took your time. You practiced a mindful breathing exercise you found on the internet while lacing your shoes. It didn’t make you feel better, you supposed it made you mindful of your breathing, whatever that meant.

Risotto wasn’t any easier on you, despite your sour mood. After the third repeat, “Giselle wouldn’t look so bored.” There came a point where you had to very much hold back from hitting him.

The fluorescent light above the vending machines buzzed garishly. It was noticeable, annoying. Digging in your duffel bag for another euro, you thought for a moment about calling Bruno. After buying your granola bar, you sat down and opened his contact.

You took a deep breath, then pressed ‘call’. You counted the rings.

“Hello?” He sounded busy, probably making dinner.

“Hi, Bruno,” You sounded tired.

“Good evening,” Something made noise in the background of his call, a metallic clink, he is cooking. “Are you still at the company?”

“Mhm- I just wanted to,” You weren’t sure why you wanted to call. You guessed to apologize, but you can’t quite place why you should be the one apologizing. He accused you of sleeping around. You weren’t actually doing that. “Uhm, I wanted to apologize.” You paused, biting your granola bar, “For today, you know, blowing up at you.”

“You were frustrated, I understand.” He returned. “I was hurt, but I’ll be,” Now, he paused, you heard him doing something, but not enough to place what he was doing. “Fine.”

He didn’t sound like he’d be fine, he still sounded mad.

Your head held up by your hand, the call was silent. Neither of you had anything to say. You wanted to cry.

“Bruno, I’ll let you go. I’m sorry for bothering you.” You hung up before he could respond. Tightening your eyes shut, you thought for a moment if this would be the end of your friendship with him. This sucked.

Standing up, you leaned against the wall. You just wanted this to be over.

Your session with Risotto ended at eleven again that night. He was quiet when you two parted, throwing only a quick “Good job tonight,” your way before preparing to leave. Something told you it was just something he said to sound polite, maybe it was the endless complaints while dancing. You left without saying goodbye. Maybe putting some distance between you and Risotto would clear things up with Bruno.

As you walked out, you passed Trish Una in the hall. You would’ve thought a busy woman like her would be out by now, partying or studying. Through your tiredness, you admired her dedication. Upon seeing her features scrunched up in annoyance, you decided against saying hello.

Trish walked with conviction. After the rumor of Signore Nero sleeping with a dancer spread, it ate her up. She began to doubt its implausibility. Pushing through the door and into the studio, she stopped in the doorway. It was all her friends talked about this afternoon. Every few hours, new information seemed to come out. It’s only been a few days, yet it enticed the corps de ballet enough to keep it up.

“Whatever you’re doing with that girl needs to stop, like, now.” Trish had no sympathy in her voice; if there was a problem, she was eager to get it over with.

Risotto stood to his full height, holding his shoes from his duffel bag. He kept his back to Trish, hiding the quick, surprised reaction he gave. “I’m only doing my part to help a dancer with potential.” He thanked God his voice remained level.

Trish rolled her eyes. “Right, because that is something you do all the time. Help people.” Her comments on his reputation were gained honestly. Many new dancers left, citing him as their reason. “Either you need to stop meeting with her in such a public place or you need to open the practice to others.”

Risotto pulled his slippers off, huffing at Trish’s need to make commentary. There is no way he would essentially hold another full lesson that late. Meeting you someplace else wouldn’t be off the table, though, but he quickly put the thought out of his mind. That was a quick lane to getting involved, something he was trying to avoid at all costs. “Would your father be happy knowing you’re meddling in gossip?”

“I don’t care.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I have to work with these people and your sex life is distracting them.” Her tone peaked with contempt. With one final wave of attitude, “Fix it.”

His hands massaged his temples. Of course the dancers, desperate for something to talk about on their breaks, would create this narrative.

Trish left without hearing whatever rebuke he had planned. She did what she needed to do, warned him before it got too far and found out the truth. She was satisfied with herself, happy to have put an unnecessary rumor to rest.

Shutting the door behind you, you collapsed into your apartment. The night was humid, a characteristic of the time of year. Taking off your clothes felt like peeling a grape.

You fought the urge to call Bruno the entire walk home and now that you were back, you finally felt like you didn’t have to. You’d get to decompress and not think about him until the morning. Even though his frustrated words rung through your brain, reminding you that you should be ashamed of the accusations. Reminding you that Bruno was disappointed in you.

Changing into your pajamas as you threw your things in a laundry hamper, you distracted yourself by checking social media.

You turn to start the shower, leaving your phone on the counter. Your aching thighs scream at you while you tiptoe on the tile. Steam begins to fill the bathroom. Your text tone chimes behind you. No one important would text you now, it was too late for that mess. Stepping into the shower, you disregarded the text completely.

Thus, forgetting about it until the morning.

[sw124]

Monster Boyfriend!Reader insert!

Female Reader! Shadow boyfriend.

[The reader is nicknames are Angel by the boyfriend and Bo by everyone else]

Another day, another chewing out by your asshole of a boss who as usual promoted the skinny collage girl over you; despite the fact you worked at this office for over five years and kept it running! In your opinion your boss was a misogynistic piece of garbage who believed all woman had the minds of toddlers, that and their only purpose was to be servants/playthings/baby factories to all men. The only reason he promoted this new girl was because he was looking for new eye candy.

It was just your boss who shared this view however, the other members of the office didn’t share their views. All of them were married and had kids, you could feel the unease when the boss made filthy jokes about someone’s daughter…especially when that daughter was only thirteen years old.

The father of this girl was your friend and neighbor Roy, he was tempted to punch his boss senseless but at the moment he couldn’t afford to. He just found out he and his wife were expecting baby number two, his wife worked from home but he always believed in having a safety net.

[Lunch break]

You sat down by Roy and Trevor, he was from accounting and pretended to be a bachelor when he actually dating a very nice young person, they preferred not to be labeled with a gender.

“Hey Bo, heard the boss yelling at ya; what was it about this time?” Asked Trevor opening his lunchbox.

“The account he assigned to the new girl was lost and he’s blaming me despite I had no part in its loss. He just wants to get on the girls good side so he can try an sleep with her…” you mumbled as you pulled out your own lunch.

You weren’t skinny, you were round with curves and a belly. This lead to many comments from your boss but you brushed them off, especially when you got home cooked lunches from your boyfriend. Today’s lunch was as beautiful as before, he got into making those character bento lunchboxes he saw on tiktok. Today’s lunch was fried chicken meatballs with rolled up omelet and little rice balls. The meatballs were decorated to look like hedgehogs, the little rice balls made to look like penguins and the omelets were speckled with green and filled with cheese.

“Lee went all out on that didn’t he?” Retorted Roy with a chuckle, his lunch was a grilled panini he ordered from the shop next door.

“He loves to cook and I love eating his cooking.” You smiled as you chowed down into his creation.

There was a small avocado salad on the side with diced raw onions and a small squirt of hotshots on it. It was a interesting combination but it actually worked out well.

You were about to dig into this salad when your boss walked in, so begins his usual walk around the tables giving comments on everyone’s choice of lunches. Mocking men who didn’t have properly made lunches by their wives or joked about being bachelors. You finished the penguin rice balls when he came your table.

“An what has this group prepared hm?” He leaned over Roy and his sandwich. “Wife not making you lunch anymore, what you two get into a fight again?”

Ugh; you hated how he smirked every time he put someone down, he looked over at Trevor. His lunch was simple homemade steak and cheese wrap his partner made.

“Huh, thats surprising; most single guys don’t know how to cook, where’d you buy that?” Trevor was about to answer but the ass turned to you and eyed your lunch. “Well what does the pig have today? Something that looks decent, bet it tastes like shit though?”

He reached for your food, Roy was the one who pulled it away from him. “Sir, need I remind you that the last time you took someone’s food the CEO of the company came down here to scold you?”

Your boss glared at him but backed off, yes he literally took someone’s food from them and was reported. He managed to play it off as a misunderstanding but it didn’t stop the CEO from chewing him out.

“Fine, let the pig eat her slop.” With that your boss left.

“Thanks Roy…” you sighed, this was going to be a long day…

[A few hours later]

Finally it was time to leave, three’o clock, you got all your things and bolted for the elevator. You made it in time too, you knew your boss came looking for stragglers to do extra work. The doors closed just as he walked into look for anyone; preferably you. But you escaped, you learned when and how to avoid him near the end of the day.

Now piled into your car you, Trevor and Roy all heading back to the same apartment building you shared. Trevor lived on the fourth floor of the apartments while you and Roy were on the second floor, he lived in the apartment across the hallway from you and your boyfriend. You said goodbye to them and walked into your apartment, the money you made was good despite your boss.

You composed yourself before hand and as you were closing the door…you saw your shadow growing, it grew larger, bulkier and once it reached a hight of 9ft…three bio-green eyes appeared; feral and happy.

“Welcome home Angel.”

His large clawed hands picked you up and cradled you in those burly arms, the term ‘broad chest’ didn’t do your darling justice. He had hair but it was so molded to his body it almost looked like a helmet minus the part that hung off. He had what you called an inverted pixie bob, he nuzzled you and peppered your cheek with little kisses. He didn’t have a visible mouth, nose or ears but that only added to his charm.

“Hi Caine, I’m so happy to be home. Lunch was soooo good, I loved those little penguins you made.”

You watched those eyes of his turn into stars as he hugged tightly, you hugged him back….oh you needed this. You needed ‘him’ right now more then anything, just him and his big arms hugging you.

“I’m making pizza tonight, I figured it’d be cheaper then buying it.” He whistled.

“Ooh that sounds good.” You whined happily.

You only had your eyes closed for a moment before you found yourself in your bedroom. He sat you on the bed and proceeded to remove your shoes, what on earth did you do to get a guy this awesome?

“Oh, so you know; Brandy called me and told me about your company throwing a family picnic!”

Right…the picnic, another excuse for that ass of a boss to mock everyone’s lifestyle and show up his wealth. You smiled at him, he loved picnics and meeting all the people you worked with. No way were you gonna say no, but that didn’t mean you weren’t gonna try and stay as far away from your boss as possible.

“Its gonna be a potluck kind of picnic so lets make something yummy together hm?” You smiled as you stood back up and changed into your comfy clothes.

He squealed with glee and whisked you back up into his arms, dinner was delicious and so was dessert. Just simple store bot gelato but still good, the two of you sitting on the couch bing watching documentaries and internet cat videos.

[two weeks later]

The weather was perfect, there was a nice light breeze and there were clouds, lots of them. White, fluffy clouds that casted shadows to shield you from the sun from time to time. Not that it was terribly hot, warm but not hot. You and Cain parked the car under a tree and got out, the company picnic was being held at the local park near the river. It was a very nice place, already you saw many of your co-workers here.

Cain had already delved into your shadow, not out of fear but it was easier to move around crowds. You already saw a few other co-workers who brought their spouses. Mark from HR was one of the few you knew who was dating someone who wasn’t human, his girlfriend was the same height as Cain but unlike Cain she was more mammalian. She was what many called a ‘wendigo’ but she had more of a wolf appearance mostly due to her skull face; her name you recalled is Sophie.

You and Mark had that in common, the two of you love large, adorable creatures that could crush you in their embraces. You watched Mark talk as Sophie filled a plate with ribs and handed them to some other co-workers. You walked over, greeted her and sat down two large bowls. One had your famous fruit salad while the other had Cain’s spicy garlic Parmesan chicken wings.

Cain was about to come out to say hello when everyone was silenced by the tapping on a microphone.

“Everyone, thank you all for coming! I’m so thrilled to see everyone’s bright faces here!”

You gritted your teeth…it was your boss, here it comes. He did this whenever possible, bringing people up and passively insulting them for whatever reason an pass it off as a joke. Well today he was bringing couples up and joking, he already had Roy up there and joked about his family. It was clear Roy wanted to punch the guy’s lights out an you didn’t blame him.

“Thanks Roy for being a great sport, up next…why our own Ms. Bo!”

Well crud..it was your turn, you felt Cain gripping your shoulder but you had no choice. You patted the invisible hand and walked up onto the stage, you saw how he leered at you.

“Well everyone, here she is Miss Bo. Where’s your boyfriend, oh I’m sorry dear I guess the rumors are true men don’t like chubby little bitches like you.”

Uh oh…now he didn’t, you watched your shadow shift and move, steadily growing behind your boss as he continued.

“Any single men out here wanna plow this porker? No? Well thats to be expected, lots of smart men know to stay away-“ the mic was yanked out of his hand, he spun around…only to be face to face with three murder colored eyes.

You reached an took the mic. “Sir, I’d like to introduce you to Cain, my beloved boyfriend of four very happy years. We met in middle school, started dating in collage. Thats all you need to know….Cain put him down please.”

You didn’t need to look, Cain had your boss by the scruff of his shirt, dangling him over the edge of the stage….he relented and sat him down; he turned and took the mic from you.

“An for the record; you call my girl anything other then her name…well..” he exposed his rarely seen mouth, inside were rows of razors ready to tear him apart.

“The last thing you’ll be seeing are these.”

You refrained from saying anything..especially about your bosses soiled trousers.

[later, after the picnic]

Back in your apartment, cuddled on the couch; sitting in his lap with a box of macarons and other sweet treats. You look up at Cain who still seemed a little mad from what he heard.

“Honey its ok, the boss got fired for what he said and we’re getting a new one, its all thanks to you.” You give him a kiss, that seemed to melt the grump off.

“Yeah, though I’m still upset that you went through all those nasty things…”

Oh no the puppy eyes…the sad ‘mama I need love’ puppy eyes. He always got his way when something happened. Last time he did this was when you had you wisdom teeth taken out and you were in pain.

“I know but you know what?”

Cain looks down at you.

“What?”

“You made it worth it, every day I’d come home to the best thing nature ever created.”

