#squad 6 is jerks

[troius]

Hey, you know who's not being a jerk though? Soi Fon! It's a remarkable development, her giving credit to others and supporting her lieutenant. So much so that Renji (again somewhat rudely...she's right there) points it out.

Rukia's reaction is kind of hilarious though. Like, we know Soi Fon has not always been nice. So has Rukia just not been paying attention? Even assuming she never ran into her as a member of the Squad 13 rank-and-file, she still had three years of being a lieutenant, where she'd presumable get the gossip on her.

Which I suppose means that Soi Fon has been personally nice enough to Rukia to make up for that. Here are my theories as to how that could have happened:

Rukia and Soi Fon get along at Shinigami Women's Association meetings. They are both all about business and getting things done, except when each has the chance to indulge in a passion for their favorite animal character. Somehow this has led to amiability rather than rivalry.

Rukia and Soi Fon get along socially at nobility functions. Rukia is a rukon orphan who was adopted into the Kuchiki household somewhat scandalously, while Soi Fon is from a servant clan to the Shihoin but has taken on some of the traditional Shihoin positions because of the youth of the current clan head. Both of them are invited to all the fancy dinners, neither of them is a hot commodity at these dinners because they have a limited capability to confer status on others. Perhaps they bonded there.

Soi Fon had an entirely-in-her-own-head rivalry with Byakuya when Yoruichi was mentoring both of them. When Yoruichi left Soul Society, Soi Fon at first took a bitter pleasure in her also leaving Byakuya behind, but as she became more and more resentful towards Yoruichi for leaving, she found herself relating more and more to Byakuya, and started requesting to work with Squad 6. Byakuya was oblivious to all of this, but was flattered by Soi Fon's seeming appreciation of his obvious talents and impressed by her competence and professionalism. He has expressed to Rukia that Captain Fon is the sort of officer the Court Guards could use more of, which Rukia recognizes is the closest her brother comes to expressing fondness for his co-workers.

[desceros]

For infinite singularity, I was wondering, after Donnie takes reader out of the office through the portal…

What happens to the..crime scene and our psycho coworker? Especially what did the rest of the brothers do?

(Btw love ur work, ur a total inspiration! ✨💞drink water, steal sum sustenance, take care of yourself 💗)

As soon as you and Donnie are through the portal, Leo gets to work. 

Mikey’s in charge of keeping your coworker from doing anything stupid. A task he enjoys greatly, as it means he gets to sit and giggle on the guy’s chest and pretend he can’t hear him wheezing for breath where Donnie nearly choked him. Meanwhile, Raph is sent off to take care of getting the power back on. He’s no Donnie with tech and never will be, but he’s getting decent at stuff like this. They don’t need it, but it’ll make it easier when the cops finally show up to wipe up the mess.

“So, what exactly was the plan here, huh?” Leo asks your coworker. “You get kicks out of roughing up pretty girls?”

“She’s not some random girl. She’s my soulmate,” your coworker spits, vile descriptions of the things he planned on doing to you cut off when Leo gets a foot on the clown’s broken forearm. 

“Wow, that’s so weird. Here I thought she was my brother’s soulmate,” Leo says, waving his hand in the air and watching the rage purple your coworker’s face. “What with the whole can’t stand to be apart and gazing sappily into each other’s eyes thing they have going on.”

“My pure little dove wouldn’t fuck a monster. He’s forcing her.”

“Buddy, I can promise you, first hand account, she did. Also, kind of ironic considering I’m pretty sure you got caught with your hand in one hell of a cookie jar, don’t you think?”

Raph comes back. “Power’s on,” he says, his word the only indication that’s the case since he left the lights off. Better for them, just in case. 

“Good job. One last thing,” Leo says, putting more of his weight on your coworker’s arm and feeling the bones splinter beneath his heel. “What’s TCRI doing sending out hit squads? Last I checked, business wasn’t supposed to be this cut-throat.”

Between heaving breaths of agony, your coworker groans in wretched agony before he just starts to laugh and laugh and laugh. “You’re a funny guy.”

“Right? Everyone keeps saying it’s my brother, but man, I’m telling you, my lines are killer,” Leo says, a grin that’s all teeth slashing onto his face as he grinds his heel into shattered bone. 

“He ain’t gonna talk,” Raph says after a minute more of your coworker just laughing each time he stops gritting his teeth in pain. 

