#p: can we just continue investigating...

[pockyfr0g]

funny doodle

[mggslover]

How the Unsub Stole Christmas ❆

A Holiday to Remember: part 2

In which the BAU's holiday getaway takes a dark turn when a family is found murdered on Christmas, forcing the team to investigate while reader struggles with painful memories of her past and her growing, unspoken feelings for Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader Genre: crime, angst, smut (18+), fluff, found family Content warnings: graphic cm case descriptions!!, mentions of shitty childhood, reader getting in some unsub trouble, oral (f receiving), p in v sex. Word count: 9k 🫣 i swear it reads really fast A/n: read part 1 first! writing this story genuinely brought me so much joy, and i hope you will experience the same while reading this. this will be my last fic for the year 2024, so thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the support, i can't wait to see what the new year will bring for this blog. don't forget to interact with this post if you've enjoyed! 🎄🤍 dividers by @issysh3ll

It shouldn’t have surprised you that you’d be called out for another case. Still, the disappointment lingered thick in the air.

“It was fun while it lasted,” Garcia murmured softly, her tone sad. JJ wrapped an arm around her, bringing her in for a side hug. “Don’t worry,” she reassured gently. “The trip isn’t over yet.”

Penelope seemed satisfied enough with that answer, but then spoke up again. “I don’t want to stay here on my own. It’s spooky knowing someone got murdered just miles away.”

“You can come with us to the station. Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss and Y/L/N, you’ll head to the crime scene. A deputy will be waiting for you there.” Hotch instructed. 

You exhaled softly and gave a brief nod. Spencer glanced over at you, his eyes filled with that quiet empathy you’d come to recognize over the years.

“Good luck,” he said, his voice low but sincere.

“Thanks,” you replied, your words equally soft. “You too.”

Half an hour later, you arrived at the crime scene. The neighborhood was so small it hardly felt like one—just a handful of houses scattered across large, snow-dusted plots of land. It looked peaceful, almost idyllic, as if nothing could ever disturb the calm. The street was adorned with Christmas lights and festive decorations. The only thing slightly out of place was a crack in the bench beside one of the houses. Otherwise, the neighborhood looked like it had stepped right out of a holiday card.

As you stepped out of the car, you noticed the few neighbors who hadn’t yet been driven inside by the cold. They stood in clusters in front of their homes, bundled up in scarves and coats, watching the scene unfold with cautious curiosity.

You looked over at Prentiss. “We should start doing some interviews—maybe send a few of them over to the station.”

She nodded, her expression focused. “Got it.” Without another word, she made her way toward them.

You followed Rossi and Derek toward the red wooden house, where the Deputy awaited by the front door. He looked young—probably around your age. 

Rossi introduced you to Deputy Wilson. Wilson gave a sheepish smile, “Sorry it’s just me. Almost the whole department is unavailable because of the holidays.”

“Convenient timing for a murder,” you mused.

“The scene’s been left as it was when we found it,” Wilson continued. “The back door’s been forced open, and you can see boot prints in the snow leading to the backyard.”

Morgan immediately stepped forward. “I’ll get a shot of those prints for Garcia,” he said, already heading toward the backyard.

Wilson looked at you and Rossi. “You want to take a look inside?”

You paused before heading in, shaking the snow from your boots and making sure not to use the doormat—the one engraved with the names of the family members. It felt wrong, almost disrespectful, to dirty the only thing that might be left of them. 

You took in a sharp breath as you entered the house. Your gaze was first taken by the large Christmas tree standing in the corner of the living room, decorated in red and gold. But then you noticed the bloody mess underneath it. Four bodies—two adults and two children—lay scattered on the floor, broken Christmas ornaments surrounding them, as though the killer had dropped them carelessly after his violent act. The mother and father were draped over each other, their throats slit cleanly. The teenage daughter, too, had her throat cut, but her body was twisted in a way that didn’t seem accidental. The small boy—no older than ten—was slumped between them, his face frozen in an expression of terror, a look that would haunt you for days.

The scene before you was a sickening parody of a perfect Christmas. But the most disturbing part wasn’t the carnage—it was their faces. Each of them wore a grotesque, unnerving smile, painted onto their lips in blood. It was a mockery of joy, an image of happiness forced onto the dead.

You felt a wave of nausea rise in your throat and turned away, needing a moment to breathe. It was then that you noticed the walls, once filled with smiling family photos were now smeared with blood. Shattered frames lay scattered on the floor, as if the killer had intentionally destroyed the family’s history, piece by piece. 

Rossi spoke first. “The unsub who stole Christmas,” he mused, his tone almost playful despite the grim reality.

You gave a sharp exhale, a brief scoff escaping your lips. “Yeah, you could say that.”

You put on your gloves and picked up a shattered picture frame from the floor. You handed it to Rossi without a word. He took it, studying it for a moment before speaking again. “One thing’s for sure—this wasn’t just a murder. This is deeply personal.”

You nodded, scanning the room. The starkness of the crime scene was still sinking in, but your mind was already running through the facts. “The execution was meticulous,” you murmured, your gaze flickering over the room, “but the aftermath... messy. The unsub rushed out of here—didn’t even bother closing the back door behind him, and those footprints? Almost like he didn’t care at all about leaving evidence. We might even get lucky and find DNA on the bodies.”

Rossi considered it. “It could be that he was in a hurry. In a small neighborhood like this, people will notice anything out of the ordinary. He probably knew he had to move fast.”

You hummed in return. “It still doesn’t add up. You can’t plan a murder with this much detail and then completely overlook how to cover your tracks afterward.”

You took another slow turn around the room, examining the details. Every piece seemed to add to the strange puzzle, but none of it fit together. As you passed the fireplace, something caught your eye: a piece of paper tucked into one of the stockings. You reached for it carefully, your fingers brushing the corner stained with blood.

You unfolded it with precision, revealing the scrawled words in black ink. The sentence was short and written in Latin, a language you hadn’t encountered in years. You stared at it, furrowing your brow as you tried to make sense of it.

“You wouldn’t happen to know Latin, would you?” You asked Rossi, half-joking, though the seriousness in your voice remained.

Rossi looked up, his expression a mix of confusion and dry humor. “Does it look like I know Latin?”

You smiled, already pulling your phone out of your pocket and speed dialing Spencer. As the phone rang, you turned your attention back to the paper, the blood spatter still making your stomach turn.

“Hey,” you breathed out as he picked up the phone after the second ring.

“Hey,” Spencer replied. “Are you okay?” His voice was soft with concern, your single syllable being enough for him to decipher how you feel.

You glanced over your shoulder at the murdered family, swallowing hard before turning away. “I will be,” you responded. Once that fucker is behind bars.

You straightened, pushing the thoughts away, and focused on the task at hand. “I’ve just found a piece of paper at the crime scene. It’s a text written in Latin. I figured it’d be quicker to ask you than wait for Garcia to look it up.”

Spencer hummed in acknowledgment. “Good call. What does it say?”

You glanced at the paper again, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar words. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line before Spencer spoke, his voice calm but precise. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse. ‘Now they know you’re not perfect.’” His perfect Latin pronunciation made you wince at how poorly you’d read it.

“What’s that supposed to mean? A taunt?”

Spencer’s voice was thoughtful. “Sounds like he’s trying to prove something. It’s definitely personal.”

You exchanged a look with Rossi, who was standing nearby, holding the broken picture frame. “Yeah, that’s what we’ve been thinking. Whoever this unsub is, he knows the Reynolds family intimately.”

“Garcia’s already digging into the family’s background,” Spencer replied without missing a beat, already a step ahead.

“Good,” you muttered, relief washing over you for a moment. “How are things going over there?”

“JJ’s been trying to reach family, but they don’t live nearby,” Spencer answered. “A snowstorm hit. I’ve been tracking the meteorological data, and the chances of them making it are close to zero.” 

You nodded, a dull ache settling in your chest. “Well, I’m going to keep looking around here. The bodies will be picked up soon to go to the lab, and then I’ll be heading over to the station.”

“Alright,” Spencer replied, his tone warmer now. “I’ll see you there. Be careful.”

“Always am,” you said, offering a small smile even though he couldn’t see it.

The words on the note kept drifting through your mind. Maybe it was the sentiment that came with Christmas—or maybe it was the fact that, up until now, you were having a perfect holiday, something you never thought you’d get to experience—that made the scene remind you of your childhood. How everything looked so joyous from the outside, especially during the holidays. But if you looked closely, you’d see the cracks. The ornaments on the tree, hastily glued together, their edges jagged and uneven. The hole in the wall, cleverly concealed behind your stocking. 

You were probably overthinking it. After all, it wasn’t the family that was broken like yours was—it was the unsub who had shattered their picture-perfect life.

Rossi’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You okay, kid?”

You blinked, pulling yourself out of the past and into the present. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.”

You and Rossi walked into the secluded room the Sheriff had arranged for the team, exchanging your findings with Morgan and Prentiss along the way. You’d made a quick stop at a Chinese takeaway to grab food for everyone, knowing the team needed fuel for the long hours ahead.

The rest of the team was already seated around the table, and Reid was in the middle of showing Hotch something on the map of the neighborhood.

“Oh, you guys are the best!” Penelope sighed, her voice full of appreciation as she caught sight of the plastic bags you were carrying.

“We couldn’t leave you to go hungry,” Emily responded with a grin.

You took a seat closest to where Spencer was standing, and he naturally slid into the chair beside you. You reached into the bag and pulled out the only plastic fork, knowing he’d struggle with chopsticks. He flashed you a grateful, closed-lip smile as he took it from you.

Once everyone had filled their plates, the conversation turned back to the case.

“Garcia dug up some useful info,” JJ began. “Stephen Reynolds owned a construction company that’s on the verge of going bankrupt. It’s possible the unsub was an employee who got fired—or was cut loose because the company couldn’t afford him anymore.”

“It seems like the whole family was targeted,” you added, leaning forward. “The note was left in one of the children’s stockings. It doesn’t feel like the murder was just directed at Stephen.”

“That’s why we need to find out more about the Reynolds family outside of their neighborhood,” Hotch said. “The employees at the construction company could have insight. It’s clear the neighbors aren’t going to give us much.”

Rossi’s eyes narrowed, a skeptical look on his face. “Did they really not give you anything? The neighbors, I mean.”

Prentiss shook her head. “Nothing useful. They kept insisting that the Reynolds’s were a perfect family. They even seemed offended when I pressed for more.”

“That doesn’t sit right. The note specifically mentioned how the Reynolds’s are not perfect.” Rossi replied. 

“I gotta give it to them, though,” Garcia chimed in. “The Reynolds’s are model citizens. The parents were both heavily involved in charity, and the kids have won multiple prizes in spelling bees and other competitions.”

“Has anything bad ever happened in that neighborhood?” Morgan asked, clearly skeptical about the idea of perfection.

Penelope clicked away on her laptop. “Well, there was a fire in one of the houses about ten years ago, because of damaged Christmas lights.” She made a sad face as she continued searching. “Oh, and a cat got stuck in a tree once… didn’t make it.”

“What happened to the family in the house?” Spencer asked.

Penelope’s fingers paused over the keys. “Uh, let me see… The Eriksens died from smoke inhalation. Oh… this is sad. They left a child, Christopher Eriksen. He was put into foster care when he was just eight.”

“Did the Reynolds’s live there when that happened?” JJ asked.

“Yeah, they did. Actually, they organized a fundraiser to build a bench with the parents’ names engraved on it, in their memory.”

You felt your pulse quicken at the mention of the bench. Something about it seemed strangely familiar, but you couldn’t trust your mind right now—not with everything still scattered from the case, and the ghosts of your past tugging at the edges of your thoughts.

You could feel Spencer’s gaze on you, but you decided to ignore it, keeping your focus on Hotch as he spoke up. 

“It’s best if we head back to the cabin to rest up,” he said. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, and the station’s closing tonight so everyone can spend time with their families.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, the relief of getting some rest evident on their faces. But as the team began gathering their things, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in your chest. You hated the idea of putting the case on hold, even if it was just for the night. The face of that little boy kept haunting your thoughts, his wide eyes silently pleading for answers, for peace. You couldn’t help but feel like you were letting him down.

Spencer’s hand snakes up on your shoulder, his warm hold holding you in place. His lips barely moved as he mouthed, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you whispered, shaking your head.

The entire car ride had been silent. Spencer’s gaze would occasionally flicker over to you in the backseat, but you kept your eyes fixated on the road, watching the scenery blur past.

The silence stretched on as you said your goodnights to the rest of the team and walked toward your shared room with Spencer. As you both got ready for bed, there was an unspoken tension hanging in the air. Now, lying in the king-sized bed, you both stared up at the ceiling, the quiet stillness between you thick with unspoken words.

“When are we finally going to talk about what’s wrong?” Spencer’s voice broke the silence, careful but insistent.

You stayed quiet for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. “Nothing’s wrong,” you replied, your words coming out a little too quickly.

“There’s obviously something wrong,” he pressed gently. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“I know,” you answered, your voice softer now, more honest. Usually, Spencer never had to press. There was something about him—something warm and patient—that made it easy to open up, to share your thoughts without fear of judgment. But this time, it felt different. It wasn’t just the case. It felt personal, something you couldn’t fully explain.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” you said, thinking aloud. “It’s just… something’s off. And I don’t know if it’s just me.”

“What do you feel?” His question was quiet, but his concern was clear.

You hesitated. “It sounds stupid,” you muttered, brushing it off.

“Nothing you could say would sound stupid to me.” His words, soft and sincere, made your chest tighten with warmth. You turned your head to look at him, noticing the closeness between you, the way his gaze lingered on you.

“You thought it was stupid that I shower at 115 degrees,” you said with a playful smile.

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, the tension easing just a little. “I don’t think it’s stupid that you like it,” he said, his voice gentle. “I just think it’s stupid that you’d risk hurting yourself over it.”

His eyes warmly looked at you. One hand rested underneath his pillow as he lay on his side. You turned toward him, mirroring his position.

"I’m really struggling with this case," you softly admitted, trying to keep eye contact, though your gaze flickered down, betraying the weight of your words.

“Was it hard seeing the crime scene?”

"Yeah," you choked out, your throat tight. You blinked quickly to try to stop the tears that threatened to spill. “It was... it was horrible.”

His hand reached out to gently rub your bare arm under the blanket. "It’s completely normal to feel affected by what you saw," he began, his voice steady but laced with the kind of empathy that only someone like him could offer. "Witnessing something as violent and horrific as the bodies of two children—it’s traumatic. The brain processes trauma in complex ways, especially when it involves young victims. According to studies in neuropsychology, traumatic experiences, particularly those involving children, can cause the brain to release a surge of stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline. This flood of chemicals can lead to acute emotional responses, such as anxiety and flashbacks.”

“I’ve been experiencing flashbacks,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. You met his gaze, looking for reassurance, and he gave you the space to speak, waiting patiently. “It actually started earlier today, when we arrived at the cabin. I’ve never experienced a Christmas like this, you know, the kind that feels warm and joyful. I- I don’t know if I’m making connections that aren’t there, but the feeling I had in that house was the same feeling I used to get when I was growing up.”

He tilted his head. "What feeling?"

“...Jealousy.”

His eyebrows knitted. “Jealousy?”

You nodded, swallowing hard, gathering your thoughts. “You could feel so much rage in there. Everything that made the home feel homey—that warmth, that love—was completely shattered. The way the unsub positioned the family members under the Christmas tree, the way the note was tucked into the stocking… There’s a reason for it. Christmas represents this idealized view of perfection. I don’t think the message was to prove that the company going bankrupt is some sort of imperfection in the family’s picture-perfect life. No, it feels like the unsub was jealous of their happiness. Of the fact that they had a family who seemed perfect—something he never had. He wanted to destroy it. To ruin their happiness. He could never have it, so he shattered the illusion of perfection entirely.”

Spencer was quiet for a moment, processing your words. “So you think the Reynolds’s were targeted as surrogates?”

“I guess so. But you don’t just stumble across a neighborhood as desolate as theirs.” you responded.

“It could still be one of the employees of the construction company. If Stephen bragged about his perfect family to the wrong person, it could have triggered something.”

You hummed in agreement, but Spencer could see there was more on your mind. He raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

“As I got older, I learned that blaming others wasn’t going to make me feel any better about my situation. It’s like the unsub hasn’t realized that yet. The way he executed this crime—it’s almost like a child throwing a tantrum. He was so meticulous in setting everything up, and then once he got what he wanted, he just… walked away. There was no care for the aftermath, no consideration of what would happen afterward.”

“Do you think the unsub could still be a child?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Your mind clicked, and for the first time, the puzzle pieces seemed to fit together. “How old was the kid when he was put into foster care?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

“Eight. Why?” Spencer's confusion was evident.

“It’s been ten years since that house caught fire. That would make him eighteen now, and—"

Spencer’s eyes widened as realization struck. “And that he just got out of foster care.”

"Exactly," you said, rolling out of bed and storming downstairs.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Spencer called after you, quickly grabbing his cardigan from the chair in the corner of the room before hurrying to catch up.

“Be quiet, I don’t want to wake anyone.” You instructed, feeling Spencer’s presence behind you as you moved toward the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” he hissed in a whisper as you opened Garcia’s laptop on the table. You didn’t respond, your fingers already flying over the keys as you settled into a chair.

Spencer huffed, knowing full well there was no stopping you once your mind was set. He hovered behind you, draping the cardigan over your shoulders. “I’m not covering for you if Garcia finds out,” he warned, glancing over your shoulder at the screen.

“That’s fine. I know exactly what to say to win her over,” you said nonchalantly, clicking away. In your mind, the image of Spencer in the shower was still vivid—a story you could easily use to distract Penelope if it came to that.

You paused, your heart skipping a beat as you found the file. “Here it is,” you muttered, eyes scanning the information on Christopher Eriksen. You clicked to open it fully, Spencer already reading ahead of you.

“They found bruises all over his body when he was put into foster care,” he read aloud, his voice tense as the words sank in.

You leaned forward, your breath catching. “This is it,” you murmured. “His parents— they must’ve bought into that ‘perfect family’ image of the neighborhood, but behind closed doors, they were hiding this. Can you imagine what it must’ve been like for him? Everyone thinking his parents were saints, while they were hurting him? All the while, they’re the ones who get a memorial bench, their lives celebrated while they tortured him.”

“It was on Christmas that he was put into foster care. Now, it’s the first Christmas since he’s been out. It makes sense to go back to the place where it all started,” Spencer concluded.

“I need to go there,” you said urgently, slamming the laptop shut.

“Have you lost your mind?!” Spencer asked, bewildered. He immediately followed you as you rushed to the door, still in your pajamas. “You’re not seriously planning on going out like that?”

“It’s just a quick peek. I need to see if I was right about the bench,” you said, almost to yourself, already focused on the task ahead. You didn’t even glance behind you as you pulled on your shoes and yanked open the front door, wrapping Spencer’s cardigan tighter around yourself to ward off the cold.

In moments like these, Spencer knew exactly who had trained you. You were unmistakably like Gideon—determined, single-minded, and often impulsive once your mind was set. And that, in turn, always left Spencer in a state of mild panic.

“You can’t drive at night,” he said, his voice rising with concern as he followed you into the snow-covered yard. “You have nyctalopia!”

You didn’t stop, your focus unwavering. “You should take night-blindness seriously, it takes forever for your pupils to dilate, and by that time, you’ve already missed the stop sign or, I don’t know, hit a pothole or something. Your contrast sensitivity goes down, so objects blend into the background, and—did I mention the glare from headlights? Because that’s a huge problem, and it makes it worse! You’re already having trouble seeing, and now the glare from every car that passes is just blinding you. It's like trying to navigate in a fog, but it’s just light fog, which—okay, that’s a really bad analogy, but you get the point!”

His words fell into the background as you continued walking, your mind fully occupied with proving your theory. The case had been driving you mad. If you could just confirm that the bench was broken—that Christopher was the one who’d done it in a moment of anger—everything would click. The case would be solved. You’d give the Reynolds family peace. And, selfishly, you’d give yourself peace.

“Please,” Spencer begged, now standing in front of the car door, blocking your path. “If you’re going, at least let me drive.”

His comment made you halt in front of the car. “You hate driving,” you pointed out.

“I’d rather be uncomfortable for a few minutes than risk something happening to you,” he admitted.

You stared at him, feeling a surge of gratitude for how much he cared, how he believed your theory and was willing to go along with you. 

You reached out and took his hands. It was a gesture he rarely tolerated from anyone, but you’d learned over the years that Spencer appreciated it when it came from you. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. “Thanks, Spence,” you said softly, the words simple but your voice full of appreciation.

He swallowed, his eyes softening as he nodded. “We’ll just take a quick look, right?”

“I swear,” you promised, a reassuring smile tugging at your lips. “Just a quick look.”

He sighed, still clearly uneasy but unwilling to argue. You handed him the car keys and moved to the passenger side, sliding into the seat. 

—————

Spencer slowed the car as you neared the familiar area, the headlights casting long shadows over the snowy driveway.

"Let’s stop the car here," you suggested. The thought crossed your mind just in time—it would be very inappropriate to drive into a quiet neighborhood with an unknown car at this hour, especially after a murder had taken place.

You and Spencer stepped out of the car, the cold biting at your skin as you walked side by side. You stayed close to him, partly to keep warm, partly to follow his tracks through the snow, the dark pressing in around you. The Christmas lights that had lit up the neighborhood earlier were now off, leaving everything shrouded in an eerie quiet.

You made your way to the bench. Your hand skimmed over the smooth wood, lingering on the top right corner where you felt a distinct break—something sharp and jagged where a piece had clearly been broken off. You exhaled in relief. You were right.

Spencer’s hand shot out to gently grab your wrist, his fingers warm against the cold night air. "Careful," he said, his voice low but insistent. "You don’t want splinters. Stay here, I’ll grab a flashlight from the car."

You nodded, watching as his footsteps faded into the distance, swallowed by the thick darkness around you.

Alone now, you scanned the area. Everything was still and silent, save for the occasional crunch of snow beneath your feet. Your eyes were drawn to a dim light flickering from inside the rebuilt house where the Eriksens used to live, just past the bench. Curiosity nudged you forward, and before you could second-guess yourself, your feet were already moving toward the light.

You crept closer to the window, standing on your toes to peer inside. The house was barely furnished, still very much in the process of being worked on before it could be sold. You pressed your hands against the cold glass, forming makeshift goggles with your fingers, your face just inches away from the window as you tried to get a better look.

A sudden pressure on your stomach snapped you out of your thoughts. Before you could react, an arm tightened around your waist, yanking you away from the glass. For a brief moment you thought Spencer was playing some kind of prank, trying to startle you—but the movement was so fast and forceful, you knew Spencer would never grab you that aggressively.

Your gasp caught in your throat, immediately silenced as a cold, rough hand clamped over your mouth. Panic surged, but your body went stiff when the sharp edge of a knife pressed to your throat. You didn’t need any further confirmation that this was the unsub.

"I don’t know who you are," the voice rasped, low and dangerous, his breath hot and heavy in your ear. "But you shouldn’t have shown up here."

The tension in his voice was unmistakable. You could feel his rage, his plan disrupted by your unexpected presence. Every instinct screamed at you to fight back, but you remained frozen, knowing that one wrong move could end it all.

“I didn’t plan on killing anyone innocent, but you’ve put yourself in this situation,” he spat, his grip tightening on the knife.

In that fleeting moment, you made a decision. Taking a leap of faith, you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of his palm. The sudden bite startled him, and by sheer luck, he loosened his grip on the weapon.

“Christopher!” You shouted, the name ringing out with urgency.

It was enough to catch him off guard. In that instant, you turned, quickly positioning yourself with a better angle. He was taller than you—still, just a boy, consumed by something far beyond his control. His pain was evident, lurking beneath the fury in his eyes. You knew this wasn’t what he wanted. 

“Who are you?” His voice was strained, the words gripping with suspicion and confusion.

“I’m here to help you,” you said sincerely, keeping your voice steady.

“No, you’re not,” he denied.

“I swear I am. I know what happened to you. I know what your parents did to you.”

Without warning, he shoved you hard against the house. Your head slammed into the window, a sharp pain exploding in your skull. “You don’t know anything!” he screamed.

“I do, Christopher. I do!” The words came from a place of desperation, your breath ragged. “I understand. I know how much this eats at you, how alone you feel because you’re the only one who knows the truth. But it doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to hurt anyone else. The truth will come out. People will know what your parents did, what really happened here. You’ll get what you want, the world will see that they’re not perfect.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something soft, vulnerable. 

“They all knew what happened!” He said in anger, pointing at the houses surrounding you. “They all knew and no one said anything!” He shook his head, “I’ll never get what I want. It’s too late for that.” he muttered bitterly.

Despite his words, you felt a flicker of hope. He was talking. He was listening. That had to count for something.

“It’s not too late, Christopher,” you said, your voice gentle but firm. “I thought the same thing once. But family… family isn’t just the people you’re born to. You can build your own, one that will love you despite everything. I’ve got that family now.”

He swallowed hard, his face momentarily flickering with doubt. “I wish I could believe you,” he said, his voice quiet, tinged with regret.

And then, in a flash, his arm shot out. Instinctively, you braced yourself, squeezing your eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable strike.

As the seconds stretched on, memories—both regrets and cherished moments—flashed before your eyes, a cruel reminder of everything you had to lose.

But then, a loud thud echoed in the night. Christopher crumpled to the ground, his body going limp. You whipped your head up, heart in throat, and saw Spencer standing behind him, the butt of his gun covered in blood, the impact of the blow knocking Christopher out cold. 

A shaky breath escaped you, half a sob, half a gasp of relief. You stumbled toward Spencer, your legs nearly giving out as you threw yourself into his arms. 

“I’m so sorry,” you cried into his chest, voice cracking. “I was so stupid. I shouldn’t have—”

He shushed you softly, brushing a hand through your hair as he held you close. “It’s okay. You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

Twenty minutes later, the team and the police arrived. Spencer had called Hotch the second you’d calmed down enough, and by the time they got there, Christopher was still passed out. The officers dragged him into the back of their car, while JJ and Prentiss took it upon themselves to reassure the neighbors that they had someone in custody.

You knew exactly what was coming when Hotch finally made his way over to you and Spencer, but your head was pounding too much to care.

Hotch scanned the two of you with a sharp, disapproving look. “Really? You went to catch an unsub in your pajamas?”

“The whole ‘catching the unsub’ thing wasn’t exactly part of the plan,” you muttered, wincing slightly as the headache flared.

Hotch exhaled sharply, then turned to Spencer, his gaze a little more pointed. “I could’ve expected this from her, but I expected better from you, Reid.”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably, knowing there was no defense. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Hotch gave a sigh in response, his expression softening just a fraction. “I’m too tired to deal with the two of you right now. I expect to see both of you in my office in the morning.”

“Actually, I checked all the rooms in the cabin, and there’s no office. Which is surprising, considering—”

“Spence,” you interrupted him with a nudge of your elbow.

He shot you a tight-lipped look, turning back to Hotch. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

—————

The second you closed the car door behind you and buckled your seatbelt, you passed out. You’d always slept best during car rides, and especially now, with your mind much quieter now that Christopher Eriksen wasn’t your problem anymore.

When you finally arrived back at the cabin, you were still sound asleep. Derek told Spencer to wake you, but he didn’t have it in him. Instead, he carefully made his way to your side of the car, unbuckling your seatbelt. He lifted you into his arms, trying not to huff too loudly as he carried you through the thick snow. He made his way up the stairs quickly, hoping Penelope wouldn’t notice the wet tracks from his boots inside the house—he couldn’t take them off while holding you.

He was glad you were in your pajamas as he gently laid you on the bed. He walked over to the closet, grabbing some extra blankets and draping them over you, hoping it would help you regain some warmth.

Then, he crawled into bed beside you. Closer than he would’ve dared if you were awake, not quite touching, but close enough to share body heat. His gaze lingered on you, watching how peaceful you looked. The night had been a lot to handle, but he knew he’d do it all again if it meant keeping you safe.

The bright light reflected off the snow outside, filtering into the room. Groaning, you rubbed your eyes, the movement only making your headache worse. You huffed and carefully opened your eyes, being met with the sight of Spencer. His hair was a curly mess, and a small, warm smile painted his face.

“Hey, how’s your head?” he asked softly.

The events of last night rushed back to you, and you groaned again. “So, all of that really happened?”

“It did,” Spencer confirmed.

“I really hoped I just got drunk on too much Glühwein,” you sighed, wincing at the thought.

“You can still do that tonight,” he teased.

“No,” you muttered in disgust. “I need to recover from this first.”

You glanced over at him again, seeing the concern still shining in his eyes.

“I’m sorry for putting you in that situation last night,” you said quietly. “Everything about it was just... stupid.”

“If you hadn’t insisted on going, who knows who else he could’ve hurt,” Spencer pointed out.

“I guess that’s true.” You thought about it for a second, the weight lifting slightly. “Still, I shouldn’t have dragged you into it.”

“I’m glad I went with you,” Spencer said, his voice softening. “If I hadn’t... I don’t want to think about what could’ve happened to you. I would never forgive myself if I wouldn’t have been there in time.”

You gave a heavy sigh, turning your gaze to the ceiling. “That’s why it’s probably best we stay friends,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him. Despite Emily’s pep talk, this was proof that it wouldn’t be wise to start something serious with Spencer.

“Friends instead of what?” Spencer asked, his voice higher, as if eager to hear the answer.

“Instead of us dating,” you said, almost offhandedly, not realizing you were speaking aloud about something you’d never discussed before, even though the topic would come up eventually.

Spencer froze, his eyes wide, hope flickering in them as he looked at you. “You would date me?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You froze too, catching up with the fact that you had said that out loud. Your cheeks warmed, and you immediately turned your gaze to the ceiling, not daring to look at his expression.

“Uh—hypothetically,” you stammered, scrambling to cover your tracks.

“You would hypothetically date me?”

You swallowed, still too flustered to look at him. “Yes. If... you would, I mean. If you wanted that, too...?”

Spencer was silent for a beat, his gaze never leaving you. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yes,” you answered, your voice steady despite the racing thoughts in your head.

He slowly moved closer to you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. You flinched back instinctively, and he immediately withdrew his hand, his expression apologetic.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your heart beating faster.

“You said you’d want to date me,” he murmured, his voice unsure.

“Yes, but—” you stopped yourself as the realization hit that he was planning to kiss you. “Oh.”

Tentatively, you reached out and placed your hand on his cheek. You leaned in a little, but this time it was him who pulled back.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice breathless.

“Kissing you.”

“Oh,” he breathed out, his tongue darting over his lips. “Okay.”

You smiled softly, then closed the distance, your lips gently pressing to his.

Spencer hummed in satisfaction, both of you staying like that for a moment, neither of you wanting to pull away. You were the first to break the kiss, catching your breath. If it were up to Spencer, he’d keep his lips on yours forever.

Your eyes fluttered open, faces still inches apart. Spencer cupped your face and pulled you back in, placing several soft pecks on your lips before he leaned on his arm, slightly hovering over you as he deepened the kiss.

You tried to mirror his movements, but a sharp pain shot through your skull. “Ouch,” you hissed, pulling back.

“Just lay down, let me take care of you,” Spencer assured, the warmth of his words making your heart flutter. You slowly lower yourself onto your back, the soft sheets crinkling beneath you, and Spencer moves above you, the blankets still covering both of you.

His lips found yours again. He kept them slightly parted, giving you the chance to slide your tongue against his. The world outside seemed to disappear as you melted into each other, lips moving in sync.

The kisses become more heated, each one a little deeper than the last. His hand moved to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, the other hand resting on your side, his touch sending little sparks of warmth wherever it brushed.

You could feel the heat between you growing. “I’m so warm…” you mumbled against his lips. 

His eyes darkened slightly. “Yeah?” His voice was rough as his fingers lightly trailed over the buttons of your pyjama shirt. “Do you want me to take this off?”

You nodded, and he slowly started undoing each button with purposeful care. His gaze flickering between your eyes and the exposed skin. He let out a moan when your shirt finally fell open, his eyes taking you in. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out in awe, before pressing his lips to yours again. 

You responded eagerly, your hands fumbling between your bodies to undo his shirt in the same way. You slid the fabric off his shoulders, letting your hands run over the muscles of his back, feeling the heat of his skin. 

He gently pressed his body weight down on you, and you shuddered at the feeling of your nipples pressing against his bare chest.

His lips delicately kissed your face, until he reached your ear. He nipped at your lobe, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. “Do you like that?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You answered in a soft moan, your body arching into him. He didn’t need to ask again; he could tell you were enjoying this as much as he was.

His lips slid lower, kissing and sucking on your neck, while his hand slid down to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing circles.

His mouth moved to your collarbone, and then he teasingly dipped lower.

“God, Spence,” you softly moaned as he placed a wet kiss on your lower stomach. “That feels so good.”