You saw stars dance in his sweet eyes as he hugged you tightly, for the rest of the night was filled again with cat videos and documentaries until the two of you slowly drifted off to sleep, you safely tucked into his loving embrace.

End.

[so you know all of this was inspired by the drawings of @semisolidmind and her monster boyfriend series oooh their sooo cute! Semi I hope you like this you inspired this!]

[bubblyani]

Bail Out : 02

(Bruce Wayne x Reader)

A Bruce Wayne Multi Chapter Series

Chapter 02: Unrequited

Summary: One fateful, drunken night gets you arrested for assault. However, once you get bailed out by Billionaire Socialite Bruce Wayne, surprising obstacles get in the way, forcing you to question all your choices in life, career, and in love.

Word Count: 7213

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Swearing, Hints of Mugging and Violence

Author’s Note: Very happy to see the response I received so far. Hope you will enjoy the progression of this story. Enjoy!

Songs Mentioned:

Ain’t no Stopping us Now- McFadden & Whitehead

Eyes off You- M-22, Arlissa and Kiana Ledé

Chapter 1 HERE

(Saturday 3 am)

Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, Alfred Pennyworth rose up from his chair upon seeing Bruce Wayne enter the Penthouse with haste. The sudden need to spend one’s late hours on a riveting novel was certainly coincidental, for tonight the Butler had been awake for two valid reasons, as it seemed.

“I’m a little relieved you didn’t come back home with Ms.Natasha…” Alfred said hoarsely. Loosening his tie, Bruce flashed a soft smile in his direction.

“I take it that you don’t like her, Alfred?”

“Oh! Her talent is admirable” the elderly man replied, watching the younger man rush over to his bedroom, “But her arrogance is simply unforgivable” he continued, increasing the volume of his voice so that his master could still hear. Alfred’s eyes subtly squinted with curiosity when Bruce returned with his laptop.

Sitting on one of the dinning chairs, Wayne made himself comfortable ,before typing up some words in it. “Trouble, Master Wayne?” Alfred inquired. “I need to look up someone…” Bruce answered, whilst accessing the Wayne Enterprises Internal Server. “And who may that be exactly, Sir?” “My knight …” Bruce began, his index finger grazing over ENTER button,“….in shining armor…” Finally pressing it, he managed to open the Personnel File required, “…apparently” Both men spent the next few minutes, studying the profile in complete silence and fascination. The owner of the profile was female, appearing to an employee of Wayne Enterprises. Swiping through every page, Bruce made sure to pay close attention to every little detail. Until finally, he spoke up. “Alfred…” Bruce said, looking over to him, “We’re gonna need some bail money…” Mr.Pennyworth flashed him a small smile in turn. “Of course you do, Sir…” He replied, although there was indeed a hint of sarcasm.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(Monday)

The rhythmic clicks of your stilettos were interrupted by the ring of your cell phone. Monday morning, the beginning of a new week. Thus, more work awaited you, similar to everyone else in the world. Digging inside your oversized handbag, you rummaged through, forcing you to stop in your tracks on the pavement, only a few feet away from Wayne Tower.

Few seconds passed by, yet you still could not find your phone. Although those few seconds seemed adequate, for the chilly morning breeze to caress the back of your neck, and for the cup of mocha to keep your hand warm like an invisible glove, or even for the delicious sandwich inside your bag to tease your nostrils with it’s aroma. Bless the caller’s patience, you thought. When you finally grabbed it from the bottom of the handbag, you smiled, upon seeing the name that appeared on screen. “ ’Morning Ali! What’s up?” You answered, in a cheery tone. With your working schedules being different, Allison would relish the opportunity of sleeping in. Unlike you. “Hey Sweetie…” Allison spoke, her deep voice sounding even deeper in the morning, “Just FYI, they’re sending someone to fix the Wi-fi today…” “Oh Thank God!…” you exclaimed, “Finally I can do some catching up…” you said, backing unto the wall to allow the passerby’s to walk past. To both of your dismay, the Wi-fi connection seemed to have a breakdown during the weekend, causing what could be called as an ‘unexpected detox’ from all forms of social media and internet access. But now, relieved about the good news, you began to walk once again, your rhythmic clicks getting their groove back. “Um…Sweetie?” 


“Yeah, what’s up?” You asked. Allison grew quiet for a few seconds, which confused you. “You might wanna…” she paused, “…keep off the web today…” she added hesitantly, “Or… even for a few days…” You raised your eyebrows, as you approached the entrance of  Wayne Tower. 
“Why?” You asked, “What do you mean?-Hey Bill !”

Amidst your cheerful greeting, Bill the Doorman grew nothing but speechless as you passed him by. And it surprised you. ‘Babbling Bill’ was what you would tease him with, yet there he was, quiet as a mouse. And he was not the only one. “Hey! You there?” Allison asked, seemingly concerned by your own silence. Gripping on to your phone tightly, you felt discomfort. “Ali, I gotta go…” You said, hanging up whilst you walked through the lobby. A walk through the lobby of Wayne Tower was usually a busy walk. Your voice would get the warm up it needed with many a greetings, when at the same time, your upper limbs would get the stretching required from all the waving. Yet today, this morning, it was all too different.

All those who passed you smiled, yet no words were exchanged. Speechless would be most common word to describe it. The moment you would pass anyone by, it was quite noticeable how some quickly gathered into groups of two or three’s, followed up with hushed whispers. Uncomfortable was clearly the word you would use to describe your situation, thus you looked straight ahead and walked towards the elevator hall. The more eyes washed over you, the stronger you wished for the elevators to be closer in distance. You did not want to walk anymore. Oh how wonderful would have been to float anywhere in flash! What could possibly have happened for all to look at you this way? Your eyes widened. Could it be? The Friday night incident? Allison’s advice, could that be in relation to this, by any chance?

You finally caught the elevator, being the last one to get in. With a packed and quiet crowd standing behind, the doors closed and you watched the floor numbers of the panel, change with every second. But then, whispers began: “Is she the one who-”

“Yep…”

“Oh! Wow…”

It seemed that whispers were what you could not escape from. If it was another day, you would have gladly turned back to spot the culprit. But today was not your day.

So, there. Everyone knew. But what exactly?

8th Floor, HR Department of Wayne Enterprises. Stepping out of the elevator, you grew nervous. Being the Department that dared not attract attention of this sort, what could possibly be the reaction of your peers and colleagues? Taking a deep breath, you entered the office space, ready to face the music.

Except, you were greeted with actual music.

And the loudest of cheers.

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Never have you been this confused. And never had you seen your Staff in HR worked so collectively in any activity other than this. All 20+ of your junior staff, up from their chairs, visible from their booths. Never have they clapped so zealously before. “Ain’t no Stopping us Now” by McFadden & Whitehead played in the background the moment you entered the large room. “Ain't No Stoppin Us Now! We're on the move!…..”

Instead of feeling relieved or euphoric, embarrassment washed over you.

“…Ain’t No Stoppin Us Now! We've got the groove!”

The disco chorus would normally tempt you to break into dance, but all you could do was to cover your face, to hide the redness that deemed visible. What could have possibly been showed to these innocent people for them to act this way around you? And most importantly, you did not know if these cheers were of genuine support, or sheer mockery.

“HR is cool again! Whoo!”
“Literal chills, Boss!…” “You…are…amazing!” “You showed them! Fight the power!”

Nodding with a shy smile, you acknowledged everyone’s comments as you walked towards the direction of your office, uncomfortable by cheers for the first time in all your years of existence.

“Well done, boss…Well done!” Greg Cohen, Assistant Manager cried out as he joined you. Given his track record, you were convinced this was all a prank. “Alright alright…” you muttered with a smirk, “…message received” yet prepared for an unexpected surprise in the end. Except Greg never looked this happy. “Are you kidding?” He said, “The way you stood up to that jerk? Pure bad-assery, Boss!” “Is your hand okay?” Paula Yang, one of the Senior Executives jumped in with concern, following you over to the office with Greg. “Yes, Paula.” You answered kindly, showing your hand, “And I was only ‘badass’ cause I was highly intoxicated, Greg!” You pointed out to him with exaggeration. To which he laughed. “Yeah! We can’t forget how crazy you get when you’re wasted…” he said with a wink, watching you finally sit down,“Oh! Remember that one time you willingly joined the junior staff to do a Taylor Swift Karaoke-off?” Eyes widened, that embarrassing memory played in your mind like a fast forward clip. “Oh my god-don’t!” You cried out with frustration, covering your face. All in the midst of Greg’s laughter. “I remember you sang 22 with such gusto, it was classic!” “Do you think HR is gonna be in trouble for this though?” Paula asked. You were struggling with an answer: “I-” “Nah!” Greg waved his hand frantically, “There worse things going on in Gotham right now” “That’s not the point-” you interjected, or tried to. “So many worse things-” “GUYS!…” Your interjection finally silenced the both of them, although the music was live and kicking outside. Taking a deep breath, you began: “As much as I appreciate all this…would you mind giving me some space for a little breather? I mean…” you paused, showing your coffee, “ I just got to office so…” you said, hinting their exit, “...Thank You” you added as they nodded frantically. “Sure! of course…” Greg said, “You’re the best, Boss!” Giving a thumbs up, he disappeared. “Yeah! Yeah!…” You said with raised eyebrows, “Paula…the door, please!” You added courtesy as you looked at her. The young executive obediently closed the door behind, leaving you alone at last. Never did you expect this. Especially when the title of Senior Manager was crowned over your head.

Pressing the space button of your computer, you watched the screen come alive, welcoming you with Google Search on your Browser Window. Staring at blinking cursor, you were tempted. Highly tempted to do the unthinkable. Should you act on it? Or would it crash and burn your day altogether? Yet, how unfair was it that everyone else knew but you.

Exhaling deeply, the last thread of patience left you. No more. Taking a deep breath, you proceeded to let your fingers press the keys.

Brring!

The ring of your office phone made you flinch in a flash. Holding your chest with shock, you looked over to the phone screen, forcing you to hold yourself tighter.

878. Boss!

You gulped with fear, fingers almost shaking as you answered the phone: “Y-yes?” Your stutter was called for. “My office…now!” A voice spoke from the other side. It was stern, it was expected. Sighing with silence, you nodded whilst replying low and with obedience : “Yes…”

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Sitting with your hands over your mouth, you watched it all. You watched the entire Friday night incident caught on video.And it was more vivid than you could remember.

“Don’t you DARE say things like that!”

“Why? What are you gonna do? Threaten m-OW!”

“You take that back! I mean it”

“Wha-? OWW!! ARGH! MY NOSE!”

“SECURITY!” 


Your eyes squinted with discomfort. The manner in which you spewed your words in rage, and surprise him with your amateur yet deadly punches; this was a side of yourself you had never glanced upon before. As the video stopped playing in the laptop, you looked back at the title above it:

“Sucker Punch! : Woman engages in assault at Famous Hotel”

With your eyes glued to the title, you let it sink in to your system. No wonder everyone downstairs appeared speechless. You dreaded to look away from the screen at the two people watching you from the other side of the table. And you chose not to. “So…” You attempted a casual tone, “…has this…gone viral?” Ted Hawthorne, one of the Legal representatives of Wayne Enterprises, cleared his throat: “Truthfully, I’m inclined to give a sarcastic remark right now” he said, in his bass tone. “Please…” you sighed, “…by all means” you said, eyes still on the screen. Taking a deep breath, Ted began: “If only this was viral, kid” he said, proceeding to point at the screen, “This…is mega viral. Spreading faster than wild fire” he continued, “Media is already calling you ‘The Bruiser’” Your boss however, still kept silent. Sighing even heavily, you looked at Ted. “Okay, be straight with me” you said, “What am I in for? How much did I anger this Henderson guy?” Ted scoffed, “You seriously don’t know who you’re up against? Erik Henderson of Henderson Incorporated?” Your jaw dropped as low as it could. Henderson Incorporated had always been one of the Rival Companies of Wayne Enterprises. How could you not possibly put those two together? “Wait! No…” you exclaimed, “But what about Magnus Henderson?” “That’s his father.” Ted said, taking the laptop, “He retired….” He added whilst typing, “ …and passed the company over to Erik.” Flipping the laptop back to you. It now showed an article, “It all happened so fast last week. So I guess I don’t blame you for not knowing” he said, sitting on the chair right next to you. Your Head remained silent, still. “Anyways, back to the point…” Ted said, as you scrolled through the article,  “The usual legal practice from his side, would be pressing charges for assault…” A certain someone warned you about this a few days before. Someone who unknowingly caused warmth in your poor heart. As you looked down at your right hand, at the tightly wrapped bandage, that warmth seemed more evident to you. Ignoring that, you grew worried. “Yeah but…” you began,  “What if something like this happened between two drunk friends at a bar or something? Does that mean someone will be pressed charges?” “Well, are you two…friends?” Ted questioned with a raised eyebrow. Silence came over you, along with a heap of embarrassment. “….no…” you muttered low. Closing your eyes, you sighed. Your disgraceful behavior had caused shame, it was obvious. Shaking his head, Ted crossed his legs, his deep, brown skin shining from the fluorescent light as he ran his hand over his bald head. “…as I was saying, before getting interrupted…” he looked at you sternly, to which you mouthed an apology, “… pressing charges would be the usual practice, but it seems that Mr. Henderson was more than generous and decided to not do either of that…” your eyes widened instantly by his words, “…except he demands some things in return…” “Which are?…” “A public statement of apology” “Oh…” “And immediate termination of your job at Wayne Enterprises…” “WHAT????” You yelled. Gripping on to both arms of the chair, you involuntarily looked at both Ted and your Boss. Could this really be your worse nightmare come to life? Did you really punch yourself into your own undoing? “Calm down, kid!” Ted raised both his hands, “Damn! let me finish…” he muttered under his breath worriedly, to which you nodded. Whilst taking deep breaths, you watched him continue: “Yes, his latter request seems a bit exaggerated, the Board completely agreed on that. However, your performance will be considered for a special evaluation during the upcoming few months. And then the board will come to confirmation whether to keep you in the company or not. It’s just a special precaution. I’m sure it’s not a big deal” There really was no apt response for any of this. All you could do was to let the silence take over. All the sudden, you felt nothing but emotionally exhausted. Sensing this, Ted offered a sympathetic glance. “Just keep your head down and read the statement, kid” he said, getting up “The press will be arriving at around 11:30…Good Luck!” Giving a nod to your boss, Ted headed out, leaving the two of you alone. At last. Lillian Foster, Head of the HR Department at Wayne Enterprises, was no doubt, an exceptionally brilliant woman. Rising through the ranks in the department with ease, she holds the position of Head at the age of 40, and possibly one of the youngest black women of power in this company. And this was possibly the longest period she had ever been silent with you.