“I can make him do it,” Mikey says cheerfully, a smile that doesn’t match his eyes pulling into place. 

“…Raph’s right. We’re not going to get anything out of him,” Leo says, pulling his foot off your coworker’s arm. “Knock him out and call it in.”

“I’ll find her again,” your coworker grits through his teeth. “She’ll never be able to hide from me. I’ll haunt her forever. Even if it’s like this, it’ll only ever be me she thinks about. Forever and ever and—”

“Ohh, my god, shut up,” Mikey groans, and with a thwack, your coworker goes silent. He then looks up at Leo, tilting his head. “…I didn’t know you believed in soulmates, too, Leo!”

“…Of course I don’t,” Leo brushes off, turning to inspect the security camera, putting his shell to his brother’s gaze.

“Cops’re on the way,” Raph says, and the two watch as Mikey gets your coworker trussed like a turkey. 

“We’ll have Donnie send them the security footage. Doesn’t look like he tampered with the cameras,” Leo says. Cutting a portal, he jerks his head. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Reappearing in the lair, Leo pulls up his phone.

neon leon (6:11 p.m.) hey hermano. everything okay over there? how she doing

neon leon (6:12 p.m.) bud? you good?

neon leon (6:15 p.m.) nerd says whaaaat

Narrowing his eyes, Leo starts to tap out the next message—dude if you don’t answer in two minutes i’m coming over and—before he freezes in place, thinks for a moment, then groans in disgust. 

“Did you get a hold of Donnie?” Raph asks, tilting his head in confusion when Leo brushes past with a wrinkled beak.

“Let’s give ‘em an hour then try again. Fuckin’ rabbits.”

“…Rabbits?”

Mikey pets Raph’s shell consolingly. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“Wh—B—I’m the oldest?!”

[homiesondaweb]

This is my theory piece on astv Hobie's Backstory.

Despite the whole Punk lifestyle, living on a repurposed canal boat, minor rock star status, and having active warrants out for both his civilian and Spidey persona thing he's got going on. Hobie had a pretty normal childhood for a bit. 

His Pa managed the local radio stations and his Ma was a lead writer for the newspaper. Hobie found himself the baby out of 5 siblings and their 4 bedroom flat was just a bit too small for the 7 people family but it was great. 

The neighborhood was always lively with community get-togethers, music rattled the bricks and the air was always savory with smell of jerk. Hobie used to eat himself sick with coconut candy and orange cake every weekend. He liked going to 'school' which meant being crammed into Ms. Ngozi and Ms. Freedman's flat with the other neighborhood kids then being taught from books Ms. Freedman had smuggled in when she partnered with Ms. Ngozi. Reading, writing, history, debate, arithmetic, ethics, journalism, all kinds of science but Ngozi loved when Hobie would take a machine apart and remake it. 

His eldest siblings by about 12 years, twin brothers Hudson and Hector ran the 'Shop'. If you needed something fixed within their 6 block neighborhood you took it there. Cars, big appliances, medical equipment, radios, tvs, his brothers could fix it all. They'd fix it good, cheap or free and in a timely manner. (And they greatly encouraged their Little Bart brother to tinker) 

Next was is other older brother, Henry. He was only 9 years older than him. A photographer and worked under their mother getting dynamic shots for any article she posted. He introduced Hobie to a lot of artists and taught him how to observe the world around him. How to sneak in and out of it.

Then there was his only sister, Harley. She was closest in age to him, only 5 years older. She was a badass on the guitar and even slicker at the mouth. She debated anyone under a table and had a right hook to back it up. You never would have pegged her to be the one to run the community garden. Not with her self-done piercings, bleach painted jackets, head fully of bantu knots and black lipstick. But she did, she taught Hobie everything to know about growing orchids and tomatoes.

Life was good. Despite the rising police violence, cost of living, and the fumes of Oscorp rising. 11 year old Hobie didn't know it to be anything else. 

Then, he turns 12. Ma and Henry don't come home.

He's 12 and the Ngozi-Freedman homeschool is raided. He never sees them again but Harley fills her stage trunk with their books and records.

He's 12. Someone reported the shop and President Osborne new "certificate enforcement" squad torches the building. Hudson gets away but the Symbiotes bail out Hector to them and he only has one arm. 