His hand, which has been resting on your breast, trails down until it reaches the waistband of your pyjama pants.

“More, please,” you whimpered, lifting your hips instinctively. His fingers slide around the band as he slowly pulls them down, his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

He lowers himself onto his stomach on the mattress. With a tender touch, he lifts your legs over his shoulders.

“Is this okay?”

For a moment, you’ve lost yourself in his gaze—those warm brown eyes looking up at you, his pink lips swollen from his kisses…

“Y-yeah,” you manage to respond, nodding.

You moaned as his mouth made contact with your inner thighs, his tongue warm and wet against your skin. He took his time, kissing his way to the sensitive spot where you needed him most.

“Spencer…” you breathed, your voice shaky with need.

The anticipation was unbearable as his hot breath tickled you, but you didn’t have to wait much longer. Slowly, his tongue flicked over your pussy, and you gasped, your body trembling at the touch.

He moaned in response, as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you, his tongue swirling in soft, teasing motions that had your hips lifting off the bed in search of more. 

“So fucking sweet,” he muttered against you, before repeating the motion, licking you again and again, while he grinded himself against the matress.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer, deeper, your body quivering as he continued. He alternated between sucking and licking your clit, his finger moving up and down your pussy until it entered you gently, then slowly adding another, the stretch an overwhelming pleasure. 

You gasped his name, your body writhing beneath him as the pressure built with every move. “Spencer… please, don’t stop…” you begged, voice thick with need.

His fingers curled inside you, pressing just the right spot as his tongue continued swirling around you. Your legs started trembling as you reached the edge.

“I’m—“ you gasped, but the words dissolved into a string of moans as the wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your legs were shaking as you came undone, clenching around his fingers, your hips bucking against his mouth. 

Spencer didn’t stop, though. He kept going at a gentle pace, letting you ride out the intensity of your orgasm. Then, he slowly pulled away, his lips glistening as he looked up at you, eyes wide and full of wonder. 

“Was that good?” he asked softly, licking his lips. 

You laughed breathlessly as you nodded, your chest still rising and falling rapidly. “Come here,” you whispered seductively, pulling him in by the back of his neck to kiss him. You could taste yourself on his lips, which only added to your arousal.

Spencer’s eyes darkened with desire, his forehead pressed to yours. “I need you. I need to be inside of you.”

You nodded, moving your hand down his body, feeling the hardness of him against your palm. He helped you pull his pants down, and you stroked him gently, feeling him twitch in your hand before guiding him toward your entrance. He let out a low groan, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly pushed into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned, his hips stuttering as he filled you completely. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as his thrusts grew deeper, more urgent.

You could feel every inch of him, every movement as his cock repeatedly hit those places inside that made your head spin. The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, your moans mixing with his ragged breaths.

“You’re so warm,” Spencer whimpered. “So perfect for me.” 

Your hands gripped his back, nails digging into his skin as you urged him on, your body moving with his. His pace quickened, and you couldn’t hold back the desperate cries that escaped you. 

“Spencer… I’m so close,” you gasped.

“Me too,” he moaned, his hips slamming into yours. “Let me come with you. Please, let me come with you.”

You nodded, your body trembling. “Now, Spencer…” you begged in a breathless plea.

His breath hitched, his body tensing as he gave one last deep thrust, and then, with a loud, guttural moan, he came inside you. You followed a moment later, your body clenching around him as you fell apart. 

The room was filled with nothing but your ragged breaths, the sound of two bodies, tangled in a quiet, shared moment of bliss. Spencer collapsed beside you, his chest rising and falling as he took your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.

“That was… perfect,” he whispered, his voice full of awe.

You smiled softly as you placed your head on his chest, fingers lazily tracing his stomach. “Yeah,” you said in a breath, your heart full of him. “It really was.”

You let out a soft groan as Spencer stood up, and you instinctively reached for his hand, pulling him back toward you. “Don’t go yet,” you pouted.

Spencer smiled, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and affection. “I’ve got something for you,” he said, wrapping a blanket around his waist before walking to the corner of the room. He rummaged through his bag, his back turned to you for a moment as you blatantly checked him out.

“I miss you,” you murmured, leaning back into the pillows.

He chuckled softly, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m not even five feet away from you.”

You shrugged, your voice a little teasing. “Still feels like you're miles away.”

With a smile, he walked back toward you, sitting down on the edge of the bed, his hands behind his back. “Which hand?” he playfully asked.

“Left,” you replied without hesitation.

He swiftly shifted the small box he’d been holding from his right hand to his left, then grinned, revealing the gift. “Here you go.”

You blinked in surprise. “That was your present?” you asked, your voice filled with wonder as you recognized the familiar wrapping Garcia had handed you the day before.

Spencer nodded, watching you closely. “Yeah. Open it.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you unwrapped the gift, your heart racing with excitement. Beneath the paper was a velvet black jewelry box. You glanced up at Spencer, your eyes searching his for reassurance. He gave a soft nod, his smile encouraging.

With a gentle flick of your fingers, you opened the box—and there, nestled inside, was the most stunning heart-shaped locket you’d ever seen.

“Oh my God, Spencer,” you breathed, your voice a mixture of awe and disbelief. “It’s… it’s beautiful.”

A shy smile tugged at Spencer’s lips as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it behind his ear. “It used to be my mom’s,” he said. “She doesn’t wear jewelry much anymore, but she wanted me to keep it... to give it to someone special one day.”

Your heart melted at the thought, and you looked at him with newfound tenderness, the weight of his gesture sinking in. 

“She was happy when I told her I wanted to give it to you,” he added, his eyes soft with sincerity.

Your eyes widened slightly. “Your mom knows about me?”

Spencer nodded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I tell her pretty much everything. She likes hearing about you most.”

“Why?” You curiously asked.

Spencer's smile deepened, and he looked down at his lap for a moment, as though gathering courage. When he looked up at you again, his eyes were soft, full of love.

“Because you make me happy.”

After your intimate moment with Spencer, the inevitable conversation with Hotch had to happen. Just before the talk, Hotch received a call from the lab confirming the DNA found on the Reynolds matched Christopher Eriksen’s—meaning the bittersweet news of Christopher going to prison.

“I still don’t get how the two smartest people on the team act like half a brain when they’re together,” Hotch had said with a half-smile, glancing at you and Spencer. “But… you did good work.”

—————

Later that morning, Emily spotted you, her eyes immediately drawn to the locket around your neck. “Fancy,” she commented, her smirk growing as she cocked an eyebrow. “Where did that come from?”

You felt your cheeks heat up as you absently played with the necklace, a soft smile on your lips. “It’s Spencer’s. He gave it to me.”

Emily’s smirk turned into a knowing smile, and you could see the proud glint in her eyes. “You two are something else.”

—————

Throughout the day you and Spencer did your own thing, trying to act casual in front of the team—yet every time his hand brushed your back or he leaned in for a quick kiss in the empty hallway, your heart fluttered. You couldn’t help but sneak glances at him as he played chess with Rossi, your eyes catching his in those fleeting moments.

You felt Spencer’s presence behind you like a familiar warmth as you stood in the kitchen. He slipped his arms around your waist and buried his face in the crook of your neck, placing soft kisses.

“Who would’ve thought you’d be such a romantic?” you mused, running your fingers through his hair, the feeling of him against you enough to make your heart race.

His lips hummed against your skin. “It’s your fault,” he stated, his voice thick with affection. “You drive me crazy.”

You tugged him up the stairs to your shared room, pushing him playfully onto the bed. You stood between his legs as you began to slowly peel away your clothes, revealing the red laced lingerie set Derek had gifted you during Secret Santa.

“Never thought I’d be thanking Derek for gifting you this,” Spencer mused, his hands sliding up and down your legs, a smirk displayed on his lips.

You smiled, tracing his jaw with your thumb, the heat between you growing. “What do you think of checking out the hot tub?” you purred.

He swallowed nervously, his eyes flicking down to his lap. You rolled your eyes as you responded in a sigh, “You can choose the temperature.”

Before you could say another word, he scooped you up, lifting you over his shoulder with a playful slap to your ass. You yelped, giggling as he carried you off toward the bathroom.

—————

The cabin was large, but unfortunately not big enough to avoid Garcia, so you knew what was coming when you heard the familiar sound of her heels clicking against the hallway floor. She was heading straight toward you, her finger pointing accusingly at you.

“I slept with Spencer.” you hurriedly spilled out before she could say something.

She stopped in her tracks. Her face went through a thousand different expressions in the blink of an eye—confusion, disbelief, excitement—before she finally let out a high-pitched squeal. “You... you slept with Spencer?”

“Twice,” you giddily answered, the smile creeping across your face before you could stop it.

Garcia’s expression finally broke into a huge grin, and without missing a beat, she grabbed your hands and started bouncing on the spot. “Derek is gonna lose his mind!”

You barely had time to protest before she was already up the stairs.

As the end of the day drew near, the group gathered around the fire pit in the backyard, cocoa mugs in hand, the warmth of the flames casting flickering shadows on everyone’s faces. 

“Are you sure your phone is on silent?” Garcia asked Hotch, eyeing him with suspicion.

“I’m sure, Garcia,” Hotch replied with a small smile.

She was satisfied, her focus shifting to Rossi. “The honor is yours. You may present the last Secret Santa gift.”

Rossi cleared his throat, glancing around awkwardly. “Now, this might sound like a cheap excuse for forgetting to buy a present…” Laughter rippled through the group, and Garcia shot him an offended look. “But... I think I can speak for all of us when I say the best gift is us being together in this beautiful location.”

He turned to Hotch, his voice genuine. “Aaron, you’ve built a good team here. A good family. You should be proud.”

Hotch’s smile softened, his eyes briefly glancing over the group, the weight of the moment settling on him. “I am. Thank you, David.”

And for the first time, you didn’t question whether you deserved a place in this loving, dysfunctional family—you knew you belonged.

[giuliettagaltieri]

Claim the Heritage

Pairing: President!Coriolanus Snow x First Lady!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: The Wife

Warning: casual dominance, marital quarrels, tension, vulnerability, explicit smut, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex, body worship, brat taming, self destructive tendencies

Word Count: 4364

6 of 6

Coriolanus Snow has a knack of pushing himself too far.

He expects too much from himself and does everything in his power to meet those expectations.

As a student and a starting politician, he has done great things, contributing fresh insights to Panem.  And now that he is the President, he has the power to do things with his own hands.  No longer having to need the approval of people of higher status, not when he’s the President, nobody has power greater than his.

You worry that he might be forgetting his other responsibilities.

He is after all, not just Mister President but also your husband.

You see him often in the corridors and you exchange nothing more than sultry glances.  It was fun the first time you have done it but you are left wanting now.

At night, the two of you come home late, too tired to get some action going.

You have needs that long to be fulfilled.

And your unfed desires manifested in your temper.

The men in the room are discussing the recent power outage that paralyzed Panem for a day.  A malfunction caused by severe water temperatures in the hydroelectric dam in District 5 caused a cascading error in the system.  The Capitol and a portion of District 1 and 2 were able to continue their operation due to generators but the other Districts suffered from it.  And the one day pause of labor caused a slight drop to Panem’s stock charts.

All eight of your husband’s subordinates are trying to raise their opinions about the matter, how they will conduct another investigation as they are quite convinced it was human error, and how they will punish the one responsible for it too.

Their voices are starting to irritate you, making you tap your foot under the desk.  Coriolanus seems to be ignoring them as he reads through the report.  How he can manage to focus, you have absolutely no idea.

You try to regain your composure by taking a sip of water but it does not help, not one bit.  Deep intakes of breath also seem to be not working.

Coriolanus is still reading the report, his back against his chair as one of his hands toy with his pen.  His fingers are looking rather breathtaking today.

You look away before anyone could notice your desperation.

“Frankly, you are all arguing about matters that have been resolved already.”  He murmurs and you are thankful for it as the room quiets down.

“What do you mean sir?”

You bite your cheek to stop yourself from berating the man.  But Coriolanus can see that arch in your brow any day.  You are pissed.

“You have something to say, wife?”  He smiles knowingly at you and you look at him sharply but his smile only widens more.

“Well, all of you are being foolish!”  You finally burst.  Coriolanus leans back in his chair as if he is watching a rather interesting show.  “There is a report given, and a very good one at that.  Do you all have poor reading comprehension that you cannot understand that this is not a human error!”

The room falls silent as the men stare at you with their cheeks pinking in embarrassment.

Coriolanus clears his throat and leans closer to his desk.  “I believe what the Missus wants to say is that we must be coming up with solutions to prevent this from happening again rather than point fingers.”

You glare at him again but Coriolanus is not looking at you but the men who are nodding in agreement.  You hear a chorus of apologies from the men and you can’t help your bottom lip from jutting out in irritation.

“We can strengthen the system.  A collaboration with District 3, perhaps?”  A man says nervously, eyes flitting to you for approval but you don’t acknowledge him.

The other men raise their support.  They have to stay in your good graces.  All eight of them are dispensable.  If you talk to your husband to eliminate them, there will be nothing they can do.

They are proud men, but they too are necessary associates, albeit shortsighted at times.

You lean on your chair and swivel it so you are partially facing your husband.  “Another source of power.”

He nods at you to continue.

“A solar plant.”  You say.  “It is a good back up.”

Coriolanus rubs his chin and considers it for a moment.  “Indeed.  May I ask you to write a proposal, my love?”

“Of course.”  You say and you begin tidying up your stuff.  Coriolanus picks it up and addresses the men in general.

“I appreciate your…enthusiasm in helping our great nation.  Good day, gentlemen.”

They all file out of the room, thanking the President and you.  They all seem to sweat when you dismiss them with nothing but a brief nod.

Coriolanus leaves his chair and he eyes the pout in your lips. 

“Have a great day.”  You say as you stand.

“Leaving so soon?”  He raises a brow.

You stop in your tracks to look at him weirdly.  “You asked me to write a proposal?”

He hums at this and presses a chaste kiss on your lips.  “I will be seeing you at lunch, then.”  He guides you to the door and you both exit the meeting room to go to your separate offices.

His behavior is really really starting to irk you.

You are lying if you were not hoping that he would stop you and at least help out with the tension in your body.

But you guess not, he is a busy guy after all.

Coriolanus buries himself more and more with work.

You worry that he might be close to self-destruction.

The crops in District 9 suffered from a locust infestation and it kept him up very late for a few weeks.

You started to miss him very much.  Try as you might to stay awake in your room, it is not until nearly sunrise when he joins you.

It hurts and you hate yourself for being selfish.

One morning as you share your breakfast, you notice that he is barely touching his food as he reads the report about the red tide poisoning in District 4.

“Corio, eat.”  You say before your lips wrap around a strawberry.

He only hums in response as he flips to the next page of the report.

You glance at him and see the dark circles under his eyes, his skin looking dehydrated, and it is evidenced by the cracks in his lips.

“You will die before you turn thirty if you keep that up.”  You say lowly before you suck on your finger absentmindedly, your eyes now scanning your bowl for the next strawberry you’ll eat.

This caught his attention.

“What did you just say?”  There was a challenge in his voice and you hesitate for a moment, heart wanting to submit and apologize but the Swansworth blood courses through your veins and you fear you will shame the strong women before you if you fold so easily.

You look at him dead in the eye.  “You will die before you turn thirty if you keep that up.”  You smile at him sweetly.  “Was that clear enough for you, or do I have to repeat myself again?”

His jaw tightens, his eyes sharp.  He does not take mentions of his death lightly.  Had you been anyone else, you would have your tongue cut off and live as an Avox.

“You really are your father’s daughter.”  He sighs, trying his best to hide the amused smile you put on his face.

You wanted to retort but your words die in your tongue.  Coriolanus glances up at you when you don’t speak.  Usually, you would have bitten another comment at him.  But you were only looking at your strawberries sadly, finger tracing the bowl that held them.

The sound of paper crinkling had you looking up.  He folded the report away, he had the necessary information he needed anyway.  Coriolanus knows you are watching him and he scoops a mouthful of truffle scrambled eggs.  You gave him the sweetest smile he had seen on your face for weeks, and it was motivation enough for him to eat the breakfast that was served to him.  Yet, he still finishes first.

You pout unknowingly when he wipes his lips with the napkin and walks over to kiss your forehead.

“I will be seeing you later for your report.”

“See you.”  You reply with less enthusiasm.

He watches how sadness swam in your eyes and he leans closer to peck your lips and he is off.

You did not have much energy for work afterwards.

The meeting was at 10 in the morning and you arrived in the meeting room at 10:02.  Coriolanus was not pleased.

He did not back you up when the other men in the room asked questions about your presentation.  It was their job to pick apart your proposal and you only show them how flawless it is.  They are finally satisfied with it after a while, your throat burning from how many questions they asked.

You are infuriated with your husband.  You feel like he is throwing you to the wolves.  Not that you can’t tame the said wolves but it made your blood boil.

“I have decided to call this solar plant, Coriolanus 9.”  You attempt a smile and they actually bite.  “In honor of our President, and us.”  You purposefully let yourself blend in with the men in this proposal.  You need to boost their morale from time to time.

All eight of them murmur their agreement, smiles wide as they feel honored just by being included in the project.

After a few more questions from them, your husband finally adjourns the meeting.

His lack of support was not appreciated and you are determined to get out of this stuffy meeting room.

“Gentlemen, that would be all.”  

What about you?

Your lips part in protest but Coriolanus raises a finger at you, making you close your mouth as you narrow your eyes at him.

After the men filed out, you got up briskly, your chair wheeling back in a great speed.

“Careful.”

“Oh, so you’re talking now?”  You snap, your hand placed on your hip.

Coriolanus only leans on his chair as he looks you in the eye, his chin tilted upwards.

“I am…”  he pauses as he scratches his chin.  “upset with you.”

You scoff.  “You are upset with me? I am upset with you!”  You point at him harshly.  “You were the one who asked me to make a proposal and present it afterwards!  But what did you do?  You did not support me or give me assurance!”

“I was confident in your proposal.”  Coriolanus stands up calmly, his hands in his pockets, his thumb jutting out.

You give him one final glare and you huff, turning your nose up as you look away.  “I am done talking to you today.”

Coriolanus grips your arm before you can walk away.

His hand is warmer than usual and you frown.

“Do you need me to put you in your place?”  

The threatening growl in his voice washed away all the fight in you.

You bite your lip nervously, the entire bottom lip disappearing behind a row of teeth.  You shake your head and you tear up from how pathetic you have become for this man.

He smooths your hair and places a warm kiss against your temple.  “Be good.”  He murmurs.

You watch him collect his things and he throws you one final warning glance and he exits the meeting room.  Your hands grip the hardwood table to steady yourself.

How dare he!

You are his wife, not some District whore that needs to be reprimanded, you will not allow such disrespect again!

Coriolanus is not surprised to see you miss lunch.  His assistant tells him that you are having luncheon with Mrs. Plinth.  And that…you canceled all your plans for the day.  And the rest of the week.

He taps a finger on his desk and wonders if he pushed you too far earlier. 

Coriolanus glances at your photo in his desk.  Your smile was brighter then.  

A slight pounding in his head makes him grimace and he groans.

There were two more bills he needed to get through before he could relax.  Coriolanus inhales sharply, forcing his eyes to read through the files.

It was night time when he came home.  He missed dinner again.

Coriolanus had an unsettling feeling in his stomach when he entered your home.  It was dark and cold.

There was enough security outside but no signs of life inside.

Your servants usually retire after dinner and come back only in the mornings to serve you your breakfast.

But where are you?

Coriolanus doubles his steps to check your bedroom, you are not there.

His heart starts pounding, cold sweat dripping from his temple as he runs around his mansion in his tight suit.  He wanted to ask the peacekeepers stationed outside if you are even in your mansion when he catches a glimpse of your sheer robe in your sunroom.  He steps closer and sees you there, asleep in your plush chair, curled up around a book.

For a moment, he just stares at you, calming himself down.  No one has taken you and you did not leave.  Coriolanus seats himself to the identical chair across you and just looks at the rise and fall of your chest.

You must have fallen asleep as you were having your afternoon read.  It appears you might have missed dinner, as none of the lights are on.  The servants must have left it off so as to not disturb your sleep.

The night deepens and he just sits there, still convincing himself that you are still with him.

Coriolanus believes he will be there until morning comes but fate has other plans and your book slips from your hold, the hardcover making a loud slamming noise against the otherwise silent evening.

You jolt awake from the noise and when you reach for it, you catch a glimpse of him and you jolt for the second time.

“Heavens!”  You clutch your chest tightly, your eyes glaring accusingly at him.  “Do not scare me like that!”

He laughs hollowly.

“Apologies.”  He mutters.

You lean back in your chair, holding your book in your lap.

“Have you eaten your dinner?”  You ask just to break the silence.

“Not yet and neither did you.”  He uncuffs his sleeves and loosens his tie.

You purse your lips.  “I had tea and cakes this afternoon.”

“When did tea and cakes pass as dinner?”  He drapes his waistcoat on the armrest together with his tie.

You choose not to answer as you have a feeling the question was rhetorical.

Coriolanus rests his arms on his thighs and clasps his hands as the silence lengthens.  Moonlight was emitting a pale glow, it reflected on your faces and everything else was still.

“My father casts a very large shadow.”  He tells you.

You nod.  You both have that in common.  But you do not want to tell him as his case was different.  You are aware of his struggle while growing up, the things he has done that could have tarnished his name, and now, he has become the President, a leader of Panem, and the footsteps that his father left for him to follow might be too large for him.

“I wanted to do everything right.  To do things how he would have done it.  Maybe even more.”

You play with the edges of your book as you listen, afraid that if you’ll talk, his walls will come building itself up again.

“He was not the best father.  Nor husband.”  He chuckles bitterly.  “I was sure, I would be just like him too.”

You bite your lip as you will yourself not to cry in front of him.

“But I enjoy your company, wife.”  Coriolanus tells you truthfully.  “I love you.”  He confesses, making your chest tighten.  “I do not wish for this marriage to fail.”

You cannot help how a tear rolls down your cheek.

“Come here.”  He commands and you throw yourself to him, sobbing to his chest.  “I am terribly sorry for being a lousy husband.”

Your tears soak his dress shirt as Coriolanus peppers kisses on your head.

“Been neglecting my wife, how awful of me.”  His hand grips on your bum possessively.  “When she should have been worshiped day by day.”  His tone changes ever so slightly into something you hear only inside your bedroom walls.

You do not protest when he lays you on the chaise lounge.  Your sobs turn to sniffles when Coriolanus parts your thighs and bunches your dress until it shows your abdomen.

“Corio.”  You whisper his name like a prayer and he mumbles yours against your skin.  You watch as he plants his lips on your scar.  A scar that you got from taking a bullet for him.

It was not the last time you whispered his name in the dead of the night.

“Your petals always have the sweetest nectar.”  He groans and you feel yourself shy away, hips hiking up and away from him but his arms tighten their hold around your thighs and he looks at you from there, his eyes giving you a silent warning.

“S-sorry-ah!”  You gasp as his tongue darts out to lick the juices off your slit.  His tongue pokes at your pearl and you break eye contact with him when he wraps his lips on your tiny nub.

Coriolanus looks at you with his eyes now lazy but his tongue, the opposite!

He kisses you and in an act of total impulsiveness, starts tracing his name on your clit.  Coriolanus Snow was owning you in every way possible.

He had you reduced to your most carnal self.  Your hands were on his platinum hair, gripping them tightly in your hold, selfishly pulling him in.  Your thighs are resting on his broad shoulders.  And your cunt, it was making a mess on your chaise lounge and on your husband’s face.

Coriolanus groans as he parts your lips so he could kiss your opening.  His thick finger, that you have been craving, sliding on your juices before he plunges it knuckle-deep.  It might have been a mistake on his part given your sensitivity after having to be forced to join him in his self-induced celibacy.  Your lewd mewl brought rouge to his cheeks.

You bring your hands to your mouth to hush yourself and Coriolanus took that as a challenge.  He sits up, sitting on his ankles to press your thigh to your chest as his finger prods at you from the inside.

You are writhing underneath him.  Telling him how good he is making you feel.  Oh, and he reveled in it.  Every sound that comes from your lips, it fueled his desire more and more.

A second finger was added and you shriek from the stretch, it has been a while, he needs to be more gentle!  But Coriolanus cannot help himself when you look so pretty.  Your cheeks wet with tears, eyelashes clumping up, as your hands formed tiny fists.  Any form of his self control has disappeared when you are gushing and pulsating around his fingers.

He knows you’re nearly there, so close!

You pant, closing your eyes as his fingers massaged your walls, coaxing you to climb higher and higher and-

“Coriolanus!”  You yell furiously when he pulls his fingers out.

Your husband grins at you as he wipes his face from your slick.

“I seem to recall that someone was not a very good girl this morning?”  His hands trailed at your hips and you almost tear up from frustration.

He was supposed to be making it up to you!  He had no reason to bring up the events this morning.

In an act of defiance, you huff and you reach your own sex to flick at your clit.  Your fingers are more delicate, making you gasp at the gentle pleasure.

Coriolanus grins as he watches you play with yourself.  Enjoying how you grow more and more frustrated as you cannot give yourself the same pleasure.  You shriek angrily as you pull your fingers away, you slam your tiny feet on the chaise and Coriolanus laughs. 

“Are you done being a brat?”

You are too stubborn to answer but you do not stop him when he maneuvers you until you are on your stomach, you groan softly in discomfort when he pulls your hips so your cunt is presented to him beautifully.

His fingers are prodding your entrance again and you mewl when he pops his tip in.   Coriolanus stays there for a moment as his hands, rough from his time as a peacekeeper, grips on your waist firmly.

“There’ll be no stopping, alright?”  He reminds you.  “We’re done when I say we’re done.”

You lift your head from the plush of the chaise lounge and you give him a nod. 

“Put your head back down, my love.”

You do as he tells you and you brace yourself.

Coriolanus enters you with a sharp thrust, and your whimper is muffled by the cushions.  Your husband thrusts at a steady speed, his eyes watching the impact ripple on your body.

Your breath hitches with every kiss his tip makes on your cervix.  Every slap of his hips against you makes the crudest sound, sending a jolt of arousal through you.  President Snow is a man of the most refined of tastes, the pinnacle of order.  But when he beds you, he is just as raw, just as unrestrained.

“Don’t know why I deprived myself of your wet cunt for so long.”  And his mouth spewing the most vulgar of things.

He uses his weight to push you further in the mattress so he can fuck you deeper.  Your cunt spasms and you moan shakily, almost sobbing.

“Chase it, my love.”  He groans deeply.

And you unravel, lewd sobs spilling from your polished tongue as your back arches, cunt creaming around his cock.

Coriolanus watches you sob, your shoulders shaking as his thrusts do not relent.  His eyes flicker to where your bodies meet, your warm juices are dripping on his taut sack.

“Corio…Corio please!  I don’t think I can anymore….”

“Hm?”  He reaches to grab your chin.  “Thought I told you that we’re only done when I say so?”

You look at him with tears sliding down your cheeks.  You can’t even focus on him, body shuddering when your tummy feels another tight coil.

Coriolanus inhales sharply when he feels the familiar pulsation of your warm softness.

His tip twitches as it bumps your plump cervix.  And when you call his name with your broken voice as you cum, he shoots his seed in you.

“Hah…hah.”  

He is panting from on top of you, his hand placed against your bottom to keep himself up.

Coriolanus gently pulls himself out, watching the gossamer webbing of your arousal on his cock.  He smacks your bum and you tighten your cunt to keep his seed from spilling.  He scoots closer so he is holding you, your back against his chest as your legs tangled together.

The two of you gaze at the moon from the enormous windows of your sunroom.  It was calm again.  Nothing but your heartbeats and the gentle breathing lulling each of you closer to sleep.

“Corio.”  You call his name softly.

He hums in response as he pulls you closer, just needing to feel you against him.

“The people of Panem are not your fucking masters.”

His brows meet and he glances at you, wondering where all of this is coming from.

“They cannot have you always cleaning up their mess like you are some District servant.”

He shifts you so you are facing him now.  His stern brows meet to let you know you are on thin ice.

“You govern your people.  You don’t coddle them.  Let the District officials do their job.  They must learn to solve their own problems and the Capitol Bureaucrats must see to it that they are doing it in ways that align with your judgment.  And you lead them from the top.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

You yawn like the adorable thing you are.  “So Snow lands on top.”

He clicks his tongue smoothly.  “You are only attracted to power.”

“My love.”  You say rather darkly.  “You are power.”

Coriolanus falls silent, contemplating your words, letting himself process it.

He sighs as he looks at you in endearing defeat.  “You just want a vacation, don’t you?”

You fight back a smile as you smack his chest.

“I am being serious, Coriolanus Snow.”

He pulls you closer, teeth glinting as he snickers.  “I understand that, Y/N Snow.”

“Y/N Swansworth-Snow.”  You remind him and he laughs.

“Of course, of course.”

You lean your head on his chest and your cheek soaks his warmth.

“You know, you are not your father, Corio.”

He winces.  “I know…I’m just-”

“You are better.”

That sinks deep in him.

He now understands why there was something in you that pulled him in.  No one in Panem, or in this world, could understand his soul in its most naked form.  You are his stability.  Someone whom he cannot scare away when he is darkest.

Because it seems like you might be exactly just like him.  Just as cruel, just as evil, with no regards to anyone but each other.

And he is fine with that, even if the world is burned to ash around you.

“My love for you is catastrophic.”  Coriolanus murmurs against your skin and you smile as you close your eyes.

You run your finger on his chest.  “And my love for you is all-consuming.”

Coriolanus and you are obsessive, ablazed with reckless passion, villainous in nature, but it is easy to justify when you are both equally drunk with dangerous devotion.

The people of Panem be damned.  

The odds will forever be in your favor.

Hunt for Glory

[felassan]

Edge – The Future of Interactive Entertainment magazine, issue #401 (October 2024 issue) – Dragon Age: The Veilguard story

The rest of this post is under a cut for length.

Update: this issue of this magazine is now available to buy from UK retailers today. it can be purchased online at [this link]. [Tweet from Edge Online] also, Kala found that a digital version of the magazine can be read at [this link].

This post is a word-for-word transcription of the full article on DA:TV in this issue of this magazine. DA:TV is the cover story of this issue. When transcribing, I tried to preserve as much of the formatting from the magazine as possible. Edge talked to BioWare devs for the creation of this article, so the article contains new quotes from the devs. the article is written by Jeremy Peel. There were no new screenshots or images from the game in the article. I also think that it contains a few lil bits of information that are new, like the bits on companions' availability and stumbling across the companions out and about on their own in the world e.g. finding Neve investigating an abduction case in Docktown.

tysm to @simpforsolas and their friend for kindly telling me about the article!!

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[image source]

Article introduction segment:

"[anecdote about Edge] We were reminded of this minuscule episode in Edge's history during the creation of this issue's cover story, in which we discuss the inspiration behind Dragon Age: The Veilguard with its creators at BioWare. Notably, director John Epler remembers the studio experimenting with a number of approaches during the early phase of development before eventually locking in to what the game was supposed to be all along, above all else: 'a single-player, story-focused RPG'. As you'd expect from BioWare, though, that was really just a starting point, as we discovered on p54." BioWare draws back the Veil and ushers us into a new Dragon Age

"BEHIND THE CURTAIN BioWare's first true RPG in age age is as streamlined and pacey as a dragon in flight. By Jeremy Peel Game Dragon Age: The Veilguard Developer BioWare Publisher EA Format PC, PS5, Xbox Series Origin Canada Release Autumn

The Dragon Age universe wasn't born from a big bang or the palm of an ancient god. Instead, it was created to solve a problem. BioWare was tired of battling Hasbro during the making of Baldur's Gate and Neverwinter Nights, and wanted a Dungeons & Dragons-like setting of its own. A small team was instructed to invent a new fantasy world in which the studio could continue its groundbreaking work in the field of western RPGs, free of constraints.

Well, almost free. BioWare's leaders mandated that the makers of this new world stick to Eurocentric fantasy, and include a fireball spell - since studio co-founder Ray Muzyka had a weakness for offensive magic.

Beyond that, BioWare’s storytellers were empowered to infuse Dragon Age with their own voices and influences, leaning away from D&D’s alignment chart and towards a moral grayness that left fans of A Song Of Ice And Fire feeling warm and cozy.

In the two decades since, the world of Thedas – rather infamously and amusingly, a shortening of ‘the Dragon Age setting’ that stuck – has taken on a distinct flavor. It’s something director John Epler believes is rooted in characters.

“There’s definitely some standard fantasy stuff in Dragon Age, but everything in the world, every force, is because of someone,” he says. “The idea is that every group and faction needs to be represented by a person – someone you can relate to. Big political forces are fine as background, but they don’t provide you with those interesting story moments.”