And it frightened you.

With the density of silence increasing in the atmosphere, you kept looking down. You simply did not have the heart to look back at her. Along with the silence, the tension was equally thick, enough to be sliced into several stacks. Which begged the question: who will speak up first? Being the perpetrator, it seemed only fair you speak up. Except, she finally did before you could. “I had to watch this…” She began calmly, “…for more than ten times…just to even understand and accept that it was you doing it”. Though she was calm, the disappointment in her was evident, “How did you think I feel?” Your heart grew heavy. Nothing felt worse than disappointing Lillian. Not only was she your boss, she was also your mentor. She was the woman who took you in like family from your very first day in the company. In the company with a majority of men, she was a maternal figure, a sibling and teacher. You owed her to the stars. Clearly her question was a rhetorical one, for she continued: “You should be really grateful that Mr. Wayne was kind enough to bail you out himself. That’s as kind as you can get” she said, getting up from her chair to walk over to you, “The man must have woken up from the right side of his bed that morning…praise that man!” The shape of her heavily pregnant belly was quite visible in her navy blue dress. Yet she managed to handle everything with the boss persona that she owned so well. Taking the seat next to you, it was only fair to match her eye-line with yours. “Last week, I was so sure and ready to leave the responsibilities to you, and take my maternity leave with liberty…”she continued with a sigh,“But now…I’m beginning to get worried…” “Don’t say things like that, Lillian…” You shook your head frantically, “Just think of the baby…” you said, pointing at her belly. You still remember the number of times you spoke to that belly with adoration, hoping the little one inside would hear you. “I don’t understand…” Lillian said with frustration, “I’ve never seen you like this…”she said with concern, “Sure, you had a hard time with your temper with some people on the first few years here..” “Cause the people were jerks-” You added through gritted teeth, instantly recalling the horrible staff mistreating you back then. “Yes they were…” She nodded, “But then you realized, being in HR means we have to put up with all that, but still be the ones people turn to…” she spoke with such eloquence, “…handle everything with a smile and composure…” she added, making you nod, “And I’ve seen you grow… and do many great things…”, you smiled upon hearing that. “But punching someone?”Her informal tone just broke free, “What the hell?” “I really don’t know why, Lillian…” You replied with honesty and equal frustration, “I wish you were there…you didn’t hear the things that man said about Mr.Wayne…about the company” your jaw tightened, “…that man maybe the new CEO of Henderson Incorporated, but he had no class!” “But still-” “-violence is never the answer…I know” With a sigh, You finished her sentence. Silence followed suit for a few seconds. Until Lillian’s lips finally curved upright. “I kept hearing the others say how badass you were…” she said, with a chuckle. You turned to her, suppressing a smile, “A part of me wants to agree…but… how can I?” She said, tilting her head. Chuckling back, you shook your head once again. “And I don’t want you to either…” you replied, “It was just a massive screw up…” Taking a deep breath, you groaned as you covered your face: “And now…I have to fix it” you said, looking up. “Do you have those pearl earrings with you?” Lillian asked. You nodded: “It’s in my bag, always…” “Good…” She said, getting up, “You’re gonna need them! ”

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(Evening)

The Mikimoto pearl earrings, possibly were the most expensive, most precious pieces of jewelry you ever possessed. The mere glance of it always reminded you of the hard work and effort put into saving enough money to purchase a worthy pair of the famous brand of pearl earrings, for pearls were your favorite. And you were glad of your purchase, for it always brought class to any occasion.

Including making a public apology before the entire press of Gotham City.

Leaning forward against the back of the couch, you folded your arms, watching your own zoomed image on the television screen. It was the Late Night News, and the Apology was broadcasted once again on the News Rerun. Allison did not miss this. Sitting on the couch, her eyes were glued to the screen with concern. You both watched. The flashing lights of the cameras attacking you selfishly, symbol of greedy journalists on the mission to get the perfect shot of your remorse. In your formal office attire of skirt and jacket, the earrings highlighted your face, as you stood behind the podium alongside many representatives of Wayne Enterprises, including Ted Hawthorne. When you watched yourself read the speech, you remembered the words echoing in your head:

“….I would like to extend my sincerest apologies to Mr. Erik Henderson. It was not…” you watched yourself pause,

“…my intention to cause him such harm and pain. I am aware that my actions were tainted with irresponsibility and unprofessional-ism. I would also like to apologize to all staff in the hotel, and to all the other customers present that evening. My actions, as I mentioned earlier, were simply irresponsible and certainly not to be ignored so easily. I will make sure to adhere to the necessary measures that will be taken by Wayne Enterprises to compensate the loss and shame I have brought upon them. Thank you! That’ll be all”

“You did good, Sweetie…” Allison murmured gently, as the both of you watched the version of you on the screen slowly exit the podium. The screen transitioned over to the News Anchor in the studio:

“…However, several eyewitnesses have anonymously claimed the attack could indeed be provoked by Henderson himself, by making comments of defamation against billionaire socialite Bruce Wayne, of Wayne Enterprises…”

Your stomach formed a knot the second a video of Bruce Wayne was played. Possibly from that night. But the knot tightened with pain as you saw the woman who stood next to him. “Quick question…” Allison asked, pointing at the screen, “Was that Natasha person really pretty as she looks on camera?” “Nah…not really…” You flatly replied, folding your arms. Except a few seconds later, you realized you merely said that out of spite. Because you felt sour. And it was not true, “What am I saying? Of course she was pretty …” you chuckled, “She is pretty, just like you”. Shifting towards your direction, Allison sensed your emotion. After all, she was a woman too. With her blonde tresses illuminated by the lights of the television in the midst of the dark room, Allison’s expression changed. It was difficult to decipher, but it changed. “Sweetie…” She uttered with sympathy. A vacuum began to form within you, and you found it hard to breathe. Unable to take that in, you merely shrugged your shoulders. “Well that’s it…you saw the speech…” you said, pointing at the screen nonchalantly, “Goodnight, Ali…” your greeting was short, walking away before she could even respond. The door closed quietly behind you. Staring at the comfortable bed, all you longed was to get in it. Feeling the bouncy mattress brushing against your knees, you slowly crawled across the bed until you reached the window in the corner. The pavement was clearly visible as you opened it. Observing the hubbub outside, your mind began to wonder, it began to ponder. You did it. You gave the speech. And being in your good behavior was never going to be an issue, since you were never a troublemaker.

Therefore, why must you be filled with such emptiness?

“Never underestimate the power of probability…”

“You’ll have to be more specific”

“We will see each other again…”

“I think…I like Bruce Wayne...”

Looking at your bandaged right hand, you sighed heavily. Of course, you knew why.

Ever since that fateful day, ever since you were brave enough to admit to yourself how you had accidentally fallen for Bruce Wayne, he was all you could think of. Every waking moment, every thought flavored with leisure, it seemed as if he had secretly kept you company in your heart. You kept recalling that conversation in his Lamborghini, which seemed far from superficial. The manner in which he treated your wounds and healed you, the manner in which he bailed you out of jail himself, they were certainly many a kind and intimate acts rolled up into a singular moment. No wonder you were blissful in the corners of your imagination during the Wi-fi breakdown that weekend. Like a woman glancing upon her hand with a new engagement ring, you took the pleasure of glancing at your right hand every single time with a smile and giggles that soon followed. After ages, you were stirred by someone. He excited you, he made you look forward to the days ahead. For it would open the door to so many possibilities. One being the possibility of bumping into him again. You had fallen for him so hard and so fast, you chose to still keep the thin bandages on, even it was no longer necessary.

For the bandage was merely the physical remnant of his concern, his kindness to you.

But, when the sun rose on Monday, and the cold, hard reality hit you in the face in so many forms, you were forced to face the bitterness as well. Bruce Wayne was wrong. You could estimate the power of probability, for the probability of meeting someone like him again was certainly low. With you being a mere Senior Manager in his company, and him the sole owner of his family inherited business, it seemed literally impossible to win his heart. Always photographed and seen with women of beauty, power, class and high society, he was indeed a man of regality. Meanwhile, you were just a middle-class Gotham native, currently sharing an average apartment with her friend, hoping for an upgrade in life. You closed the window, yet permitting the city lights to rest on your bed as you crawled under the sheets. You chuckled to yourself. Funny how you desired for someone of the least attainability, yet searching for a thread of hope. His kindness that day was certainly a product of sheer pity. In truth, it could be a possibility that you were merely fooling yourself. Besides, in technicality, he was indirectly your boss, your employer. Thus, causing these feelings to be unprofessional to the fullest, something you never stood up for.

Silly crush, it was just a silly crush. Just a silly crush, you thought to yourself. Why must you fall for people this fast? A trait that you clearly despised. A weakness indeed. Running your fingers through your hair, you held out your right hand in front of you. The tightly wrapped bandage stared at you with innocence. That symbol. It was his reminder. But also the reminder of your foolishness, and the reminder of your pain. It had to go. That was the only way. Through gritted teeth, you slowly peeled it off from your skin. Sincerely hoping your feelings would be peeled off from your poor heart as well. For they were an inconvenience.

Especially when they seemed so hopeless.

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(One Week Later)

The Annual Charity Dinner of the Wayne Foundation, had always targeted to raise massive funds for the most essential of charities that needed financial assistant. It was also an event that never failed to cause stress on you. Whether it was the overseeing, planning, and of course, tending to the guests.

But this year, it was the polar opposite for you.

“I’ll gladly be checking everything on the night…” you assured to Lillian few days before, “But I am not attending the dinner…” you insisted with much exaggeration. Truthfully, you pleaded, “It’s bad enough I caused enough embarrassment already…” you added, rubbing your temples with frustration.

And with very little chance of Bruce Wayne attending, there was no reason to attend at all. Wait! your brows furrowed at that thought. Why would that even matter?

Two hours before commencement, the HR organizing staff  had gathered in the Hotel Banquet Hall. Whilst the waiters continued to set up the tables and decorations, you held responsibility in briefing the group. With your juniors and colleagues all dressed to the formal nine’s, you chose to punish yourself with all black semi-formal attire instead, in the form of black pants and a sequin embellished top with spaghetti straps. Regardless, you managed to fit in with the help of your rouge lipstick, which made an astounding difference.

“I believe all you are familiar with the schedule already…” your voice was rife with clarity, “….so to sum it all up: Make sure the guests arrive after proper check up…” you continued, as the others took notes nodding, “….make sure the drinks are served on time, make sure the entertainment will be ready when the starters are being served, and make sure-”

“-not to punch anyone?”

The sudden inquiry from Greg, caused unintentional laughter amongst the whole group. Nodding along to the silliness that was yet to be forgotten, you smiled tightly.

“Yes! Exactly, Greg!” You said, looking at everyone, “Don’t get too drunk and punch anyone like I did…” inciting more laughter, “Okay? Well...Good Luck! And Enjoy!”

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An hour had passed. You listened to the speeches and the formalities made. You coordinated the needful with the convenience of a walkie talkie. You ticked away every task on your notepad. All the while you were willingly caged in the VIP sitting room right next to the Hall. Finally, with the toasts were in completion, Dinner was served, Live entertainment was ready, the real fun had begun. And you were finally free. Yet, with you choosing to remain in the room, you figured you deserved all the similar luxuries at your own privacy.

Which also included alcohol.

A young waiter entered the room with a bubbly persona. "Good Evening, Ma'am. You ordered Whiskeys for two, am I correct?" he inquired, subtly looking around as you approached him. “You certainly are…" you replied with an equal bubbly tone, "You see…One for this guy…" you said, as you left hand picked up one glass, "...and One for this bad boy right here” you added when your right hand took the other. "Cheers!" you sniggered, watching the unimpressed waiter walk away shaking his head. You did not blame him. Your jokes were only so-so.

This unexpected pressure to be on your best behavior certainly did not help you with your patience, forcing you to drink even without a scrap on food in your stomach. A sense of freedom was always offered to you the moment the whiskey touched your lips. Suddenly all the stress that littered in your brain were gone, and it felt nothing but sparkly fresh. The moment the alcohol began to wind your body up like a toy, you knew music was the one missing element.

A cool spray of dance synth reached your ears in a progressive manner. Hearing the first few seconds of the song, you were intoxicatingly elated to find out what the song was. Freeing your tresses from the constraints of the half ponytail, you stood up from your armchair, swaying to the introductory verse of “Eyes on You” by M-22, Arlissa and Kiana Ledé :

“When I feel your tempo and I hear you echo Don't let go, don't let go You set the rhythm, I take my position Position, position...”

Your chest began to pop in double time as the song progressed to a faster pace. Infused with the side swaying, your drink however remained intact. Taking another sip whilst you danced, your right hand forced you to glance at it. There may have not been a bandage anymore, but the thin healing scars were visible enough to bring the reminder: Bruce Wayne.

“Can't take my eyes off you, my eyes off you No matter what you do, no, no way...”