He's 12. The government has taken over the radio station, firing Pa. The house becomes cramped with the equipment Pa had smuggled out. Hudson shows back up and he's as ghost as Hector.

He's 12 and half his friends are just faces on murals and the other half is sick from the water. The garden is sabotaged and the city fines Harley (how the fuck do you fine a 17 year old?) 

And there's a protest. Pa has taken over the radios in the city and rallies the people, he repeats Ma articles over and over informing the people about the propaganda, the contamination, the disappeared people, the injustice. He repeats them and repeated them as the twins litter the city with flyers using Henry's photos of the truth. 

And there's a protest. 

There's hundred of protests of all sizes, all over.

There's a riot. 

There's riots.

There's fire and panic and Symbiotes spill into the neighborhood like oil and-

Hobie turns 13, it's just him and Harley. 

Hobie turns 14, it's just him and Harley's guitar.

Hobie is 15, he's just some punk kid bit by a radioactive spider while trying to find shelter from a Symbiote raid. He uses this to his advantage. 

He turns 16 and instead of blowing out birthday candles he's smashing Harley's guitar through a fascist dictator head with his fellow super powered punks. (He can't think of a better wish)

He's 17 and Miguel makes a mistake in showing up to his dimension with an offer to join his 'society'. 

[sofasoap]

Love at first sight - Epilogue

Pairing: Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra x F!reader ( aka Mini MacTavish)

Summary: Two love birds finally got together. To the relief of everyone.

Part I, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4,Part 5,Part 6

Warning: E Rating. Smutty smut. inaccuracies to medical and military related. discussion of injury.

A/N: @siilvan , thank you for being a wonderful Beta-reader *hug* @jynxmirage for giving me daily encouragements of sending me picture of delicious Bayardo De Murguia to keep me going :) Thanks to @okayyadriana  and @saltofmercury helping me with Spanish words :) if there are any mistakes. Please blame me not them.

“masterlist” 

You stayed on with the Los Vaqueros In Las Almas after Rudy was cleared to be discharged from the hospital. 

Approaching Price a few days after in private, you were nervous as you put in a request to stay on for a bit longer while the rest of the team moved on to another mission back in Europe soon.

“I know this is a very selfish request, Captain..” You look down at your boot, feeling guilty abandoning your team while they need you. But you can’t walk away from him this time. Rudy still needs you to look after him, or so you try to justify it. More like you need him to heal your guilty conscience. 

Price observed you in silence for a few minutes, brows furrowed. At last he jerks his head towards the outside, indicating to you to follow him. 

The sun is slowly setting, a few soldiers returning from their patrols and training. Everything seems so tranquil and peaceful compared to the near death mission the squad was sent to a few weeks ago.

Taking out a cigar he stashed away in his vest pocket, he lit it up, and took a slow drag before turning to you.

“You've been burying yourself in work non-stop for the last few months Mini. Is this why?” He didn’t point out what exactly he was asking about.

But, you know what he is implying. 

Kicking a bit of dirt on the ground and swiping the little gravel away for no reason, you let out a little grunt, acknowledging his question. 

“Stay as long as you want. You have trained your team well, Dr. MacTavish.” He chuckled as you pouted like a child, he knows you don’t like to address you with the title. “I’m sure they can handle the boys without you.” He pats you on the shoulder. “Take a good break, but I don’t know how much rest you are going to have fussing over him.” 

“I’ll try to behave…” You replied sincerely, finally feeling a bit of weight lift off your shoulders. “Thank you, Captain. It means a lot to me.”

Patting you on the shoulder with a fatherly smile, “Go chase your happiness, Mini. You deserve it.” 

Leaning back against the wall, you close your eyes and listen to the faint sound of music and singing that could be heard from the mess hall from a distance away, as the Task force and Los Vaqueros soldiers celebrate another successful mission under their belt after months of hard work. 

A shadow appears in front of you. Looking up, you saw Rudy standing in front of you, eyebrows raised, silently asking for permission. 

Patting the ground beside you and inviting him to sit down, you share the brief silence. 

This is probably the only time the two of you have spent time alone in the last few months, without anyone else hovering about. 

To Rudy’s dismay, Alejandro forced his second in command to take an extensive break after his return from hospital.