Dragon Age: The Veilguard bears out that philosophy. The long-awaited sequel was first announced with the subtitle Dreadwolf, in reference to its antagonist, Solas – an ancient elf who once stripped his people of immortality as punishment for betraying one of their own. In doing so, Solas created the Veil, the thin barrier through which wizards pull spirits and demons invade the waking world. In other words, many of Dragon Age’s defining features, from its downtrodden elves to the uneasy relationship between mages and a fearful church, can be traced right back to one character’s decision.

“The world exists as it does because of Solas,” Epler says. “He shaped the world because of the kind of character he was. That’s, to me, what makes Dragon Age so interesting. Everything can tie back to a person who to some degree thought they were doing the right thing.”

Perhaps BioWare’s greatest achievement in slowburn character development, Solas is a former companion, an unexploded bomb who sat in the starting party of Dragon Age: Inquisition, introverted and useful enough to get by without suspicion. Yet by the time credits rolled around on the Trespasser DLC, players were left in no doubt as to the threat he presented.

Determined to reverse the damage he once caused, the Dreadwolf intends to pull down the Veil, destroying Thedas as we know it in the process. The next Dragon Age game was always intended to be his story.

“We set that up at the end of Trespasser,” Epler says. “There was no world where we were ever going to say, ‘And now let’s go to something completely different.’ We wanted to pay off that promise.”

Yet almost everything else about the fourth Dragon Age appears to have been in flux at one time. In 2019, reporter Jason Schreier revealed that an early version, starring a group of spies pulling off heists in the Tevinter Imperium, had been cancelled two years prior. Most of its staff were apparently moved onto BioWare’s struggling Anthem, while a tiny team rebooted Dragon Age from scratch. That new game was said to experiment with live-service components.

“We tried a bunch of different ideas early on,” Epler says. “But the form The Veilguard has taken is, in a lot of ways, the form that we were always pushing towards. We were just trying different ways to get there. There was that moment where we really settled on, ‘This is a singleplayer, story-focused RPG – and that’s all it needs to be’”.

Epler imagines a block of marble, from which BioWare was attempting to carve an elephant – a character- and story-driven game. “We were chipping away, and sometimes it looked more like an elephant and sometimes it didn’t”, he says. “And then we eventually realized: ‘Just make an elephant’. When we got to that, it almost just took shape by itself.”

2014’s Dragon Age: Inquisition was an open-world game commonly criticized for a slow-paced starting area which distracted players from the thrust of the plot. The Veilguard, in contrast, is mission-based, constructed with tighter, bespoke environments designed around its main story and cast. “We wanted to build a crafted, curated experience for the player,” Epler says. “Pacing is important to us, and making sure that the story stays front and center.”

Epler is very proud of Inquisition, the game on which he graduated from cinematic designer to a lead role (for its DLC). “But one of the things that we ran into on that project was an absentee antagonist,” he says. “Corypheus showed up and then disappeared. You spent ten hours in the Hinterland doing sidequests, and there wasn’t that sense of urgency.”

This time, The Veilguard team wants you to constantly feel the sword of Damocles dangling above your head as you play – a sense that the end of the world is coming if you don’t act. “There’s still exploration – there’s still the ability to go into some of these larger spaces and go off the beaten path to do sidequests,” Epler says. “But there’s always something in the story propelling you and the action forward, and allowing you to make decisions with these characters where the stakes feel a lot more immediate and present. And also, honestly, more real.”

No sooner have you finished character creation than Dragon Age: The Veilguard thrusts you into a choice. As your protagonist, Rook, steps into focus on the doorstep of the seediest bar in town, you decide whether to threaten the owner for information or make a deal. Brawl or no, you’ll walk out minutes later with a lead: the location of a private investigator named Neve Gallus, who can help you track down Solas.

You proceed into Minrathous, the largest city in Thedas and capital of the Tevinter Imperium – a region only alluded to in other Dragon Age games. It’s a place built on the backs of slaves and great mages, resulting in tiered palaces and floating spires – a kind of architecture unimaginable to those in the southern nations.

“When your Dragon Age: Inquisition companion Dorian joins you in Orlais, in one of the biggest cities in Thedas, he mentions that it’s quaint and cute compared to Minrathous,” Corinne Busche, game director on The Veilguard, says. “That one bit of dialogue was our guiding principle on how to realize this city. It is sprawling. It is lived-in. Sometimes it’s grimy, sometimes it’s bougie. But it is expansive.”

Immediately, you can see the impact of BioWare’s decision to tighten its focus. Around every other corner in Minrathous is an exquisitely framed view, a level of spectacle you would never see in Inquisition, where resources were spread much more thinly. “When you know that you’re gonna be heading down a canyon or into this plaza where the buildings open up, you have those perfect spots to put a nice big temple of Andraste or a mage tower,” art director Matthew Rhodes says. “You get those opportunities to really hit that hard.”

BioWare’s intention is to make strong visual statements that deliver on decades of worldbuilding. “People who have a history with Dragon Age have thought about what Minrathous might be like,” Rhodes says. “We can never compete with their imagination, but we can aim for it like we’re shooting for the Moon.”

The people of Tevinter use magic as it if were electricity, as evidenced by the glowing sigils that adorn the dark buildings – street signs evoking Osaka’s riverfront or the LA of Blade Runner. They’re just one of the tricks BioWare’s art team uses to invite you to stop and take in the scene. “A lot of what you start to notice when you’re the artist who’s been working on these big, beautiful vistas and neat murals on the walls is how few players look up,” Rhodes says. “We design props and architecture that help lead the eyes.”

For the really dedicated shoegazers, BioWare has invested in ray-traced reflections, so that the neon signage can be appreciated in the puddles. There are also metal grates through which you can see the storm drains below. “The idea behind that is purely just to remind the player often of how stacked the city is,” Rhodes says. “Wherever you’re standing, there’s guaranteed to be more below you and above you.”

One of BioWare’s core creative principles for The Veilguard is to create a world that’s actually worth saving – somewhere you can imagine wanting to stick around in, once the crises of the main quest are over. To that end, the team has looked to ground its outlandish environments with elements of mundanity.

“A guy’s normal everyday life walking down the streets of this city is more spectacular than what the queen of Orlais is seeing, at least in terms of sheer scale," Rhodes says. “One of the things we’ve tried to strike a balance with is that this is actually still a place where people have to go to the market and buy bread, raise their kids, and try to make it. It’s a grand and magical city, but how do you get your horses from one place to the next? Where do you load the barrels for the tavern? It’s really fun to think of those things simultaneously.”

Normal life in Minrathous is not yours to behold for long, however. Within a couple of minutes of your arrival, the very air is ripped open like cheap drapes, and flaming demons clatter through the merchant carts that line the city streets. A terrible magical ritual, through which Solas intends to stitch together a new reality, has begun.

“We wanted the prologue to feel like the finale of any other game we’ve done,” Busche explains. “Where it puts you right into this media-res attack on a city and gets you really invested in the action and the story right away. When I think back to Inquisition, how the sky was literally tearing open – the impact of this ritual really makes that look like a minor inconvenience.”

Our hero is confronted by a Pride demon, imposing and armored as in previous games, yet accented by exposed, bright lines that seem to burst from its ribcage. “They are a creature of raw negative emotion,” Busche says. “So we wanted to actually incorporate that into their visual design with this glowing nervous system.”

When a pack of smaller demons blocks Rook’s route to the plaza where Neve was last seen, battle breaks out, and The Veilguard’s greatest divergence from previous Dragon Age games becomes apparent. Our rogue protagonist flits between targets up close and evades individual sword swings with precision. In the chaos, he swaps back and forth between blades and a bow. He blends light and heavy attacks, and takes advantage of any gap in the melee to charge up even bigger blows.

“Responsiveness was our first-and-foremost goal with this baseline layer of the combat system,” Busche says. Unless you’re activating a high-risk, high-reward ability such as a charged attack, any action can be animation-cancelled, allowing you to abort a sword swing and dive away if an enemy lunges too close. “We very much wanted you to feel like you exist in this space, as you’re going through these really crafted, hand-touched worlds,” Busche says. “That you’re on the ground in control of every action, every block, every dodge.” Anyone who’s ever bounced off a Soulslike needn’t worry: The Veilguard’s highly customizable difficulty settings enable you to loosen up parry windows if they prove too demanding.

Gone is the overhead tactical camera which, for some players, was a crucial point of connection between Dragon Age and the Baldur’s Gate games that came before, tapping into a lineage of thoughtful, tabletop-inspired combat. Epler points out that the camera’s prior inclusion had an enormous impact on where the game’s battles took place. “We actually had a mandate on Inquisition, which was, ‘Don’t fight inside,’” he says. “The amount of extra work on getting that tactical camera to work in a lot of those internal environments, it was very challenging.”

Gone, too, is the ability to steer your comrades directly. “On the experiential side, we wanted you to feel like you are Rook – you’re in this world, you’re really focused on your actions,” Busche says. “We very much wanted the companions to feel like they, as fully realized characters, are in control of their own actions. They make their own decisions. You, as the leader of this crew, can influence and direct and command them, but they are their own people.”

It's an idea with merit, albeit one that could be read as spin. “It’s not lost on me,” Busche says. “I will admit that, on paper, if you just read that you have no ability to control your companions, it might feel like something was taken away. But in our testing and validating with players, what we find is they’re more engaged than ever.”

There may be a couple of reasons for that. One is that Dragon Age’s newly dynamic action leaves little room for seconds spent swapping between perspectives. “This is a much higher actions-per-minute game,” Busche says. “It is more technically demanding on the player. So when we tried allowing you full control of your companions as well, what we’ve found is it wasn’t actually adding to the experience. In fact, in some ways it was detrimental, given the demanding nature of just controlling your own character.”

Then there’s The Veilguard’s own tactical layer, as described by BioWare. Though the fighting might be faster and lower, like a mana-fuelled sports scar, the studio is keen to stress that the pause button remains as important to the action as ever. This is, according to Busche, where the RPG depth shines through, as you evaluate the targets you’re facing and take their buffs into account: “Matching elemental types against weaknesses and resistances is a big key to success in this game.”

You pick between rogue, warrior and mage – each role later splitting again into deeper specialisms – and draw from a class-specific resource during fights. A rogue relies on Momentum, which is built up by avoiding damage and being highly aggressive, whereas a warrior is rewarded for blocking, parrying, and mitigating damage.

Those resources are then used on the ability wheel, which pauses the game and allows you to consider your options. The bottom quadrant of the wheel belongs to your character, and is where three primary abilities will be housed. “Rook will also have access to runes, which function as an ability, and a special ultimate ability,” Busche says. “So you’re bringing five distinct abilities with you into combat.”

The sections to the left and right of the wheel, meanwhile, are dedicated to your companions. Busche points to Lace Harding, the returning rogue from Inquisition, who is currently frozen mid-jump. “She is her own realized individual in this game. She’s got her own behaviors: how she prioritizes targets, whether she gets up close and draws aggro or stays farther back at range. But you’ll be able to direct her in combat by activating her abilities from the wheel.”

These abilities are complemented by positional options at the top of the wheel, where you can instruct your companions to focus their efforts on specific targets, either together or individually. Doing so will activate the various buffs, debuffs and damage enhancements inherent in their weapons and gear. “So,” Busche explains, “as you progress through the first two hours of the game, this full ability wheel is completely populated with a variety of options and different tactics that you can then string together.”

BioWare has leaned into combos. You might tell one companion to unleash a gravity-well effect that gathers enemies together, then have another slow time. Finally, you could drop an AOE attack on your clustered and slowed opponents, dealing maximum damage. The interface will let you know when an opportunity to blend two companion abilities emerges – moments BioWare has dubbed ‘combo detonations’.

“I like to think about this strategic layer to combat as a huddle,” Busche says, “where you’re figuring out how you want to handle the situation, based on the information you have on the encounter, and how you and your companions synergize together.”

Deeper into the game, as encounters get more challenging, Epler says we’ll be spending a lot of time making “very specific and very focused tactical decisions”. The proof will be in eating the Fereldan fluffy mackerel pudding, of course, but Busche insists this shift to fast action isn’t a simplification. “What really makes the combat system and indeed the extension into the progression system work is that pause-and-play tactical element that we know our players expect.”

The autonomy of The Veilguard’s companions doesn’t end with combat. BioWare’s data shows that in previous games players tended to stick with the same two or three beloved comrades during a playthrough. This time, however, you’ll be forced to mix your squad up at regular intervals.

“We do expect that players will have favorites they typically want to adventure with,” Busche says, “but sometimes certain companions will be mandatory.” Others may not always be available – part of the studio’s effort to convince with three-dimensional characters. “They do have a life outside of Rook, the main character,” Busche says.

"They'll fall in love with people in this world. They’ve had past experiences they’ll share with you if you allow them in and get close to them.”

Being separated from your companions, rather than collecting them all in a kind of stasis at camp, allows you to stumble across them unexpectedly. Busche describes an instance in which, while exploring the Docktown section of Minrathous, you might bump into Neve as she investigates an abduction case. “If I go and interact with her, I can actually stop what I’m doing, pick up her arc and adventure with her throughout her part of the story,” Busche says. “What’s interesting is that all of the companion arcs do ultimately tie back to the themes of the main critical path, but they also have their own unique challenges and villains, and take place over the course of many different intimate moments.”

Some parts of a companion’s quest arc involve combat, while others don’t. Some are made up of large and meaningful missions – as lavish and involved as those along the critical path. “While they are optional, I would be hesitant to call them side content in this game,” Busche says. If you choose not to engage with some of these companion-centered events, they’ll resolve on their own. “And it might have interesting implications.”

The Veilguard promises plenty of change, then, even as it picks up the threads of fan-favorite characters and deepens them, honoring the decades of worldbuilding that came before it. This is perhaps the enduring and alluring paradox of Dragon Age: a beloved series which has never had a direct and immediate sequel, nor a recurring protagonist. Instead, it’s been reinvented with each new entry.

“It’s a mixed blessing to some degree,” Epler says. “The upside is always that it gives us more room to experiment and to try new things. There are parts of the series that are common to every game: it’s always an RPG, it’s always about characters, and we always want to have that strategic tactical combat where you’re forced to make challenging decisions. But at the end of the day, I think what makes Dragon Age Dragon Age is that each one feels a little bit different.”"

Q&A Matthew Rhodes Art director

Q. Early BioWare RPGs were literary, with the emotions and detail mostly happening in dialogue boxes. How have you seen the studio's approach to visual storytelling evolve? A. This has been my entire career. When I first showed up at BioWare, it was at the tail end of Jade Empire, and then I was working on Dragon Age: Origins and early Mass Effect. The games had taken that next step out of sprites and 2D models, and it was like: 'How do we say more? How do we communicate more clearly?' During those early days, a lot of games depended on words to fix everything for you. As long as your character was talking bombastically, you could lend them everything that they needed. But as time went on it also became a visual medium, and it's been this long journey of trying to establish art's seat at the table. I've worked with some great writers over the years, and art is also an essential part of the storytelling. From Dragon Age: Inquisition on, I've been trying to stress with my teams that we are a story department.

Q. Is part of that also letting writers know that your storytelling assistance is available, to help them show rather than tell? A. On The Veilguard, that principle has been operating the best I've seen it. Where you would need a paragraph of dialogue in one of those exposition moments where a character just talks to you, we could sell that with a broken statue or a skeleton overgrown with vines. We've had more opportunities to do that on The Veilguard than most of the projects I've ever worked on combined.

To a hammer, every problem looks like a nail, and so in every department, writing will try to solve it with more words, and art will try to solve it with more art. I've bumped up against moments where it's like, 'As much as we could keep hammering on this design, I think this is actually an audio solution.' And then you take it to audio, and you don't get that overcooked feeling where each team is just trying to solve it in their silo. It's a really creatively charged kind of environment.

[main body of article ends here]

Additional from throughout the article --

Image caption: “Spotlights shine down from the city guards’ base as they pursue you through the streets of Minrathous.”

Image caption: “While most of your companions can be sorted into comfortingly familiar RPG classes, The Veilguard introduces two new varieties: a Veil Jumper and a private investigator.”"

Image caption [on this Solas ritual concept art specifically]: “The name previously given to the game – Dreadwolf – was a direct reference to Solas. Your former companion, now on his own destructive mission, still features, despite the name change.”

Text in a side box:

"RATIONAL ANTHEM The hard lesson BioWare drew from Anthem was to play to its strengths. “We’re a studio that has always been built around digging deep on storytelling and roleplaying,” Epler says. “I’m proud of a lot of things on Anthem – I was on that project for a year and a half. But at the end of the day we were building a game focused on something we were not necessarily as proficient at. For me and for the team, the biggest lesson was to know what you’re good at and then double down on it. Don’t spread yourselves too thin. Don’t try to do a bunch of different things you don’t have the expertise to do. A lot of the people on this team came here to build a story-focused, singleplayer RPG."

Image caption: “In combat you no longer control your companions directly – this is a faster-paced form of fighting – but you are able to direct them in combat, and can even blend their abilities in ‘combo detonations’.”

Image caption: “You’ll be exploring new regions across Tevinter and beyond – Rivain is a certainty, and that’s only accessible via Antiva travelling overland.”

Image caption: “There are three specializations per character class; on the way to unlocking them you’ll acquire a range of abilities.”

Text in a side box:

"MEET YOUR MAKER “Full disclosure: Dragon Age has traditionally not done skin tones well, especially for people of color,” Busche says. “We wanted to do a make-good here.” In The Veilguard’s character creator, you can adjust the amount of melanin that comes through in the skin, as well as test various lighting scenarios to ensure your protagonist looks exactly as you intend in cutscenes. “Speaking of our first creative principle – be who you want to be – we really feel these are the kinds of features that unlock that for our players,” Busche says. “We want everyone to be able to see themselves in this game.” For the first time in the series, your body type is fully customizable too, with animations, armor and even romantic scenes reflecting your choices."

Image caption: “Your companions are a mix of old and new – Lace Harding is a familiar face. Veil Jumper Bellara is new, with a new occupation, while Davrin is a new face with a familiar profession – he’s a Warden.”

Image caption: "Arlathan Forest is home to the ruined city of the elves, now a place of wild magic, Veil Jumpers and (allegedly) spirits".

Image caption: "Bellara is driven by a desire to learn more about the elves, rediscovering the shattered history and magic of her people."

[source: Edge – The Future of Interactive Entertainment magazine, issue #401 (October 2024 issue) - it can be purchased online at [this link].]

[natsaffection]

Auge um Auge. P. 1 | N.R

Investigator!older!Natasha x Robber!younger!reader

Warnings: heist, hostage

Word Count: 4,6 K

A/N: This is the first of many. I tried to design the phone calls in a way that you can tell who the scene is currently focusing on. If the text is written in italics, it means the person is just be heard over the phone, we can’t see the person. Does it make sense? 😀✨

Inside the café, you sat alone at a corner table. You had chosen this spot instinctively: back to the wall, with a clear view of all the windows and exits. A cryptic clue had brought you here, an anonymous message about “an opportunity to make good money” and your curiosity had pushed you to accept. You didn’t know how carefully orchestrated this “coincidental” meeting really was.

A man entered, moving deliberately slowly as he looked around. Then, his eyes met yours. With that one deliberate glance, you felt his unspeakable presence. Without asking, he sat down across from you and placed a worn leather briefcase on the table between you. For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. The quiet hum of conversations and clinking cups in the café filled the silence, but in your immediate surroundings, it felt as though the rest of the world had disappeared.

“Thank you for coming.” he began, his voice so smooth and even that it could have calmed thunder. “I know the message was vague. But if it caught your attention, then I believe I was right to seek you out.” Your posture remained guarded, one hand resting on the table, the other hanging loosely below, close enough to your bag where you kept a small knife. You had reasons to mistrust strangers offering you “opportunities.” Yet something about his demeanor made you hesitate in your suspicion. “Who exactly are you?”

He tilted his head and offered a slight smile. “My name isn’t important right now. What matters is that I know you. I’ve done my research. Born in a small village outside Madrid, left at nineteen to find work in the city. Smart, but restless. Various odd jobs, some of questionable legality.” He paused, letting the words linger in the air. “You have certain..talents. Quick thinking. A knack for improvisation. And most importantly: a silver tongue when you choose to use it. A gift for distraction.” You stiffened, a flicker of indignation flashing in your eyes. “Do you run background checks on everyone who responds to your cryptic messages?”

“I only contact people who have the potential to be exceptional.” he replied simply. “You’re resourceful, charming when it suits you, and you know how to read people. That’s exactly what I need.” You felt both flattered and uneasy. Your head swirled with questions. Who was this man? Why you? Yet his way of speaking made you curious enough to listen, if only to figure out what game he was playing.

After a moment of silence, the man leaned forward and opened the worn leather briefcase, revealing a neatly arranged set of papers. “I have a plan..” he said slowly, each word precise. “A plan that requires a group of very specific individuals, each with their own unique skills. The payoff, if done correctly, will be unimaginable.”

He slid a sheet toward you, a digitized blueprint of the Spanish National Bank. You raised an eyebrow, forcing yourself not to overreact, but your pulse quickened. Everyone in the city had heard of elaborate heists, but this? This was a whole different league. “You’re seriously planning to rob a bank?” you asked in a hushed voice. His gaze didn’t waver. “Not just rob it. Print. We’ll control the bank from the inside and print our own money. Theoretically billions, without harming any hostages, if everything goes according to plan.” He let that sink in before continuing in the same calm tone. “I want to be honest. It’s dangerous. But if executed with precision, we can pull it off with minimal risk.”

You swallowed hard. Small-time cons, pickpocketing, the occasional forged ID, those were nothing new to you. But this was on a scale you’d never imagined. “Why me?” you repeated, trying to keep your voice steady. The man clasped his hands together. “Because the role I need to fill is unique. I need someone who can manipulate from a distance. Someone who can talk, persuade, and distract. The police will send their best negotiators, their best investigators. I need our best talker to run them in circles.”

You studied the blueprints, “And you think I can do that?” He smiled faintly, a hint of warmth breaking through his cool exterior. “I know you can. You see, most of the people I’ve recruited so far are experts in other areas..lockpicking, explosives, hacking. But none of them have your talent for conversation and deception. We need you to mislead the police or divert their attention through phone calls if necessary. Maybe even face-to-face, under the right circumstances.” His expression grew serious. “You’ll be the voice standing between them and us.”

Your thoughts raced. This was insane. But the promise of such an enormous reward, combined with the sudden spark of possibility, tugged at you. Could you really pull this off? Deceiving the police? You couldn’t deny the thrill of excitement pulsing beneath your skin. “That’s..a big challenge.” The man nodded. “I’m aware of that. And it won’t be easy. You’ll be taught, trained. I have an entire plan for handling negotiations, exploiting their psychology. But your role, your brilliance in improvisation will be crucial.” You clenched your jaw, forcing the surge of adrenaline back. 

“Let’s say I agree..What guarantee do I have that you won’t let me take the fall if this all goes wrong?” His eyes softened. A carefully orchestrated expression of compassion. “I don’t pick people just to abandon them. I want every one of us to leave that bank alive and wealthier than we ever dreamed. I’ll make arrangements for everything, including your safety.” 

You studied him closely. There was something reassuring about his self-confidence, the way he radiated unshakable calm. But a heist of this magnitude? If you got caught, you could forget the next twenty years of your life maybe more. “Why not just hire a smooth con artist?” you asked, still skeptical. 

“I didn’t hire you,” he corrected gently. “I chose you. I’ve followed your career closely. The forgeries you pulled off last year, the incident in Valencia. You disappeared right under the police’s noses. That means you’re not only skilled with words but also unafraid of taking risks.” He tapped the blueprints again. “You’re exactly the person I need.” 

You took a sip of your latte, your thoughts racing. Part of you wanted to run, to go back to the life you knew. But a larger, bolder part of you was intrigued. Maybe it was pride, maybe ambition. At twenty-two, you were restless, searching for something bigger than petty crime. 

The man noticed your hesitation. “Let me put it another way. If you stay on your current path, how much will you make in five, ten years? Enough for a run-down apartment, enough to get by. If you join me, you walk away with a future you can shape yourself, no more scraping by, no more limited horizons.” You took a deep breath. “I’m not suicidal. I’m not looking for a thrill.” 

“Neither am I.” he replied. “But I believe in orchestrating the perfect plan. And you can help make it perfect.”  The next half hour was spent discussing hypothetical scenarios: the bank’s security forces, how negotiations typically played out, the psychological profiles of the best police investigators. With every insight the man revealed, you felt more convinced that he knew what he was doing. There was an almost obsessive thoroughness to his approach and it was infectious. 

Finally, as the coffee cups were empty and the café had grown quieter, the man leaned back in his chair. “This won’t be a short operation. We’ll spend months at a remote location preparing. You’ll learn negotiation tactics, how to handle phone calls, modulate your voice. We’ll plan for every possible scenario.” You raised an eyebrow. “Months? You’re serious.” 

“I’ve been planning this for years.” he said plainly. “And I need complete dedication. If you say yes, you have to be all in.” Your heart pounded loudly in your chest. Your entire future, one path leading you further into small-time cons, the other a leap into the unknown hinged on your next words. You stared into his calm, patient gaze and found something you rarely saw in others: unshakable conviction. “Alright..” you said, your voice quieter than you’d intended. “I’m in.” The man nodded, a flicker of relief and satisfaction crossing his face. “I promise you.” he said, closing the folder. “You won’t regret it.” 

You left the café with your thoughts racing, the images of the blueprints burned into your mind. Outside, the night felt sharper, colder. But inside, a new spark had ignited a heady mix of fear and possibility. You realized this was the turning point in your life. Whether it led to ruin or triumph, you had stepped onto a path few dared to tread. 

That night, as you tossed and turned in your..let’s call it an apartment, the man’s calm smile replayed in your mind. His words echoed: You’ll be our best negotiator. You’ll be the one to stall them. Despite your nerves, excitement coursed through your veins. You imagined talking to lead negotiators, deflecting their questions with clever half-truths, steering them off track to protect your newly formed crew. You thought about one day facing the country’s best investigators, outwitting them, buying precious time. You could hardly believe you’d agreed, but there was no turning back. If the man’s plan was as flawless as he claimed, you would leave that bank with a fortune and a reputation for pulling off the greatest heist in modern history. 

Days later, you stepped out of the car. Before you stood the hideout, a large, slightly rundown estate hidden among dense woods. You slung your backpack over one shoulder, trying to mask your nerves as the man led you inside. The house’s interior was simple but functional. The walls were a dull beige, and the furniture looked like it had been pieced together from secondhand stores. At the end of the hallway, you spotted a large whiteboard covered in notes and diagrams. 

“You’ll live here with the others.” the man said, opening the door to a modest bedroom with a single bed and a small desk. “This will be your space. I hope you’re comfortable sharing your time and ideas with the team.” 

“Are they already here?” you asked, stepping out of the room. “They’ve been waiting for you.” He replied. “Come. It’s time to meet your colleagues.” The team was spread out on mismatched chairs and sofas, chatting loudly and tossing playful insults. When you entered the room, the conversation stopped, and all eyes turned to you. 

“Everyone..” the man began, gesturing toward you. “This is our final recruit. She’ll handle external operations, disinformation, strategy, and hacking. You’ll rely on her as much as on each other.” The silence lingered until a tall man with slicked-back hair stood and walked toward you, his steps measured and deliberate. He extended his hand, his gaze cool and appraising. 

“What should we call you?” he asked. You shook his hand and met his gaze. “I guess we’ll figure that out.” Berlin grinned and stepped back as the others introduced themselves. Tokyo was the first to offer her hand, her grip firm. “You’re sure she can keep up, professor?” You scoffed. “I’ll manage just fine, thanks.” Rio grinned and waved from the couch. “We had a bet about what kind of person you’d be. I said tech genius.”

“And I said brat..” Nairobi added with a wide grin, arms crossed. “Let’s see who’s right.” The next morning, you sat at a long wooden table in a makeshift classroom, a notebook open in front of you. The rest of the team was scattered around the room, some leaning back in their chairs, others fiddling idly with pens. 

The Professor stood at the whiteboard, methodically sketching the layout of the Spanish National Bank. His voice was calm yet compelling as he explained the plan. “This..” he said, circling a section of the blueprint, “is the control room. Once we’re inside, we’ll take control of the security systems and isolate the bank from external interference. And this is where you come in.” He looked directly at you, and you straightened in your chair. “Your job will be to monitor law enforcement communications, lay false trails, and manipulate media coverage. We need the public on our side.” 

“Understood.” you said, jotting down notes. “What kind of false trails are we talking about?” 

“Think like a magician..” the Professor replied. “The hand the audience sees is never the one doing the work.” Tokyo leaned back in her chair, rolling her eyes. “Why does she get to stay outside while we risk our necks inside?” 

“Because I can lie better than you.” you shot back with a sly smile. The room erupted in laughter, and even Tokyo couldn’t suppress a grudging grin. After another long day of lectures, the crew gathered in the common room. A half-full bottle of whiskey sat on the table as they relaxed. Nairobi leaned forward, her eyes sparkling mischievously. 

“Alright, it’s time.” she said, tapping the table. “What’s your city name, new girl?” You blinked. “I thought that was just for the people going into the bank.” 

“Nope!” Rio said with a broad grin. “If you’re part of the crew, you need a name. House rule.” The others immediately started throwing out suggestions. “Paris” said Nairobi. “Elegant but a little edgy.” 

“New York..” Tokyo chimed in. “Got attitude.” 

“Vegas!” Denver called out with a laugh. “A wild card…” You rolled your eyes. “You’re all terrible at this.” Berlin, who had been silent until now, took a sip of his drink and grinned. “How about Lisbon? Unexpected. Like her.” The room fell quiet for a moment as everyone considered the suggestion. You looked at Berlin, surprised by the thoughtfulness of his choice. 

“Lisbon..” Nairobi said, testing the word. “I like it. It suits her.” Over the next few weeks, you grew closer to the crew. Despite their teasing and larger-than-life personalities, they worked seamlessly together under the Professor’s guidance. One evening, Nairobi found you sitting alone in front of the whiteboard. “Everything okay?” 

You hesitated before admitting, “This..this is bigger than anything I’ve ever done. What if I screw it up?” Nairobi placed a hand on your shoulder. “We all feel that way. But we’ve got each other’s backs, okay? You’re not alone.” Late that night, you found the Professor in the study, surrounded by blueprints and diagrams. You hesitated in the doorway before stepping in. “Why did you choose me?” you asked quietly. The Professor looked up, surprised by the question. “Because you’re brilliant. And because I saw something in you..a willingness to challenge the system.” You frowned. “But I’m young and Inexperienced.” 

“You’re also adaptable.” he replied. “And resourceful. Those are qualities no amount of experience can replace.” Slowly, you nodded, his words sinking in. For the first time since joining the crew, you felt like you truly belonged. 

Exactly four months later, the bank was a scene of chaos. The echoes of screams, hurried footsteps, and the loud clatter of boots filled the marble halls. Tokyo was leading a group of terrified hostages into the main hall, her rifle slung over her shoulder. Beside her, Berlin radiated calm authority as he issued orders to the crew. “Rio, secure the hostages. Nairobi, lock down the printing area.” Berlin’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and commanding. “Denver, check the security personnel. I don’t want any surprises.” 

“On it.” Denver replied, moving toward the staff members who had been removed from the security room earlier. Behind the locked doors of the bank manager’s office, your voice crackled through the earpieces. You weren’t physically in the bank but monitored everything through surveillance cameras the crew had hacked. Your calm, steady tone stood in stark contrast to the tense atmosphere. 

“Tokyo, you’re pacing too quickly..” you said. “You’re making the hostages nervous.” Tokyo scowled but slowed her steps, muttering under her breath. Berlin, catching her reaction, chuckled quietly. “It’s like having the Professor in our ears. How delightful.” 

“I heard that!” you retorted sharply, though there was a hint of amusement in your voice. “And Berlin, fix your posture. You’re less intimidating when you slouch.” Berlin smirked and glanced at the nearest camera. “She’s lucky she’s not in here with us.” 

A few miles away, in an unassuming abandoned warehouse, you sat at a desk cluttered with monitors, laptops, and cables. Wearing a headset, your eyes flicked between various camera feeds, one of the hostages in the bank’s main hall, another of Rio working on the vault door, and another of police cars setting up barricades outside. 

The Professor stood behind you, arms crossed as he studied the feeds. He was calm, but his fingers twitched slightly against his sleeves, a small sign of his nerves. “How does it look?” he asked quietly.  “So far, so good.” you replied. “We’ve got the media narrative under control. I published the fake manifesto this morning, so they’re already painting us as anti-establishment rebels. Public opinion should swing our way by this afternoon.” The Professor nodded, satisfied. “And the police?” 

“They’ve set up a perimeter.” you said, pressing a few keys to pull up a live drone feed. “But they’re waiting for someone to take command. I’m guessing that’ll be their negotiator.” As if on cue, a new voice crackled over the police radio you had tapped into. You froze, your eyes narrowing. 