Throwing your head back, the body slowly rolled in rhythm. During which that mind of yours, truly began to wonder about the craziest things. Would he, the great Bruce Wayne, enjoy this? Would you be better at this than the other girls he had been with combined? With eyes closed, the confidence in your dancing swelled. He was indeed quite desirable, that Bruce Wayne. Your drunken self was clearly unfiltered with opinions. Ah! Bruce Wayne.

“Ahem!" Someone cleared their throat, forcing you to quickly open your eyes.

Only to find the actual Bruce Wayne, standing a few feet before you. And just right then, the heart did not hesitate to signal its beat to increase in deathly speed.

Like fuckin’ beetle juice, you thought to yourself.

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Sharply dressed as always, never did Bruce Wayne fail to look attractive, ever. Truthfully, it seemed possibly impossible for him to do so. Though your body reacted to the sight of him with devotion, your intoxicated heart had other plans.

“Ah! Mr. Wayne! ” You cried out louder than you should. Lifting your glass, the intoxication was evident in your tone, “Welcome …to my Private party…”, followed by a giggle, “…You here to tinkle?” Your inquiry was full of mischief.

“Actually…Yes, I am…” the Billionaire replied. How exactly he said it, you had difficulty remembering, “Are you alright?” He asked with concern. A concerned voice laced with his signature softness. You scoffed with disbelief. “Me? I’m FINNNE!” You answered, your last word seemingly elongated and possibly dragged, “But …wait a minute…” squinting one’s eyes, you pointed at him bravely, “W-Why do you keep…seeing me drunk??”, You slurred, “WAIT! You know what?…” you cried out, before he could even answer, “Don’t care…” you said proudly, as you turned away. “Gonna quit this job anyways…” you muttered to yourself, rolling your eyes. Yet you danced, in hopes he would stand there and watch you. You danced, in hopes he would have a spark of interest somehow. With your intoxication unlocking the doors to the inner desires of your heart, you now had access to them all. And that was what you actually desired for. His attraction, his approval, his validation, his love. Taking in more sips to burn your tongue, you felt braver and energized. You felt cheeky too, in fact.

You wanted to turn back, facing him with such confidence that he could not resist you. But you only managed to sink your heart instead.

For he was gone.

Landing on the armchair once again, you wondered if what you just saw, was just an illusion. Regardless, you knew one thing for sure: You never felt so foolish. Gulping down the last of your drink, you collapsed to the armchair once again. Clarity had finally dawned on you:  You were never really over him. You were just that stupid, foolish girl, hopeless about someone who will never care back.

Curse these emotions! This heaviness that lingered in your chest burdened you. Unrequited emotions could never be as torturous as this. For it would be the constant sadness that will remain. Desire leads to impatience, impatience leads to disappointment. The disappointing fact that Bruce Wayne will never look your way, even though you hope to.

You have never felt sorry for yourself. But being drunk, it was easier to do so. And with your inhibitions lowered in a rush, it did not take long for that pitiful heart to sink in further deep. And it certainly did not take long for the tears to slowly form around your eyes as well.

The truth was to be faced, you were worthless, you were never good enough for him. Blind and hopeless, this was just a ridiculous idea in the first place. Bowing your head down, you allowed your self to cry softly, reaching out for the other glass. Tonight, it seemed the only company you had were the echoing music, the burning alcohol and your salty, never ending tears. Truthfully, they may possibly be obliged to keep you company forever.

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Two glasses of whiskey got you incredibly intoxicated, especially with no food in your system. As it should. Yet, you were conscious enough to make an exit before causing any more trouble to anyone ever again. Sneaking out into the lobby from the secret exit of the room, you managed to head out in peace. With your handbag slung over your shoulder, you were on a dire attempt to wipe off the smudged mascara, sniffing softly as you exited the hotel.

Only to sigh in frustration when there were no taxis at this hour.

With the possession of two working legs on you, it was decided to walk further down the city to hail one. Unexpectedly, you found yourself walking down a smaller street, dark and lonely.

“Can't take my eyes off you, my eyes off you No matter what you do, no, no way…”

You sang to yourself quite lazily, as you made your way. Clang! The sound of a garbage bin falling down made you halt. Quickly turning back, you felt a slight dizziness in your head. Holding your head to stop the spinning, you took a few deep breaths. But when you looked back, there seemed to be nothing. Rats maybe, you thought, turning forward to resume your walk.

Only to scream as you found three men standing before you. Dressed in ragged, dull clothing, two of the men held out guns, while the other stood empty handed. Muggers, possibly?

“Gimme your wallet, Lady!”

The man wearing a beanie yelled out threateningly, brandishing his gun at you. Confirmed, they were indeed muggers. Though intoxication was in your system, sobriety took over for a few minutes to save your life.

“Okay…” you slurred, “…take it easy” you added calmly. The man furrowed his eyebrows. “You bossing me, bitch?” He yelled angrily. 

“No! No! I was… talking to myself…” You answered quickly. Putting both hands up, you took a deep breath, “Let me just slowly…reach into my bag…” you said, while your right hand dug into the bag with certainty, “….and-ah shit!” Your heart sank immediately. “WHAT IS IT??” “I left my wallet…” you answered in all honesty, “ I-” “PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS IN THE AIR!!” The man bellowed. “Okay okay okay…” You responded. Maintaining your composure to much surprise, you tried not to stumble, “Listen…gentlemen…” you added, “This is not worth the trouble, okay?” You took a deep breath,  “I’m drunk… and from the looks of it…” you showed your two hands, “…incredibly destitute! I have nothing to offer you-” You paused. The empty handed man was surprisingly quiet compared to the other two. Your eyes widened the moment he decided to finally weaponize himself, with a knife instead.

Seeing the sharp, shiny object, sent immediate signals of fear throughout your system. This man, he seemed to be more in control of his actions. His features were ambiguous, yet he seemed certain.

Very certain of the fact he will kill you tonight.

Before you could even flee, the other two had you surrounded from both sides. With your heart beating fast, your breath began to quicken. If money was out of your reach, then why would they still bother?

“What? Why are you doing that? Did I offend you in some way?” You pattered, watching the knife wielding man, “Did you think I was underestimating my self worth or something-ah crap! You’re coming closer” you said meekly, seeing the man confidently walk towards you. Leaving no choice, you put your bare fists up in defense. Yet you groaned with fear, “Oh!...Why the hell am I talking so much when I’m nervous-”   The moment you almost felt the side of the knife graze your arm, the moment you almost had your life taken, your eyes caught the sight of a giant black figure jumping on top of him. “ARGH!!” Falling on your back from the indirect push, you looked on to see the knife wielder cry out loudly. You sat up, gasping as you watched the him being incapacitated, and instantly tied to the nearest pipe. All by that Dark Figure. The figure whose cloak blew to the side by the sudden gust of wind.

It was Batman. In the flesh.

Distressed, the other two muggers began to fire shots,  only to have those pitiful bullets be deflected weakly, leaving them powerless even with their weapons. Batman charged towards them in the form of a walk, whilst they kept shooting, all until their bullets finally ran out. Skillfully avoiding their amateur punches and kicks, Batman’s responsive blows were godlike by nature, leaving them down on the ground faster than expected. With added aching pains. Getting up on your feet, you watched the caped crusader tie them up.

“You alright?” He asked, in a gruff voice. You nodded frantically, awestruck by his power and presence. “Yeah…” you replied, clasping both hands together, “My god…That was-” “Hey Ma’am! Do you want me to call 911?” An older, good samaritan cried out from the other side of the street. It was possible he may have heard gunshots from a mere few seconds ago. Looking over to him, you smiled. “Yeah, that would great, Thanks” you yelled back politely. Sighing with relief, you knew your gratitude was deserved by someone else, “And thank-” You quickly towards Batman, “….you” Only to find him gone. Poof! Disappeared into thin air.

The culprits appeared far from powerful as they rolled around and groaned in pain, hands tied to various stationary objects on the ground. You could not fathom what just happened. But most importantly, you could not believe you were still alive. All thanks to him. The Dark Knight.

Your heartbeat increased once again. To make matters worse, a strange feeling formed in your stomach, a feeling that traveled all over your body. It made you uneasy and sweaty. Not to mention the quickened breathing. Before you could even dare to decipher these sudden effects, life decided to answer that riddle for you. The moment you collapsed to the ground to hurl up a thin stream of vomit. As you went through the horrid process, your tongue certainly was stained with the taste of whiskey and bile. “Er…Ma’am?”   You heard the kind man from afar once again, “Are you okay?” “Yeah, I’m good…” you said hoarsely, waving your hand with assurance,  “I’m good…I-Argh!-”

Assurance had very little battery life when you continued to vomit even more. An apt punishment for drinking two whiskeys on an empty stomach. You earned this for sure.

——————————————————

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On This Night and in This Light (2/3)

Emma Swan knows she’s pretty good at what she does.

Helping the magically afflicted and affected find jobs in this realm isn’t the most glamorous thing in the world, and, sure, there’s a lot of paperwork, but she figures she’s helping people and that’s the important thing. It’s structured. Calm, even.

Until. It’s always until.

Killian Jones shows up with his stupid smirk and his tendency to lean against the door frame in Emma’s office and his distinct lack of magic. Or knowledge of what they’re really doing at Mills Personnel. Everything kind of goes off the rails after that.

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Rating: Teen Word Count: Just under 7k this time AN: Hey there, internet. Thanks for saying some very nice things about this mess of words, I hope it provides a few minutes of nonsense escapism today. If you haven’t already, and are capable: please, please, please go vote. As safely as you can. And if you need a few more distractions, or want to shout about things varying from the state of the world to how much better Guy Fieri is than anyone else on Food Network, I’m around. Don’t hesitate to shoot me a message. Last chapter of this one coming on Friday. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll || Or start from the top

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“She’s been stuck in a vase for the last century,” Emma explains, shoving the stack of file folders towards Ruby. Who cannot possibly be comfortable balancing on the back legs of the chair like she is, with her feet propped up on Emma’s desk. “Can you sit like a normal person for half a second, please?” Ruby does no such thing. She sticks her tongue out, instead. “So she’s been in a vase. Why should this concern me? That’s not even the worst curse I’ve heard of this week.” “Don’t lie to me like that.” “I’m not,” Ruby says, but that also sounds a bit like a lie and it’s only a matter of time until the chair falls over. “Two days ago, Mary Margaret got some guy who had been stuck in one of the trees in Central Park for like...hundreds of years. That’s multiple centuries, you know.” “I know how time works. This is not a competition.” “Isn’t it, though?” Emma sighs. “What happened to the guy?” “Oh, crazy powerful. Like—magic falling off him in waves, so Mary Margaret wanted to bring Regina in. Y’know, make sure we weren’t sending some evil force out into midtown Manhattan. But turns out he was straight up light magic. And super smart. Apparently being a tree leaves a lot of time to retain most of the known facts of the passing universe.” “Did Regina make him a resume?”

“And then some,” Ruby nods. “Fabricated some transcripts, got letters of rec, the whole nine yards, plus a few more football fields for good measure. Word on the street is he’s a cinch for the new philosophy job at Columbia.” “What street is that, exactly?”

Ruby flips her off. That’s fair. “What are you so worried about with vase lady? Give her a resume, send her on her merry way and be done with it.” “She’s got no real applicable skills for modern capitalism.” “Well, that’s because modern capitalism leaves a lot to be desired,” Ruby reasons. “Anything else? Pros, cons, potential for a girlfriend?” “There’s something wrong with you.” “You make out with the new guy yet?” Heat prickles the back of Emma’s spine. She ignores it. Badly, but an attempt is made. “He’s been here for like a month and a half. New guy is no longer an appropriate moniker.” “Right, right that’s not an answer, though.” “Why do you care?”

“Uh, because you obviously do?” Ruby quips, but it sounds like a challenge and an accurate one at that. If anything, Emma cares too much. “That same street is jam-packed with tourists and interested parties, all of them certain that you and Jones spend your lunch breaks together and have been spotted on more than one occasion, huddled together going over files and names like you’re going to save the human race with minimum-wage jobs.” “This is awfully cynical of you.” “I know! It’s like we’ve switched positions entirely. Although I already would have made out with the new guy, so it seems like we’ve each retained some of our more crucial characteristics.”

The heat moves. Shifts to the base of Emma’s spine and threatens to tug her through her chair, directly into the floor when she can only imagine it will engulf her in a rather small bonfire, fueled solely on her feelings for Killian. Of which there are—

More than she expected. 

It’s that stupid piece of hair. And, like, everything else. Every time he leans against her office door frame, her magic threatens to reach a boiling point. And she’s not sure if the specific glint that appears in his gaze whenever that happens is legitimate or her own wishful thinking but it’s one of the few things Emma refuses to give credence to. 

“It will only end badly.”

Ruby’s eyes bug. “What will, exactly?” “He doesn’t have magic! He—Belle must know, right? She’s been with Scarlet long enough, you’d think he would have mentioned the stoning.” “Phrase that better.” “Shut up,” Emma mumbles. “I just...if Belle knew what this place was, then why would she and Will try to get a job for Killian here? It’s not safe for a normal.” “Oh my God, are you committed to that term? It’s awful. And you’re rehashing old points. I know for a fact you told Regina all of this when Jones got hired. If she’s not worried about it, why are you? Still?”

Emma doesn’t have an answer to that question. Or two questions, she supposes. 

At least not reasonable ones. Still, that especially pessimistic part of her brain borne of foster homes with drafty windows and thin blankets, and the deep-rooted certainty that everything was temporary, is quick to stretch out across the rest of her consciousness. 

Like it’s got claws, or something. 

“I just don’t want anything to happen.”

“You mean you don’t want him to freak out,” Ruby amends, only pulling her legs back so she can rest her chin on her bent knees. “Right?” “It’s not totally unreasonable.” “No, it’s not. But it’s also kind of depressing that you think it has to be.” “I don’t—” Emma starts, argument ready and only kind of rehearsed. There’s no chance for any other words, though. Not with footsteps coming towards them, and her door’s never entirely closed, but it still manages to squeak when Killian leans against the frame. 