“Rest. You nearly died in my arms, hermano. I am sure your mother will be happy to have you at home for more than one day in a few weeks.” He commented. Alejandro turned towards you and patted you on the shoulder, “I’ll get Dr. MacTavish here to check up on you, so don’t you worry about your injury.” 

Mama Parra was ecstatic to see you return along with her son. You were quite touched by how the whole family welcomed your return. Camila gave you a knowing look after giving you a hug.

“Thank you for saving my brother. And, please, look after him from now on.” 

The tender look he gives you everytime you go over to change his bandages, and the desire he couldn’t keep hidden sipping through when you glide your hands, deliberately across his well defined ab. You linger your hand around his pelvis area, boldly caressing the slight bit of hair showing above his pants. Oh how his eyes darken as you flash him a sly smile, teasing him. 

If only he wasn’t still recovering from his near fatal wound. If only there weren’t people always out and about in the house.

Both of you would have given in to the desire, right there and then. 

But his mother would always poke her head into the room every time, fussing about and pulling you out to feed you with delicious meals, trying to show you the family photos, and with your rudimentary understanding of Spanish language, along with Rudy and Camila’s translation, Mama Parra loved telling you all the family history and childhood stories of Rudy and his siblings, and all the havoc him and Alejandro caused when they were young. 

You often catch Alejandro looking at the two of you, rolling his eyes while shaking his head, exasperated that the two of you are behaving like love sick puppies yet again. 

“Are you two going to make a move on each other or not?” Alejandro asked you once, when you were dropping off the health assessment reports in his office. “You know there is a betting pool happening amongst the team to see when…”

You ran out of the office in a flash, not even waiting for his sentence to finish, utterly mortified. 

Rudy breaks the silence first as he softly calls out your name. Turning slightly to face him.

“Cariño. Mi vida.” The tips of your ears burn as he addresses you in such an intimate manner. How would it feel if he called out like that when he was buried inside you…? “What are you thinking?” He whispered, his beautiful brown orbs filled with sadness. “Are you… are you thinking of leaving again?” Your heart clenched with pain as he looked at you with the same nervousness and distress you saw the night at the hospital.  You realise the two of you haven’t sat down and discussed the future, where to move on from here. No wonder the poor man is feeling so insecure. 

“Oh love.. no.. no don’t think that.” Gently cupping his face, you pull him down towards you to lean against his forehead. “I am not leaving you. Ever again. No matter what happens. I am sorry I haven’t been clearer.” You apologised as you leaned close to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek. “...well, barring from getting sent out for missions…” You added hastily. 

You feel tension dissipate from him as you give him your words of reassurance. Taking one of his hands, you put it over your heart.

“This will be yours from now on. And this,” You put your hand over his rapid beating heart, “I hope I have the honour for this to be mine.” You drop down to a whisper, suddenly timid. 

“From the moment I laid my eyes on you, I had already devoted my heart to you. I never expected you to return my feelings. I was happy to watch you from afar, assist you whenever I could; seeing that bright smile appear on your face is all that matters to me. I never expected anything in return.”

You were taken aback by his comment. You knew he had feelings for you quite early on, but from the moment you arrived at Las Almas? You didn’t quite expect that. Silently pining for you, doing what he does the best, assisting you in the background. You realise everytime the medical team has requested something, it would be done right away in the next few days. You got a complaint? Rudy would sort it out straight away. 

“All done, as per your request.” You remember his soft smile and his shyness everytime he reported back to you. 

It was all for you. 

“Rudy… oh, Rudy…” You lamented. The guilt is hitting you again.You couldn’t stop the tears streaming down your face now. “I am so sorry… so sorry…”

“Cariño, it’s not your fault. You did what you thought was right at the time, and I don’t blame you for that.” He pulls you into his embrace, kissing you lightly on your head. “I admit, I was quite heartbroken, but I do understand. Duty over heart. And the distance would have made it hard.” Closing his eyes, he chuckled slightly. “I buried myself in work, trying to put it all behind me. That accidental phone call? It reignited my hope. Brought back the ache again.” 

Resting your head in the crook of his neck, you enjoy the closeness, his scent, as he lightly rocks you back and forth to the music in the distance, slowly processing his words. 

“I love you, mi vida. I love you so much.” He whispered into your ears. “You are so beautiful. So strong, so fierce, so loyal…” He pulled himself away slightly to face you as he took in a deep breath.