“Natasha Romanoff, FBI. I’m taking command.”  She stepped out of a sleek black SUV, her expression unreadable. Dressed in a sharp black suit, her red hair tied neatly into a ponytail, she exuded authority. The air buzzed with tension as officers bustled around, setting up barricades, unloading equipment, and securing the area.  Natasha surveyed the scene with a practiced eye. Her gaze lingered on the massive front doors of the bank, barricaded from the inside. On nearby rooftops, snipers had taken position, their scopes trained on the windows. A young officer hurried to her side, clipboard in hand. “Agent Romanoff, the perimeter is secure. No one gets in or out without our clearance.” 

“Good,” Natasha replied, her tone crisp. “Have we made contact?” 

“Not yet. They’ve refused to answer the phone lines.” She nodded and stepped into the command tent. Inside, monitors displayed live drone footage of the bank’s exterior and a floor plan of the building. Natasha studied the images, her mind already working through possible scenarios. The officers in the tent glanced at her cautiously. She had a reputation. Efficient, methodical, relentless. Natasha didn’t tolerate mistakes, and everyone knew it. 

“What do we know about them?” she asked, crossing her arms as she addressed the room.  “They’re highly organized!” an officer replied. “They took over the bank in under five minutes. No one’s been injured, but they’re heavily armed.” 

“Any demands?” She asked. "Not yet. But we found this outside." the officer said, handing Natasha a printed copy of the fake manifesto you had planted earlier. "They claim this is a statement against corruption in the financial system. It’s already all over the news." Natasha scanned the document, her sharp eyes taking in the calculated wording. "They’re trying to sway public opinion to their side.." she murmured. "Clever. That’ll make it harder for us to take an aggressive approach." 

She tossed the paper onto the table. "Establish a line of communication with their leader. I want to know who we’re dealing with." Natasha reached for the phone connected to the bank’s central line. She knew this call wouldn’t be about negotiating, it was about gathering information. She needed to figure out who was on the other end, what they wanted, and how far they were willing to go. 

Inside the bank, Berlin picked up the ringing phone with a charming smile. "This is Berlin." he said smoothly. "To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?" 

"This is Natasha Romanoff, FBI." she replied. Her voice was calm but firm, leaving no room for pleasantries. "I’d like to speak to the person in charge." 

"I’m afraid that won’t be possible right now." Berlin said with amusement. "But I’ll happily take a message." Natasha’s eyes narrowed. "My only concern is the safety of your hostages. That’s my priority." 

"Of course it is.." Berlin replied, his smile audible. "And you’ll be pleased to hear they are..so far..perfectly safe." Natasha paused, listening intently to the faint background noises on the line. Muffled voices, the sound of footsteps on marble, and something else, a faint beeping, like an alarm. 

"You’re playing a dangerous game." she said finally. "But I’m very good at games." Berlin chuckled softly. "I’m sure you are. But this isn’t chess, Agent Romanoff. This is..theater. And the show has just begun." He hung up before she could respond. 

Back at the hideout, you listened to the conversation through the tapped line, your headset firmly in place. Leaning back in your chair, you chewed on your thumbnail, analyzing Natasha’s voice. "She’s sharp.." you murmured. "If we’re not careful, she’ll see right through us." The Professor nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Then we’ll have to stay one step ahead of her. Remember, the goal isn’t just to survive this heist. It’s to make them believe they’re in control, right up until the moment they lose everything." 

You glanced at the screen displaying Natasha’s image from a news feed. Her piercing green eyes, the way she moved with calm authority..it was unsettling. And yet, you couldn’t help but feel something else. Admiration, perhaps. Curiosity. "Be careful." the Professor said, noticing your gaze. "She’s not just your opponent. She’s your equal." 

The rest of the team was already hours deep into securing the hostages and working on the vault. Berlin’s voice crackled over the comms: "Lisbon, it’s your turn. She wants to speak to the mastermind. Time to give her a show." Adjusting your headset, you took a deep breath. Your nerves were taut, but you masked them with a confident grin. "Understood. Let’s do this." 

You activated the line and pressed a button on the soundboard. A calm, distorted male voice filled the air: "This is Lisbon." In the command tent, Natasha picked up the phone. The room fell silent as the officers leaned in to catch every word. Natasha held the receiver to her ear, her expression neutral, but her eyes sharp as razors. "Lisbon." she repeated. "So, you’re the one pulling the strings here."

"Correct." your distorted voice replied. "And you must be Agent Romanoff. I’ve heard quite a bit about you." Natasha ignored the flattery. "If you’ve done your homework, then you know I’m here to ensure your hostages come out alive. That’s my only concern." You pressed a button on the soundboard, triggering a soft, deep laugh. "And here I thought you were here to negotiate." 

"That depends." Natasha replied smoothly. "What do you want?" Leaning closer to the microphone, you tapped your fingers on the desk, guiding the conversation. You knew Natasha was trying to size you up, searching for any slip, any weakness, but you weren’t going to make it easy for her. 

"What do I want?" Your distorted voice pondered, deliberately stretching the pause. "I want justice. The kind that makes headlines. The kind that shakes the foundations of a broken system." Natasha’s brow furrowed slightly. "You’re talking about the economy."

"Very good, Agent Romanoff. You catch on quickly." 

"Don’t patronize me." Natasha snapped, her voice tight with tension. "If this is about making a political statement, you’ve already made it. But taking hostages isn’t the way to change the world."

You smiled, pressing another button to play a short, dismissive laugh. "Isn’t it? History would beg to differ." 

Natasha’s jaw tightened. "If you think you’re the first person to try this, you’re mistaken. I’ve seen how these situations end, and it’s never in your favor. You can still stop this." 

"Stop?" you repeated, genuine amusement creeping into your real voice beneath the distortion. "Agent Romanoff, I didn’t plan this for years just to ‘stop’ now. But I appreciate the offer." 

Natasha changed her tactic, her tone softening. "How about this. Give me something in return. A gesture of goodwill. Release a few hostages, and I’ll ensure you get a fair hearing." You hesitated for the briefest moment, not because you were considering it, but because you felt the sincerity in Natasha’s voice. For a fleeting second, the tension felt personal, almost disarming. But then you steadied yourself, pressing another soundboard clip. 

The voice came through, cool and calculated, "A generous offer, but unnecessary. I assure you, our hostages are perfectly safe, as long as you follow my instructions." 

"And what are those instructions?" 

"Patience, Agent Romanoff. All in good time." Natasha leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table as she studied the voice on the other end. Something felt..off. The rhythm was too perfect, too controlled. It reminded her of an actor reading from a script. She decided to apply pressure. 

"You know, you’re remarkably composed for someone running an operation of this scale. Most people would sound different." Your pulse quickened, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you played another soundboard clip: a soft, measured chuckle. "I’m not ‘most people,’ Agent Romanoff." 

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. "No, you’re not. But you know what? I don’t think that’s your real voice. You’re hiding something." Your grin faltered for a fraction of a second before you recovered, quickly playing another soundboard clip. "Believe what you want. It changes nothing." 

"Maybe not." Natasha replied, her voice colder. "But you should know one thing about me: I don’t stop until I find the truth. And when I do, you’ll regret underestimating me." You glanced at the Professor, who gave you a small nod of approval. Deciding it was time to end the conversation on your terms, you spoke with finality. "I look forward to it, Agent Romanoff." you said, your real voice still hidden beneath the distortion. "In the meantime, I suggest you focus on keeping the public calm. The more chaos you allow, the less control you’ll have. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?"

Before Natasha could respond, you cut the line. You took off your headset and exhaled deeply, running a hand through your hair. Your heart was still racing, but a hint of pride coursed through you. You had held your ground. The Professor approached you, his expression calm but thoughtful. "Well done." he said. "But you need to be careful. She’s already suspicious." 

"She’s sharp.." you admitted, leaning back in your chair. "It almost felt like she could see right through the soundboard." 

"She’s testing you." he replied. "She’s looking for cracks in your façade. But she won’t find any as long as you stay focused." You nodded, though your mind lingered on Natasha’s voice. There was something about it..something unsettling yet magnetic. You pushed the thought aside, knowing there was no room for distraction. 

In the command tent, Natasha set the phone down and leaned back in her chair. The officers around her whispered among themselves, but she waved them off, her mind already working at full speed.  "He’s good." she said aloud, though she didn’t sound entirely convinced. "Ma’am?" an officer asked. 

"That voice.." Natasha continued, her brow furrowed. "It’s too smooth. Too controlled. Whoever that was, they’re hiding behind a mask. And I’m going to find out who they really are. Bring Hill here. I want her to look into this." She stared at the bank, her green eyes sharp with determination. The game had begun, and Natasha Romanoff was ready to play. 

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[seirindono]

TMS - Author's note (Arc 1)

Today I'm stepping up to talk about TMS for a while. It's going to be a lot of blah blah, no TLDR, so hang in there or save it for later if you're brave enough, haha (¯▿¯)

So, another chapter of TMS draws to a close, with the difference that this time it's a whole saga that's coming to an end! That's a big relief for me, given that we recently celebrated the comic's 4th anniversary! That's almost the entire duration of my college life, and that's both an impressive and terrifying achievement lol.

The comic is divided into 3 arcs, each separated by an interlude. The first runs from part 1 to 8, with 201 pages total (wow!). In it, you are introduced to Mel, a young skeleton with a rather unclear past, who accidentally arrives in a a foreign timeline, along with other well known skeletons. Nowadays it's just an isekai haha. Throughout the arc, she proves to be a cautious Monster, quiet and somewhat withdrawn compared to the other skeletons we come across, notably Rus, Blue and Axe, who each got their own sequences.

Still, Mel in the last few scenes is starting to show more initiative, and the interlude will make this even more obvious, but we can expect her to open up a lot more during the next Arc, about her past, motives, goals and thoughts.

I could go on at length about what's in store for us in the interlude, but given that it's due for release sometime in 2024, I'm going to talk about the general story line instead. Although we follow Mel who is foreign to what's going on in this universe prior to her arrival, the other characters and events suggest that strange phenomena are taking place in Ebott, leading many people to become embroiled in a highly unusual affair. Crossing timelines, earthquakes, mysterious apparitions in the forest, something is afoot and the situation seems to be at a turning point when Mellow gets here.

Everyone has their own way of dealing with the situation and what to do next. Some are serious and pragmatic, like Black, others optimistic, like Blue, and others, like Papyrus, find themselves completely backed into a corner, forced to do their best to fix whatever needs to be.

A special case, however, is Axe, whom Mel meets in the forest as she investigates Mt. Ebott. The two have diametrically opposed views of their current condition. One wants to return to her world by any means necessary, regardless of the advantages of a peaceful world. The other, not so much. Both refuse to talk about their past and ignore the other's circumstances, but a sense of familiarity drives them to try to convince the other to stay or go. These are two stark positions to reconcile, and while we can expect Blue and the other skeletons to have their own views on the subject too, Mel and Axe are strangely "committed" in this interraction and resort to violence, spurred on by a unknown substance that causes Axe to momentarily lose control.

Mel is wounded, Axe unconscious, and the status quo disrupted. Other consequences follow this confrontation, and several questions are raised: Can Blue really help Mel when Axe accuses him of having already given up on going home himself? What is this mysterious entity Axe came across a few days earlier? The vibrations? What was that substance that made him go berserk? And what made him stop? Can we trust Mel and what she tells us? And many others.

Because as I'm sure many of you have come to realize, Mel has proven to be a rather unreliable narrator (or at least character since you don't follow her actual POV). Blatantly lying or omitting facts to others and readers alike, it's hard to know her next move and whether she's genuinely forgotten important infos (for it's well established at this stage that she has hazy memories and that they continue to deteriorate. The same applies to her health).

In the same way, each part of TMS so far has raised more questions than it has answered, but I can confidently say that the road is paved for Arc 2 to answer and put in perspective most of them, ahah.

Ah, this is also the moment when I can announce that ALL skeletons will be featured in the Interlude. Should be. Hopefully.

I'd also like to point out a few narrative changes for Act 2! The central characters, in particular. Original cast characters such as Undyne, Metatton and a veiled character will be more formally introduced, but we'll also meet up with characters we've already bumped into, but in a much more concrete way, such as Frisk and Alphys. I can't wait for you to get to know them! You can also expect more pov changes, more elipses and so on. Things are moving fast.

But that begs the question. When is it due? As said before, the first Arc lasted 4 years and I'm entering my last (and most crucial) year of college. I still don't know if I'll have time to get much of it done in 2025, but on the other hand, I'd like to strike while the iron's hot lest TMS be discontinued after a 1-year hiatus and my entry into the working world. Student loan, life and all. There are still plenty of things I'd like to bring to this project, and I now have the skills to actually carry them out, but on the other hand, the time involved has also increased exponentially.

Tbh with you, as an animation student, it's been one of my dreams since 2020 to do one of TMS's sequences in animatic or full anim, or even a trailer for the comic! But as a solo team, it's just unreasonable and I know it. But the parasite ----. Don't get me wrong, I could, but it would take me months and it's just not realistic when 80% of my time has to go into professionnal work that goes into my portefolio or adult stuff. I can't affort to invest time in solo-ing it or to recruit and lead a team over one side project of mine ( ´ ▿ ` ) So we'll most likely stick to classic pages.

But the same goes for collabs, community events, side stories, asks, edits, dubs, testing other platforms, regular animatics. Love all of that. Really. But I never have the time to because, man, I'd love to actually finish TMS someday ahah. It all comes back to the age-old problem of “lots of ideas, little time”, and it's so frustrating but, it's a choice I have to stick to, so bear with me as I vent my frustration. Just for tonight (´ ∀ `, *)

So, yes. Act 2. Next year? Probably? It's a long interlude, so you'll get smth in the meantime, but it's likely to decide the future of TMS and whether Act 2 sees the light of day as I imagine it or if...well, something else replaces it.

bringing back this doodle cuz it seems fiting lol

Anyway, I also wanted to thank you for your engagement with Part 8!

I don't know how other comic artists experience it, but for me it's a very isolated work, and as much as I love working alone, I enjoy the interaction with readers most of all.

Seeing people losing their mind over a serious scene, or chuckling at a dumb gag, or just simping over the characters and art. It's just great, and very rewarding. Likewise, I have a blast answering questions about the TMS universe, reading tags and receiving memes, witnessing people go increasingly mad with messages full of indecipherable screams and hearts. Makes me giggle and kick my feet everytime and I can't wait to drop the next lore bomb or funny scene bwahahah

And while we're on the subject, I'd like to say a special word of thanks to the legions of rebloggers who make it their business to spread the word about TMS. You sweet, lovely, candy scented folks. And to my dear mutuals - with whom I interact objectively so little - who have no idea how a single message or note from them drives me bonkers. Thanks for dropping by. And of course to my super Patreons who support me despite the sparse updates, but to whom I'm more than grateful. Love you all.

Sounds like a farewell message. It's not lol. Just making sure they get the love they deserve.

The post is getting long and I'm kind of done pretending I know how to write organized notes so to wrap things up, here's an exhaustive list of what I'd like to get done this year and/or discuss in more detail another day. •Make a new masterpost (for Act 2) •Analyze/Comment certain sequences from Act 1 to clarify or give context •Redraw and rewrite part 1 and 2 •Make more bonus content again *ahahahahahaha*

•Re open or close the Discord (partially abandoned and it's all on me, but I'm still mulling it over).

•Finish the Interlude and enjoy and nice hiatus

And that's about it? Congratulation for reading this and making it this far! You were there!

Be well, and see you next time.

Seirin-

First part | Prev | Next (INTERLUDE)

Ko-fi | Patreon | Comic | Commissions  | To support the comic

[leggerefiore]

cw: 18+ content, afab reader, breeding kink, talk of pregnancy, Volo being himself

pairing: Volo/Reader

Minors DNI

You groaned as you were pushed against the sheets of the futon. Pleasure coursed through your veins like a liquid electricity. Everything felt like far too distant from you while also being all-consuming. Your thighs were wrapped around the waist of the merchant as he drilled into you. His expression was intense – Grey eyes entirely focused on you as his long hair hung down almost like a veil. His bun had come undone somewhere in the mess.

Why had he come here? You had not expected to see him ever again after the situation on Mount Coronet. In fact, you had been quite sure that he despised you, yet here he was fucking you senseless. A cry left your throat, but his hand came to silence you – Not wanting anyone to hear and come investigate. You weakly tried to pull away his hand, but his strength was something else. Your walls clamped down on him as his dick hit your cervix. He grinned down at you maliciously. The pounding of your heart in your chest was maddening. He brought his other hand to rest on your lower abdomen – right above a certain organ. You swallowed.

“… You have taken everything from me,” his voice was low and ominous – a hint of strain was present. “You wanted to make up, right? You begged me not to go. Well, I have a way you can make it up to me, chosen one.” The pleasure mixed strangely with the apprehensive terror in your veins. “I don't want the blood of the ancient people of Sinnoh to end.” His thrusts felt so meaningful now, and his hand massaged your womb. You swallowed dryly despite the drool escaping out the corner of your mouth. “You'll help me, right? Didn't you want to help me?” Every rut of his hip into you made drew more and more pleasure out of you. Your hands grasped onto his arm. His hand was still over your mouth.

A chuckle left him as you tightened around him even more at these words. Part of you wanted to deny his claims, but… But you could not deny what you felt for the blond. Despite everything… Despite the manipulation and even attack on your life – You loved Volo. You wanted Volo. Having a family with him… You managed finally to get his hand off your mouth.

“P-please, Volo!” you begged. His eyes narrowed. Apparently, he wanted to hear more than a simple plea. His thrusts slowed, and you shook your head. You were so close. “G-give me a baby,” the words felt strange leaving your lips – you really should just hate him. “I-I'll help continue your bloodline!” Suddenly, his hips slammed against your own harshly. His hand took your wrists and pinned them above your head as he fucked into you harshly. The hand previously massaging you came to rub your clit with some expert knowledge – driving you further to the edge. A tight coil spun into something painful before finally snapping. You came with a loud cry.

Yet, Volo's cruelty apparently knew no bounds as he kept his harsh pace to fuck you through your orgasm. Writhing under him, your toes curled painfully. He watched your reactions with a malicious intent, clearly enjoying overstimulating you. Your cries and moans were nothing but a precious song to him. Yet, he was still a human. Volo found himself hitting you with one final thrust before cumming deep inside of you, cock head pressed flush to your womb. The warmth inside of you made your body shake.

He laid atop you for a moment. Both of you a pile of limbs and panting breaths. Your freed arms came to wrap around his neck, holding him tightly. Despite everything – You really loved him. Genuinely. It was painful. Whenever he finally regained himself, you half expected him to raise up and leave you to never show his face again.

Yet, that was not what followed. With him still buried inside you, you felt his cock begin to harden again. Grey eyes stared down at you intensely.

“… We have to make certain, no?” His hands came to hold your hips. You swallowed. It seemed your night would be long and exhausting.

Volo had no intention of leaving you.

[taylorsburner]

Good Mornin'

✧Summary✧ Billy wakes up early to take care of your baby boy and prepares a sweet surprise for his wife for a cozy morning in bed.

a/n: this is my first Billy fic so I hope y’all like it. it's just something cute and fluffy🫶🏾

Unlike most mornings where you were the first to wake up (if your little Theo hadn’t beaten you to it), Billy was the early riser this time around. However, unlike other times he’d woken up earlier than usual, his early rising this morning had no obligations for him to be anywhere but home with his family.Upon waking up, Billy was immediately met with the soft babbling of Theo in his bassinet on your side of bed. He slowly inches out of his side of the bed, making sure to not disturb you. Your husband rounds the bed to get the baby, dressing himself in his discarded clothes from the night before on the way over.

“Good mornin’ little guy.” Billy whispers with a wide smile, reaching down to pick Theo up out of the bassinet. “Did you sleep well?” He continues on, quietly bouncing back and forth with the baby.

“Since it’s just you and me, how about we do something nice for mama huh?” Billy whispers down to Theo, his eyes immediately turning up to his father at the mention of you. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He chuckles. Billy reaches down to pull the covers further up your body before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

Billy had the thought of making a nice breakfast in bed for you and had enlisted the help of Theo. First on their agenda was to pick out to a couple of flowers for a little sprucing. He let Theo grab whatever his eyes landed on (and plucked a couple with less crumpled petals) and headed back inside to get started on cooking.

With Theo on his hip your husband singlehandedly, quite literally, cooked a miniature breakfast spread for you. He made a little something for the baby, feeding him as he cooked to tie him over until you fed him.

❃❃❃❃

When you woke up you were a bit more refreshed than usual, appreciating the extra time you got to sleep. However, you were a bit confused to find Billy’s side of the bed empty and the bassinet next to you was empty as well. You were pleasantly welcomed though, by the smell of food coming from the kitchen.

You pull back the covers and smooth out your nightgown, leaving the bedroom and making your way to the kitchen to investigate. And as you approach the entryway, your eyes fall on your husband towering over the kitchen counter cooking with Theo on his hip. You couldn’t help but to melt at the sight.

Without making a sound you step into the kitchen behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head between his shoulder blades.

“Good morning” You mumble against him, your words vibrating through his shirt.

“Good mornin’ honey.” Billy replies through a smile.

“Can’t go dissapearin’ on be like that.” You playfully scold. “I don’t like waking up by myself”

“I know, but I got a little somethin’ for ya. Supposed to be a-“ Before Billy could finish his sentence, Theo cuts him off, wanting to get your attention. “Seems like someone wants to talk to ya.” He chuckles motioning to the little boy clinging to him.

“Good morning my beautiful boy.” You coo, softly pulling the little boy from his father’s hip, immediately leaving kisses all over his chubby cheeks.

“I thought I was your beautiful boy.” Your husband pouts, exaggerating the puppy dog eyes and pouted lip.

“You are, he’s just a bit cuter.” You reason, lightly tickling the baby’s pudgy tummy, causing an immediate stream of giggles that absolutely melt both you and Billy.

“I guess you got me there darlin’.” He concedes, beaming down at you and Theo. “How ‘bout you two go back to bed so that I can still try and surprise you.”

“Yes daddy” You whisper just for him to hear as you reach up to peck his lips before heading back to your shared bedroom.

“What am I gonna do with you” Billy chuckles to himself, finishing up the remainder of your breakfast that was sizzling in the pan. ….. Not long after you and Theo get all snuggled up and cozy underneath the warm covers, Billy is making his way back into the bedroom. He carefully walks down the hall and into the room tightly holding a tray with the food he’d made for you and a jar containing the small bouquet of wildflowers he and Theo picked earlier in the morning.

“Now what were you and daddy up to while I was asleep?” You happy whisper down to your son who was beaming at the reappearance of his father.

“We figured we’d take care of you the way you always take care of us darlin’” Billy says, gently placing the tray down on the bed in front of you and pressing a kiss to your forehead before rounding the bed to get back in with you.

“You two are the sweetest boys in the world” You gush.

“Well you’re an even sweeter mama.” Billy lovingly counters, leaning in to plant a proper kiss to your lips.

“I love you.” You contently sigh against his lips

“And I love you more doll.” Billy replies, leaving your with one more kiss before settling back into his spot next to you. “Now eat up darlin’, don’t want you eatin’ a cold breakfast.” Your husband instructs, removing Theo from your arms to free up your hands to eat.

Unlike most mornings where you were the first to wake up (if your little Theo hadn’t beaten you to it), Billy was the early riser this time around. However, unlike other times he’d woken up earlier than usual, his early rising this morning had no obligations for him to be anywhere but home with his family.

Upon waking up, Billy was immediately met with the soft babbling of Theo in his bassinet on your side of bed. He slowly inches out of his side of the bed, making sure to not disturb you. Your husband rounds the bed to get the baby, dressing himself in his discarded clothes from the night before on the way over.

“Good mornin’ little guy.” Billy whispers with a wide smile, reaching down to pick Theo up out of the bassinet. “Did you sleep well?” He continues on, quietly bouncing back and forth with the baby.

“Since it’s just you and me, how about we do something nice for mama huh?” Billy whispers down to Theo, his eyes immediately turning up to his father at the mention of you. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He chuckles. Billy reaches down to pull the covers further up your body before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

Billy had the thought of making a nice breakfast in bed for you and had enlisted the help of Theo. First on their agenda was to pick out to a couple of flowers for a little sprucing. He let Theo grab whatever his eyes landed on (and plucked a couple with less crumpled petals) and headed back inside to get started on cooking.

With Theo on his hip your husband singlehandedly, quite literally, cooked a miniature breakfast spread for you. He made a little something for the baby, feeding him as he cooked to tie him over until you fed him.

❃❃❃❃

When you woke up you were a bit more refreshed than usual, appreciating the extra time you got to sleep. However, you were a bit confused to find Billy’s side of the bed empty and the bassinet next to you was empty as well. You were pleasantly welcomed though, by the smell of food coming from the kitchen.

You pull back the covers and smooth out your nightgown,  leaving the bedroom and making your way to the kitchen to investigate. And as you approach the entryway, your eyes fall on your husband towering over the kitchen counter cooking with Theo on his hip. You couldn’t help but to melt at the sight.

Without making a sound you step into the kitchen behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head between his shoulder blades.

“Good morning” You mumble against him, your words vibrating through his shirt.

“Good mornin’ honey.” Billy replies through a smile.

“Can’t go dissapearin’ on be like that.” You playfully scold. “I don’t like waking up by myself”

“I know, but I got a little somethin’ for ya. Supposed to be a-“ Before Billy could finish his sentence, Theo cuts him off, wanting to get your attention. “Seems like someone wants to talk to ya.” He chuckles motioning to the little boy clinging to him.

“Good morning my beautiful boy.” You coo, softly pulling the little boy from his father’s hip, immediately leaving kisses all over his chubby cheeks.

“I thought I was your beautiful boy.” Your husband pouts, exaggerating the puppy dog eyes and pouted lip.

“You are, he’s just a bit cuter.” You reason, lightly tickling the baby’s pudgy tummy, causing an immediate stream of giggles that absolutely melt both you and Billy.

“I guess you got me there darlin’.” He concedes, beaming down at you and Theo. “How ‘bout you two go back to bed so that I can still try and surprise you.”

“Yes daddy” You whisper just for him to hear as you reach up to peck his lips before heading back to your shared bedroom.

“What am I gonna do with you” Billy chuckles to himself, finishing up the remainder of your breakfast that was sizzling in the pan.

❃❃❃❃

Not long after you and Theo get all snuggled up and cozy underneath the warm covers, Billy is making his way back into the bedroom. He carefully walks down the hall and into the room tightly holding a tray with the food he’d made for you and a jar containing the small bouquet of wildflowers he and Theo picked earlier in the morning.

“Now what were you and daddy up to while I was asleep?” You happy whisper down to your son who was beaming at the reappearance of his father.

“We figured we’d take care of you the way you always take care of us darlin’” Billy says, gently placing the tray down on the bed in front of you and pressing a kiss to your forehead before rounding the bed to get back in with you. 

“You two are the sweetest boys in the world” You gush.

“Well you’re an even sweeter mama.” Billy lovingly counters, leaning in to plant a proper kiss to your lips. 

“I love you.” You contently sigh against his lips

“And I love you more doll.” Billy replies, leaving your with one more kiss before settling back into his spot next to you. “Now eat up darlin’, don’t want you eatin’ a cold breakfast.” Your husband instructs, removing Theo from your arms to free up your hands to eat.

The three of you end up spending the rest of your morning in bed, too wrapped up in each other to even bother doing anything else.

Request new stuff here♡

[glitter-stained]

Hear me out because I have a vision:

Barbara- centric hacker movie. (Barbara-centric, not Birds of Prey for this one.) Like not a dc adaptation, a hacker movie that's an AU. Fair warning: I understand nothing about how hacking works.

Barbara is a thirty-five years old bisexual overqualified librarian. Every time someone asks her why she works in a library and if she's never bored she replies she likes the quiet and the books, but we see, on her work computer, that she's always reading like one science article one philosophy book and news article etc at the same time to stay stimulated; she also has several degrees and on screen we see notes of her working on p=np because it'd be funny. On a date, we see her hint that she likes that the library is calm because she gets excitement from her nightlife.

The nightlife in question: Her hacker name is of course Oracle. At first, she learnt how to code because she was bored, and then she got invested in the secrets she could unravel, but her real entry into cyber activity happened after she hunted down the identity of the man responsible for the stray bullet that paralyzed her during a shootout and framed him for tax evasion. This isn't like, the heart of the story or anything, just a little flashback to explain her motivation and how hacking helped her regain her self-confidence and grow around it. That part was cut in the final version of the movie because it was very very long but Barbara's actress and those who have seen the director's cut agree it's an important context for her characterization.

The movie is about her uncovering a fucked up ploy by the government to cover up an industrial catastrophe that's already killed hundreds, and continuing to poison people because they're burying the proof so that the industry can carry on for profit. It becomes even more complicated when she finds out not only is this a corrupted government officials issue, but the cia is involved because of the potential interest of whatever chemical is being produced in this factory as a weapon, so it's one woman against the giants of this world.

Thankfully, Barbara isn't truly alone in everything. She has or builds close relationships through the movie, such as:

-Dinah: her old highschool friend with whom she had lost contact, but Dinah doesn't know that at first: she's down on her luck (lost all her money+ scum boyfriend after scum boyfriend, etc.) and Oracle calls her and offers a sketchy job. (She cuts into the funds of some billionaire to do this, highjacking the dumb algorithm he made for tax evasion.) She calls Barbara her conscience and Jiminy (her own conscience is perfectly efficient and still she says that). Barbara is always calling her on an old kind of phone because she doesn't like technology. Barbara calls her "My hands, my eyes, my heart". Around the last third to fourth of the movie, at the start of the build-up to climax, we have the famous "Barbara...call me Barbara moment", except after that the scene continues and they fuck, like you don't see everything but it's not fade to black either, Dinah's mouth on her neck, hands untying clothes, fingers trailing across the other's skin drenched in water from the pool, the classic cliche fingers intertwining, dramatic music, and then we can fade to black.

-Dick: a 25 years old bartender with an inability to keep the same job for more than a couple of months who is haunted by the death of his parents in a circus accident when he was a kid. They start to date because she's investigating his parents' involvement in her case (they were killed to stifle down whistleblowing), I don't want them to kiss in the movie just they're clearly starting dating and then he wakes up alone in her bed and thanks to some adequate plot excuse Dick finds the file about his parents and falls to his knees. I want a scene where he's kneeling at her feet, devastated (idk if crying or not, director's choice) and she's trailing her fingers in his hair and asks him if he wants to help her get him his revenge and he looks at her with so much grief and devotion and says he'll do anything. After that moment they don't really break-up (esp since they weren't officially together) but their relationship has shifted, there's a form of affection/care/devotion but it's less romantic than the cute dating from the beginning (but no less weirder or intense). The music for them is not when she brings him back to her apartment but when he's kneeling at her lap because that's where the climax is.

> I'm not sure who more to include but I'm considering versions of Cassandra Cain, Helena Bertellini or Selina Kyle. Keep in mind that these are civilians in a hacker movie, more than having meta abilities or insane hero skills they need to be smart, brave, motivated af with a bone to pick, trusting in Oracle and generally normal people (though a reasonable measure of Selina's b&e skills certainly wouldn't hurt.)

> They find help in allies amidst doctors/scientists trying to study the apparent epidemic (but the research is being pushed down), maybe Talia al Ghul and Barry Allen?

> In any case I want Barbara to be badass and flawed in a way that's like kinda a bit morally grey, but it's not in a "everyone's a bit of a villain here"; there's a scene in the movie where Oracle is blackmailing a corrupt guy into double-crossing the cia for her and he's like 'you think you're so much better than me" and Oracle is like "oh, it's terribly easy to be better than you, I don't even have to be good."

Anyway the scandal is released and there are protests and justice stuff and they win. I'm not sure how the story ends for Barbara, maybe the last shot is her at the library working on her equations as if nothing had happened but with a tiny floating little smile, maybe she disappears mysteriously from everyone's life leaving a shadow and they're all wondering what she's up to now and why she left (leaving ground for a potential sequel that might never live up to the original) Dick is reflecting about how she changed his life forever and the last shot is Dinah thinking about the way she's missing the part of her soul that was whispering in her ears, etc.

The movie gets released in the theatres etc for a little less than one week before it's cancelled and forbidden forever because of some concerning similarities between the plot and some existent factories that somehow made it to the big screen without anyone noticing, however the movie is already circulating, it's all over the internet, grainy footage from the theatre, leaked bits from the director's cut (not the final cut remember), alleged snippets from the original script appearing on forums, etc. It's too late.

Idk, just- Barbara centric hacker movie. "Any similarities to real life circumstances is purely accidental" type of stuff.

[longwuzhere]

My Adventures with Superman Season 2 Easter Eggs

Welcome back everyone! Here we are season 2 of My Adventures with Superman! What a fantastic first two episodes and as usual they're full of fun Easter eggs which I will point out and explain to those who aren't familiar so you can be in the know with the comics book readers! My Easter eggs lists for season 1 is here if you haven't seen it!