With his feet crossed at the ankles. 

“Hey,” Emma says, far too breathless to be anything except flirting and Ruby’s lips all but disappear when she pulls them behind her teeth. “You, uh—can I help you?”

Furrowing his brows is also a reasonable response to that particular question, because he really does not deserve the “new guy” moniker anymore, and Emma knows he puts three packages of Splenda in his coffee. 

They go get coffee sometimes. Outside the breakroom. 

“Wasn’t really looking for any help, love,” Killian says, and Ruby doesn’t do anything. Emma will have to thank her for that at some point. “Just wanted to see what you were up to, but uh—” His eyes flit towards Ruby, whose face is still pointed at Emma, and that’s probably for the best since it doesn’t look like she’s taken a breath in the last two minutes. “I can come back later if you’re busy or—” “—No, no,” Emma shouts, at the same time Ruby exhales and spins and Killian’s eyebrows fly into his hairline. 

The whole thing is an unqualified disaster, honestly. 

“I’m not busy. I can—this can wait.” His eyes are definitely getting bluer. And Emma’s magic is very nearly out of control. Digging her heels into her shoes only sort of helps temper the light falling off her ankles. “Who’s the client, though? Anyone interesting?” “Oh, yeah,” Ruby says before Emma can stop her, “hasn’t ever had a job.” “Never?” “Unforeseen obstacles, I guess. Lots of—” She grabs the file, detailing Elsa’s curse and how her sister had been tricked into capturing her and the whole thing is kind of depressing. “Family issues, you could say.” “Huh, well good for them getting back out there, then. Not easy to start from scratch. Any leads on where you’re going to send them?”

Emma shakes her head, yanking the file out of Ruby’s hand and hopefully giving her a paper cut in the process. Not only is she a pessimist, she’s now the villain she wanted to avoid being. “Got a lot of interest in meteorology, I guess. Maybe try and get her an internship at NY1 or something.” “Wow, that’s ambitious.” “Yeah, well, I’m nothing if not the best at job placement.” No smirk. A genuine smile. Emma’s stomach tries to fly out of her mouth. That would be off-putting and might ruin the moment when Killian adds, “I did actually have some other reasons for showing up on your doorstep, Swan.”

“Making out,” Ruby coughs, but it’s not a very good cough and Emma can only be expected to control her magic for so long. 

“Mary Margaret invited me to your game night this weekend,” Killian says. “And I uh—well, I just wanted to see if you were going.” Blinking is not the best response. It’s a God awful one, actually. And the only one Emma is capable of. She’s all too aware of Ruby’s stare, and the blatant hope etched onto Killian’s face, but she can’t do anything except blink and breathe through her mouth and—

“Do you want to share an Uber or something?”

Any hint of nervous energy falls off him. Visibly, almost — leaving Kilian standing in Emma’s office doorway with a smile so wide she’s worried about the state of his face and the longevity of her heart’s ability to keep functioning when it’s beating this quickly. 

“Yeah, yeah, that would be great,” he says. “I...I could meet you at your apartment? I don’t think Belle and Scarlet were invited, but—” “—That’s stupid, and Mary Margaret would never exclude anyone. Tell them to come too.” Realizing what she’s said after the fact is kind of disappointing, but the words are already out there and just as visible as the other emotions and she’s going to blame Mary Margaret for all of this too. “I’m sure David would want to see Will again,” Emma says. “But, uh—if you still want to meet at my apartment, we can go together?” She feels like she’s standing at the edge of something. 

A cliff, or the shoreline. That’s a better analogy, actually. Waves lap at Emma’s toes, comforting in their rhythm, but with the potential to wash everything else away and she’s teetering on the edge of a full-blown spiral complete with metaphorical rip tide when she notices Killian’s head move. He’s nodding, that’s why. 

“Yeah, I’d love that.” “Yeah?” “Yeah,” he repeats. “It’s a date.”

He’s gone before Emma can make sense of the words, or what exactly they’re doing to any of her limbs. And it’s probably wrong to take some perverse pleasure when Ruby’s uproarious laughter turns into a pointed gasp. 

As soon as the chair wobbles underneath her. 

“I don’t have your number, actually.”

Another Friday, and Emma’s about to walk out of the office when she hears footsteps not-quite running, but possibly jogging rather briskly towards her and Killian’s already smiling when she turns around. “Oh,” she says, “uh, yeah I don’t think you do, actually.” “We should fix that, don’t you think?” There are suddenly too many things in her mouth. An expanding tongue and more teeth than the average human, Emma is sure. All of which makes it impossible for her to do anything other than nod slowly and reach her hand out even slower and the spark of something under her skin when Killian’s fingers graze her palm is almost akin to an electric shock. 

Putting in her number without dropping his phone on the floor feels like winning the lottery. 

Emma’s never won the lottery. In any variation. Like, not even a scratch-off ticket. 

“Do you want to get a drink, or something?”

Maybe she’s pushing her luck. Emma’s winning metaphorical lotteries now, so she’s not sure what the protocol is, but he called it a date and her magic is threatening to explode out of her and that all kind of culminates into—

“I’d love that,” Killian nods. Emphatically. Enthusiastically. Some other word that starts with the letter ‘e.’

They don’t make out in the cab, which is only kind of disappointing. 

And Will only laughs for twelve seconds when they walk into his bar. He doesn’t make either one of them pay.  

Of all the things Emma could be, while sitting on her couch waiting for a text message on Saturday night, nervous is absolutely the dumbest. 

Butterflies churn in her stomach, flapping their stupid metaphorical wings until she’s sure they pose a legitimate threat to several of her internal organs, and it’s a miracle she hasn’t started pacing yet. This feels like a line. One she’s not just crossing, but leaping over. 

With a pole vault, or something. 

She’s never been particularly athletic. 

But inviting Killian to game night seems like she’s also inviting him into the rest of her life, and Emma has found that’s exactly what she wants and Elsa had texted her that she’s got an interview with NY1 on Monday morning. So, really, Emma should feel good. At least cautiously optimistic, especially when her hair is cooperating. 

And sure—maybe that’s because she also magic'ed her hair to curl softly at the ends, but that’s neither here nor there, and she really just wants something to go right. She wants this to go right. With Killian. 

She’s started to think words like with in regards to Killian, which is—

The front door buzzer...buzzes. 

Racing to the door, she nearly trips over her own feet before slamming her whole palm into the speaker. “Hi,” she says breathlessly, and she’s fairly certain she can hear the soft hum of Killian’s answering laugh. Might be more cautious optimism, though. 

“Hey love, you ready to go?” She nods before she remembers that Killian is actually several floors beneath her. “Yeah, yeah, lemme just put shoes on and then—is the car down there already?” “Very prompt, yeah,” The butterflies mutate. With more wings than the average breed, and probably just a hint more magical and Emma will never admit to closing her door behind her, blinking exactly once and appearing in the building’s lobby. 

Cutting out the stairs middle man makes sense in the moment. 

Killian doesn’t mention anything about it. Emma’s not sure he can, what with his jaw threatening to find the sidewalk and his chest moving as much as it is and the butterflies declare a decisive victory. “You look incredible, Swan.” She...did not expect that. She’d like to hear it seventy-five more times. 

“Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself. How come you don’t wear leather jackets at work?” “Trying not to overwhelm the general populace with how good I look in them.” “Ah, yeah, yeah, that’s fair,” Emma laughs, humming her thanks when he opens the car door for her. “Am I not the general populace, then?”

His hand is very close to hers. Enough that if one of them weren’t a goddamn idiot, they could flip their palm and lace their fingers together and it’s that realization that makes Emma do just that. Plus, the leather jacket. 

It’s ridiculous how good he looks in that leather jacket. 

Killian’s lips twitch. He squeezes Emma’s hand. “I don’t think so.” “Good to know,” Emma murmurs, and neither one of them tries to let go until they reach David and Mary Margaret’s apartment. 

In retrospect, maybe they should have come up with some ground rules. 

Because in the fifteen minutes since Emma and Killian walked into David and Mary Margaret’s apartment, it’s become blatantly obvious there’s more going on than meets the eye. It’s a set-up, is what it is, really. 

And not a very good one.

David keeps shooting furtive glances every time Emma shifts, like he’s waiting for her to jump Killian. And ok—so maybe the thought had crossed her mind in the backseat of the Uber, but she’s at least got some morals, and Belle’s inability to communicate nonverbally with Will is almost impressive. Every look is more absurd than the last, Ruby snickering on loop until it sounds like the inevitable soundtrack of the night. 

“Subtlety isn’t really one of your strong suits, is it?” Emma mumbles, leaning against the kitchen counter with a glass of wine in her hand that she knows won’t be strong enough to combat the night in front of her. 

Mary Margaret scrunches her nose. “Is it that obvious?” “Came with flashing neon lights and like...I don’t know, smoke or something.” “Suggests there were also potions involved.”

Eyes darting back towards the couch and the plethora of board games David supposedly “discovered” in the hallway closet, Emma tries desperately to keep her expression neutral and her pulse as calm as possible. Only one of those things works. Maybe, like, half a thing. But Killian doesn’t do much more than meet her gaze with an easy smile and that same sense of self-confidence Emma is starting to covet just a bit, because she’s starting to hope it’s catching.

No such luck yet, but apparently she’s something of a consistently cautiously optimist and she’s back on that alliterative kick again. 

“He’s the one who asked me if I was coming here tonight,” Emma reasons, “which seems kind of silly all things considered and—” “—Or maybe he just wanted to make sure you were going to be here and that’s all it was. Because he likes you.”

Strictly speaking, Emma has had boyfriends. She’s had—well, that’s not important, but there have been things. This is not a thing. She doesn’t want it to be. She wants it to be more than a thing, and something possibly important and she hasn’t been able to shake the way that Zelena woman glared at Regina, but Regina hasn’t brought it up, which makes it absolutely none of Emma’s business and her fingers are glowing. 

Not quite subtle, either. 

Mary Margaret looks victorious.

“Don’t do that,” Emma chides, but that only gets her more teeth with the smile and it’s not as threatening as it should be. Mary Margaret is predisposed not to be threatening. 

Prone to romantic subplot, maybe. But nothing so nefarious as threatening. 

“He doesn’t know anything,” Emma adds. “Like—about me, or Mills, or...any of it. You don’t think that’s a problem?” “To the prospect of your inevitably cute kids?” “Stop talking to Ruby so much.” Mary Margaret scoffs. “As if I have a choice in gossip participation. Although, I have to admit, she’s probably right. At the very least these potential kids would have nice eyes. Like turquoise or something.” More goosebumps appear on Emma’s forearms, which is only kind of lame, but she can also hear David and Killian arguing over who gets to be the thimble in the Monopoly game they’re apparently playing and that rather quickly takes precedent. And she’s momentarily distracted by the sock-covered footsteps moving into the kitchen. 

To the best of Emma’s knowledge, Will Scarlet doesn’t have any magic of his own — was simply cursed in another realm that one time, but it also seems like he’s got a few other talents and one of them is quite clearly eavesdropping. 

He’s also not subtle about it. 

So, that’s a trait all of them share. 

“He talks about you non-stop,” Will says without any preamble, “it’s honestly starting to get annoying. Emma this, Emma that, hair that can reflect the sun and all that pining garbage. Do you seriously put cinnamon in your coffee?” Mary Margaret’s shoulders shake. “Has for as long as I’ve known her.” “You don’t make it sound like the single most attractive thing anyone has ever done, though.” “Yeah, well, I don’t want to make out with Emma.” “Can you believe they haven’t made out yet?” “From what I’ve been told, there’s some sort of pool in the office.” Sliding down the counter and collapsing on the floor is a very interesting prospect all of the sudden. “Where did you hear that from?” Emma demands, but Mary Margaret just mimes zipping her lips shut and it’s the first time she’s been able to keep a secret in her life. “So, you don’t work for Mills,” Will continues, Mary Margaret shaking her head, “but are you…”

That gets him a nod.

“Can talk to animals,” Emma explains softly. “Makes her a favorite amongst the first graders at PS 31, and helps when Ruby’s transformed.” “And Ruby is a—” “Werewolf, yeah.” “Huh, huh, cool. Y’know I knew a couple genies in Wonderland?” Widening her eyes, Mary Margaret looks genuinely interested and Emma cannot believe this is a conversation they’re having so close to the decidedly non-magical guy she’d very much like to make out with. Sooner, rather than later. 

“Swan,” Killian calls from the living room, making her jump several inches, “if you want to pick your piece, you’re going to have to do it now or David is going to try and control everything!”

“I want the hat or I’m not playing,” Emma shouts, and David’s uproar over that is as entertaining as it is expected and it’s nice to realize she isn’t the only one who cheats at this game. 

By Emma’s count, Killian’s got at least two-thousand dollars hidden up his right shirt sleeve. 

He’s good at it, she has to give him credit. Bills disappear without much fanfare, just a quick shift of his wrist and the only tell he has is the tip of his tongue finding the corner of his mouth, but Emma’s also pretty goddamn preoccupied with his mouth and he’s just bankrupt Belle.

“Ah, c’mon,” she groans, “how do you have enough money to build hotels on Marvin Gardens? That should not be possible!” Killian shrugs. “Guess I’m just that much better at the game than you are, or something.” “Or something,” Emma agrees. “Thoughts to add, love?” 

Chaos doesn’t necessarily ensue at the endearment Emma is also starting to covet, but vaguely obvious looks are exchanged without much concern as to who sees them, and Ruby isn’t even trying to hide the phone she’s furiously texting into. 

“None whatsoever,” Emma promises. “Just that you’re a God awful cheater.” “Oh, God awful implies I’m not doing it well.” “And that sounded a hell of a lot like an admission.”