“Would it be too much to ask, for you to be mine?” He pleaded, desperately searching for an answer in your eyes. 

You wrap your arms around his neck with a soft smile, “You already have my heart,” You whispered as you tipped your head up to give him a gentle kiss on his lips. “And you have my permission to take my body as yours, too.” 

With that reply, he leaned down towards you for another kiss, pouring all his emotion and heart into it. You can feel both of your bodies heating up as you nudge his lips open with your tongue, teasing him.

Abruptly, he pulls you away, panting, and jerks his head towards the main building. “My room. Not here.” That was all he could get out with his mind semi-frazzled from the kiss. You nodded your head frantically as both of you made your way towards the said destination.

As the two of you passed through the mess hall towards the officer’s quarters, you thought you saw Alejandro’s quick wave and smirk. Must be your imagination?

You couldn’t help but circle your arm around his waist as he shakily tried to open the door to his resting quarters. Hands meander around his body, teasing him a little, feeling his broad muscles, his back, and coming to a stop as you palm his semi hard package underneath his trousers. As soon as the door opens, he turns around and pulls you in, and kicks the door closed. You pull him down by his collar for another kiss, desperate to show him how much you want him, to soothe his worries and doubt. 

You push him to sit down on the bed, both of you still catching your breath from the heated kiss and dash.

“Please, mi amor… please, show me how you like it. Where you want me to touch…” He looks up at you, hands roaming up and down your body, voice dropping into a husky and lustful whisper.

You lower yourself to straddle him, feeling his hardness through the fabric. Rolling your hips slightly, you hear his breath catching slightly, holding back a groan. 

You move one of his hands to grab your ass, and the other to slide under your top, towards your breast. “Anywhere you like, love,” You swallow thickly, body filled with want. You want him. Anywhere. Everywhere. “Just show me what your deft fingers can do.” You purred as you looked at him through half hooded eyes. . 

You always wondered what it would feel like to have his hands on you after seeing him playing the guitar that night. The beautiful nimble fingers gliding up and down the fretboard, plucking away on the strings.

Standing up again to let him have better access to your lower region, he fumbles slightly as he unbuttons your pants and glides in between your pants and underwear. You let out an unrestrained moan as you feel his finger skate over your clit, before it reaches your already soaking opening.

“That’s it, my love..more… I want to feel more of you there…” You gasped and demanded as you rolled your hips with his moment. Another finger followed without hesitation, and another, until you feel stretched full of him pumping slowly in and out of you. 

His thumb languidly circles your clit as you dig your nails into his shoulder, back arched and screaming his name, not caring if the whole barracks hears you enjoying the first orgasm your lover has given you.

You look down at him with your watery orbs, breathing still short and fast as you come down from the blissful high he has just given you. He pulled his fingers out of you and slipped them in his mouth.

“I want to taste more of you.” He hummed as he slowly licked his fingers, cleaning up the cum juice you drenched him with. “My mouth against your beautiful soaking wet cunt, making you happy…”

Oh, you have definitely flipped a switch on. Gone is the shy Rudy, now Rodolfo Parra, the same confidence and passion shining through his eyes that you saw from him that night playing his guitar, is requesting to please you once again. Or, is that a thinly veiled demand?

Either way, you welcome the change.

Leaning down to pull him into an open mouthed kiss, you speak against his lips.

“You will have a lot more chances for that later on, my love.” You smirked as you pushed his shoulder, making him fall back onto the bed. You kneel on the bed, legs on each side of his body. “Now, it’s my turn to give you some pleasure, as you have just given me.” You position yourself comfortably sitting on his thighs, before you start to unbutton his shirt. 

Peppering kisses on his chest, your eyes soften as your hand carrases over the healed scar from months ago. That pain in your heart is still as fresh as the day you barely pulled him back from death’s door step.

“Still hurting?” You murmured as you traced your fingers over the most critical spot. “Occasional phantom pain, but I am alright now. Thanks to you.” He reassures you as he runs his hand up and down your arm.

Continuing down his body, your hands shake with excitement like a child opening a present on Christmas day, eager to see what is hiding underneath. 

Your smile broadens as you pull his pants down, his impressive girth finally appearing. You heard him groaning as you gently grabbed his length, pumping it a few times before taking it with your mouth.