My season 2 episode 1 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 3 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here

My season 2 episode 4 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 5 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 6 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 7 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My season 2 episode 8 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 9 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 10 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

Spoilers if you haven't seen it

I might be reading too much into it but maybe this is a subtle reference to the Adventures with Superman comic title or it could just be a complimentary episode title to My Adventures with Superman. Who knows.

The episode starts with Waller waking up getting ready for her day (shout out to Waller's daily affirmations btw) and she goes down to meet Sam Lane, Lois's father who I talked about here.

Nice call back to Season 1 Episode 3 when Lois and Clark break into Stryker's Island again and entering into Siobhan McDougal's cell again but this time going under the island's jail to Task Force X secret operations. I talked about Siobhan McDougal aka Silver Banshee and Stryker's Island here.

Later on we see Clark and Lois infiltrating the Task Force X hideout and Clark uses his X-Ray vision but can't seem to see through the walls here. If you know your Superman lore, these walls are made of lead.

Jerry Seigel and Joe Shuster, Superman's creators, first introduced X-Ray vision to Superman in Action Comics #11 (1939) where Clark is investigating some shady dealing involving oil and the death of someone involved in this deal. It wasn't until later in Action Comics #69 nice (1944) [W: Jerry Seigel, P&I: Ed Dobrotka] that we see there is a limit to Clark's X-Ray vision.

Superman rescues Lois from the Prankster and his henchmen after surveying the area with his X-Ray vision and seeing that one of the buildings is made of lead and can't see inside it and he goes in to save her.

Later as Sam, Lois and Superman escape the compound Waller sics one of her soldiers after them, a green skull-faced, radioactive soldier aka Atomic Skull.

MAwS Waller calls Atomic Skull as Agent Martin, so we can assume this is a reference to Joseph Martin, the second Atomic Skull who first appeared in Adventures of Superman #383 (1991) [W: Jerry Ordway, P: Jim Fern, I: Doug Hazelwood, C: Glenn Whitmore, L: Albert DeGuzman]. In the comics Joseph Martin was a student. Later in Action Comics #670 (1991) Joseph, at a S.T.A.R. Labs for a check up, gets struck by a grounding cable and that triggers his Metagenes as the building collapsed. He was able to escape but stumbles back to his apartment and begins to lose his hair. Trying to figure out what is wrong Joseph gets jumped by some muggers and Joseph murders them and walks into the theater that is playing an Atomic Skull movie (yes in the post-Crisis on Infinite Earths continuity Atomic Skull is a movie character). Superman investigating the muggers murder discovers Joseph Martin at the movies and sees that he has changed and takes up the name the Atomic Skull as seen below in Action Comics #670 (1991) [W: Roger Stern, P: Bob McLeod, I: Denis Rodier, C: Glenn Whitmore, L: Bill Oakley].

The original Atomic Skull, Albert Michaels, first appeared in Superman #303 (1976) as a piece-of-shit but smart AF scientist for S.T.A.R. Labs. Twenty issues later in Superman #323 (1978) [Cover art by Jose Luis Garcia-Lopez] , Albert Michaels dons the Atomic Skull costume after siding with SKULL and is given a radium implant in his brain that would grant him the ability to harness bioelectricity from his cranium and convert it to energy to shoot out from his visor.

Back at the Daily Planet, Jimmy is called out by Perry for not giving him a video and we see that the Flamebird team is composed of the Newkid Legion and Steve Lombard. I talked more about them here and here.

We get one Wilhelm scream as as Task Force X soldier gets carried back into the dark hallway by Parasite/Ivo who I talked more about here.

And finally after stopping Parasite from attack Waller, Lex Luthor shows up finally giving his name to Waller striking up a new partnership.

Lex Luthor first appeared in Action Comics #23 (1940) [W: Jerry Seigel, P: Joe Shuster, I: Paul Cassidy] where he was exploiting European countries in WWII. This iteration of Lex goes by Alexei Luthor. Still smart like his other Lex Luthor counterparts with a knack for machinery technology. He apparently dies in his debut issue.

In Action Comics #125 (1948) [P&I: Al Plastino] we see the debut of silver age Lex Luthor . In the comic Alexis Luthor here, uses his scientific genius to manipulate a hermit who's making prediction come true. This Lex Luthor has beef with Superboy back when he and Clark were kids. He swore revenge on Superboy for ruining his research after a fire broke out at his laboratory causing his hair to fall out thanks to the chemical fumes. This iteration of Lex is the one who creates the famous warsuit that Lex Luthor is usually depicted in.

Post-Crisis on Infinite Earths Lex Luthor makes his first appearance in Swamp Thing #52 (1986) [W: Alan Moore, P: Rick Veitch, I: Alfredo Alcala, C: Tatjana Wood, L: John Costanza]. This version of Lex is the scientist and business man that pop culture knows and he goes by Alexander Luthor. His origins is rewritten so that instead of Lex being from Smallville and having met Superboy back then, he meets Superman in Metropolis where he created Lexcorp and almost everyone is under his employ whether they know it or not (see the Man of Steel miniseries from 1986). In that miniseries, he also has the red hair and eventually he goes bald. This version of Lex was also a former President of the United States.

Post-New52/DC Rebirth, because of some comic book shenanigans and retcons, some of Lex's origins pre-New 52 blends in this this current continuity now where Lex Luthor joined the Justice League as shown on the cover of Justice League #30 (2014) [Cover art by Ivan Reis, Joe Prado, and Rod Reis], was Superman when New 52 Superman died as shown in the variant cover of Action Comics #967 (2017) [Cover art by Gary Frank and Brad Simpson], and started the Legion of Doom seen on the cover of Justice League #5 (2018) [Cover art by Doug Mahnke, Jaime Mendoza, and Wil Quintana].

And with that episode 2 is done! Come back next week for episode 3's references and Easter eggs! My Easter eggs lists for season 1 is here if you haven't seen it!

My season 2 episode 1 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 3 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman comic issue 1 post is here

My season 2 episode 4 Easter eggs and refereces in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 5 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 6 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 7 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My Easter eggs and references for My Adventures with Superman comic issue 2 post is here

My season 2 episode 8 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 9 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

My season 2 episode 10 Easter eggs and references in My Adventures with Superman post is here

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

It's Who We Have | Part Eight

Summary: After escaping death together, both of them finally just want to feel alive. With each other. | Word Count: 5.6k~ | Warnings: SMUT (finally), p in v sex, oral (f receiving), escaped death sex, angst, mentions of death

General Taglist | Billy Washington Masterlist | Series Masterlist

There was only panic. The acrid taste of foreboding death on his tongue.

Billy could feel his chest caving in with despair, as if someone had plunged their fist into it, grabbed his heart in their icy fingers and torn it from between his ribs. Fingernails sunk into the hot, bloody flesh.

The image blurred at the edges, her face focussed in the centre. It was so bright and hot before. Why was it suddenly so cold and dark?

Billy fought against the police officers, clawing and belting her name from the depths of his throat in a state of desperation.

“It's always been us. It always will be.”

He had never seen someone look so petrified. Her hand stretched out, reaching for him, a soundless utterance of his name left her lips before her body was shrouded in flames and smoke. 

Peeling away at her gorgeous face.

He felt the hellish heat of the fire engulfing his car, and felt nothing but a hollow emptiness, of self-loathing, when her screams from inside became swiftly quieter.

And Billy woke as he had done for the last two nights, drenched in sweat, gripping the bedsheets for some semblance of control and wide, blue eyes flitting about the room in panic.

He'd dreamt of many scenarios that could have played out that day. All of which ended with one inescapable ending, that she always perished in them.

He didn't sleep at all that first night, opting to spend it at his Mum and Dad's. Unable to face the unbearable and stark loneliness of his flat until his mind was more stable and not muddled by the threat of death.

He can still feel it. Deep in his bones.

The primal fear that gripped him. 

But every now and then, like a warm, tender embrace. The memories of her would come just as easily. How she held his face. How her lips had pressed against his in relief. Her eyes, stark against the stillness of that twilight evening, as she was ushered away into her own ambulance.

It was a comfort for him to remember just why he was here. Alive.

All because of her.

He hadn't seen her since that day.

Val had offered at the first opportunity to have her over, just in case, like Billy, she didn't want to be alone on the evening her very life could have been forfeit.

But before she could even propose the idea, when she'd picked Billy up from the police station after submitting their statements, she was already gone. But the shadows of what happened to them both lingered in the bold letters of the local newspapers.

9th July. Bomb Defused in Targeted Attack on Anti-Fascist Activists Yesterday evening, a man and a woman narrowly escaped a deadly terror attack targeted at anti-fascist activists. The assailants had planted a bomb in the victims' car, intending to cause catastrophic harm. Police presence surrounding Farringdon Tube Station has been increased in response to the attack.  Thanks to the swift response of the Metropolitan Police bomb squad team, the explosive device was successfully defused before it could detonate, averting what could have been a devastating loss of life. The heroic efforts of law enforcement officers ensured the safe extraction of the individuals from the scene, who were promptly transported to a nearby hospital for evaluation and treatment. As investigations into the incident continue, authorities are urging members of the public to remain vigilant and report any suspicious activity to law enforcement agencies. The MET police have confirmed the arrest of an individual in connection with the targeted attack. The suspect, whose identity has not yet been disclosed, was apprehended following intensive investigations into the incident.

As he sat up in bed then, throwing the sheets off his middle and twisting to plant his feet on the cool floor, he wondered if she was suffering as he was.

The ache of her absence gnawed at him, a hollow emptiness that seemed to grow with each passing day. He wondered where she had gone, if she was safe. The uncertainty weighed heavily on his mind, casting a shadow over his every thought and action.

He rose to face the new day, with dwindling purpose, but couldn't sit idly by while she was out there, lost and alone. He had to find her, to offer her the same comfort and support that she had once given him.

There was not one spot in his childhood home Billy felt safe from the concerned gaze of his parents, and sometimes when she bothered to come around, his sister. To be fair to Lana, everytime she saw him, she threw her arms around his neck and choked out something he couldn't strain to hear.

But the tug at his heart told him it was mostly out of guilt. 

With unwashed hair, he stared at the kettle as it boiled, waiting for the button to click off in what became a monotonous task to just have something to do. The rumble of the water wormed its way into his brain.

The hum of the engine.

The beep of the timer as it counted down.

“Billy, look at me-”

“Billy.”

His mum's concerned voice rang through like a bell, tugging him to the surface. And he blinked a few times before looking at her, his mum's eyebrows furrowed together, her phone held in one hand, outstretched to him.

“Mum, I don't want to talk to Beck-”

“It's Libby, duck.”

With his phone dusted across Cranstead Fields, he felt like somewhat of a child, that everyone who wanted to speak to him, had to come through his mum first.

Since the incident, and he wasn't sure how Becky found out, but she'd been ringing his Mum non-stop, asking for him. To talk to him. But what would she even say? Some half-arsed attempt at sympathy?

Billy nodded a thank you, and bought the phone to his ear, sighing with relief when his mum gave him privacy.

“Hiya Libs, listen, right now's not a good ti-”

“Billy! Sorry, but I can't get hold of her. S-she’s gone off somewhere and-”

“Woah woah, calm down, what's going on?”

“She's turned her phone off and I don't know where she is! Her fucking dad turned up at her flat-”

He dropped the teaspoon then, completely focussed. Something akin to a cold wave sweeping over him. A flurry of memories came, of conversations had in Cranstead Fields on their walks home from school.

“I don't really know him,” she'd said, “if I saw him in the street, I wouldn't recognise him.”

“Her Dad? What the fuck-Libs, slow down and explain.”

“You know her better than anyone, Billy…can you please just make sure she's okay…”

Billy's mind raced with possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last. He made a quick promise to Libby that he'd do something, his determination fueling his actions. If he knew her, she'd be panicking at the mere sight of her estranged father showing up at her flat. He imagined her fears, her worries about what he could possibly want after all these years of abandonment.

Perhaps her father had his own family now, another life that didn't include her. Or maybe he had heard about the events at Cranstead and was offering some feeble attempt at support. Whatever the reason, Billy knew he had to act fast.

Brushing past his mum, he pulled on his jacket and headed out into the rain-soaked streets, the calls of his dad fading into the distance. With each step, his determination grew stronger, fueled by his love for her and his unwavering promise to always be there for her.

He had always said he would do anything for her, and now, with the rain pouring down around him and the stifling heat of summer weighing heavily on his shoulders, he knew he had to keep that promise. "I have to get to her. I have to get to her," he repeated to himself, each word a mantra driving him forward through the storm.

He already let her slip away from him once.

It wasn’t going to happen again.

16th September. 

The date on Billy's phone screen seemed to mock him, the reminder underneath serving as a painful reminder of what could have been. The day she would leave for university. He had set the reminder himself, filled with visions of helping her with her bags, hands intertwined until the last possible moment before the train doors closed.

But those hopeful expectations had been shattered, crushed by his own foolishness. The memory of her hurt expression on their last day of college stabbed at his heart, a constant ache he couldn't shake.

He had realised his mistake too late, watching helplessly as she walked away from him. His friends had been rightfully annoyed at him for ruining the excitement of their next life stage. She was only following her dreams, trying to live her life to the fullest.

The only person who was tolerable to be around, was Harry.

He was at least easy to talk to about idle shit. Playing whatever shitty first person shooter he had in his arsenal of XBOX games. In between games, Billy checked his phone, but found no text lining his screen, blowing smoke between his lips out Harry’s bedroom window. Even in those moments of distraction, Billy couldn't shake the nagging feeling of regret.

“Have you told her you love her yet?” Harry asked, button smashing and catching his lip between his teeth in concentration.

Billy furrowed his brow, “Who? Becky?”

It was rare Harry paused a game if he didn’t have to. But his reaction was immediate, his expression filled with disappointment. It was then Billy felt the hot whips of panic and embarrassment at the back of his neck. Harry scoffed and turned back to his game, tight with some form of resentment.

He thought about fobbing off Harry, weaving through the tight alleyways of the local estate, running as fast as his long legs would carry him, to make it to the train station before she left him forever. 

But when he checked his phone, the reminder was gone, and he felt the hole where she had occupied space inside him, cold. 

Every corner of her home held the memory of her mother's voice.

“Where the fuck have you been all night? Ungrateful cow!”

“You're just like your bloody father! Useless!”

And one of her more colourful insults.

“You're about as useful as tits on a bull.”

It would almost be funny. Almost.

Her former home was caked with dust, formed thick in the weeks her mum had been in rehab. There were still dirty mugs in the sink, and an inch of milk in the fridge. But it smelled as it always had, musty and oppressive.

Her hair was frizzy from walking in the rain, and when she'd tripped past the pile of letters at the front door, it felt like she was a ghost in her own home.

One she never thought she'd set foot in again.

But she had to get away from him. 

Just turning up, after years of pretending she didn't exist, without so much of a ‘sorry, I never bothered to give a shit about you’.

No. 

So she ran. Socks and shoes completely sodden from running. That day at Cranstead Fields felt like a lifetime ago and not at the same time. The humid, blazing days had given way finally to raging thunder. Rumbling aggressively.

Her old bedroom didn't offer much of a haven. 

As she entered her old bedroom, seeking solace in the familiarity of its walls, she couldn't help but feel a sense of despair wash over her. This was no longer her sanctuary, but a prison of her own making, a reminder of the pain and suffering she had endured at the hands of those who were supposed to love her.

Any sunlight that filtered through the thick cloud started to fade, sat on her childhood bed that felt too small now.

And she jumped when she heard the front door open, as if expecting the shriek of her mother, the slam of doors, the rise of an open hand-

“Hey..” 

Billy's voice tore her away. He looked comical stood in the doorway, nearly filling all available space. His eyebrows furrowed beautifully, with little drips falling from the darkened sandy locks of hair over his eyes.

She'd not seen him since Cranstead.

And she felt her heart squeeze at the sight of him now. Looking just as worried we the day she first met him. 

His clothes were soaked through, jeans a dark blue at the thigh where he'd been running through the rain. And if she hadn't felt so hollow, like her legs would break if she leapt forwards, she would have hugged him. And not let go.

Eventually finding her own voice was difficult.

“Mum's dead, Billy.”

Billy's lips parted, his expression unreadable as he processed her words. There was a sadness in his eyes, but also a sense of resignation, as if he had been expecting this news all along.

For a moment, he simply stood there, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air between them. And then, without a word, Billy crossed the room and pulled her into his arms, holding her close as she let out a shaky breath.

Billy exhaled, warm against her shoulder as he held her, “I'm sorry, baby,” he whispered. His words only made her arms tighten around him. He was her only anchor. Had always been.

11th July. Woman found deceased in local canal. A woman's body was discovered in the waters of the local canal early morning, 9th July. Sources close to the investigation suggest that the woman may have been under the influence of alcohol at the time of her untimely demise. According to preliminary reports from law enforcement officials, the woman, whose identity remains unknown at this time, had checked herself out of a rehabilitation facility mere hours before her tragic accident occurred. It is believed that she may have been attempting to navigate the area on foot when she accidentally fell into the canal. In the wake of this tragic event, local authorities are urging members of the public to exercise caution when venturing near bodies of water, particularly in the aftermath of heavy rainfall. The family of the deceased have chosen not to comment and request privacy during this difficult time.

Billy sat with her for a while, rubbing her back tenderly as she leaned into him, and both watched the river of rain slide down the road outside, the concrete shimmering.

“I've never been up here,” Billy commented, earning a mirthless laugh from her.

“You're not missing much, trust me.”

His hand found its way around her waist, and he pressed his lips to her hair, a silent gesture of comfort. “Is that what your Dad came over to tell you? About your mum?” he inquired gently.

She nodded simply. 

Billy felt her tension, her inner turmoil palpable in the air around them. “I can’t do it,” she whispered, her voice strained with emotion. “Pretending nothing’s wrong…”

He shook his head, his heart aching for her. “Nobody’s asking you to,” he assured her.

“Yeah, but that's not what people want, is it? Stiff upper lip. Move on,” she lamented, her bitterness seeping into her words. "I just... I don't know how to feel," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's like... I should be sad, but all I feel is... relief.”

Billy's brows furrowed in concern, but he didn't interrupt her. He knew she needed to voice her thoughts, to untangle the complex web of emotions swirling inside her. He understands that feeling. That you should be sad, but you're not as sad as you think you ought to be.

"It's not like I wanted her to die," she continued, her tone tinged with bitterness. "But...now she's gone, and I don't know what to do with all this... emptiness.”

Billy squeezed her gently, offering silent support. "You don't have to figure it all out right now," he reassured her. "Just take it one step at a time."

She leaned into him, grateful for his steady presence. "I just... I don't want to see him. My Dad." She confessed, her voice trembling with uncertainty. "Shows up out of nowhere, expecting me to... what? Forgive him? Act like nothing ever happened?"

Billy's jaw tightened with anger, but he kept his tone calm. "You don't owe him anything," he said firmly. "You're allowed to set boundaries, to protect yourself from anyone who brings you pain."

I should know, he thinks.

She nodded. "Yeah," she agreed, her voice stronger now. "I'm not sure he's someone I want to figure things out with.”

Billy felt a pang of sadness at her words, the weight of her pain heavy on his heart. “Only you get it,” she added softly, her voice filled with longing. “Sometimes I think it’s only you who does.”

He smiled against her hair, his laughter a bittersweet melody in the quiet room. “Lucky you,” he teased, earning a breathy laugh from her that felt half-hearted, but a laugh nonetheless.

In the quiet intimacy of the room, he found himself lost in the warmth of her presence, grateful for the silent understanding that passed between them. They had weathered storms together before, and he knew they would weather this one too. He brushed a gentle kiss against her temple, his lips lingering there for a moment before he spoke.

After a beat, Billy squeezed her waist affectionately, “Come on, let’s get you back to mine. Get you dried up, yeah?”

It was clear the moment she walked through the door that his parents had been round to tidy up at some point after Cranstead.

The floor was visible. His kitchen, mostly spotless. And all the clothes had been put away. A stark contrast to how it appeared when she and Billy had been here last. It was night and day, compared to the chaos that had consumed their lives before everything unravelled.

On the walk home, Billy had confessed that Becky had texted him - probably feeling in some way, that he owed her an explanation about his ex. Not that she needed one.

When she asked if he texted back, he'd said no, reasoning that he had no desire to see or even speak to her again after the behaviour she'd exhibited when they had been together. Yet, there was no trace of jealousy within her. She knew, deep down, that she had Billy all to herself now, without any looming threats of loss.

By the time they'd made it back to his, the sun was starting to set over the rooftops, casting a rainbow through the shimmering rain that continued to fall. The walk back to his flat had drenched them once again, but neither felt the hurry to rush about and get dry.

“How's Lana?” She asked, watching from the kitchen doorway as Billy poured boiling water into two mugs.

He raised his eyebrows as if the question caught him off guard, “uh, yeah fine really…just being her usual bossy self mostly.”

Her throat tightened as she observed the movement of his hands, an unexpected pang of desire igniting within her. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing the dormant feelings that had long been suppressed. In the quiet of the kitchen, she found herself drawn to him, her gaze lingering on his features as if memorising every contour. The air crackled with unspoken words, the weight of their shared history hanging between them.

“Good.” she added quietly, suddenly finding herself needing to do something with her hands. 

With his sodden jacket now hanging over the door, her gaze lingered on the sight of his bare skin, his barely sun-kissed arms at his side. The memory of their kiss, passionate and electrifying, flooded her mind, sending a shiver down her spine.

She shook her head, trying to dispel the overwhelming emotions that threatened to consume her. She couldn't afford to lose herself in him, not now, not like this, not after the trauma of what had happened. She had to maintain control, to resist the pull of her desires and stop acting like a lovesick little teenager.

As Billy turned to face her, his pupils widened with longing, and she felt her resolve weaken. In that moment, the palpable chemistry between them was undeniable, sparking like electricity in the air, pulling them together with an irresistible force.

Suddenly, she became acutely aware of her appearance to him. Her clothes clung to her damp skin, the scent of rain clinging to her hair, a tangible reminder of the storm they had walked through together.

But despite her dishevelled state, there was something in Billy's gaze that made her heart race. It was a hunger, a desire that mirrored her own, igniting a fire within her that she struggled to contain. Yet, there was something else there, something deeper, a glimmer of disbelief mingled with relief as if he couldn't quite believe she was standing here, alive and whole, in front of him. It added a layer of complexity to the intensity of their connection, amplifying the magnetic pull that drew them closer together.

And then, without a word, Billy stepped forward, closing the distance between them in one decisive move. His hands cupped her cheeks tenderly, his touch both gentle and possessive as he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

It was a bold move, one that took her by surprise, but there was a sense of determination in Billy's actions that spoke volumes. For too long, he had taken a back seat in his own life, allowing others to dictate his choices and define his path. 

But this, kissing her, was a decision he could make, a choice born out of his own desires and needs.

It was only when they parted and Billy pressed his tacky forehead to hers that he spoke, “I'm so fucking sorry…”

Between soft inhales, her voice came out weakened, “what for?”

She couldn't tell if the breath he let out was more of a choked sob rather than speaking. “For being such a twat before you left for uni, for fucking putting you in danger - I could never live with myself if you-”

Her head turned, capturing his lips once more to silence the words that had barely come out. She couldn't allow him to think like that, the what ifs. They were here. Alive.

Driven by an undeniable longing, they stumbled backward, their bodies moving in sync as they navigated the path to Billy's bedroom. His hands slid down to clamp around her waist, guiding her with a sense of purpose as they moved with a newfound urgency, barely giving space for breath as he surrendered himself to her.

Billy tasted faintly of cigarettes, and while her fingers slid up the nape of his neck, twisting themselves in his dark, blonde hair, she found herself thinking that there was nothing more addictive at this moment than kissing Billy Washington.

And wanted to kick herself for waiting so long to do it.

Lost in the heat of the moment, she found herself craving more of Billy's touch, a hunger that consumed her from the inside out. His hands roamed her body with a feverish intensity, tracing every curve and contour as if committing them to memory.

“So beautiful…” 

Her knees went a little weak, and thank god that she didn't have to stand in front of him much longer. The back of her knees met the bedframe and as she stumbled with her back on the worn mattress, Billy was quick to follow, his knee parting her legs with quiet intensity.

There was no need for words, the depth of this bond had been communicated long ago.

If she paid too much attention to the way his large hands pawed at her breasts and slipped beneath the hem of her shirt to glide along her skin, her mind would spin. It felt so natural, chest to chest, tangled in bliss they had ignored for too long.

She tugged at his shirt, the burning desire building so quickly inside her, there was no way of stopping. He propped himself up slightly to grab his shirt at his back and pulled it off himself in one smooth movement, forgotten to the floor in an instant.

His lips trailed down her neck, collarbone, savouring every bit, before continuing south, softly kissing the skin that had become exposed at her torso as she assisted in guiding her jeans off her legs, struggling at the way the fabric clung to her skin from the rain.

“Fucking hell…” Billy whispered, her hips in his bruising grip, his lips brushing against the inside of her bare thighs. She felt his tongue tease that crease where her leg met her hip and the heat that rose to her face from it. 

“Billy, oh-” her eyes slipped completely shut, stomach doing backflips when he laid an open-mouthed kiss to her centre, teasing the growing wetness with his tongue as if he couldn't wait to taste. Even through the thin fabric of her underwear, with his sheer determination to bury himself as far between her legs as possible, his nose brushed against her little bundle of nerves, stroking a long burning fire that brewed within her.

She could do nothing but thread her fingers through his hair, hips gently grinding on his face to search for that delicious friction she craved so much. Billy didn't mind the gentle tug on his roots, and simply slid down the underwear that was in his way and flattened his tongue with vigour against her, a broad stripe from her folds to focus his unwavering attention to her bud, if only to watch the way her thighs trembled in response.

The coil wound tight in her gut, and when she chanced a glance to see Billy's bright blue eyes looking back at her from between her legs, groaning, she nearly lost it entirely. The pleasant sting of his grip on her thighs where Billy was holding them apart, could not even be described.

Her fingers curled tighter, breath hot in her chest the feeling began to flood into her limbs, subconsciously grinding against his face as she rode out the high that shook her.

“-fuck! Billy-” is all she was able to whisper through hurried breaths, feeling that Billy was not about to falter until he had taken as much from her as he wanted, lapping up anything she gave him with a final flick of his tongue against her bud.

He laid one last kiss to the inside of her thigh before struggling to his feet with his fingers prying the buttons his jeans apart with difficulty. Merely watching him, she felt the dull buzz through her body still, and the rapid beating of her heart against her ribs.

Neither said a thing, too focussed on seeing each other like this for the first novel time. Her eyes followed the trail of dark blonde hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his black boxers before they came off as well. 

She'd never given much thought to how he looked without his clothes on, that would mean opening a door she'd long locked away. But once she saw him as she did now, chest moving with barely-contained desire, his large palm running up and down his shaft that stood tight against his abdomen - she felt herself clench around nothing. And suddenly, his body was all she was able to think about as she pressed her thighs together.

As quickly as she closed her legs, Billy was forcing them open again, and her cheeks went all hot as he knelt before her on the bed, his eyes zero’d in on what lay between her supple thighs. 

His hands drifted over her hips to her waist appreciatively, before taking his length in his hand and running the fat head of his cock over her glistening centre, “God, you're so fucking good-”

She was oversensitive, barely recovered from her first orgasm of the evening, and the sensation had her mouth go dry, but more so the lewd sound of her wetness. 

Billy looked as if he didn't know what to do with himself when she pushed him back slightly with a hand on his chest, a puzzled look replaced quickly by intrigue as she manoeuvred her way on top of him, with boyish blue eyes staring up at her where she now straddled him.

She'd never felt so daring in her life. Removing her shirt purely on instinct, and the bra quickly joining it, she couldn't help but tease herself on Billy's length, glazing him with her wetness, if not but for the way that line between his eyebrows furrowed together and his hips twitched with need, jutting up to meet her.

His fingers bruised her skin, “stop-” he groaned loudly, feeling as if he were embarrassingly close but still without the sensation of being inside her.

Her hand trailed down his chest, over his stomach, “I love you-” she took him and slowly sank onto him, the stretch stealing the air from her lungs for a brief moment, expelled in a choked moan. “Love you…”

For a moment, she stayed there, savouring his tortured expression before she moved herself on him, the soft sound of her buttocks against his thighs accompanied with Billy's hurried pants were like music.

“Fuck - don't stop-”

And as if she would, when he spoke to her like that. His eyes cracked open and locked on the way her breasts moved, his hands around her waist guiding her pace on him. When he looked at her so reverently, like a longing gaze, combined with the way his curved length teased her g-spot when she ground on him in this position, she was powerless to stop that growing peak rousing up inside her.

Billy groaned aloud, feeling her tighten and greedily suck him further inside her, “Oh my god-”

“Billy-” she'd be embarrassed if she could see herself, all drunk on sex with Billy like this. He leaned up, thrusting up into her at a faster and needier pace, while his lips took her right nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing it slightly.

She whined, her hand finding its way into his hair, meeting his hips halfway. With Billy guiding the speed instead it felt exciting, with each thrust the air felt knocked from her chest, amplified as Billy let her nipple fall from his mouth and trail up to her neck.

“I love you-” he murmured, one hand drifting up her spine to her nape, gently but insistently pulling at her hair to crush her lips to his.

She wanted to sob with joy. How long had she wanted to hear that? To feel loved? And now she was being loved by none other than Billy Washington. And she held onto him tight, not wanting to let go, and instead let out a sob of pure pleasure as his thrusts became deeper and more insistent the closer he was edging to his own end.

It was quickly driving her to her own.

“Please, Billy-”

She squeaked when he was the one this time to pull her by her waist and rut into her aggressively. His breath was hurried and hot against her neck, but he felt he could barely suck in air at all, putting all his energy into fucking her until she could scarcely think of anything else.

“always…” he breathed out loud, as if he had not realised. He echoed her words spoken in haste, in fear, just a few days before when she held his face and reassured him.

Beneath her hands, his shoulders tensed, and she could tell he was close. And when Billy's hand stole between them, his thumb gathering her wetness where he was still pounding into her, he began tight circles against her bud, propelling her over the edge with another choked cry of his name.

White hot pleasure bathed Billy as he held her tightly, too tightly, but she didn't protest, and he trembled as he felt himself come deep inside her, her walls too quivering around him, seeking to greedily tease as much from him as she could.

With chests pressed together, she held him close, sucking in air as Billy was doing. Her fingers loosened in his hair, the desperate hold turning more so to a gentle embrace, with Billy's length tucked inside her and softening rapidly.

In the aftermath, with the room hot with sex, Billy pulled away from her neck only to flutter his gorgeous blonde eyelashes up at her, blue eyes peeking from beneath them, and his lips curling up into a boyish smile. He remained inside her, and wanted to for as long as he could. Where she sank in his arms, he tightened his.

The thin layer of sweat on their skin made them both shiver slightly, and she could find no words for him, only the ones she had uttered in a state of unadulterated bliss moments before.

“I love you…”

And Billy echoed the ones he had too spoken. This time with no quiver to his voice. “Always.”

The soft glow of morning crept through the curtains, casting warm hues across the room. She had been awake for some time, watching as Billy slept soundly beside her, his tousled hair a golden halo against the pillow. With each gentle rise and fall of his chest, she felt a sense of calm wash over her, soothing the lingering echoes of the night before. She shivered at the rush of air on her bare arms, pulling the bedsheets to her chest, but also felt the warmth around her heart, like a balm for her soul.

When her phone buzzed, having been silenced since she escaped her flat yesterday afternoon, she smiled at the message from Libs.

She bit back a smile, and replied with a sneaky photo of Billy, slept on his front, but revealing nothing more than his boyishly charming sleeping face.

With her heart feeling whole, mind clear, and that dull ache in her chest somewhat healed, her eyes glanced up at him, appreciating him, she thought.

Yes, finally.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies

[sinner-sunflower]

P.2 HH Lucifer-centric AU 5/?

STORY 1, PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 14.5, PART 15, PART 16, PART 17, PART 18, PART 19, PART 20, PART 21, PART 22, PART 23, PART 24, PART 25, PART 26

Notes below!

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

Ever since his redemption (a perplexing event he still couldn't fathom), Sir Pentious had never left Emily's side at all. Well, more like he wasn't allowed to leave the young Seraph's side at all. That tall lady, Sera, proved to be stricter than dear Vagatha.

Confined to a single floor among Heaven's bright buildings, he shared quarters with the Seraphs. Sera had instructed him to remain there until she could resolve the issue at hand.

He has no idea what the other means by that. Wasn't his redemption already the resolution they needed?

The snake demon- nope, angel now- felt an urge to consult Emily about it, as she reminded him greatly of Charlie. Yet, he never got the opportunity, when one day he was abruptly awoken and whisked away before he could even really wake up.