Shaking his head makes that one strand of hair shift again, the hint of a smile playing at the ends of his mouth. “I’ve got nothing to admit. Except that I’m something of a Monopoly master-mind, obviously.” “Move your arm, then.” “Excuse me?” “Does anyone else feel like we shouldn’t be here for this?” Will murmurs, grunting softly when Belle’s elbow collides with his stomach. 

“Move your arm,” Emma repeats slowly. “That hotel empire was built on dirty money, and I can prove it.”

All Killian does is grin. No smirk, no teasing. Just grins straight at Emma with the force of several thousand suns and—

Nothing falls out of his sleeve. 

Her jaw drops, magic fluttering at the back of her brain. “How did you do that?” “A master never reveals his secrets. Bad magical form.” “This is a magic trick, then?” Emma is glad none of them are spies. They’d all suck at it. Wide eyes meet somewhere in the air above her head, and she’s a little worried Ruby’s going to dislocate one of her thumbs with the speed of her typing. She still doesn’t look away from Killian. Can’t come up with a single reason to do anything except stare at him and commit the frankly absurd length of his eyelashes to memory. 

“At least an attempt,” Killian says. “How’s it going?” “Not nearly as well as you think.” Will gags. “Really don’t need to be here for this.” And Emma isn’t sure why it feels like another sign — or maybe an admission she wasn’t entirely expecting, but the words feel as if they filter into the space between her ribs and wrap around her irregularly beating heart and while she’s not much into miracles, she’s got to believe one occurs when her hair stays normal. 

“So,” Ruby says pointedly, “saw that client of yours was back one more time, Jones.”

Any sense of magic disappears. Into the void that’s abruptly appeared in the center of Emma, a growing sense of dread she doesn’t completely understand. 

Killian runs his fingers through his hair. Still no stolen bills. “Was she really?”

“Yuh huh. From what—” Ruby waves her phone. “—Graham said, she showed up in a huff, wanting to see Regina and—” “—She did see Regina,” Emma finishes. Every pair of eyes in that living room turn towards her. “After I nearly ran her over on my way out. That was weeks ago, though. But, uh...she didn’t seem super psyched to be there. Regina definitely knew her.” Seriously, they would all be horrendous spies. Whatever expression David’s face morphs into does nothing to help Emma understand what he’s trying to tell her, or why Ruby was texting Graham, but she’s got her suspicions about the last one and the buzzing between her ears almost makes it hard to hear Killian. 

“She was super specific,” he says, “wanted all these things for a job, but didn’t want to actually work at any of the jobs I could find. Said temping was below her.” “Jeez,” Belle mutters. “A delight.” “One way to put it, for sure. Like Swan said though, that was weeks ago, though. Right when I started.”

Something isn’t adding up. Math’s far from Emma’s favorite subject, but she’s always been fairly good at picking up on lies and deceptions and there is something wrong about Zelena whatever-her-last-name is. 

“Why didn’t you ever say anything about that?” Emma asks, 

Killian grits his teeth. “We weren’t exactly friends at that point. And I already told you I’d been trying to show off when I first got there.” “He’s a very sore loser, in case you haven’t noticed,” Belle adds. 

“I didn’t think I was losing, just—is wanting to do a good job a crime?” “Not on its own,” David answers, “although maybe when it comes with other caveats.”

Ruby’s next make out cough is her worst one yet. The tips of Killian’s ears go pink. 

“Well,” Mary Margaret says, clearly trying to get the conversation away from interfering friends and less-than-pleased customers and back towards cheating at board games, “what should we play next?”

Emma destroys the lot of them at Settlers of Catan. And she only has to steal, like, three resource cards. 

Walking her home is Killian’s idea. 

Emma doesn’t put up much of a fight, but she’d like the record to take note as it were. This was not part of her plan. Neither was getting his jacket. 

But at some point in the middle of Washington Square Park, the wind had started to howl and the leaves had started to swirl around their feet and before she knew it there was leather hanging from her shoulders. Smelling suspiciously like saltwater.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Emma mumbles, even as she tugs the lapels closer. Warmth floods her, as if the jacket’s made of fire, which is only passably insane, but her magic is on overdrive and there’s just enough moonlight to see the way shadows dance across Killian’s face and—

“Well, this is the wooing portion of the evening,” he says, “so it felt timely.” “There’s a wooing portion?” “Disappointing that wasn’t more obvious. You did call it a date.” “You called it a date,” Emma amends, “and a group one, really. Which I never thought counted.”

Slowing down is also not part of her plan. Still, her feet drag and her fingers flicker at her side, waiting for a moment she isn’t sure will arrive because the moment also involves hand holding and she’s standing on Killian’s left side. 

“What’s the best date you’ve ever been on?” Stopping entirely is probably wrong. It’s closing in on midnight, and Emma’s had her fair share of wine, which might also explain the fluttering fingers. That’s an excuse. She knows why it’s happening and she knows what she wants and—

“I don’t know that I have one, really,” she admits. “Maybe once. I, um—well, the guy I’d been...dating’s not really the right term. That’s not important. Just that we broke into this closed carnival. Brought hot chocolate with us, and turned on some of the lights so we could sit on the swing ride. Talked for hours.” “Doesn’t sound that bad.” Emma hums noncommittally. She doesn’t mention the rest — how the lights hadn’t been part of Neal’s plan at all, just a happy accident that was actually a flip of her wrist and burst of power and she could have gotten the ride to work too, but Emma didn’t want to freak him out. 

That would come later, anyway. 

“What about you?” Emma counters. “Best date ever?” “Haven’t been many, if I’m being honest. But, uh—there was one night on the water, a very cheap bottle of champagne, more stars than I knew ever existed in the sky. That might have been the best.” “What happened to the date’e?” “She died,” Killian replies, a distinct lack of emotion in the words. "Car accident and,” his eyes drop to his arm, “everything sort of went to shit after that.” “I’m so sorry.” Scoffing, his inhale is sharp enough to almost be aggressive. “Nothing to apologize for. How’d you meet Mary Margaret, then?”

Emma considers her options. There’s the usual: lie. Completely and utterly, come up with anything except what actually happened and what actually happened was Mary Margaret saw Emma levitating hot dogs off a street cart on a Sunday in December and almost immediately decided to make sure nothing like that happened ever again. But there’s also another option: the half-lie. The hints of truth mixed in with caveats that won’t make Killian run, and Emma’s not sure what she’ll do if he runs. 

From her, specifically. 

She opts for choice number two. And Emma tells him. 

How she trusted Neal, believed he loved her and wanted a future together. Only she omits the part where he realized she was a witch, probably because she told him, and started formulating his escape plan. Which then led to Emma getting arrested for one of his get-rich schemes. She mentions that part. She doesn’t talk about how the magic that usually roars in her during times of emotional upheaval all but disappeared as soon as the cuffs clicked around her wrist, doused out by disappointment and betrayal. 

She recounts Mary Margaret’s mother-hen tendencies, a relationship borne of happenstance that led to a ramshackle family and a sense of belonging and—

“Saturday game nights,” Killian smiles. “Sometimes we play Mario Party and it’s way better than you cheating at Monopoly.” “Certainly sounding like you’re obsessed with my ability to cheat, Swan.” “How’d you do it?” Another head shake. A smile that threatens to brand itself on her goddamn soul, and that’s so melodramatic really the only option Emma has at that point is to press up on her toes, grab the front of Killian’s shirt and kiss him until it’s all either one of them can think about. 

Half a dozen Monopoly bills flutter to the ground. 

Emma has every intention of exclaiming. Of pointing out the lie, as charming as it might be. She really does. Except even the idea of pulling her mouth away from Kilian’s seems like the dumbest thing she could conceivably do, and she’s not an idiot. 

So. 

With one hand curled around the back of his neck, Emma’s fingers push into the tuft of hair at the base of Killian’s head. It gets her a much-appreciated groan, his tongue tracing her lips until she opens her mouth and then his tongue does something else, that might be more impressive magic than whatever they’re capable of. Individually, or otherwise. 

He tilts his head. Changes the angle and deepens the kiss, pulling Emma flush against his chest until their hips bump and she’s the one groaning and possibly even gasping and she wonders if it’s possible for the Earth to fly off its axis. 

Feels that way. 

Breaking apart only leads to them coming back together even faster, neither one of them all that interested in personal space. Killian’s arm circles her waist, fingers inching up her spine as he tries to find some room between the variety of fabric she’s wearing and Emma gasps when he reaches skin. “Going to do absolutely horrible things to my ego,” Killian murmurs, and it’s all Emma can do to hum in what she hopes sounds like approval. 

“You’ll have to give those bills back.” “I think they flew away. Guess Ill just have to buy replacement ones, and deliver them in person at the next game night.” Magic threatens to knock the air from Emma’s lungs. It’ll have to go up against Killian’s ability to kiss, and he’s very good at kissing. Her, specifically. 

“Who won the bet, do you think?” Emma asks, and they’re apparently just communicating in sounds now. “They, uh—apparently there was a kissing pool.” “Oh, I did.” “What?” “I did,” Killian says again, dropping his mouth to drag kisses along the side of Emma’s neck. “Under a false name, naturally. But I had by Sunday and—” “—What time is it? Also do you honestly believe people didn’t realize it was you? You have very memorable handwriting.” “I’m sorry, what?”

Bending back isn’t wholly comfortable, but it’s worth it for the slight pinch between Killian’s eyebrows. “You make these little swoops with your letters, it’s very fancy. People totally knew. Also I think it’s Sunday now, so you might have lost whatever loot you were going to get.” “Did I, though?” “Not if I’m the loot in this situation,” Emma laughs. Laughs. Loud and free and so ridiculously genuine it might be the first time she’s ever laughed like that.

Killian kisses the bridge of her nose. “Never.”

Leaving a trail of clothes from Emma’s door to her shoebox-sized bedroom is absolutely a cliché, but it’s also a cliché that ends with a naked Killian in her bed, so that’s a pretty acceptable victory as far as she’s concerned. 

The whole thing is fast and slow, good and even better, which is a nice change of pace for Emma really. She refuses to spend long on that particularly depressing thought. 

Particularly when Killian’s head falls back onto one of her pillows and the length of his neck makes for a very appealing kissing surface, and he lets that happen for all of thirty-two seconds before he’s flipping Emma and crowding into her space, tracing a path down her body with his mouth that ends with—

Fireworks. Or an explosion. Either one is also pretty cliché and even more wonderful, and Emma doesn’t wake up once after she falls asleep. 

“Ok,” Emma says, “so lemme get this straight, sometimes you turn into a cricket and—” She tries not to grimace. “Help people follow their conscience.”

Archie nods, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “That’s exactly it. Which is why I don’t think I can do telemarketer work.” “Understandable, I guess. Lots of lying in those kinds of things. And I—well, don’t need you to turn into some kind of immoral pill pusher.” “I’d rather we didn’t, if that’s at all possible.” “Let’s see what we can do, then.”

Two hours and what feels like several thousand searches later, Emma’s fairly confident they’ve found Archie Hopper the ideal job doing temp work in one of the psychologist offices on Madison Avenue. “It’s not perfect,” Emma says, not sure why she feels like she has to explain her rationale, “but it’s a step in the right direction and it could lead to a more permanent spot.” “I’m sure it will. Thank you.” “Ah, that’s just my job, it’s—” “—You’re very good at your job,” Archie interrupts, and that can’t be morally correct. Emma takes the compliment anyway. “Is there something you want to talk about, though?”

Lifting her eyebrows, the telltale hint of guilt that lingers in the back of her throat is uncomfortable. “Getting in some extra practice before you start at the office, huh?” Archie’s expression doesn’t change. Not judgmental. Not expectant. Patient. Like he knows. Or can read Emma’s mind. Magic is so overrated, honestly. “I, uh—maybe not to you specifically. Shit is that super offensive?” “No. Who do you want to talk to?” “The guy three offices away.” “Because he—” “—I don’t know, we haven’t really gotten that far. He’s…” Words fail Emma. Clump together in a ball of anxious emotion that doesn’t serve any purpose except to clog her windpipe. The problem is she wants to tell him. Desperately, in fact. Wants to lay all her metaphorical cards on the table, because two weeks after waking up to a decidedly shirtless Killian whose left arm seemed glued to her waist, Emma can’t stop thinking about that morning or the potential for future mornings and there have been more mornings and she might want indefinite mornings and really she’s just a complete disaster. 

“Does he not know what you’re capable of?”

Emma narrows her eyes. “Are you a mind reader too?” “Not quite, more empathetic. So, let’s have your worst.”

“I think—do you think it’s possible for two people to have any sort of future together when they’re not being totally upfront with each other?” “For a time,” Archie concedes. “But you’re always looking over your shoulder, aren’t you? Waiting for the other shoe, and eventually the truth will have out. Might as well be in control of it when you can.” “Kind of depressing.”

He clicks his tongue. “Proactive.”

In the last few weeks, Emma’s come to realize she’s ridiculously attuned to everything Killian does. Part of her wonders if it’s a magic thing, but he doesn’t have magic and she’s not the kind of person Archie thinks she should be. Asking Regina has only crossed her mind a few times. 

She ignores them every time. 

Including right now, with Killian leaning against her door frame. Crossed arms stretch the limits of his shirt’s fabric, the same one that was sitting in one of Emma’s drawers that morning. He’s got a drawer at her apartment. 

She’s got like—four drawers. Sharing them is a big step. 

“Hey love,” Killian says, nodding in Archie’s direction. “When you’ve got a couple minutes you think you could help brainstorm before my three o’clock gets here? Has been out of the country for years, no GED, but claims a vast knowledge of the candy industry.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I’ll be right there.”

Winking is really one of his lesser talents. 

“So,” Archie says eventually, as Emma hands him a card with all the details for his first day, “that’s three offices away. Magic?” “Nope.” “Unexpected.” “Very.” Standing up, the chair squeaks when Archie moves. “Tell him. Soon as you can. Otherwise what’s the point?”