Rudy gasps and moans as you work away, teasing him with your tongue, sucking the tip and kneading his balls lightly. He grasps the bed sheet hard as he blabbers away in Spanish, too fast for you to follow. He took you by surprise as he let out an almost half whimper-half sob before you felt the hot cum coating the inside your mouth. You lapped it all up and swallowed keenly as he rode out the rest of his orgasm.

“I… I am sorry, mi amor. I couldn’t hold it in any longer...” He apologised profusely, clearly embarrassed. You climb back up towards him. “I am glad I have that effect on you, Cariño.” You hushed him as you showered him with kisses on his face and patted his chest. 

His eyes glitter as you use the endearment in his mother tongue. “I should feel honoured that I can make you come so quickly. Now,” You stripped the rest of your clothing off. “Show me what you can do with that impressive thing inside me.”

Rudy claimed shyly he isn’t as experienced as you, but oh boy. His attentiveness, his eagerness, how much he wanted to give you a good time, all made up for it. 

His hands couldn’t stop touching you, caressing you as he slowly thrusted in and out of your aching core, stretching it open, making you quiver and moan out no matter what angle and position he went for. As if the two of you were made for each other, meant to be. Your soulmate. 

The two of you finally drifted to sleep, round after round of pleasure and orgasms, with his arm around you, holding you close to his chest. Afraid to let go, afraid for you to disappear again.  

The whole mess hall erupted into cheers and whistles as both you and Rudy walked in, taking both of you by surprise. 

You hid your face in Rudy’s shoulder, abashed by the sudden attention both of you were getting. 

Rudy, calm as always, ignored all the teases as he gently took your hand, which incited another round of cheers as he led you to the back table where Alejandro and your team was sitting at the moment for breakfast. He sat you down first before murmuring into your ear and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, heading towards the serving area to grab food for both of you.

“I hope you two had a good time last night.” Alejandro smiled as he pushed the jar of sugar towards you. 

“HOW–” You nearly spilled out the coffee that you were pouring into the mug. 

“Why did you think the officer’s quarters were so quiet last night?” Alejandro smirked with a knowing look. 

Blistering hell, he knew. He ordered people to stay away from the sleeping quarters. You wondered why the usually busy hallway was void of people as the two of you dashed towards his bedroom. 

Another soldier sitting across from you laughed. " Ah, don't be so shy. We were all rooting for you and our Sergeant Major. And, you know what they say?? Tell her, mi hermanos, mi hermanas!!"

“Save a horse, ride a Vaquero!” The whole mess hall shouted in unison. 

You just want to dig a hole in the ground and hide.

“...Captain.” You mumbled at Price. “Have you got Nikolai’s contact? Please ask him to take me away from this horrible embarrassment.” You buried your face in your hands. Now how are you going to face all of them?

“Might be a good idea, so we don’t have to hear your screams every night.” Soap mumbled as he took a sip of his coffee. 

OH great, now your brother is talking about your sex life. Something just snapped inside you. Stuff this. If they are so interested in your life, you might as well…. 

Slamming your mug onto the table, you stood up on the bench, whistling to catch everyone’s attention. 

“Since all of you are so interested in our love life, yes, the Sergeant Major and I finally shagged last night.” You heard your brother spitting out his coffee while Ghost thumped his back, Gaz laughing his head off. “And, ladies, his fingers are just as good, if not better than all of you imagined.” Gasps and giggles could be heard amongst the crowd. Out of the corner of your eyes, Rudy froze mid-motion while picking up some toast from the toaster, soldiers around him slapping his back and elbowing him, teasing him. 

“Mini…” You heard Price trying to interject, but you held out your hand towards your captain, stopping him. 

“Last, but not least, I love him, and he is off the market people! Take this as a warning, no one touches MY MAN!” 

Jumping down from your bench, you walk down the aisle between the refectory tables, as if doing a victory walk between the cheering and clapping soldiers, towards Rudy, who’s now blushing from head to toe, hearing your public declaration. 

“There. I think that will stop anyone from gossiping about us.” You stop in front of your lover, as he leans into the crook of your neck, feeling the heat radiating off his skin.

“Ah, querida… What am I going to do with you.” He asked, followed by a sigh.  

“Well, one thing for sure, you aren’t going to get rid of me, because I am going to stick around for quite a long time.” You replied as you wrapped your arm around his torso.