Sir Pentious: Emily, dear, where exactly are we going?

Emily: Last time, Sera said she had a meeting with the Heavenly Virtues, so I told her to tell them about you being a redeemed soul from Hell.

Sir Pentious: And who, pray tell, are thesssssse.. Virtuesssssss?

Emily: The Archangels of Heaven. They're the highest authority here just under the Lord.

Sir Pentious: Miss Charlie didn't mention any Archangels during her trial.

Emily: They weren't there. They put all their trust in Sera to handle those kinds of matters but... After the last extermination, there was no hiding Sera can do anymore. And when she was called for that meeting, I begged her to tell them about you.

Sir Pentious: I will guess that she hasssssn't?

Emily: She didn't! I can't believe her. She came back and she's refusing to see me or even go back to tell them! So, I'm making an executive decision to tell them myself.

Sir Pentious: Do I really have to be there?

Emily: Of course! You're living- uhh- dead? proof that a soul can be redeemed! Now come on!

Sir Pentious: Are you ssssssure we're allowed here, dear?

Emily had been noticeably fidgety—a trait Sir Pentious recognized all too well. From past experience, he understood that such behavior either means discomfort, fear, or guilt. He isn't sure what she's thinking right now.

Emily: Um- yep!

Sir Pentious: Then why are we sneaking in?

The angel's expression confirmed his suspicions. Right on the money.

Emily: Well- I- just follow me!

Emily continued to open random doors while dragging Sir Pentious along, seemingly determined to find a specific room among them. Despite their covert mission, they managed to evade any detection so far. Yet, the newly redeemed soul couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't alone in the building.

Emily: One of these rooms has to belong to one of them.

As Emily expressed her determination, a fleeting glimpse of familiar red and white caught Sir Pentious' attention.

He instinctively turned his head towards the direction, only to find the hallway empty. There's a nagging sensation compelling him to investigate further.

Emily intervened, grabbing his arm before he could even move away.

Emily: Sir Pentious! What are you doing?

Sir Pentious: I think I sssssaw ssssssomething, deary.

Emily's sudden burst of excitement propelled them both towards the direction where Sir Pentious claimed to have seen the figure vanished.

Emily: Do you think it's an Archangel? I hope so. We might get in trouble if it's anyone other than them. Then again, I've never been in this building before and I'm not really allowed but I'm technically acting Seraphim right now so-

Her words trailed off into rambling, but Sir Pentious paid her no mind, his focus is entirely on tracking the elusive figure. However, they couldn't catch up as they lost it amidst the labyrinth of corridors.

Sir Pentious: Hmmm. Perhaps it was no one-

The building suddenly shook so hard causing them to fall on the floor. It stopped just as quickly as it happened.

Emily: What was that?!

Sir Pentious: Emily, doesssss Heaven get earthquakessssss?

Emily: I don't even know what those are!

As Sir Pentious and Emily cautiously approached the door from which the sound of bickering emanated, they exchanged a knowing glance. With silent agreement, they inched closer, their curiosity piqued by the faint golden glow seeping through a suspiciously well-placed crack on the door just perfect for their eyes.

Sir Pentious chose to say nothing about it.

Peeking through the cracks, they find themselves shocked at who was at the other side of the door.

Michael: You don't understand! I- it was such a hard decision! It was the best option! I'm Heaven's protector and- Lucifer: You were my protector too!

Emily: Archangel Michael?! / Sir Pentious: His Majesty?!

Emily: His- wait. What do you mean?

Sir Pentious: That'ssssss His Majessssty, Lucifer!

Gasping a little too loudly, Emily's hands flew to cover her mouth.

A part of her wants to go back to the Archangel's words. Where did she hear that before?

Emily: Charlie's dad?? As in the King of-

Michael: -on their knees in front of people other than our Lord. It took so many meetings for them to relent. That's why you and Lilith spent a long time held in the Garden. Lucifer: Shut up. Michael: So, I'm really sorry that we let you down. Lucifer: Shut up, Michael! Michael: But if I had the chance to go back, I would do it all over again.

As Emily listened to the heated exchange between the Archangels, a pang of empathy tugged at her heart. She couldn't help but wonder if someone could truly utter such hurtful words even in the midst of apologies. She doesn't blame Charlie's dad one bit if she were in his shoes. If Sera hurt her like that...

Ah. But Sera did hurt her. She lied to her.

Amidst the confusing emotions swirling within her, Emily's acute senses picked up something else from within the room—voices that didn't belong to the two arguing Archangels. The threads are-

Lucifer: You should've killed me when you had the chance. And now you think you can beat me at my own game?

Wait a second. Where had she heard about golden thread before? What did Sera say? That every soul's destiny, human or not, was already determined by the-

Emily: Oh no. No no no no! Sir Pentious we have to get out here before they see us!

Sir Pentious: Young miss, the Archangel you need is beyond that door plus His Majesty! We can relay the news faster to Charlie this way!

There's manic laughter now but Emily is far too panicked think of it.

Lucifer: Divine move? Divine move? You think you have any moves at all?!

She's pulling him with all her might but the winner is stubborn.

Emily: This room- We aren't allowed here! We're not even allowed to see it! Sera said this is the room of The F-

Lucifer: Maybe then, Heaven could've killed that weak, naive angel. But me? ME?! Ì̶̢̤̉'̵͙͕͑M̷̱͋̀ ̵̬͌T̴̥͠͝H̸̫́̑E̶̳̠̐̎ ̴̠̣̎̐D̷̼̕E̵̢̳͆V̶̳̩̉̋Ì̶̬L̴̥̗̾ ̴̮͝F̸̝̓̀Ų̸̠͗̑C̵͚͗K̷̺̚̚I̵̠̋̕Ň̸͎͈G̵̘̔ ̵̤͛I̸̩͐N̷̥̰̋C̸͓̒̍A̴̙̓R̵͍͛N̴̤͎͠A̵͇̟̓Ṯ̴̯͊Ḙ̴͑̇,̴̰͆̑ ̵̤́ͅÝ̴̙̫̈́O̵͚͐͒U̵̙͂ ̷̱̆͜͝Ċ̸͍̌Á̷̰́N̸͉̈'̶͇̎͂T̵̠̒ ̶͖́K̶̛̲̮̆I̸͎̘͐̃L̴̟̙̔̿L̴̜̾͊ ̶̱̥̌M̵̳̕E̵͈̯͋́!

For the 2nd time that day, they fell as the ground shook with the screams inside.

They scrambled to their feet just in time to witness a terrifying sight—the manifestation of Lucifer's wrath in all its terrifying glory.

Emily's blood ran cold as she saw the scene unfolding before her, mind struggling to comprehend the Devil. The air crackled with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine, and her heart pounded with a mixture of fear and disbelief.

Michael: Lucifer—what? Why do you look like that? What did you-

She refuses to believe this is Charlie's dad.

Emily: T-t-that's the K-king of Hell?

She doesn't know why she expected Sir Pentious to be smug or even be proud that this scary being was his former King. But he wasn't. In fact, he looks just as afraid as she is.

Sir Pentious: No. It isssss not.

Lucifer: Don't worry, Mika. I won't die that easily because I'll be there to watch Heaven fall.

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

Even after the King of Hell departed and the Archangel Michael fell silent, Sir Pentious and Emily remained rooted to the spot, hesitant to leave yet also unwilling to enter the room. The lingering tension in the air held them in its grip.

It was the former sinner who spoke up first.

Sir Pentious: Thissss isss our chance, Emily.

Emily: Sir Pentious, maybe we should find another person we could talk to.

Sir Pentious: Come now, little missy. We've already missed His Majesty, and we barely could find a single soul in this building! An Archangel is right there and we must seize this opportunity!

Emily: Shhhhhh! If Sir Michael hears us even near this room, I don't know how I'll tell this to Sera.

Sir Pentious: Do not shush me, young lady! I'll have you know I-

The sudden swing of the door startled both Sir Pentious and Emily, freezing them in place like deer caught in headlights. Before them stood the champion of Heaven, the head of the Archangels, the protector of her home, wearing an expression that Emily could only describe as surprised—though she was on the verge of a full-blown meltdown to really be sure.

Emily: Archangel Michael! We-uh- we can explain!

Sir Pentious: Your Heavenly Grace!

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

short my ass, aldjlakla the day had been busy so sorry for the late upload!

I had help from chatgpt again to avoid any redundant words cos I am no English native haha

[queenshelby]

Chemical Reactions (P. 18)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy as J Robert Oppenheimer x Student Reader

Warning: Age-Gap, Infidelity, Smut, Torture

Words: 2,566

Note: The fic is spoiler free and my own fantasy and imagination. It is not historically and scientifically accurate.

In the dimly lit labyrinth of the laboratory, the brilliant minds congregated in solitude, their shadows dancing along the walls as they delved deep into the secrets of science. The atmosphere was thick with tension and secrecy, as each scientist knew that their work held the key to unleashing the destructive power of the atom.

As you sat there, lost in thought, trying to comprehend the magnitude of our endeavours, you felt a sudden chill run down your spine that day, feeling as though something was not right.

Little did you know that the universe was aligning against you, and you were soon to be caught up in a sinister web of deceit and betrayal.

Without warning, armed guards burst into the laboratory, their faces grim and unforgiving. Their commander, Officer Pash, followed closely behind them, his eyes burning with intensity. With a coldness that froze your very core, he commanded your arrest without ever revealing his intentions. Before you could say anything, you were whisked away, leaving behind a trail of uncertainty.

"Excuse me. This hasn't been cleared with Dr Oppenheimer, has it? She can't just leave, we have work to do," a fellow scientist argued, being the only one who was at the laboratory with you this morning while the others, from adjacent facilities, watched on as you struggled against the handcuffs that had been placed on you. 

"Don't worry sir, Dr. Oppenheimer knows about this," the officer reassured calmly. "He approved the arrest," he continued on, and the scientist hesitated for a moment before looking over to where you and the officer were.

In that brief instant, a silent communication passed between you two as you shook your head. 

"He doesn't know. He wouldn't have agreed to have me arrested like this," you told your colleague who gave you a nod of understanding.

A mixture of sorrow and confusion played out across his face as he saw your handcuffed wrists, understanding that you were no longer free to continue working together. You turned back to look at him once more, offering a subtle nod and a faint smile, begging him, without words, to see Robert. 

***

"Can you tell me what this is about?" you asked calmly as Officer Pash led you through the labyrinthine corridors, past numerous other scientists, some recognising you but most likely unaware of the situation unfolding around them.

"Shut up and keep walking. You will find out soon enough,"

Pash replied curtly, making sure to keep his voice low so as not to attract unwanted attention. His firm grip on your arm ensured that you remained close by as you walked through the dimly lit corridors all the way to a vehicle where a bag was placed over your head. The sense of unease continued to grow inside you, filling your chest with an overwhelming heaviness.

The journey took far longer than you anticipated, taking a long drive followed by a walk through several mazes of concrete hallways and sterile rooms filled with equipment, all eerily devoid of life save for the flickering fluorescent lights casting eerie shadows upon the walls.

Each step you took brought you closer to the unknown destination while dread continued to build within your chest, threatening to break loose and consume you entirely. Your heart raced, palms sweating as your body seemed to be alive with anxiety. The constant pounding of your heart thumped in your ears, drowning out even the sound of Officer Pash's heavy boots.

Your thoughts kept drifting back to Robert, thinking that there would have been no way that he agreed to this, knowing that you were pregnant with his child. 

You knew he cared deeply for you, yet still, he never said a word about any impending arrests or investigations. Was this Officer Pash lying? Had someone else informed him of your relationship with Robert and manipulated the situation? 

Your head swam with these questions as the bag was removed from your head, and you found yourself in a cold, brightly lit room filled with rows of filing cabinets. The harsh fluorescent lighting cast harsh shadows on the walls, making it feel as if you were trapped in a nightmare.

Your mind raced with possibilities, attempting to piece together the reason for your abduction. You wondered how Robert would react when he discovered you missing. Would he think you had abandoned him? Or would he suspect foul play and search for you relentlessly?

Just as you began to lose hope and despair, Officer Pash re-entered the room, closing the door behind him. He approached you silently, his shadow stretching across the floor like a dark tendril. His presence made your skin crawl.

His cold gaze bore into yours, seemingly capable of seeing straight through your soul. A wave of terror coursed through your veins, causing your heart to race wildly in your chest. Officer Pash approached you slowly, methodically, moving with calculated precision. The space between you felt almost tangible, an invisible barrier that both repelled and drew you toward him simultaneously. Your breath caught in your throat, your hands trembling with fear and anticipation. His proximity alone made you feel exposed, vulnerable, and utterly defenceless against whatever intentions he may hold.

His presence was suffocating, engulfing you in a darkness that threatened to devour your very essence. Your legs quivered beneath you, your body trembling with fear and anticipation as Officer Pash moved ever closer.

"Someone has leaked information to the Soviets," he stated coldly, his eyes boring into yours. 

"If you are suggesting that I have ties with the communists, then you are mistaken. I am loyal to the project and the development of the gadget," you answered, desperately trying to maintain your composure despite the mounting fear and panic inside you.

Officer Pash raised an eyebrow, a sceptical glint in his eye.

"Then why did I find these documents hidden beneath your bed?" he asked, and you bit your lip, uncertain how to respond.

"I didn't put these there. I don't even have access to these files,"

you argued, your voice wavering slightly under the weight of your fear.

"But someone had to have taken them from Dr Oppenheimer's office and hid them there," Officer Pash countered, his tone unwavering. "And you were the last person seen with Dr. Oppenheimer before these went missing."

You felt your heart sink in your chest, knowing that the evidence against you appeared to be mounting.

"Dr Oppenheimer and I...," you began to say, your thoughts racing as you tried to come up with a plausible explanation. The air in the room became thick with the weight of your fear, your breath catching in your throat as you fought to regain control of your emotions.

"Dr Oppenheimer and you?" Officer Pash queried, unaware of your affair.

"Well, I... I don't know how those documents got there," you stammered, unable to meet Officer Pash's unwavering gaze. "It must be some sort of setup," you added, hoping to convince him of your innocence.

"Someone is trying to sabotage the project by framing me as a spy," you pointed out, but the Officer simply laughed.

"Frame you, out of all people at Los Alamos?"

Officer Pash scoffed, his scepticism evident in his tone. "This isn't some small operation you're involved in here. It's a top-secret government project, and you've somehow managed to get entangled in a dangerous game of espionage. Why is that?" he asked before leaning over the desk and reaching for your throat, pressing down tightly. 

You let out a muffled cry as your world started to spin, everything going black for a split second. When you opened your eyes again, you found yourself bound to a chair, facing Officer Pash, who stood before you with a look of triumph etched on his face. 

"Since you won't cough up the information I am after voluntarily, we will have to implement some measures to aid your compliance moving forward," he declared with a cruel grin. 

"I prefer doing these things the Russian way," he then announced as the room fell silent, the weight of the situation pressing down on you with crushing force. Your heart raced, adrenaline flooding your system, leaving you feeling lightheaded and weak.

You tried to focus on your breathing, to stay present and alert amidst the rapidly escalating tension. As Officer Pash paced around the room, you could hear the sound of his boots echoing against the hard surface, creating an ominous rhythm that underscored the growing sense of danger surrounding you. His every movement seemed calculated, each step sending a shiver down your spine.

As the tension reached its peak, the silence between you grew almost deafening. Sweat dripped down your forehead, causing you to wipe it away with a trembling hand.

Your heart hammered in your chest, fear coursing through your veins. Officer Pash circled you, his eyes holding a calculating gleam. You could sense the power he held over you, a power that you could not match in this darkened room. Despite your attempt to remain composed, your voice shook with anxiety as you spoke. "Why would anyone want to frame me as a spy? I don't understand!" you cried and, without breaking his stride, Officer Pash chuckled darkly.

"Do you really expect me to believe that you are all innocent after what your father has been arrested for?" he stopped pacing, fixing you with a piercing gaze. "You see, I have no idea how you got clearance for a project like this in the first place," he paused, allowing the silence to fill the room.

As you struggled to maintain your composure, Officer Pash stepped towards you once more, his footfalls echoing against the hard floor, intensifying the feeling of being trapped in this darkened room. With each step, your heart raced faster, your breath became shallow. His eyes held a sinister glint, one that sent a shiver down your spine. He circled you, the intensity of his gaze causing your own to widen in fear.

"Let me tell you something," he whispered, his voice low and menacing. "We will get to the bottom of this, one way or another. Whether it takes hours, days, weeks…or even months."

The thought of spending endless days and nights in this dim, chilling room, subjected to Officer Pash's relentless interrogation, sent a fresh wave of terror surging through your veins.

"No, please!" you begged for mercy as Officer Pash brought another fabric bag and placed it over your head. 

You gasped in fear, struggling to breathe as the sensation of suffocation consumed you, your heart racing with terror. 

Pain exploded in your body as his strong hands bound your wrists tightly to the arms of the chair, restricting your movements and adding to your helplessness. Your mind raced with thoughts of escape, but the reality of your situation sank in: you were trapped, completely at his mercy.

You fought back tears, trying to maintain your composure, though your heart hammered wildly in your chest. "I can help you find the truth," you pleaded weakly, your voice hoarse from fear before. Suddenly, your head was being pulled back and cold water was poured over the sack covering your nose and mouth.

The shock of the unexpected sensation sent a jolt through your entire body, making you gasp for air. You felt like you were drowning. 

He kept pouring water until you were soaking wet, yet still unable to breathe properly.

Your lungs burned with the struggle for air, and you felt your limbs tremble with exhaustion. In the midst of this torment, Officer Pash's words seeped into your consciousness like poison: "Don't worry. We'll figure out the truth together."

As you writhed helplessly in your bonds, a new wave of fear washed over you: not just for your safety but also for the secrets you carried within.

"Please," you gasped against the water bag, "please, stop!" 

"I am...pregnant...please," you begged, your voice hoarse from fear and fatigue.  

Officer Pash hesitated for a moment, seemingly struck by the revelation. "Interesting," he said, raising an eyebrow. 

The room fell into a heavy silence as Officer Pash considered his next move. Finally, he removed the water bag from your head, the sudden release of pressure causing you to gasp for air.

"But irrelevant to me," he then said before pulling your head up again.

"Now, think about your child. You don't want to lose your child, do you?" Officer Pash challenged, his eyes boring into yours after he removed the wet bag from your head. 

"What would you do if I told you that your child's future depended on your cooperation?" he then asked and you felt your stomach twist with fear, your heart pounding in your chest. "Anything," you replied, your voice cracking with emotion.

Officer Pash smiled, a cruel, taunting smile that sent a shiver down your spine. "Good," he murmured, stepping closer to you.

"Then take some time to reflect and, tomorrow, we will continue this little conversation. If you talk and give me some names, then I will ensure that you receive sufficient food and water, ensuring the survival of you both," 

Officer Pash suggested calmly, a coldness behind his eyes. 

You swallowed hard, nodding your agreement while thinking furiously. This man had already threatened you physically and emotionally, and now your unborn child's life was at stake. "Alright," you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He left you alone in the room, the darkness wrapping around you like a shroud. Your eyes adjusted to the faint light filtering through the windows, casting eerie shadows across the barren walls.

Tag List Insert

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[yesbutmakeitgay]

I'd Circle 'Round The World And Keep Coming Back To You

GIF by marvelladiesdaily

Carol Danvers x Reader

We’ve Loved A Thousand Lives

Same beginning, different story every time.

Part 8

Reunions, Bittersweet.

Beta'd by @cordeliasdarling <3

Word count: 1k

Masterlist | This collection | AO3

Carol enters her ship after another successful mission wanting for nothing more than to relax and rest while reaching her next destination, that is, until she senses someone else’s presence in her space home.

She walks slowly, pointing one of her lit up fists in a general forward direction, "I know you’re in here, who are you? Who sent you?" she warns the intruder.

A human silhouette appears in her line of vision, it’s arms up in surrender. She continues to walk towards it so she can make out the person’s face.

"It’s me," you announce, hoping that’s enough to deter her threatening state.

"Oh, hey," she greets you with surprise and quickly puts her fist down.

"Hi."

"What are you doing here?" Carol asks in genuine confusion.

"I got stranded a few days ago," you explain nervously, "I saw your ship and I just…I hope you don’t mind."

"No, of course not, are you okay?"

"I think so."

She isn't so sure about your answer, but decides not to press you, "Do you need a ride somewhere?"

"That would be great, thank you."

She makes her way to the ship's control panel, "Where to?"

"Um, home?" you hesitate.

Carol pauses her movements and turns to you, "And, where is that now?"

"I’m not sure," you whisper back.

The Captain thinks for a moment, "I have a couple of missions left out here and then I'm going to Earth to visit a friend, why don't you come with me?"

"Alright."

Carol whips up a quick dinner, and you sit at the table together, "You have a nice home here, Danvers, a lot livelier than I remember," you comment, looking around the ship.

A reminiscing smile grows on her face, "Yeah, it's been a while."

"What's with all the drawings of yourself?" you ask, pointing to the cartoonish versions of Captain Marvel on the fridge.

She chuckles, "Kamala made those."

"Kamala? Is that a partner?" you wonder, trying to sound casual.

"Teammate, friend!" It comes out more aggressively than she intends.

You hum in understanding, "Still riding the Yan train, then?"

"He's just a friend, you know that," she protests, faking annoyance.

Your features turn more serious, "You and I used to be friends too."

"We're still friends," she frowns, "aren't we?" There’s a trace of sadness in her voice.

You answer with another question, "How often do you see your friends, Captain?"

Carol is taken aback by it, "Not as often as I'd like," she stutters.

"And how often do you make out with them?"

The ship is quiet for a moment.

"You've made your point." Carol accepts her defeat getting up to clear the table as you follow to help her, "I hate to be that guy, but you should take a shower," she suggests when you’re done cleaning up.

"What? You don’t like my 'I’ve been stranded on a strange planet for four days' smell?" you joke.

"Nope," she responds, accentuating the 'p,' "you can borrow some clothes if you want."

"Way ahead of you, Captain," you yell back as you walk to the bathroom.   

When you come out, Carol notices that you're hurt, "Come here," she instructs.

"What?" You walk toward her on the couch, a little puzzled.

"Sit," you do as you're told, "why are you limping?"

"Excuse me?"

"Don't lie to me," she gently takes your leg and brings it over her lap, "you sprained your ankle," she states as a fact.

"It's nothing," you try to downplay it.

"It's huge, stop being stubborn." She gets up to gather some supplies and when she returns she wraps your ankle up and gives you an ice pack, "There are more in the freezer when this one melts."

"Thanks," is all you can say.

Carol goes to her bedroom, and you insist on sleeping on the couch rather than sharing a bed with her.

The Captain wakes up in the middle of the night and sees light coming through the bottom of her door. She comes out to investigate and finds you wide awake, looking out the window.

"Can't sleep?" Carol’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts.

"I could never get used to the feeling of the spaceship," you reply, still looking to the outside.

"You should try flying alone," she quips as she sits beside you and looks at what's mesmerizing you so much.

You grab a small picture that’s tucked in the window frame, "Where’s this?" you whisper.

"That's New Asgard."

"Where Valkyrie lives?" Carol hums in response, "We used to visit her a lot."

"I remember."

"Do you still visit her?" you ask, out of simple curiosity.

There is a sense of woe in her words, "When I can."

"Remember that time we got to ride on her Pegasus?"

"Oh, yeah!" A smile grows on Carol's face.

"You told me you loved me for the first time that day."

She scoots closer to you, and you lay your head on her shoulder, the ship is so quiet you can hear each other's breathing.

"Do you ever think of me?" Her voice is barely audible.

"Don’t ask me that."

"Do you?" she insists.

You pause for a beat, "I didn’t get stranded," Carol looks at you confused, "I heard you were stopping by, so I went to see you."

Her brows furrow, "Why?"

"Because I miss you, because nothing’s been the same since I lost you."

"But we were friends, we’re still friends!" she objects in an oblivious tone.

"That’s just something people say," you respond with a bittersweet smile, "the universe needs Captain Marvel, I just wanted Carol."

"That’s not fair."

"I was tired of fighting with the universe for your attention," you chuckle sadly, "that sounds so selfish of me. This is your job, it’s your life and you love doing it. That’s what makes the great Captain Marvel." You finally look at her.

"So, what now? Will you come find me again in two years?"

"Maybe I can stay a little longer," you hope, almost as if asking for permission.

"I would like that, I love you, I always will."

I love this one so much.

@wolf79

[natsaffection]

Auge um Auge. p. 2 | N.R

Investigator!older!Natasha x Robber!younger! reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 6,4k

A/n: we are slowly getting to the point..

Natasha entered the small café, the familiar scent of freshly roasted beans and quiet murmurs wrapping around her like a warm blanket. She glanced at the barista behind the counter, ordered a black coffee, and found a seat at the bar. Her head was full of unanswered questions. The voice on the phone earlier had been polished, calculated, and far too composed. It had set off her instincts. She hated being at a disadvantage. And now, with her dead phone, she felt even further removed from the case.

As she waited for her coffee, her eyes wandered to a wall-mounted television above the counter. A breaking news report had caught the attention of a few patrons. On the screen, a news anchor spoke in a serious tone: “We continue our live coverage of the ongoing situation at the national bank, where an as-yet-unknown group of robbers has taken hostages. Details remain scarce, but sources confirm that the group is well-organized and heavily armed.”

The footage switched to shaky video of the bank exterior, where armed officers and barricades had been set up. Natasha herself briefly appeared in the footage, an image of her stepping out of a black SUV earlier that day. The caption read: “Agent Natasha Romanoff, FBI, leads negotiations.” She grimaced, annoyed at the media’s interference. The last thing she needed was her face plastered all over the news. Her coffee was served, and she took a long sip to collect herself.

“Tough day?” a voice asked, pulling her from her thoughts. Natasha looked up. A young woman stood nearby, holding a charger in her hand and smiling warmly. Natasha hesitated before replying. “You could say that.” The woman nodded toward Natasha’s phone on the table. “I noticed you staring at it like you were waiting for a miracle. Dead battery?” Natasha glanced at her phone and then back at the stranger. “Yes.”

“Here.” the woman said, stepping closer and offering her charger. “You can use mine.” Natasha’s instincts flared. She didn’t like accepting help from strangers, especially in the middle of a delicate situation. But the alternative was sitting in silence, stewing in her frustration. She took the charger with a curt nod. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” the woman replied. She sat at a nearby chair and pulled out her own phone. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full anyway..” she added, nodding toward the television. Natasha followed her gaze. The broadcast had switched to a panel of commentators speculating about the robbers’ motives. Words like “calculated,” “anti-establishment,” and “dangerous” flashed on the screen.

“They’re turning it into a show.” the woman said casually, her eyes still on the television. “Whoever’s behind this knows exactly what they’re doing.”Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You seem pretty certain about that.” The woman shrugged, her expression thoughtful. “I mean, just..look at the timing. They didn’t pick any random day. This is deliberate, as the news said. They’re playing chess while everyone else is still playing checkers.”

Natasha studied her closely. There was something about her, something a little too self-assured, a little too relaxed. Most people wouldn’t start a conversation about a bank robbery with an FBI agent. “And you’re an expert on bank robberies?” Natasha asked coolly. The woman laughed softly and shook her head. “Not at all. I’m just good at reading people. It’s a habit.” She extended her hand. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” Natasha hesitated, then shook her hand briefly. “Natasha.”

“Nice to meet you.” You said with a disarming smile. “You don’t have to answer, but… you’re involved in this, aren’t you? I mean, you were on TV.” Natasha stiffened slightly, her professional walls snapping back into place. “What makes you think that?” You gestured to the screen. “You just have this..presence. Like someone who’s used to handling high-pressure situations. And the whole ‘lead negotiator’ thing gives it away a bit too.” Natasha let out a dry laugh and shook her head. “The news always exaggerates.”

“Maybe..” you said, tilting your head. “But from what I can see, you seem like someone who doesn’t back down from a challenge.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You don’t know anything about me.” You shrugged and leaned back in your chair. “True. But I can tell you’re the kind of person who notices things others miss. The kind who doesn’t stop until they have the whole picture.” Natasha’s jaw tightened. The compliment was both flattering and unsettling. “And what’s your angle in all this?”

You raised your hands in mock surrender. “No angle. Just making conversation. But..if I were you, I’d think about why these people are doing this. It’s not just about the money. It never is.” The words hung in the air as Natasha considered them. You were good, too good at reading the situation for someone claiming to be just a casual observer. But Natasha couldn’t decide whether it was intuition or something else.

“Thanks for the charger.” Natasha said finally, standing up and pulling her phone from the outlet. “Anytime.” You replied lightly. “Good luck with..whatever you’re dealing with.” Natasha paused, her gaze lingering on you for a moment. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this than met the eye. But with the bank heist occupying her thoughts, she decided to let it go for now.

Once Natasha was out of sight, you leaned back in your chair, a satisfied smile on your lips. The encounter had gone exactly as planned. You planted the seed of curiosity and perhaps even doubt in Natasha’s mind. More importantly, you gotten the chance to observe Natasha up close. Your gaze returned to the television, where the news once again showed images of the bank. Your eyes lingered on Natasha’s image on the screen, her sharp features framed by the chaotic scene. “This is going to be interesting,”

Back in the tent, officers bustled between monitors and plans, their voices low but urgent. Natasha stood at the center of the room, arms crossed as she stared at a large screen displaying a live feed from outside the bank. “Still no movement?” she asked sharply, glancing at a young officer monitoring the cameras. “None. They’ve barricaded all entrances, and their signal jammer is still active. Nothing from the hostages either.” Natasha’s jaw tightened. It had been hours since her first call with Lisbon, and with each passing minute, the situation felt closer to disaster. She turned to the negotiator standing beside her. “Any progress?”

He shook his head. “They’re not answering the phone.” Natasha’s patience was at its end. She hated waiting, it gave her too much time to think, to doubt, to overanalyze. And right now, her instincts were screaming that she was missing something.

“Keep trying.” she ordered. “And get me a psychological profile on Lisbon. I want to know what drives him.” Meanwhile, inside the bank, the robbers were busy implementing the next phase of their plan. Nairobi and Rio worked in the printing area, carefully calibrating the machines. The hum of the presses filled the room, drowning out the muted murmurs of the hostages. Berlin, ever the perfectionist, strode through the atrium with calculated calm. He glanced at Denver, who stood guard near the hostages. “Keep them calm. If they panic, it’ll spread.” Denver nodded, spinning his weapon idly in his hands like a toy. “Got it.”

In the manager’s office, Tokyo leaned against the desk, her eyes glued to the monitors displaying various camera feeds. “Lisbon.” she called into her headset. “Any updates?” At a safehouse, you sat before your laptop, your headset snug over your ears. “The cops are getting restless. Romanoff’s in charge, and she’s sharp. She’s not buying into the manifesto distraction like we hoped.”

“Lissbon, Romanoff is on her way to the cafe again." said the professor through headphones. you sigh and head back to the café. At first, you didn’t think much of it when you were told you’d be sitting in the café near the bank for most of the robbery. But over time, it starts to feel like you live there.

Natasha ordered her usual black coffee and took the same seat at the counter, her thoughts racing as she replayed the day’s events. The news was still playing on the TV above the counter, but this time she ignored it, too absorbed in her thoughts. She pulled out her notebook and began jotting down ideas and observations.

“Tough day again?” asked a familiar voice. Natasha looked up sharply. It was the same young woman as before standing by her table with a coffee cup in hand. She carried the same casual confidence, but there was something about her..calculated. “You again.” Natasha said, her tone wary. “Do you live here or something?” You chuckled softly, gesturing to a nearby table. “Something like that. Mind if I sit?” Natasha hesitated, but curiosity got the better of her. You took a seat across from her and sipped your coffee. You glanced at the notebook on the table, tilting your head. “You’re working again. You really don’t know how to take a break, do you?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m working?” You shrugged. “The focused look, the notes, the way you tap your pen like you’re trying to crack a code.” Natasha didn’t respond, her skepticism growing. This woman was too observant, too present. And now, she had shown up twice, both times during critical moments in the investigation. “Are you always this curious?” Natasha asked, her tone sharper than she intended. Your smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered. “Sorry. Occupational hazard.”

“And what exactly is your occupation?” Natasha pressed, leaning forward slightly. “Oh, nothing exciting..” You replied nonchalantly. “I freelance. Mostly tech stuff.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed. Tech. Her instincts screamed at her to dig deeper, but before she could respond, her phone vibrated on the table. She glanced at the screen, a message from the command tent.

As Natasha picked up her phone, You leaned back in your chair, your expression unreadable. This was the moment you have been waiting for. While Natasha was distracted, you discreetly slid a small USB drive onto the table, letting it fall just beside Natasha’s bag. The move was deliberate but casual, designed to look like an accident.