Emma isn’t sure there is one. Or how good advice from a part-time cricket can be. 

What’s the most ridiculous client you’ve ever gotten? 

Are you texting me while you’re working? Yes, and that’s not an answer. 

Because whatever your answer is, I’m fairly positive I just beat it. Competitive weirdo.

Swan. 

Uhhhhhh I once got a guy who was narcoleptic. Fell asleep while we were talking, and that made people not want to hire him. 

Emma leaves out the part where the guy in question was also cursed. It’s not important. Or so she’ll rationalize for the rest of the afternoon. 

She got him a job working retail at a Sleep-More Mattress store, anyway. 

Nope, I still win.

No one is competing, babe. 

Staring at her phone, Emma’s eyes linger on the words she hasn’t said out loud, but typed almost too easily and the three dots pop up on her screen immediately. 

I am. Only job history is in combat. Says she’s good with a sword and capable of defending a variety of important people. So, I’m now open to suggestions as to her future employment options. 

Now it’s starting to sound like you want me to do your job. 

And, Emma thinks, finding a job for what legitimately sounds like some sort of knight protector might be out of the scope of Killian’s capabilities. 

Concede that I’ve won, and then I’ll even let you help me. 

Wow. With an offer like that…

Mulan does actually have more talents than her self-proclaimed skills with a sword. Her sense of direction is unparalleled, and her ability to navigate is even better and she almost sounds excited at the prospect of driving an Uber until Emma can come up with some other idea. 

And losing a competition she didn’t agree to isn’t really so bad. 

Not when Killian’s arm hovers above Emma’s head, her back pressed against his office door and any desire to mumble even more trash talk gets lost in the exact way he kisses her. 

He keeps staying over. Nights spent curled on the couch watching every cooking competition they can find on Hulu, and the general consensus finds that Guy’s Grocery Games is the kind of positive chaos they can both get behind. 

Chopped might be overrated. 

Beat Bobby Flay is the worst. Hands down. 

They pick out recipes to try, and sometimes Emma flutters her fingers and things appear in her cabinet that weren’t there before, but she’s totally rationalized that as a reasonable and very little white lie and she forgets all about it when Killian flicks mashed potatoes at her left cheek. 

Weekends find them wandering the city, hands clasped together and he’s always careful to slide the cinnamon container across the counter of whatever coffee place they inevitably stop at. Crisp wind doesn’t do much to stifle the small inferno constantly blazing in the middle of Emma’s chest, and she doesn’t wear his jacket again, but the small pile of his shirts in her drawer grows and they really are nice to sleep in. 

Comfortable, she says. 

Killian beams. Every single time. And kisses that one spot underneath her ear. 

Life goes on and something starts, and builds, and Emma forgets almost entirely about how often Regina holes herself up in her office with her phone pressed against her ear. Instead, she and Killian talk about clients and help each other with job ideas and somewhere in the realm of one forty-two on the morning of Halloween, Emma realizes with unflagging and absolute certainty that she’s in love. 

With the guy whose arm is still curled around her waist.  

[kaylorrehabcenter]

A Very Self Indulgent Analysis of the 1 from ~a Kaylor Perspective~

Is the 1 about Karlie Kloss? Probably not. It’s probably a song about wishing Taylor and Harry could’ve been more than beards, who am I to say? But I will write you this post about Kaylor and this song because I was listening to it last night and it made me sad. (And I’m avoiding being actually productive besides)

That being said. This analysis isn’t the word of god, I’m not Taylor nor do I have access to her brain. Every interpretation is equally valid but I will roll my eyes at you if you say this is about Taylor au-ing if her and Karlie broke up I will roll my eyes at you. I also don’t take this song 100% literally. Few if any people Taylor’s been with can just “meet some woman on the internet and take them home”, so whether or not Karlie can or would do that with a husband and a baby due soon is a moot point to me.

The fact Aaron Dessner also said it was from another friend’s perspective also does not impede my analysis. We know Taylor is in a happy committed relationship with Joe, most people would side eye their relationship if she said with her whole chest she wrote this from her perspective.

That all being said, in the words of one Philip DeFranco, let’s jump right into it.

“I hit the ground running each night/I hit the Sunday matinée/You know the greatest films of all time were never made”

I see the first line as a bit of a double meaning. She’s demonstrating how moved on she is a la the first line in the song, while also describing the relationship she moved on from “the one” with, it happening to her rather quickly. In this context “hitting the Sunday matinee” could be a metaphor for our actor boy Joe.

“You know the greatest films of all time were never made”

This is my favorite line in this motif. Taylor never got to tell any of her stories about her relationships with women. Not plainly and explicitly anyway. Not only did their coastal town they wandered round never see their love (whether because of hiding or having to tip toe around Josh), even if Taylor comes out tomorrow she’ll never be able to acknowledge these relationships the same way she can with men, and I’m not crying about this I’m definitely not.

“I guess you never know, never know/And if you wanted me, you really should've showed/And if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow/And it's alright now”

Karlie chose Josh, thus is the fundamental truth of Kaylor. Taylor was the other woman, longing to be remembered and to be “more than a footnote in the story of your life”. If Karlie wanted Taylor, as a friend, girlfriend, whatever, Taylor is saying she should’ve acted like it. Though Taylor has grown from the experience, and time has passed, she still catches herself dwelling on these memories, the good times if you will a la my gold rush and happiness analysis.

“But we were something, don't you think so?/Roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool/And if my wishes came true/It would've been you”

To me, the first line of the chorus here feels like Taylor, even though years have passed, to try and acknowledge they were something, if not girlfriends, at least a relationship with meaning. Roaring twenties could also be a 1989 era reference, and Taylor acknowledging that at one point, being with Karlie in an actual relationship, not an other woman scenario, was her wish.

“We never painted by the numbers, baby/But we were making it count/You know the greatest loves of all time are over now”

One day I will write a post about every time Taylor mentions counting, you see this a lot in Karlie songs (You did a number on me, but honestly baby who's counting?) or rather, ones I think are Karlie songs.

I also interpret not painting by the numbers as a reference to Tay and Kar never having a traditional relationship, and the following line being another dig at Karlie that they did have a relationship and it meant something, whatever Karlie has to tell herself to sleep at night. Still, even if they were in love, it’s all over now.

“I, I, I persist and resist the temptation to ask you/If one thing had been different/Would everything be different today?”

If Josh wasn’t there, if Karlie had been more available in xyz capacity, if the master heist hadn’t happened, would they still be together? Would they still be friends even? Does she even want that anymore? There’s a wistfulness here for the imagined possibilities. You can know something ended for a reason, and you’re happy now, and you’re better off without them anyway, and still wonder if there’s an au out there where everything fell into place and you ended up together.

“In my defense I have none/for digging up the grave another time/but it would’ve been fun/if you would’ve been the one”

[051093]

let’s make another | v

words: 2534

pairing: jihyun “v” kim x reader

genre: dad!v, fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF, i destroyed myself writing this, implied sexual content, just cute shit tbh

description: in which seven and yoosung visit their favorite baby girl — and you and your husband celebrate your fourth anniversary.

my masterlist.

“Lucy!”

You squint at the house, waiting for her head of haphazard hazel hair to appear any second, but it’s so silent that you can hear the summer breeze threading through your hair. Cicadas chirp in the distance.

“Lucy Kim!” You try again, raising your volume to a shout that bounces around the courtyard. “Get down here! Your uncles are here to see you!”

More silence. A laugh sounds from behind you.

“Well, Yoosung,” Seven quips. “I think it’s time we headed back. It was great seeing you, Y/N.”

You give him a stern look and he puts his hands in the air.

“Or not. Wow. I’ve forgotten how well you mastered the motherly glare.”

“If only it worked on my daughter,” you mutter, drumming your fingers against your hips. “Where in the world could she be?”

“Is she playing hide and seek again?” Yoosung laughs. “Do you remember last time I visited? When you couldn’t find her for the longest time and she was in your closet all along?”

“The day I nearly lost my mind, you mean? How could I forget?” You shake your head. “I would’ve called the police if Zen hadn’t heard her evil cackling while he was in the restroom upstairs.”

Seven sighs fondly. “She takes after me so well.”

“Come on. Let’s go inside for now. I’m sure she’ll turn up.” You drape an arm around each of the boys’ shoulders. “I missed you both.”

“We missed you too,” Yoosung hums. “How are you? How’s V?”

“We’re good.” The three of you walk up the porch stairs. “I‘m working from home to take care of the little maniac, and he’s been going on photography trips regularly again.”

“That’s right. I heard about that. Doesn’t the Korean Museum of Modern Art—” He stops mid-sentence, amber eyes widening. “—you angel. Is that Ph.D Pepper I see?”

You’ve stepped into your living room, an open, modern space with floor-to-ceiling windows bathing the area in sunlight. Indeed, the table in the center has been laid out with cans of Seven’s go-to beverage, side by side with freshly baked buns for Yoosung. The boys’ faces brighten upon seeing the refreshments.

“Oh, yes. I ran to the grocery store an hour before you got here.” You gesture. “For Saeyoung, the soda he loves far too much for his own good, and for Yoosung…you like the red bean ones, right? Did I remember correctly?”

Yoosung gives you an elated hug. “Yes! You’re amazing. I complained to Seven the entire way here about being hungry. Thank you thank you thank you.”

They sink into the couch and dig in, satisfied.

“Anyway, what was I saying?” Seven says, now with a Ph.D Pepper in hand. “Oh, right. I heard the Korean Museum of Modern Art wants to open an exhibit just for his photographs.”

“Yes. He’s working on that right now,” you say. “The new collection is absolutely beautiful. He thinks it might be his best work yet, and I completely agree.”

“Aw, look at her proud smile,” Yoosung teases through a mouthful of bread, then pouts. “You guys are so cute. It’s been almost four years and I’m still jealous.”

“Hey, what do you mean, jealous?” Seven says, nudging Yoosung with a foot. “Have you forgotten about that girl from the internet cafe already?”

“What?” You say, swiveling towards Yoosung, who’s turned beet red and stopped mid-chew. “There’s a girl, Yoosung?”

“N-no,” he stutters.

“Yes there is!” Seven sings gleefully. “There’s a girl!”

“Oh, I expect to hear all about this,” you say, but you know by the sound of thunderous footsteps that you’re about to be interrupted.

Bright eyes, far too big for her tiny face, appear around the corner. Things you notice: she’s covered in paint. She’s barefoot. Her hair is a mess. And all three and a half feet of her are now hurtling in your direction.

“SEVENY! YOOSUNG!”

“LUCY!” They shout in perfect unison. Both boys immediately forget about the food in hand and jump to their feet.

She barrels into Seven’s arms first, the redhead sweeping her tiny frame into a tight embrace, then leaps into Yoosung’s lap next, small arms thrown around his neck. Her eyes crinkle from her grin and her mouth splits in a delighted shriek as Yoosung gives her sides an affectionate tickle.

You can’t help but mirror her grin. The girl has always had a knack for making those around her smile a little wider, and the members are no exception. She’s close to them all, due to their frequent visits and unwavering affection towards her, but she once whispered to you that Seven and Yoosung were her favorites. You’re not surprised — there’s playful and hilarious Seven who makes her laugh like no other, and there’s Yoosung who’s so sweet and kind that he’s essentially her big brother.

“Mommy!” Lucy says brightly, looking at you from her seat on Yoosung’s lap. “Hi!”

“Hi, sweetie.” You cradle her hair and press a kiss to her forehead. “Where’s your dad?”

As if on cue, a second set of footsteps come down the stairs. You lift your head and a fond smile tugs at your lips.

Everything about your husband is familiar by now, from his cerulean eyes to sharp jaw, tall frame and lean build, but you’ll never get tired of the way he looks after spending time with Lucy, that aura of tired bliss. Happiness looks good on him, you think to yourself as he walks towards you. So does that shirt.

“Hey,” you murmur as he curls an arm around your waist.

He dips his head and kisses you in lieu of hello, one that’s short but sweet. The taste of coffee and mint lingers behind on your tongue when he pulls away.

“Sorry we’re late, darling,” he says. “Lucy made a bit of a mess.”

“That’s okay. Painting again?”

“Mhm. It’s all she wants to do recently. I think I’ve created a monster.”

Now that he’s closer, you see that the material of his linen shirt has fallen victim to the paint as well, tiny polka dots of color spattered here and there. “She’s good at it, clearly. I like what she’s done to your shirt.”

“Ah, you do?”

“Yes. You look absolutely dashing.”

He leans in to kiss you once more, this time smiling against your mouth, his voice a deep whisper. “Thank you, my lovely wife.”

“EWW!” Seven shouts from the other end of the room. “Cover your eyes, Lucy. Your parents are being gross.”

You begin to pull away, your face flushed. V presses one last kiss to your cheek before letting you go.

“Hi, hyung!” Yoosung says cheerily.

“Yoosung. Saeyoung,” V greets warmly. “You’re both well, I hope? Thanks for coming all this way to visit us.”

“Lucy,” Yoosung corrects, his arms wound tightly around the little girl. You can’t tell who of the two looks happier. “Came here to visit Lucy.”

“Of course,” V laughs. “Then you’re both staying for dinner. For Lucy.”

“Wheeeeee!” Lucy squeals. “Stay for dinner! Stay for dinner!”

“You know, I actually had a bit of work left…” Seven’s voice trails off into a smile. “But alright. Anything for you, little Luc.”

“Great,” you say. “I’ll be off to cook soon, since it’s almost dinnertime. Care to help, Yoosung?”

“Yes, of course! I’ll be right there.”

The two of you head off for the kitchen, and you hear Saeyoung’s bright plea as you walk away.

“Oh, right, V! Will you show me your new collection?”