“Oops..” You said, bending down to pick it up. As you did, your hand brushed against Natasha’s bag, and you deftly slipped the ID card hanging from the strap into your palm. It was a bold move, but one you had practiced dozens of times. You straightened up, holding the USB drive with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. Butterfingers. Natasha gave her a mildly suspicious look. Something about the moment felt off. “Do you always carry USB drives around?” Natasha asked. You shrugged. “Part of the job. Tech stuff, remember?”

Natasha thought carefully. Your timing, your confidence, your casual remarks? It was too much of a coincidence. And then there was the USB drive. Tech stuff..Lisbon was a tech expert. Could there be a connection? “Where were you this morning?” Natasha asked suddenly, her voice sharp. You blinked, visibly caught off guard. “What?”

“You heard me.” Natasha said, her eyes boring into Y/N’s. “Where were you?”

“I don’t see why that’s any of your business..?” You replied, your tone calm but defensive. Natasha’s coffee sat untouched as she fixed You with an intense stare. The timing was too perfect. Your tech background, the way you navigated conversations..it all pointed to something bigger. Her instincts were screaming at her: this was no coincidence. “You haven’t answered my question.” Natasha said, her voice low but authoritative. “Where were you earlier today?” You blinked again, visibly confused. “Why does it matter?”

“It matters because you’ve shown up here twice now, and each time, there’s something off about you. You’re too calm, too observant. Who are you really?” You sat up straighter, your brows furrowing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just-“ Before you could finish, Natasha abruptly stood, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. The sudden movement drew the attention of a few other patrons, but Natasha didn’t care. She stepped closer to you, gripping your arm. “W-What the hell are you doing?” You asked, your voice panicked as Natasha’s grip tightened. “Let me go!”

Natasha maneuvered you to stand, lightly pressing you against the wall near the counter. Her hand rested on your shoulder, blocking others’ view of the confrontation. “You’re hiding something.” Natasha growled, her voice low but intense. “And I don’t have time for games.“

“I’m nobody!” you exclaimed, your voice breaking as you stared at Natasha with wide, frightened eyes. “I-Idon’t know what you’re talking about! I was just trying to help you!” Natasha’s jaw tightened as she studied your face, searching for any hint of deception. Her instincts told her you weren’t innocent, but there was something about you. Something raw and genuine. You looked so young, so honestly terrified.

“I..I just wanted to help..” you repeated, your voice trembling. “With the charger. That’s all. I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but I haven’t done anything.” Natasha hesitated. The quiver in your voice, the glimmer of tears in your eyes, it struck a chord in her. The iron wall of her professional demeanor cracked, and doubt began to seep through.

“What’s going on here?” The barista approached quickly, her voice cutting through the tense atmosphere. She looked from Natasha to you, still pressed against the wall. “Sarah, please, do s-something!” you pleaded, your voice shaky but sharp. Natasha’s hand fell from your shoulder, her expression momentarily uncertain. “She’s hiding something. There’s something about her that doesn’t add up.”

“Hiding?” the barista echoed, her brow furrowed. “Ma’am, I see Y/n here almost every day. She always sits at that table over there, works on her laptop, drinks the same coffee. She’s not a criminal, if that’s what you’re implying.” Natasha’s lips parted slightly, the weight of the barista’s words hitting her like a punch. She glanced back at you, and now you looked more vulnerable than ever, your arms crossed protectively over your chest.

“Is that true?” Natasha asked softly. “Yes!” you snapped. “I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but I’m not a threat. I’m no one!” Natasha took a step back, running a hand over her face. The adrenaline of the confrontation ebbed, leaving behind a nagging sense of guilt. What had she just done? “I..” Natasha began, faltering as she searched for the right words. She looked at you, your wide, hurt eyes still fixed on her. “Shit, i’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- I was wrong.”

You didn’t respond immediately. Your gaze dropped to the floor, your hands trembling slightly as you adjusted your jacket. “You think?” The barista crossed her arms, glaring at Natasha. “You should leave. Now.” Natasha raised a hand, her tone softening. “Wait. Please.” She turned back to you, her green eyes filled with remorse. “I really am sorry. I shouldn’t have..I thought you were someone else. That’s no excuse, but I made a mistake.” You still wouldn’t look at her. “A mistake? You cornered me, scared me half to death, and you call that a mistake?”

Natasha’s shoulders sagged. “You’re right. I crossed a line. I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I want you to know that I’m sorry.” The sincerity in her voice gave you pause. Finally, you looked up, your gaze lingering on Natasha’s face. “This won’t happen again, will it?”

“No..” Natasha said firmly. “I swear it.” You exhaled shakily. “Good. Because I don’t think I could handle another ‘mistake’ like that.” Natasha nodded slightly and grabbed her things to leave the café. She had let her frustration cloud her judgment, and it had almost cost her. Inside the café, you sank back into your chair, your thoughts racing. Despite the encounter being part of the plan, Natasha’s intensity had still caught you off guard. Your heart was still pounding, but a small, triumphant smile crept onto your face. You had used the time to plant the tracker in her ID card, ensuring that any computer she used would now send its data directly to you.

“I did it..” you murmured softly to yourself, taking a sip of your coffee. “Hook, line, and sinker.” The barista returned, her expression concerned. “Are you okay? That woman was intense.” You nodded, your voice calm but quiet. “Yeah. Thanks for stepping in. I think she was just..stressed or something.”

“Still..” the barista muttered, shaking her head as she walked back to the counter. “People really need to learn some manners.” You watched her go before turning to look out the window, where Natasha’s figure disappeared into the distance. Her apology had felt genuine, and for a brief moment, you almost felt bad about deceiving her.

But only for a moment.

Hours had passed since Natasha’s tense encounter with you at the café. Back at the command tent, the atmosphere was still tense as officers pored over blueprints, monitored live feeds, and updated Natasha on the robbers’ movements. She stood at the center of the chaos, issuing orders with calm authority. “Any updates from the negotiator?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the live drone footage of the bank.

“No response yet.” an officer replied. “They’re still blocking us.” Natasha exhaled and crossed her arms. The robbers’ silence was unnerving, and her gut told her they were planning something big. She turned to a tactical officer at another station. “I want a perimeter check in twenty minutes. We can’t afford any blind spots.”

She stood in front of the evidence board, arms crossed, staring at the clues laid out before her. But none of it was sinking in. Her jaw was tight, her frustration from earlier still simmering under the surface. Her thoughts kept drifting back to the café. To the moment you flinched when she raised her voice. To the confused, almost hurt look in your eyes. She was just a kid, Natasha thought bitterly. And I snapped at her like she was a suspect.

“Natasha..” Maria’s sharp voice cut through her reverie, tinged with curiosity. “What’s going on with you?” Natasha blinked, tearing her gaze away from the evidence board. “What do you mean?” Maria crossed her arms, studying Natasha closely. “You’ve been distracted the whole time. You didn’t even notice when Hillman suggested reviewing the hostage profiles.”

Natasha let out a sharp breath and ran a hand over her face. “I’m fine. Just..scattered.” Maria raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Scattered? Or something else? You’ve been off your game since you came back from the café.” Natasha stiffened, but the way Maria said it made her heart sink. She turned away, trying to focus on the evidence again. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing..” Maria insisted, stepping closer. Her voice softened. “Come on, Nat. Talk to me.” Natasha hesitated, her shoulders tense. Finally, she muttered, “I think I overreacted. To someone who didn’t deserve it.” Maria frowned and leaned against the edge of the table. “What happened?”

“There was this..girl.” Natasha admitted, her voice low. “At the café. I thought she might be hiding something, but she wasn’t. She was just sitting there, minding her own business. I was frustrated, and…” She sighed, shaking her head. “I intimidated her.” Maria tilted her head, watching Natasha with a sympathetic expression. “You’re only human, Natasha. Mistakes happen.” Natasha’s jaw tightened. “She looked so scared, like I was about to arrest her. And for what? Sitting in a café? She didn’t deserve that.”

Maria was silent for a moment before speaking. “You’ve got a lot on your plate right now, Nat. And I’m guessing that girl was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But you can’t let it eat you up. Let it go. We’ve got bigger things to worry about. Natasha nodded, but as Maria walked away, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she owed you more than just an apology..

You sat at your usual spot in the corner, your laptop open in front of you. The trap you’d set for Natasha had worked perfectly, and now the flood of incoming data was organizing itself neatly into folders on your screen. Police reports, internal communications, tactical maps..everything Natasha had been working on in the command tent was now in your hands. You leaned closer to the screen, your lips pressed into a thin line as you scrolled through the files.

This is gold, you thought, clicking on a folder labeled Command Session Protocols. Inside, you found detailed summaries of police strategy, schedules, and assignments. You smiled to yourself as you saved the files into an encrypted folder on your own system. Just as you reached for your coffee cup, the scrape of a chair startled you.

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up and saw none other than Natasha sitting across from you. The agent held a steaming cup of black coffee in her hand, her sharp green eyes fixed on you, though they didn’t seem hostile. You blinked, genuinely caught off guard. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Natasha said, taking a sip from her cup.

“Uh-hi..” you managed to stammer, quickly snapping your laptop shut and leaning back in your chair. You tried to compose yourself, but the shock lingered. You hadn’t seen Natasha come in, hadn’t even felt her presence until she was already there. Natasha smiled faintly, clearly noting your surprise. “Didn’t expect to see me here, did you?”

“Not really.” you admitted, your voice regaining a bit of steadiness. Tilting your head, you slipped back into your usual charm. “I figured someone like you would be too busy running the show to take a break.” Natasha chuckled softly and set her cup down. “Even I need a moment to breathe sometimes.”

A brief silence fell between you as Natasha studied you. You worked hard to appear casual, even as your mind raced. You wondered how much Natasha suspected, or if this was just another coincidence. “How’s your day going?” you asked lightly. Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You’re really asking me that?”

“Why not?” you asked with a small laugh. “You seemed pretty stressed the last time I saw you. Thought I’d check in.” Natasha shook her head, smiling slightly. “You’re something else, you know that? I corner you, nearly arrest you, and here you are asking how I’m doing.”

“Well..” you said with a grin, “you apologized, so I figured we’re even, right?” Natasha chuckled, her shoulders relaxing. “You have a unique way of looking at the world.”

“Makes life more interesting.” you replied, taking a sip of your coffee. “Besides, I think it’s good for someone to ask how you’re doing for a change. You seem like the type who worries more about everyone else than yourself.” Natasha’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a thoughtful expression. “You’re not wrong.” You tilted your head, genuinely curious. “So? How are you?” Natasha hesitated, as though weighing whether to answer. Finally, she shrugged. “I’ve had better weeks. The situation at the mint isn’t exactly going according to plan.”

“Figured as much,” you said, your tone light but not mocking. “You seem like someone who hates it when things don’t go the way you want.” Natasha smirked. “You’re not wrong about that, either.” You both laughed, the tension between you slowly dissipating. For a moment, it was easy to forget you were on opposite sides of a high-stakes game.

As the conversation continued, you found yourself genuinely enjoying Natasha’s company. She wasn’t just the sharp, intimidating agent from the tent..beneath the armor was warmth, a quiet strength you couldn’t help but admire. Natasha, too, noticed the shift. Something about your direct, candid demeanor was refreshing, your refusal to tiptoe around sensitive topics. It was a rarity in her world. “You’re interesting.” Natasha said suddenly, her tone thoughtful. You raised an eyebrow. “Interesting how?”

“You don’t back down.” Natasha replied. “Most people would’ve run a mile after what happened earlier. But you’re still here, like none of it fazed you.”

“Oh, it fazed me.” you admitted, leaning forward slightly. “But I figured you were just having a bad day. Plus, you apologized. And I have a soft spot for good apologies.” Natasha laughed, shaking her head. “You really are something.”

“I get that a lot.” you said with a grin. As the conversation wound down, Natasha felt a strange sense of calm. She couldn’t explain it, but being around you made her feel..lighter, somehow. It was a dangerous feeling, one she couldn’t afford. And yet, she hesitated. “Well.” Natasha said finally, finishing her coffee. “I should get back to work.”

“Saving the world and all that?” you teased. “Something like that,” Natasha replied as she stood. She gave you one last look, her expression softer. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“You too.” you said, your smile warm. As Natasha left the café, you let out a slow breath, your heart still pounding. Opening your laptop again, you stared at the stolen files. The weight of what you were doing pressed heavily on you, but you shook it off. It’s just a job, you reminded yourself. Don’t get sentimental. But as you watched Natasha walk away, you couldn’t help but wonder if you already were.

A day went by and the robbers had gone silent again, and the clock was ticking. Natasha sat at her laptop open and fingers poised on the keyboard as she scrolled through surveillance reports. Her green eyes narrowed, focused but heavy with fatigue. A sudden ping broke her concentration. She frowned, looking at the notification on her laptop. It wasn’t from the internal system, this was something else. The subject line was blank, and the sender’s email address was an untraceable string of numbers and letters.

Natasha hesitated, her instincts instantly on alert. She glanced around the tent, ensuring no one else had noticed the message. With a deep breath, she clicked it open. The message was short and cryptic:

Check Camera 3, Sector D. You’re being watched.

Her heart skipped a beat. A quick glance at the room confirmed no one else had seen the email. She tapped a few keys, pulling up Camera 3’s feed. Who sent this? And how do they know about the cameras? Leaning back in her chair, Natasha considered her options. Whoever had sent this wasn’t part of her team. Was it one of the robbers playing games? Or..someone else? She typed a quick reply, her fingers moving instinctively.

Who is this?

The reply came almost instantly:

Someone who sees what you don’t.

She wasn’t sure if it was a trap or a genuine lead, but her instincts told her to check. Turning to the nearest officer, she barked, “Pull up the south rooftop on Sector C. Now.” Within seconds, the thermal feed for the rooftop appeared on the screen. At first glance, nothing seemed out of place. But then a faint heat signature flickered near the edge of the building. “Zoom in.” Natasha ordered.

The image enhanced, revealing a figure crouched low, partially obscured by a vent. Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she spotted the unmistakable glint of a weapon. “Sniper..” she muttered. “Get a team up there now.” The tent sprang into action, but Natasha was already focused back on her laptop. She typed again.

How did you know that?

The reply was quick:

I have my ways. :)

Natasha smirked faintly, though suspicion still tugged at her. She had a feeling she knew who was behind this. There was only one person who had the audacity to meddle in her investigation like this.

She typed again.

Let me guess. Sitting in a café right now?

For a moment, there was no response. Then:

Maybe. Should I order you something? ^^

Natasha let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. Unbelievable. She closed her laptop with a decisive snap and grabbed her jacket. “I’m stepping out.” she told her team, her voice clipped but calm. “Keep me updated.”

The café was quiet, its usual hum subdued in the late hour. Natasha spotted her target immediately. You were sitting in your usual corner, your laptop open, fingers lazily typing as if you didn’t have a care in the world. The sight was almost comical. Natasha approached, crossing the room with her usual purposeful stride. You looked up as the agent reached your table, your expression shifting from mild surprise to a wry smile. “There she is.” you said smoothly, leaning back in your chair. “Didn’t expect you to stop by this fast.”

“Didn’t expect you to send me an anonymous email.” Natasha shot back, one brow arched. “Or are you in the habit of hacking federal networks for fun?” Your smile widened as you gestured to the empty chair across from you. “Depends. Did it work?” Natasha paused for a moment before pulling out the chair and sitting down, her green eyes sharp but not unkind. “You’re lucky it did. Otherwise, this conversation would be going very differently.”

“Lucky?” you tilted your head, your tone playful. “I think you mean skilled.” Natasha couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at her lips. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting you to pull something like that. You don’t exactly scream ‘hacker extraordinaire.”

“People are full of surprises..” you replied, shrugging. “I just happen to have a knack for seeing things others don’t.”

“Like the sniper.” Natasha said, leaning forward slightly. “How did you know about that?” You hesitated, your playful demeanor faltering for just a second. “I’ve been keeping an eye on the situation.” you admitted. “The robbers, the police..you. I noticed the patterns in their movements, and… I wanted to help.” Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “Help? By hacking into a federal system and sending cryptic emails?”

You met her gaze evenly. “Would you have listened to me otherwise?” Natasha didn’t answer right away. She hated to admit it, but you had a point. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But you’re playing a dangerous game.” You leaned forward, your voice soft but firm. “I’m not playing. Those people in the bank- hostages don’t have time for bureaucracy and red tape. You’re good, Agent Romanoff. But even you can’t see everything.”

For a moment, Natasha didn’t respond, studying you with a mix of curiosity and amusement. There was something undeniably impressive about your confidence, your skill. But there was also something reckless, something that could get you in serious trouble. “You’re smarter than you look.” Natasha said finally, her tone lighter. “But you’re also reckless.”

“Reckless gets results.” you shot back, grinning. “And it got your attention, didn’t it?” Natasha shook her head, laughing quietly. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I know..” you said with a shrug, leaning back in your chair. “So, what now? Are you going to arrest me?” Natasha smirked. “Not tonight. But if you pull another stunt like this, I might reconsider.” You grinned, raising your coffee cup in a mock toast. “Noted.”

Natasha stood, her expression thoughtful as she looked down at you. “You’ve got talent. I’ll give you that. But if you’re serious about helping, you need to stop sneaking around and work with me.” You raised an eyebrow. “Work with you?”

“You heard me.” Natasha said. “You’ve already proven you can spot things we miss. Use that skill the right way.” Natasha sat down again, her curiosity piqued. You had proven yourself capable almost dangerously so, and Natasha wasn’t the type to let something like that go unquestioned. Crossing her arms, she leaned forward slightly, her green eyes fixed on you.

“You know..” Natasha began, her voice even, “people don’t just wake up one day and decide to hack federal systems. How’d you learn to do all this?” You hesitated, your fingers toying with the edge of your coffee cup. “It’s not exactly a fun story,” you said lightly, trying to brush it off. Natasha raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “Humor me.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. For a moment, you stared at your laptop, as if debating whether to answer. Finally, you spoke, your voice quieter, tinged with something Natasha couldn’t quite place, bitterness, maybe, or sadness. “I didn’t have much of a choice.” you said, your gaze fixed on the table. “I was on my own by the time I was nineteen. No family, no safety net. I had to figure out how to survive.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed, but she didn’t interrupt. “I wasn’t exactly the nine-to-five type.” you continued, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “So I started picking up skills. Little things at first, how to crack a Wi-Fi password, how to fake a document or two. It wasn’t glamorous, but it kept the lights on.”

“Sounds more like survival than a career choice.” Natasha said softly. You shrugged. “It was. But somewhere along the way, I realized I was good at it, really good. I could see patterns other people missed, find loopholes no one else thought to look for. It became…I don’t know, a way to take control of my life. When you don’t have much, knowing you can outthink the system? That’s power.”

Natasha nodded slowly, sensing there was more to the story but not wanting to push too hard. “And that’s how you ended up here?” You let out a short laugh. “Not exactly. I stopped doing illegal stuff a long time ago, if that’s what you’re asking. These days, it’s more about staying curious. Finding puzzles to solve.” You gestured toward Natasha. “And you? You’re one hell of a puzzle.” Natasha smirked faintly, though her gaze softened. “You’re not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” you asked, tilting your head. “Some basement-dwelling computer geek?”

“Something like that.” Natasha admitted with a small chuckle. “Not someone like you.” You shrugged, your smile faint but genuine. “Life doesn’t exactly hand out guidebooks. You make do with what you’ve got.” There was a pause, a moment of quiet understanding between you. Natasha could tell you were holding back there was more to your story, more pain buried beneath the surface, but she didn’t press. She knew what it was like to guard your past, to only share the pieces you were ready to reveal.

“You’re impressive.” Natasha said finally, her tone softer than before. “I’ll give you that. But you need to be careful. Pulling stunts like this..hacking into federal systems, sending anonymous messages, it’s not going to end well for you. You met Natasha’s gaze, your eyes steady. “I knew the risks when I sent that email. I just thought…maybe you’d understand.”

Natasha’s expression flickered, a hint of something unspoken passing across her face. “I do.” she said quietly. You blinked, surprised by the honesty in Natasha’s voice. “But if you really want to help..” Natasha continued, “then you need to work with me, not around me. No more anonymous emails. No more hacking my system. We do this the right way.” You hesitated, searching Natasha’s face for any sign of deception. Finding none, you nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Natasha leaned back, studying you carefully. “Why’d you really do it? Helping with the sniper, I mean. Why take that risk?” You exhaled, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because I know what it’s like to feel trapped. To think no one’s coming to help you.” You paused, swallowing hard. “Those hostages… they don’t deserve that.” For the first time, Natasha saw a crack in your armor, a vulnerability she hadn’t expected. She nodded, her voice softer. “Neither did you.”

You looked down, your fingers tightening around your coffee cup. “I got through it. Doesn’t mean it was easy.” Natasha’s gaze lingered on you for a moment, a quiet respect forming between you. She stood, pulling her jacket over her shoulders. “You’re better than you give yourself credit for. Just…don’t waste it.”

You looked up, a flicker of warmth in your eyes. “You’re not as intimidating as you think, you know. Natasha smirked, her signature confidence returning. “Don’t push your luck.” As Natasha walked toward the door, she paused and glanced back. “I’ll be in touch.”

You raised your coffee in a mock toast. “I’ll be here.”As Natasha left, a faint smile tugged at her lips. You weren’t just a hacker or a nuisance. You were a survivor..sharp, resourceful, and far more than you appeared. And Natasha couldn’t help but be impressed.

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter VIIII.

GIF CREDIT

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: After months of dancing around their emotions, Javier and Paloma finally address the tension between them head-on.

WORD COUNT: ~9.2k

RATING: 18+ Mature topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: smuttt, bulge riding, dry humping, protected p in v sex, dirty talk, javi being an asshole, angst, crime talk (if it's not accurate don't @ me), descriptions of violence against women, vomit mention, slut shaming(?), detective!javi is very gorgeous ME, other things that I'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized, including the usage of the song(s) that Paloma will perform throughout the story.

A/N: we did it… we did it joe !! javi and OFC finally [REDACTED] !! thank u to everyone who has been keepin up w this foolery so far, it makes my lil heart happy to see engagement < 3 also wanna say that years of watching criminal minds is finally starting to pay off and i rly hope u guys are enjoying the crime aspect of the plot because i'm havin A LOT of fun writing and developing it !! shit is gonna get twisted and intricate so brace yourselves for where we're about to go !!! the smut in this chapter is heavily inspired by touch it by ariana grande so i def recommend giving that a listen bc i feel like it just fits their vibe so well (i may or may not have used some of the lyrics in the dialogue.. oop!) last thing sooo irrelevant but mayor abbott looks like jonathan bailey (bridgerton hive RISE!!) in my head so take that as u will xoxo always feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

As the sun casts its golden rays over the quiet outskirts of town, a grim discovery awaits the two men. The body of Jessica Valdez, the young girl reported missing from their neighboring town, lies lifeless in a shallow ditch. Javier stands beside Sheriff Leighton, their expressions grave as they survey the scene before them.

Reporters and curious onlookers have gathered, drawn by the spectacle of flashing lights and the somber atmosphere. A small group of people whisper amongst themselves, their hushed tones mingling with the distant sound of camera shutters clicking.

Romeo’s authoritative presence looms beside him, a pillar of strength in the face of another tragedy. His eyes narrow as they push through the gathered crowd, commanding respect and order in the chaotic scene.

They duck beneath the yellow crime scene tape, ignoring the questions being hurled at them by the press.

“Are there any indications of a motive for this murder?” 

“Is this connected to the similar incidents in the area recently?”

“Is there anything the public can do to assist with the investigation?”

Javier’s stomach churns with sorrow as he takes in the sight. The body lies face down and sprawled in the dirt. He clenches his jaw, steeling himself against the wave of frustration threatening to overwhelm him.

Another failure on their behalf and all he can think about is the kiss shared between him and Paloma.

“Talk to us, Cecelia.” 

“Well, at first glance: the body is still fairly warm so she was alive a few hours ago. It looks like she was held captive somewhere due to the bruising on her wrists and ankles. There are signs of malnourishment and she has smaller injuries scattered throughout her body. I won’t know more details until I do the autopsy.” The coroner answers before continuing,” Her chest is completely slashed through, just like all the others. Still our guy. Or girl–– you never know nowadays.” 

Javier’s jaw flexes out of exasperation, mirroring the heavy sigh that escapes the sheriff’s lips. The weight of this repeated revelation settles over them like a suffocating blanket, casting a shadow over their efforts to uncover the truth.

Despite their tireless pursuit of justice, they find themselves no closer to catching the culprit or unraveling the mystery shrouding these towns. It’s fucking infuriating. 

Amidst the tangled threads of his personal life, Javier has momentarily lost sight of his purpose for being here. He has been too immersed in his own character transformation and entanglement with Paloma, overlooking the harrowing reality unfolding around him: innocent women continuing to fall victim to brutal, senseless violence.

The gravity of his oversight has a mixture of guilt and despair settling deep within his chest. 

Javier prides himself on his prowess, his ability to navigate the most intricate of cases and weather the toughest of storms. As a seasoned field agent with a string of accolades to his name (some undeserved, others very well deserved), he’s faced down challenges that would make others quiver.

Yet here he stands, feeling utterly impotent in the face of this whodunit in the confines of a sleepy town.

It gnaws at him, this sense of inadequacy, like a persistent itch he can’t scratch. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, a humbling reminder of the unpredictable nature of crime and the limits of his own expertise.

He needs to be better.

“What’s interestin’, though, is this,” She stands, motioning for the two men to follow her and they share a look before wordlessly complying. Cecelia hands them both a pair of latex gloves, instructing them to put them on.

They make it a few feet away from Jessica’s body and that’s when Javi sees it.

“Is that vomit?” 

Cecelia nods, “It is. I’m betting it’s hers. The interestin’ bit isn’t that she vomited–– but the contents. Take a look. Tell me what you see.” 

Javier is the first to kneel with Romeo looking over his shoulder. He eyes the evidence, pushing his aviators to the top of his head, making out the larger chunks in the grossly colored bile.

He can’t discern what it is right away and Cecelia encourages him to use his hands, which has him looking at her ludicrously and muttering how gross this shit is in Spanish before doing as suggested.

Poking his latex clad fingers in the mess, Javi analyzes the contents and that’s when he sees a symbol marked in ink on one of the scraps.

“It’s flesh. Human flesh.” 

Shit. He sees it now, the mark is a tattoo and he quickly barks out an order to have one of the lingering deputies come take pictures of it.

“Son of a bitch is feedin’ people… people. Would explain Nina Thorton’s missin’ leg. What the fuck is goin’ on here?” The sheriff sounds defeated and Javier just remains silent as he mulls over all this new information that’s been revealed.

Kidnapped, held hostage, fed human flesh, murdered, dumped.

All the other victims up until now have only been taken then killed. None of them held captive for long. Not all of them consuming flesh.

But then there’s Nina and her postmortem severed leg.

Fuck, the answer is right there, interwoven in the intricacies and lack of details in the cases. 

No more fucking around, no more helping girls sneak back inside their homes, no more distractions. He has to focus on doing his job.

He will catch who did this, he will prove himself to be qualified to do what he was brought here to do.

Javier remains kneeled and deep in thought as Romeo and Cecelia continue on with their observations. He looks around to study their surroundings, wondering if there is anything else that is right in front of him that he cannot see.

“Three outta five have been brunettes around the same age. I think that’s something worth considering now,” Javier breaks up the conversation betweens the sheriff and coroner, both of them turning to look at him as he stands from his kneeled position and begins to take off the gloves,” Seems like they found their type. There’s got to be a purpose for the consistent victimology.” 

They’ve migrated over to Jessica’s body now, both men doing last minute look overs before she is transported back to her hometown for her parents to identify and for Cecelia to preform the autopsy.

When a deputy comes over to take the last bits of photo evidence, he looks sickly but Javier ignores it. It’s not until her body is turned upright, exposing her mauled chest, that has the younger officer hurling over and throwing up, some of it landing on Romeo.

“God fuckin’ damn it, Andrews, spew that shit elsewhere. Fuck, not only are you contaminatin’ the crime scene but you got it all over my damn pants.” 

The sheriff goes on a tangent, chewing the officer out and threatening to suspend him for two weeks with no pay. It’s harsh, Javier will admit, but he doesn’t say anything, remaining stoic with his arms crossed against his chest as he watches it unfold.

Eventually, everyone trickles out. Even the nosey reporters and townies. Javier wants to stay, walk around the area to see if anything else was left behind. Maybe something was dropped or buried nearby, and while they had assured him that others have already done a thorough search–– he’d feel more comfortable if he did it himself.

“Ya mind stoppin’ by my place so I can change? Kid ruined these.” Romeo’s gruff voice has Javier losing his train of thought, too engrossed in looking out into the vast area of the woods as the sun slowly begins to set. 

Right, they arrived together, driving from the station in Javier’s cruiser.

“Sure.” He replies plainly. His plans for the evening now include getting Romeo situated so that he can come back here and investigate all on his own. He might even drive to Fayette to retrieve the autopsy from Cecelia as soon as she completes it.

With the Leighton home being on the other side of town, this gives the two men time to talk the case over; going over all that they know and all that they’ve discovered. Romeo confides in Javier about feeling inadequate about the way he’s doing his job and, in a turn of events, Javier does the same. In his own way.

The mutual understanding is a relief, though the guilt of his kiss with Paloma is palpable and it makes Javi feel like a fraud.

Across from him is a man who has extended nothing but kindness and trust, offering camaraderie and a sense of belonging. Yet, despite this, Javier found himself drawn to his daughter in a way that was both exhilarating and forbidden.

It feels wrong, achingly so. A bitter realization that despite their mutual longing, their connection can never be fully realized. It’s a harsh wake up call: if he truly wants to better himself, he must shed his bad habit of losing himself in women and distance himself from her.

What a discomforting prospect, the inevitable separation. But he knows it’s the only way forward. He understands that in time, they will both resign themselves to the reality of their infatuation.

It’s a familiar ache, this sense of inevitability that haunts his romantic endeavors like a relentless specter. Javier knows the drill all too well; it’s not his first rodeo in navigating the treacherous terrain of severing emotional ties.

His love life feels like a series of missteps, a cursed labyrinth from which there’s no escape. Despite the initial allure of each new romance, he’s come to anticipate the eventual descent into disappointment. No matter how promising the beginning, the journey always seems to lead to the same desolate destination.

With him hurting them beyond measure.

Fuck the idea of reinventing himself here. He can find peace and monotony anywhere else.

Javier will follow through with his responsibilities, and the second he’s able to peel out of Seminary–– he will, leaving her behind as a bittersweet memory. A beautiful yet unattainable dream that he will carry with him for years to come.

As they pull in to the Leighton residence, he sees the woman that lives in his head perched up on the fence that surrounds the immediate area. Her baggy jeans are hanging low, exposing the sheer fabric of her underwear. She turns as she hears the sound of a car approaching, and her lips pull into a smile once she sees who it is.

Paloma fully expected to wake up the following day filled with regret and plagued by a hangover. The only thing she experienced was the latter, but it had quickly been nursed by a greasy breakfast and some yard work.

Javier had kissed her back, that was enough to feed into her delusions that he does want her. All inhibitions have been dropped, she’s prepared to lay herself out for him–– to tell him that she’s wanted him since the moment they met.

It might seem premature, an impulsive plunge into the uncertainty of his reaction to her feelings, but the tender memory of their shared kiss eclipses all rational thought. She finds herself irresistibly drawn to the possibility of something more, unable to resist the pull of her emotions.

His touch still lingers on her skin. His hands tracing the curves of her body with a hunger that left her breathless. She can still feel the way he had grabbed her ass then gripped onto her hips, pulling her closer to him.

But it was his mouth that left the strongest impression. His tongue had explored the depths of hers, tasting and teasing her with a ferocity that made her feel alive.

In that moment, she had felt desired, cherished, and wanted. It was a feeling that she hadn’t realized she craved so badly until last night. She knew that she would never be able to forget that kiss and the way it had made her feel.

She’s giddy, her excitement bubbling up like fizzy soda, reminiscent of the first time she ever kissed a boy. Except Javier isn’t a boy–– he’s a man. A man whose expertise and skill are a potent aphrodisiac, heightening her arousal to levels she never thought possible.

She’s been hot for him all day, even touched herself to the memory of his soft lips, the tickle of his mustache, against hers then imagining them everywhere else. The mere thought of it is enough to send her heart racing, and she knows that nothing will satisfy her until she has him in her arms again.

Romeo gets out the car, muttering that he’d be right back and Javi opts to stay put. He does not want to speak to her, knowing that the second he gazes into those beautiful brown eyes–– he’d buckle. He needs to build animosity between them; it’s the only way for them to definitively be able to separate from one another.

But she doesn’t make it easy, of course. Because the second her father is inside, she’s practically skipping over to the driver’s side of the cruiser.

“Hello officer. Here to bring me in for all those crimes I committed last night?” She teases as she leans her forearms against the rolled down window, the cowgirl hat perched on her head complimenting her so well.

Javier swallows thickly, taking a lengthy drag of the familiar cigarette between his lips. He can’t outright ignore her so he decides to be short instead.

“M’not here for games, Paloma.” 

She’s taken aback by his tone, her smile faltering.

“Well excuse me for tryin’ to make conversation. Wasn’t aware that you’re in a mood today.” 

There’s a pause despite her attempt to add a teasing tone to her words to lighten him up. It falls flat.

“And I’m not looking to have a conversation. You can go.” 

Her brows cinch together at his dismissal, this is not how she was expecting for this to go.

“What’s goin on’? Is this because we… because of the kiss last night?” She lowers her voice towards the end, red blooming across her cheeks but she keeps her composure.

“Jesus,” Javier chuckles humorlessly, shaking his head. It sends a sharp pang through her heart.” Why do you always think that’s the fuckin’ problem whenever I don’t want to talk to you? For someone who claims to be a grown woman all the time, you sure as shit don’t act like it.” 

She stills, the buoyant confidence that had propelled her toward him evaporating in an instant, replaced by a wave of hurt at his unexpected chilliness. What has gotten into him?

“Drop it and move on, Paloma. We just found Jessica Valdez’s body dumped out in a ditch. S’not the time to be hung up on a damn kiss.” 

The sound of the screen door shutting close breaks her away from him and the trance she’d seemingly gone into. Another victim, another tragedy to confront… and here she is acting like a smitten teenaged girl.

The urge to cower and crawl into herself, to surrender to the overwhelming embarrassment and sorrow, threatens to engulf her entirely. She remains silent, fighting back the surge of frustrated, angry tears as she pushes off the car and trudges back toward the house.

Javier exhales heavily once she strides away without a word, feeling a weight settle on his shoulders. He had braced himself for a snide remark or some form of verbal retaliation, but her silent departure was far more impactful.

“I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up.” Her father murmurs as he passes her, planting a tender kiss atop her head. He lingers there for a moment but she doesn’t question it, knowing it’s because of what they found today and she doesn’t even mind that he hasn’t told her about it.

As he breaks away, she conjures up a semblance of a genuine smile, masking her turmoil, and nods before he affectionately pinches her nose and continues on his way.

She doesn’t look back, she doesn’t cry or go inside–– instead she picks up her discarded gardening gloves and proceeds to channel her energy into the simple act of mowing the grass.

She finds herself alone at the open bar as the party continues in full swing. It’s been days since Jessica’s death, and the tense conversation she had with Javier still lingers in her mind.

“Drop it and move on, Paloma.” 

Unlike the last time they went without speaking, there is much more tension between them now. The worst part about it is having to act as if nothing is wrong in the presence of her father.

No daddy, everything’s fine! It’s not like I threw myself at your co-worker not once, but twice and both times he made me feel like a fucking idiot!

She lets out a disdainful sigh, her fingers curling around the glass containing her coveted cherry root beer since she’s decided to part ways with alcohol and any other substance for the time being.

The two men are busy mingling with other guests and have been since the moment they arrived. Despite her efforts to divert her gaze elsewhere, her eyes keep involuntarily drifting towards Javier’s broad figure.

The event had called for formal attire, so when he strode in wearing a meticulously tailored all-black suit, her breath caught in her throat. The sharp lines of his outfit, coupled with the crispness of his button-down and the matching tie, made her momentarily forget why she was so upset with him. He looked too damn handsome.

It’s brutal how the things we desire most often seem to radiate the brightest when they’re just out of reach.

Observing him mingle effortlessly with others is entertaining. Contrary to her expectations, he appears completely at ease in this bustling social setting, a far cry from the disdain he expressed for large gatherings that morning in his kitchen.

He’s acting a lot more extroverted and… smile-y. It pisses her off as much as it melts her heart.

They make their way over to her and she makes a point to not even look in his direction. Though now she’s caught between her father and Javier as they order another round of drinks. 

It really doesn’t help that they’re shoulder to shoulder. The heady aroma of his cologne, laced with the familiar tang of cigarette smoke and the faint hint of whiskey, infiltrates her senses, making it impossible to outright ignore him.

Javier Peña is like a blazing beacon and she’s the foolish moth drawn inexplicably closer to his flame. But she knows all too well the danger of getting too close, like a moth singed by the heat, the allure of his brightness can be killer.

Javier had assumed that with news of Jessica being found dead, their attendance to this party wouldn’t be mandatory.

Well, he thought wrong. It is a cruel reminder of how life goes on, even when tragedy strikes.

Another dead girl, another over-the-top party.

Which is why he’ll give it an hour–– tops–– to shake whoever’s hand and meet whoever else, then he’d leave. It’s a simple plan, the only thing making it difficult for him is his proximity to the woman he’s desperately trying to cut ties with.

She looks so beautiful tonight, donning a calf length simple black dress that hugs all her curves just right. 

“There they are! My Law and Order! Y’all keepin’ the townsfolk in line?” The boastful voice of Mayor Jonah Abbott draws near and Javier suppresses the urge to roll his eyes.

Foolish of him to think he wouldn’t have to interact with the titular birthday boy tonight.

He greets both men with a firm handshake, and when his attention turns to her; Javier has to drown the subtle spark of frustration with his drink at the way his eyes rake over her body.

“And of course, Miss. Paloma. They say a smile is worth a thousand words, but yours? It’s worth a million dreams.” He brings her hand up to his lips to plant a kiss against her knuckles and all she does is offer him a polite smile. Here we go…

“Mr. Abbott—” 

“Jonah, sweetheart. Been tellin’ you to call me that for years now.” 

Her smile threatens to twitch out of annoyance, “Jonah. Happy Birthday. Thank you for invitin’ us to your home.” 

“Always a pleasure to have you ’round. I heard about your performance up in Dallas. Shame I missed it. Woulda loved to hear that beautiful voice of yours and seen you up on that stage.” 

Javier can’t help the subtle grunt he emits at the mayor’s overt flirtation, causing for her to just briefly glance up at him with a bemused flash crossing her stare.

The familiarity of Jonah’s behavior strikes a chord within him. Once upon a time, Javier was just like this–– an arrogant charmer with a penchant for flirting with anything in a skirt. Standing here amidst the other man’s smooth talk, he sees through the facade with clarity born of experience.

It’s a performance, an act to charm his way in between Paloma’s legs, though Javi can clearly see that she’s not falling for it. Does Romeo notice it too, he wonders? Or is he blinded by the mayor’s charisma, unable to see that this man clearly wants to sleep with his daughter.

Then again, Javier’s opinion on this is irrelevant and invalid since he too has been in the same predicament since meeting her. At least he didn’t do it blatantly in front of the sheriff’s face.

Or, in a turn of events, perhaps Romeo doesn’t give a damn. Jonah Abbott presents himself as a viable candidate to be with his daughter; a young politician with deep pockets and a keen interest in her.

Javier can’t shake off the mental picture of the man’s wedding ring adorning her finger, of her transforming into the perfect, submissive wife, tending to the household and filling this place with snot nosed kids. But such a scenario doesn’t align with her fiery and headstrong nature. She’s far too independent and spirited to succumb to the confines of domesticity, particularly for a man like Jonah.

Then again, why the fuck does he care?

“Well as you know, I do two shows every weekend at The Whiskey Fox. Could always stop by and see me and the band.” 

“A busy man like myself always has a full schedule. Though I reckon I should make some time to be out in the community. Wouldn’t hurt to stop by for dinner and a show.” 

He winks at her and of course he does it when her father turns to order himself another drink. Javier’s jaw flinches.

“Now Romeo, why have you been keepin’ this badass motherfucker hidden from me? I knew we had someone new joinin’ the force but I didn’t think it’d be the Javier Peña. A goddamn American hero— right here in Seminary, Texas!” 

As Jonah begins his praises, pairing them with a harsh slap to his shoulder, Javier remains cool and calculating. He refuses to be swayed by empty compliments.

Meanwhile, she breathes a silent sigh of relief as the spotlight shifts away from her, and she finds it amusing at how everyone seems to talk about Javier.

A hero. A true patriot. Such a brave soul for fightin’ the war on drugs on Uncle Sam’s behalf.

If only they knew the truth––if they had even a glimpse of the darkness he’s had to face, they wouldn’t be so quick to idolize him.

The label of hero, bestowed upon him since the demise of Escobar, sits uneasily on his shoulders. The adulation feels like a burden he never asked for, a title he never wanted. It’s a reminder of the complexities of his past, the mistakes he’s made, and the ghosts that continue to haunt him. Javi despises the word, resenting the way it overshadows his true self and the countless sins he harbors in silence.

“Gotta keep ’em humble. Keeps the head on straight.” Romeo banters back, pulling one of those haughty, rich men laughs from the mayor. 

She cringes at the pretentiousness echoing in the air.

The men break out into small talk leaving her feeling awkward as she swirls the almost fully melted ice around the empty cup. It’s not until Jonah is getting ready to move on to a new set of guests that the attention is turned back to her.

“And you, pretty girl, owe me a song. Specifically that one Linda Ronstadt song from the Fourth of July barbecue last year. Remember? S’only fair… consider it a birthday gift from you to me.” 

Despite her inner discomfort, she maintains a face of cheerfulness, though her stomach sinks with apprehension at his request. Memories of the barbecue flood her mind, vivid recollections of his relentless pursuit despite her repeated, albeit polite, refusals.

The word ’no’ is on the tip of her tongue, but knowing all too well the persistence he’s exhibited before; she succumbs to the weight of the occasion—his birthday—and the anticipation in his eyes.

“Blue Bayou, I remember. Does the band know it?” She inquires, her gaze flickering towards the live band stationed near the open area of the dance floor where a throng of people sway to the music.

She’s secretly hoping that they don’t, but the song is very popular so her hope dwindles.

“If they don’t, they will. I’ll introduce you when it’s time.” 

With a tight and forced smile gracing her lips, she simply replies, “Okay,” accompanied by a subtle nod. His wicked grin spreads larger, almost daring Javier to react by punching him square in the jaw.

Regardless of how he feels towards her and their situation, it irks him to no end how this man blatantly disregards her boundaries.

Her body language screams apprehension, evident to anyone observant enough. However, Mayor Abbott is too fixated on persuading her to comply with his wishes to take notice. It’s apparent that he’s not accustomed to hearing the word ’no’.

Javi just holds his tongue, an insult threatening to slip out, as he finishes his drink with a practiced air of nonchalance.

The mayor finally says his goodbyes before walking away and her shoulders drop instantly.

“Guess I owe ya twenty bucks.” Romeo mutters, digging into his suit pocket for his wallet. 

The laugh she gives, though slight, simultaneously soothes and torments his heart.

Damn it all— this is going to be torture but he must endure.

“She bet that he was gonna pull somethin’ like this before leavin’ the house. I was dumb enough to think he wouldn’t.” He explains to Javier as he slips his daughter the twenty dollar bill which she slyly stuffs under the fabric of her dress by her chest.

The action, seemingly simple, is so hot to him.

“How many times do I have to say m’not a damn show pony that does tricks whenever it’s asked? He’s so lucky that I’m polite and that it’s his birthday— If not I woulda told him to shove it—-” She doesn’t finish her sentence as they’re approached by a group of people that she doesn’t recognize nor care for.

She feels like an afterthought as they bombard the men with questions about the recent cases and other related topics, so she takes that as her cue to leave, ordering another mocktail before slipping away towards the dance floor.

She is fully prepared to turn her brain off to enjoy some semblance of normalcy before she’s thrown back in to the confusing pit that is her current status with the former DEA agent.

Attempting to convince herself that she’s enjoying the moment, she sways to the lively rhythm of the music, lost in her own solitary dance. A few partygoers approach her asking to join her which she declines; peeved by all the unwanted attention she’s getting.

This isn’t even her party. She holds no merit here.

Javier only catches glimpses of her from his peripheral, engrossed in a conversation with a man who remembers him from his sheriff days in Laredo, before he left for Colombia. The discourse drones on, punctuated by forced laughter and idle pleasantries. Each word falls flat, devoid of substance, yet Javier remains steadfast. Anything to keep him and his mind away from her.

Suddenly, the screeching sound of microphone feedback reverberates off the opulent walls of the ballroom-style space and she winces at noise.

“Excuse me, sorry–– I’m not very good with these things.” The man of the hour apologizes, his voice crackling through the speakers. She inwardly curses, anticipating what’s to come next. Setting her now-empty glass down on one of the nearby tables, she smooths her hands along the velvety fabric of her dress, ironing out any wrinkles, and hastily fixes her hair as best as she can without a mirror.

With a deep breath, she pushes down her nerves, summoning a smile to face the adversity when he introduces her. She steps onto the stage, the room erupting into scattered applause as she approaches the microphone.

♫

Midway through the song, to her surprise, Jonah joins her on stage, transforming the solo performance into an unexpected duet. Despite her inner discomfort, Paloma maintains a composed expression and tries to conceal any hint of surprise in her body language as he draws nearer.

Her unease heightens when he pulls her close against him, the heat of his body against hers as they sway to the rhythm of the music during the instrumental interlude of the country song. She reluctantly complies, her compliance more a result of avoidance of potential consequences than genuine willingness to dance with him.

The sight of his possessive grip on her waist, pulling her into an unwelcome dance, ignites a surge of vexation within Javier. He feels the tension in his muscles coil tighter with each step they take, their bodies moving in sync to the rhythm of the music. It’s unbearable to watch, the image of Paloma in Jonah’s arms twisting like a knife in his gut.

Without a word, Javier makes his escape, his strides purposeful as he navigates through the crowded room. He mutters a vague excuse to Romeo, the urgency in his voice betraying his need to flee from the suffocating scene unfolding before him.

Finally stepping out into the cooler night air, Javier takes a deep breath to soothe his frazzled nerves. He makes his way towards a gazebo that’s right by the large pond, putting as much distance as he can between himself and the party inside.

Leaning against the railing of the structure, he retrieves his trusty pack of cigarettes from his pocket, hands trembling slightly as he lights one. Each drag offers a fleeting moment of respite from the turmoil brewing inside him.

Inside, the song ends and she wastes no time in descending the stage, a sense of urgency propelling her movements. She refuses to linger, her mind consumed with the dread of another unwanted encounter with the mayor. Surveying the crowded room, she searches in vain for her father or Javier, but they’re nowhere to be found amidst the sea of faces.

Determined to escape the party atmosphere, Paloma makes a beeline for the exit, craving the solace of the summer night air. Stepping out onto the back porch, she inhales deeply, the breeze offering a welcome reprieve from the stifling heat of the event.

The night is alive with subtle sounds—toads croaking in the distance, the distant murmur of conversation—but it’s the solitary figure in the distance that captures her attention. With a sense of inevitability, Paloma finds herself drawn towards the silhouette, her heels clicking softly against the pavement as she descends the steps leading to the gazebo.

When she approaches, Javier remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the tranquil expanse of water before him. The rhythmic puff of his cigarette punctuates the silence, a tangible barrier between them. Despite the tension hanging in the air, Paloma presses forward, her resolve unyielding as she closes the distance between them.

“We need to talk.” 

He stands like a statue, the weight of her words are heavy, yet he remains resolute in his silence, hoping that she’ll simply give up and leave him be. But Paloma is nothing if not persistent, her frustration bubbling over as she confronts him.

“Fuck, Javier will you at least look at me?! Acknowledge that I’m standin’ here tryin’ to speak with you?!” Her voice crackles with pent-up emotion, her southern accent thick as each word is laden with an intensity that he can’t ignore.

Reluctantly, he turns his head slightly, his gaze skimming over her figure with resignation. It’s a small concession, but it’s enough to stoke the fire of her frustration to new heights.

“I dunno why you’ve decided to be such a jerk to me all of the sudden,” she continues, her tone laced with a raw edge of hurt and confusion. “You’re tellin’ me that I’m bein’ childish a-and that I need to move on from the kiss but we both know it’s so much bigger than that. We’ve been dancin’ around it since the moment we met and I’m tired of pretendin’ like I don’t want you.” 

His eyes close briefly, a fleeting moment of vulnerability before he retreats behind his stoic facade once more. His fingers find their way to the bridge of his nose, pinching tightly as he struggles to find the right words to respond. But before he can form a coherent thought, she presses on, her voice trembling with the weight of her confession.

“I told myself I wouldn’t care if you didn’t feel the same way,” She admits, her voice growing softer now, tinged with a hint of desperation. “But that was before I got to know you. Before you somehow wriggled your way into my heart and overtook my mind entirely. We became friends, and I-I didn’t want to screw that up. But then we kissed, and in that moment, I knew you wanted me just as badly…” 

She draws closer, her hand reaching out tentatively to rest on his shoulder, the touch sending a jolt of tension through his body. It’s a silent plea, a manifestation of her vulnerability, and it’s all he can do to keep his composure still as her words wash over him like a hurricane.

“Every time I see you I don’t want to behave, Javi. I’m tired of being patient, so let’s pick up the pace and finally give in.” 

He flicks his finished cigarette out into the water, the ember trailing like a shooting star before disappearing into the dark abyss below.

Slowly, he turns to face her fully, the summer air crackling with tension as he takes in her determined stance. His hand shoots out, grabbing hold of the wrist that had just been resting on him, his dark eyes boring into hers in an act of intimidation.

But Paloma doesn’t back down, her gaze unwavering as she meets his stare head-on. Instead, she brings her free hand up to rest against his chest, the heat of her touch seeping through the fabric of his shirt as she steps closer, closing the gap between them until his dress shoes are toe-to-toe with her pointed heels.

He doesn’t make an effort to step away or decline her advances, his resolve crumbling in the face of her determination. Her words have jumbled him up completely, the sudden revelation of her feelings catching him off guard and leaving him reeling. The direct mention of what they’ve been indulging in for the past few months digs into his achilles’ heel—his tendency to fall in love in the damndest of times.

He stares down into her eyes, a storm of conflicting emotions raging wildly. The lust swirling in her gaze stirs something primal and raw within him. Any rational part of his brain seems to shut down in that moment, his thoughts consumed by the overwhelming desire to kiss her again, to lose himself in the exhilarating whirlwind of emotions that she evokes from him.

“It’s obviously insane, m’not a fucking idiot I understand the repercussions…. but we both know what we want, so why don’t we…” She whispers, tilting her head up until their lips brush against one another.

“Why don’t we fall in love?” 

It’s not clear who makes the first move, but their lips are interlocked in a passionate kiss—a fierce collision of desire and pent-up longing that surpasses the one they had previously shared. Paloma’s hand on his chest clenches the fabric of his shirt while Javier relinquishes his grip on her wrist, his own hands rising to cradle her jaw in his palms.

The taste of the lingering cigarette smoke mingles with the faint bitterness of alcohol on his breath, a heady combination that heightens her desire. She moans softly into his mouth, her tongue intertwining with his in a desperate attempt to savor every fleeting moment before it inevitably slips away.

Javier, consumed by the intoxicating sensation, slowly walks her back until her back is against the sturdy pillar of the gazebo, his movements now possessive and urgent. He deepens the kiss, molding his body against hers as if to merge their souls into one.

Her touch is addicting, a bittersweet symphony that resonates in the depths of his bones. Despite the warnings screaming in the recesses of his mind, urging him to stop and pull away, he finds himself unable to resist the magnetic pull she exerts over him.

Breaking the kiss, Javier’s lips trail down the side of her mouth, blazing a trail of heated kisses along her jawline before descending to her neck. His teeth graze her delicate skin, resisting the urge to leave a trail of marks in their wake as his tongue traces a path along her neck and up to her earlobe, where he bites down gently.

“Is this what you wanted, nena? For me to shower you in my fucking attention?” He husks, his voice thick with desire and a hint of frustration. His words swim between them, a question laced with layers of longing and palpable need, as he continues to lavish attention upon her neck, each kiss and caress fueling the flames of their mutual desire.

Paloma just whines, arching herself into him as her thighs rub together to relieve the tension of arousal that is assaulting her core.

“Yes, Javi, that’s all I want. I want you to talk to me, to touch me, to make me feel good.” 

Her hands are now against his broad shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his suit jacket as she feels the muscles beneath tense at her touch. A low, guttural groan escapes his lips in response to her words, a primal sound that sends shivers down her spine.

“I can make you feel good, hermosa. Better than any fucking culero (asshole) in this town.” He murmurs, his voice dripping with possessiveness. With deliberate intent, Javi begins to hike up her long dress, the fabric yielding easily to his touch until it’s gathered at the top of her thighs, exposing her black, lacey panties. His hands roam lower, trailing a path of electricity along her skin until they find purchase behind her thighs, gripping the soft skin firmly as he effortlessly lifts her into his arms.

She wraps her legs around his waist, anchoring herself to him as he hoists her up against the solid pillar of the gazebo. She feels his hardness pressing up against her clothed cunt and it has a sharp pang of pleasure sprouting at her core, igniting a fierce heat to course through her entirely. His touch is addicting, sending waves of ecstasy rippling through her body as she surrenders to the intrinsic urgency of their shared horniness.

The pure conviction in his tone only adds to the intensity of the moment. She wants nothing more than to be completely ruined by this man. She wants to be his, and his alone.

Javier grinds his hips up, the friction between them firing up every nerve ending. Her pussy throbs with need, aching for more of his touch. She can feel every inch of him pressing against her, his hard cock straining against his pants, begging to be released.

As their bodies move in perfect harmony, she wraps her fingers in his hair, tugging at it lightly. His lips move from her neck and crash against hers, a wild, passionate kiss that leaves them both panting for air. It grows more frenzied, their teeth clashing together in a desperate and selfish need for more. She moans into his mouth, the sound sending a jolt of electric arousal straight to his cock. He grinds harder against her, his hips moving in rhythm with hers.

She can feel her orgasm building, a fierce heat blossoming at her pussy. Her whimpers turn to animated moans as she writhes against him. The last time she dry humped someone to completion had been way back in high school and that had been an overall embarrassment so it’s never something she revisited.

Not until now, with Javier who is making her feel like she’s the only girl in the fucking world.

His fingers expertly cup her breast, teasing her hardened nipple through the fabric of her dress. She arches her back, pressing her chest into his hand, silently begging for more. He takes the hint, groping her and squeezing it gently, relishing in the way she shudders.

Her eyes close in ecstasy as he continues to knead her tit. His other hand trails along her inner thigh, inching closer and closer to the heat between her legs. When he finally reaches her core, she gasps, her body trembling with need. He doesn’t touch her, instead he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of her thigh.

“If this is what you wanted so fucking bad then go ahead and take it, needy girl. Go on, make yourself cum by grinding that wet pussy all over me.” 

She mewls, throwing her head back as she feels her orgasm building. She’s such a sight to bear witness to, how her swollen lips part and his name slips from her tongue like a hymn, making his cock twitch.

Her wetness seeps through her flimsy thong, leaving a damp spot on the fabric of his dress pants. He can feel it seeping through the material and it drives him mad. He needs to be inside her, to feel her walls fluttering around his cock as they finally give in to each other…

But first, he wants to watch her unravel just like this.

“I’m close, Javi…” His lips hungrily devour the tender flesh of her neck again, making her eyes roll back as their hips continue to move at a sensual pace. The metallic zipper of his pants brushes against her sensitive clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through her body. She can’t help but cry out in sweet surrender, her voice louder than before.

His large hand clamps over her mouth, preventing her screams from echoing out.

“Don’t get us caught, chiquita. Wouldn’t want your daddy comin’ out here and findin’ you like this–– all cockdrunk and begging to be fucked.” 

His dirty and abrasive words are like fuel to the flames of her impending climax, sending her spiraling out of control. Her rhythm stutters, her body writhing uncontrollably as she bites down on the skin of his palm as the orgasm overtakes her entirely.

All that can be heard is their heavy, shared pants. His hand falls from her mouth as she falls limp in his arms, her body jolting every now and again with the aftershock of her intense orgasm. 

She peppers tender kisses along the bare expanse of his jaw, silently berating him for having his shirt buttoned up for once and the pesky tie restricting her from licking and biting against the tantalizing skin of his neck and collarbone.

“Need… need to feel you, Javi, please.” She whines against his ear, her hands trailing down from his broad shoulders, over his chest, then down to his belt buckle. She can still feel the swell of him pressed up against her sopping cunt and despite just coming hard; she’s craving to feel all of him.

This is the pivotal moment where he knows he should exercise restraint, where the noble path of virtue beckons him to rise above the consuming tide of desire. To explain to her that they can and never will be anything but an unattainable fantasy.

But he doesn’t, instead Javi lets her untuck his dress shirt from his pants and helps her with unbuckling his belt.

“We shouldn’t do this, Paloma…” Is all he can say in an attempt to keep it from happening but she shushes him, her hand slipping beneath his boxers as she wraps her manicured fingers around his girth and begins to pump him slowly.

“Mierda,” He curses in Spanish, his forehead falling gently against hers as his eyes flutter close at the overwhelming feeling of her softer, smaller hand jerking him off. Her thumb glides over the tip, spreading his excessive precum over the length of his cock.

“But we want to… oh you’re so big Javi. Gonna be feelin’ you for days…” She sounds like something out of a wet dream and he simply can’t hold back any longer.

He instructs her to grab his wallet from his suit pocket and to retrieve the condom he keeps in there, receiving a playful eye roll from her but she doesn’t push her luck–– she needs him badly and she’d go absolutely feral if he decided to deny them both the pleasure of fucking.

His strong hold on her keeps them secure against the pillar, she rips the small package with her teeth then pushes his pants down enough to release his erection, rolling the latex on easily.

There’s a moment where suspension hangs in the air, both of them staring into each other’s lust blown eyes.

“Don’t think about it too much, please. Just fuck me.” 

Her insistence is such a turn on, spurring him into reaching down to ball up the thin layer of her panties before he yanks them off, the sound of the fabric tearing apart causing her to gasp. Stuffing the ruined material into his back pocket, he readjusts his hips so that the thick head of his cock presses up against her exposed and puffy folds.

“Such an impatient little thing, hermosa. I shouldn’t even give you what you want. Should just walk away and leave you here a desperate and wet mess.” 

Gripping onto the base of his cock with his free hand, Javier nudges it between her slit and teases her, the head repeatedly brushing against the pearl of her clit.

Her breath hitches, rolling her hips to entice him into entering her, “Please, Javi, I’ll do whatever you want just plea–– oh f-fuck!” 

He sinks into her pussy, leaning forward to bite down on her shoulder to keep his own sounds of pleasure at bay as he feels the way her fleshy walls contract around his cock, stretching her with how thick he is.

Her fingers return to intertwine themselves in his hair as he begins to set a delicious pace, fucking into her with a passion that’s making her see stars. The feeling of his teeth digging into her skin is an added stimulant to the already immense pleasure.

“Damn it you’re so tight. Feel so good wrapped around my cock, pretty girl. You satisfied now that I’m giving you what you want, huh?” He grunts out, nipping at her jawline as all she does is keen and moan, too overwhelmed with how good he’s making her feel. “Spoiled little thing, gonna fuck that right out of this tight little body. So you can learn, fuck, learn how not to be such a fucking pain in my ass.” 

She’s too wrapped up in the feeling of him brushing up against her cervix to fully process what he is saying against her skin. Their lips slant over each other as they kiss messily, the way he fucks her making her brain melt.

There’s no thoughts up there, just the feeling of him as he continues to break her open with his delicious cock.

His hands fall down to her waist, holding on tightly as he goes from languid thrusts to a quicker, more brutal pace as they chase their orgasms.

She’s glad that they’re far away enough to where no one can interrupt this moment, though the idea of there being an onlooker does entice her more than she’d ever admit. 

Her legs tighten around his waist, the pointed heel of her shoes digging into his backside as she feels a knot forming at the pit of her stomach, indicating that she isn’t far from coming undone.

“C’mon nena, be a good girl and let go,” His thumb finds itself being pressed against her soft lips and immediately she opens her mouth, licking around then sucking the digit and maintaining eye contact through it all. It has Javier grunting out a few expletives before letting his saliva coated thumb drop between them, rubbing tight circles against her clit.

This has her clenching around him and crying out, which causes a smirk to tug at his lips as he puts more pressure onto her clit.” Tan bonita así, toda lista para mi. (So pretty like this, all ready for me)” 

She tugs harshly at his hair at the sound of his Spanish, her arousal topples over and her second orgasm hits her like toppling bricks. She squeezes his cock tightly inside her, her legs an iron grip on his waist as she bites down harshly on her bottom lip, almost drawing blood, to keep her intense whimpers and moans from spilling out and drawing attention to them.

Satisfied that he’s made her unravel on him, Javier fucks her through her orgasm relentlessly until he’s spilling into the condom, burying his face in her neck, right where he can feel her pulse, and grazing the skin with his teeth. He wants to leave a mark, for her to walk around with evidence of him on her body but that’d be a wrong move atop of all the other wrong moves he’s made tonight.

Paloma breathes heavily, mind hazy as she tries to recollect herself from the throes of passion bestowed upon her by Javier Peña. They stay there, embraced in one another before he pulls out of her with a grunt and she whines at the loss of him.

Her legs unwrap from his waist as he tentatively sets her down, discarding of the condom into the water as he tucks himself back into his pants and she pulls her dress down, not even bothered by the fact that he ripped her underwear right off of her.

“That was a mistake.” 

His statement cuts through the night air and she’s already struggling to catch her footing on wobbly legs, the effect of being fucked hard and good.

“Javi––” 

“No, Paloma, I’m fucking serious.” He asserts, his voice taking on a sharp edge, landing like a heavy blow on her already rattled nerves.

“All that sentimental bullshit you were saying before… it means nothing to me. You’re just a distraction–– a pretty face that’s been keeping me from doing my damn job. Now, there’s another life lost, and instead of finding answers, I’m too busy babysitting you.” 

“Don’t you dare pin your incompetence on me, Javier,” She shoots back, her tone tinged with anger and frustration,” I’ve seen my father struggle with this bullshit for months now–– it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with you. S’not my fault you’re not as clever as everyone thinks you are. All the praise you get for being such a fuckin’ hero and yet… look at you. Unable to meet the expectations.” 

She adjusts the thin straps of her dress back up her shoulder, wincing slightly as she brushes against the bite mark he accidentally left against her skin, knowing that she’s going to feel that atop of the soreness between her legs after this.

She braces herself for the inevitable discomfort that will follow, both physically and emotionally.

Javier’s jaw tightens, muscles rippling beneath his skin as he fights to maintain his composure. He knows better than to let her words get to him the way that they are.

This is exactly what they need, some intense fight to fully shatter the illusion of their involvement.

“Look at you, Paloma,” He sneers, his words dripping with contempt as he levels a scornful gaze at her. “Throwing yourself at me every chance you get like a whore. I used to pay for shit like this, but you? Oh, I didn’t spare a fucking dime. Giving it all up for free.” 

Her jaw drops, a surge of anger and indignation flooding her senses as his words cut through her like a knife. She raises her hand instinctively, intent on delivering a stinging rebuke in the form of a slap across his jaw. But before she can make contact, his grip tightens around her wrist, arresting her movement with an iron grip.

“Don’t be stupid, querida,” He mocks her, his voice laced with disdain as he delivers each word like a venomous dagger. “Now that I fucked you one good time: Leave. Me. Alone. How ’bout you go back inside and fraternize with the mayor. I’m sure he’s eager to give you all the male validation you’re clearly chasing after.” He tilts his head, glaring at her in contempt. “Better yet, run off to your junkie, criminal boyfriend; won’t be long before he knocks you up and you’re stuck living in a run down trailer park in this shitty fucking town.” 

Paloma’s heart shatters at his callous words, tears welling up in her eyes and streaming down her cheeks unchecked. She gazes up at Javier, but the man before her is no longer the sweet, charming figure she thought she knew. His eyes, once warm and inviting, now glint with coldness and malice, rendering him unrecognizable to her.

“Fuck you,” She spits, wrenching her hand free from his grip with a mixture of anger and hurt flashing in her eyes. Despite the tears welling up, she summons every ounce of defiance to shoot him a disdainful glare. “You’re a piece of shit, Javier Peña.” 

With those final words, ones he’s heard a plethora of times before, she whirls around, her footsteps echoing loudly on the wooden stairs as she races to the nearest bathroom.

Ignoring the throbbing ache between her legs, she finds solace in the confines of the lavish restroom, allowing herself to unleash the torrent of tears pent up inside. Feeling foolish and utterly used, she wonders how she could have ever fallen for a man like him.

Meanwhile, Javier is left grappling with the sight of her heartbreak now etched into his memory. Pushing aside his own conflicted emotions, he knows he can’t afford to let their tangled affair distract him any longer.

This is what you both needed. He reminds himself, looking out into the water as the silver moonlight reflects off of the surface. Harsh, but she’ll get over it.

With a resigned sigh, he retrieves another cigarette, the familiar ritual offering a fleeting sense of calm amidst the storm raging about.