“It’s not ready — ”

“I don’t care. I want to see!”

“I WANT TO SEE!” Lucy echoes emphatically.

You open the fridge to conceal your smile. It’s like you and V have two kids instead of one.

....

“Mommy, I think I ruined daddy’s shirt today.”

You can’t help but laugh at Lucy’s sudden revelation, lifting the blanket for her. “You got a little paint on it, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Lucy crawls into bed, lying down and resting her cheek on the pillow. “But I didn’t mean to!”

“I know you didn’t.”

“It was pretty,” Lucy murmurs sadly. “Can we clean it up again?”

“Yes. Here, I’ll tell you what.” You tug the covers up until they cover her shoulders, then smooth them down so you can see her face. “We’ll clean it off together tomorrow.”

She looks up at you. “We will?”

Even four years later, it blows your mind at times how your adopted daughter could easily pass for your biological child, with long locks the same color as yours and V’s eyes, and your heart swells affectionately at the sight of her glimmering blue irises, suddenly bright with anticipation.

“Yes, my dearest.” You nudge the apple of her cheek with a gentle knuckle. “I promise. But stop worrying about daddy’s shirt and first get a good night’s sleep, okay?”

A smile tugs at her lips, and she allows her eyes to fall shut. “Okay.”

“Sweet dreams, little one.” You crouch and lean forward to press a quick kiss to her nose. “I love you so so much.”

“I love you more more more.”

“Nuh-uh. Mommy loves you most.”

“Well, I love you…mostest!” She erupts into a fit of giggles and you can’t help but laugh with her. 

“Good night, silly girl.”

You turn off the lights on your way out, looking over your shoulder; in the glow of the nearby night light, Lucy burrows deeper until she’s reduced to a head of hair and a tiny lump beneath the sheets. There’s a small, loving smile on your face when you leave the room and close the door behind you.

Your room is similarly dimly lit. The source of light is coming from the bathroom and accompanied by the gentle sound of swishing water. You crack the door open. V stands shirtless in front of the mirror, bent over and washing something white in the sink.

“Oh, no,” you lament, and he looks your reflection in the mirror as you walk up behind him. “Lucy wanted to wash that out for you.”

His hands freeze in the sink. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You gently wrap your arms around his waist, nuzzling your face against the toned muscle of his back. “She just told me how bad she felt about getting paint on it.”

He chuckles. “Did she mention her own clothes? They were essentially her makeshift paint palette.”

“No. I was thinking about that, too,” you laugh. “It’s a weird, selfless girl we have.”

“Like mother like daughter.”

He turns around to face you. “You promised her she’d wash the shirt?” You nod. “Maybe we should mess it up again then.”

The sudden proximity (and the planes of golden muscle, the dip of his collarbones, the definition of his arms and neck) leaves you breathless. You run your fingers down his chest, your voice softening. 

“I could think of a few other things we could mess up, handsome.”

The last thing you see is a boyish grin that only appears when you’ve said something suggestive and then his lips are on yours. He movies with the comfort and confidence of someone who knows your lips all too well; in no time, there’s a tongue brushing against your lower lip and an arm snaking around your waist, pulling you taut against him.

The next thing you know, you’re being lowered onto the mattress. Your head hits the pillow and V is on top of you, arms flexing as he holds himself above you, kissing you languidly, heatedly. You groan into his mouth, threading your fingers through his silky locks and tangling them at the nape of his neck, hooking a leg over his hip, wanting him closer, closer —

Through the open window comes the first chime of midnight. 

There’s a church not far away that has a bell tower and sounds off the day’s hours. It’s become a commonality, but there’s something different about it tonight, something that causes you both to hesitate. V breaks the kiss, labored breath tickling your skin as the two of you listen.

Twelve chimes. Midnight.

You turn your head back to V. When you meet his gaze, his eyes are barely visible, but the small amount of moonlight that seeps through the curtains allows you to see how his face has changed entirely. His pupils are still dilated from lust, but his expression has softened. His lips have parted, unspoken words on the tip of his tongue, the beautiful aqua of his irises swimming with something you know well. Love. Adoration.

“Is it…?” He breathes.

You lift a hand to his cheek, a weak smile appearing on your lips.

“Happy anniversary, Jihyun,” you whisper.

Though he’s been living contentedly for a long time now, he’s always been quite serious. You know this is due to the ghost of his past that trails him wherever he goes; he still dreams of his mother, and often reminisces on the deep depression he fell into after Rika’s alleged suicide. The memories have undoubtedly taken their toll on him, even after all this time.

But there are rare moments when he actually looks his age, and this is one of them: when the smile that breaks across his face is, in one word, happy, so happy.

His arms wind around your waist as he leans in, dusting a kiss to your jaw, then your collarbone, where he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

“Four, is it?” He whispers.

“Four,” you say.

A few moments pass, the only sounds being his gentle breathing and the rhythmic beat of your pulse in your ears. And the shift of fabric as he lowers himself onto the mattress beside you, his arms circling around your waist.

“Four years,” he murmurs, his breath tickling your skin. “You know, I’m glad I have photography in my life again, as well as the friendship and trust of the RFA members, and there’s no doubt those things make me happy, but I have to be honest with myself here…you’re the reason. For all the happiness, all the love. My heart and my soul have been so at peace for so long because I’ve had you by my side.

“You and Lucy have made me the luckiest man in the world.” His voice drops, his words so quiet you only just make them out. “Thank you for coming into my life four years ago, my angel. I love you endlessly.”

You graze a finger beneath his chin, tilting his head up so you can kiss him. This time is sweet, deep, and grateful, if the grin etched on your lips is any indication.

“And I,” you say, pulling back to wrap your hands around the nape of his neck, to rest your forehead against his, “love you too, Jihyun. To the ends of the solar system and back.”

He gazes into your eyes a few moments more, and then the devilish smile is back and he’s leaning in to press a trail of kisses down your neck. You arch into him, barely hearing him over the sound of your own moan.

“Fuck it,” are his words. “Let’s make Lucy a baby sibling.”

[pocketfulofrogers]

Cover Me Up

Part 2

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary:  Steve is still mesmerized by you, but while you’re juggling the lie and his life, you begin to question everything you’re doing. 

Steve decides that after that night, he’ll take every opportunity he can to talk to you.

The first is when he finds you watching TV. Laid back in sweats with your hair piled on top of your head, chewing absentmindedly on a straw. For an hour he racks his brain for the best way to break the silence, too caught up in his own head to even start a conversation.

He wastes the opportunity on an offhand joke about an informercial you weren’t even paying attention to. Bucky bursts into laughter when you leave the room not long after and whispers his poor attempt at a joke low in his ear each time you walk past them for two days.

Later in the week, he bumps into you at breakfast, nearly knocking your cup of coffee right out of your hand. For a moment he wants to kick himself for making a fool of himself again, but then he notices the slight blush that tints your cheeks when you make your way around him.

The surge of confidence he gets is short lived, snuffed out by the sight of a light blue SHIELD file in your hand. He tries to hold it in, but the stir-crazy Avenger inside gets the best of him and he begins to hound you for details.

You laugh as he reaches almost longingly for it. “Just adding some fine details to a merc case Nat is working.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “I thought she finished that, well, them?”

Coolly, you smile and slide into another lie. “Almost, turns out there’s a little underground action, nothing major. But if it’s entertainment you’re looking for, I’ve got a story that involves me, a polar bear, and a bed sheet.”

Steve tries to be casual about it, about you, but Sam is relentless as he teases him for following you around like a puppy. You find it endearing in a way, find yourself growing fond of this friendship, but Natasha leaves you with some form a warning.

“Careful.” It’s low, whispered in passing with no context, not even a look.

**

Bucky rests his head, and his eyes, back against the wall he was leaning on. Sunday morning briefs were always a drag, but this particular one had been less enjoyable than usual. All he wanted was a burrito and a nap, but Steve had somehow managed to drag him into a conversation just around the corner from the kitchen.

“You can never have too much backup.” Bucky repeats the last thing he remembers Steve saying and hopes it fits the question.

When he opens his eyes, he sees you and your knitted brows turning a corner. Only a few moments pass before you come back, turning a different corner. It isn’t until he sees you pass the same corner twice that he flags you down.

Quickly, you slide the file in your hand behind your back and into the side pocket of your duffle. He flashes a lopsided grin your way as he jogs up.

“You lost?” He asks.

You hold your hands out and shrug. “Nat was supposed to give me a real tour but she got pulled into a briefing. I heard there’s some crazy high-tech gym here.” You tilt your head to the duffle on your hip.

“You’re close, but not quite.” Bucky throws a wink over his shoulder. “You know who gives great tours? Steve. Steve!” He bellows.

Steve takes a moment, caught between wishing he was on a month-long mission in the middle of the mountains and wanting to drag his friend through a few rounds. Instead, he smiles.

He leads you around, pointing out a few of the more notable places on the way. Not so casually, he mentions his room is only down the hall from yours and you’re surprised at how easy he had been making this.

In all honesty, however, the longer you spoke with him, the more days that went by, the louder the whisper of guilt got. It nipped at the back of your mind each time he genuinely seemed to care, screaming that he didn’t deserve to be played like this.

It’s not long before it becomes about more than the spaces within these walls. He tells you about the team, speaks of them so fondly, with so much respect, all you can do is listen. There are a few stories he offers up. A dented wall from Sam wrestling Bucky just a little too hard, a passive aggressive sign about cleaning the fridge still hanging from when Natasha found an old container of something Clint had forgotten about.

There’s so much laughter that you begin to feel your heart ache. All your life you had looked for something like this and now here you were. Expected to get the job done and head back onto the road.

You imagine Natasha will try to convince you to stay, but you can’t build a home off a foundation made entirely of lies.

“What brought you here?” He asks breaking your small shame spiral.

“Sorry?”

“All I heard was that you’ve known Nat for a while and she’s trying to get you to stay?”

“Oh, yeah. We ran into each other on a few ops when I was in the CIA. We seemed to work well together, so I kept her number. After I left, she got me started on doing my own thing. That’s how I generally prefer it now, working alone.”

“Why the Avengers then?”

You stop a smile at him. “She thinks I’m meant for bigger things.” He nods as you continue walking, contemplating the very vague amount of information he’s been able to get from you. “Is this it?” You ask pointing to a wall of glass. “Doesn’t look too fancy.”

Steve chuckles. “The equipment is pretty standard. Stark wrote some kind of program that will analyze your workouts and techniques and tell you everything you’re doing wrong.”

“Lovely.” You mutter.

He leaves you there with nothing more than a smile, a nod, and a promise to give you something more in-depth later. You’re grateful, as what you were actually looking for was Fury’s office, but it’s not like you can ask without raising any questions. Heading back the way Steve took you, you discover a new corridor with an elevator that looks promising.

It’s another hour before you’ve stumbled into his office. Fury looks up from his desk, eyebrow raised.

“You know,” You huff. “Would be a lot easier to find you if I knew where I was going.” Wordlessly he hands you a map and gives you a ‘is that all’ look. Digging into your duffle you pull out the thick file and plop it on his desk.

This piques his interest. “What’s this?”

“A full report on the 98 names I cleared this week.”

“On top of the 63 at the gala? How?”

You cock your hip to the side, the only evidence of your irritation besides your tone. “Yes. It’s amazing what you can accomplish when you know how to talk to people.” He doesn’t find the humor in your joke. “I used the gala to drop a few comments about money troubles and the bounty on Steve’s head so it’s only a matter of time before he comes for me.”

“No one seemed skeptical?”

“Listen, I know Nat pushed you into this, but I promise I’m very good. I put an image out there of an outsider in over her head looking for what she thinks will be easy money. It’s when he underestimates me that I’ll be able to take him out with ease.”

He keeps his features emotionless except for the slightest twitch of one brow. “Impressive.”

**

“I Just don’t see why I need to get that close to get the job done.”

Natasha groans. “It is too soon for you to be falling in love with a mark, it hasn’t even been two weeks.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not in love with him, and he’s not a mark. I just think it’s a little messed up.”

“Sure, messed up for you, but not for the girl taking advantage of a friendship to gain the trust of a man worth $500 million so you can slit his throat easier.”

You look up at the ceiling. “I get where you’re coming from, but I’m telling you I can do this without the manipulation.”

“When did you get soft?” She asks the question and you react as if it were a slap to the face.

“Do not call me soft.” You spit. “I’m trying to save your friend without breaking his heart. Maybe show a little gratitude.”

Natasha recoils. She had never seen you like this. Emotional and defiant. Sure, she’s had to spend some time reeling you back in, but this was different. For a moment she considers how loyal she knows you to be, but that kind of loyalty took time for you. More time than you had spent here. This was as if you had drawn a line in the sand, for the first time declaring something you won’t do.

“What is it about him?”

You shake your head. “This isn’t about him, Nat. Maybe I’m just a little tired of always having to be the bad guy just to do the right thing.”

**

You had planned on just taking the rest of the night to shift through personnel files, but the moment you turned the corner to the hall that housed your room, you bumped into Tony startling yourself.

He quickly reaches out to steady you. “Sorry, I just wanted to catch you earlier rather than later. You may have heard, but there’s a wedding next week.”

You laugh. “I don’t think there’s a soul with decent internet connection that doesn’t know about your wedding.”

You could be mistaken, but you swear you see a blush rise on his cheeks. “Right. Since we’re supposedly trying to get you on the team, I figured leaving you out of that would look bad. I talked with Pepper and she’s added you to the guest list.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, thank you.” There’s genuine appreciation in your voice.

He disappears quickly as he had only a few minutes to track you down before some experiment he was working on finished it’s first phase. Natasha would be happy to hear that she won’t have to bribe an invitation out of Pepper for reasons she can’t disclose.

You reach down to your doorknob, turning it slightly, aching for today to just be over. The door has barely cracked open when you hear the unmistakable click of a trigger.