“Good.” He put his plates down to the side and proceeded to lift you up high. “Because you are mine forever, mi hermosa.” 

“... how much did you bet on them?” 

“A hundred pounds, But that’s because I had insider information.” 

“Mierda.” 

Tag list:

@jynxmirage, @kaplerrr, @captainpriceslover,@homicidal-slvt,@floral-force,@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world,@iwannabeinthesequalmrghostface,@okayyadriana,@random-thot-generator,@siilvan,@crazymela,@preciouslittlecreature,@glitterypirateduck,@cumikering,@devcica,@nrdmssgs,@random0lover

@nightingal3-tales, @deakyspuff, @abbeyrjm-blog, @alypink,@liyanahelena, @loppyc

@deadbranch

[candycandy00]

Finding Love in a Zombie Apocalypse - A JJK Interactive Romance Fanfic Round 7 (Final)

Read the details about this event here!

Round 1 | Round 2 | Round 3 | Round 4 | Round 5 | Round 6

During a zombie apocalypse, you meet a group of seven handsome men. Which one will you choose to be your survival/romantic partner?

And the winner is Gojo! Please enjoy this smutty chapter!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Minors do not interact!

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more!

You’re not sure what you expected to see when the door of the bunker fully opened. Perhaps a squad of well built soldiers filing out in formation, guns drawn. 

Instead, a measly three men walk out, casual clothes hanging limply from their thin bodies, guns in their hands but hanging at their sides. The weapons almost look too heavy for them to carry. They remind you of scarecrows, with their shaggy, unkempt hair and dark, hollow eyes. 

All three men look at you, not as a fellow human being but as an object of entertainment, the way they might look at a shiny new gaming console. They don’t speak to you, instead addressing Gojo. 

“Bring the other bags,” one of them says. His voice is familiar, the same voice that spoke through the speaker. He’s the tallest of the three, with oily hair pulled into a low ponytail at his neck. If he bathed, shaved, and dressed well, he might be handsome. But currently he looks tired, starved, and dirty. 

Gojo and Geto remain where they are. Gojo is still loosely holding your arm behind you. He gives a light laugh and says, “That wouldn’t be very fair. If we drag out all the food, what’s to stop you guys from taking it all? You’re the only ones armed.”

The men glance at each other, then the familiar voiced man gives a signal. Two more men walk out, carrying guns. 

“You’re right,” he says, “we are the only ones armed. So bring the rest of the bags out and we’ll check them over. If you’re telling the truth, you’ll get your guns.”

Gojo looks over at Geto, who shrugs. “I’ll bring a few more out, then we can discuss this further. How does that sound?”

The soldiers remain quiet, waiting for the man that’s been talking to make the decision. He must be the leader. He stares at Geto, then his eyes drift over to you. “Fine. Bring some more out. Sit them on the ground and unzip them, then step away.”

Geto nods, then heads back to the trailer. 

Gojo is smiling. “So how long have you guys been here?” he asks, as if he’s just making friendly conversation. You’re looking back and forth between the men, pretending to be stunned and terrified, occasionally giving a fake jerk against Gojo’s weak grip on your arm. 

One of the other soldiers, short with a baby face that makes him look too young to be in the military, answers, “Since this all started.”

The leader gives him a sharp look, but says nothing. 

“Wow, that long?” Gojo asks. “Have any of you guys even killed a zombie?”

This time no one answers, which is an answer in itself. 

The awkward silence is broken when Geto reappears, carrying three more duffel bags. He sits them on the ground in front of the soldiers and then unzips them and takes a few steps back. 

The leader motions toward the bags and two of the other soldiers scurry forward to look through them. Their eyes seem to light up at the sight of all that food, their hands raking through the contents. One man pulls out a candy bar, rips off the wrapper, and shoves the entire thing into his mouth. He sighs as he chews. 

Right now, Sukuna should have climbed out of the trailer that Geto left open, going around the outskirts of the bunker so that he can emerge behind the men. Nanami and Higuruma should both be out of the trailer, coming up toward the front while the soldiers are distracted. 

The leader steps closer to you, then leans down to get a good look, his eyes moving to your chest and then back to your face. “You can hand her over now,” he says. 

“No!” you cry out, wiggling around. 

Gojo’s grip on your arm tightens slightly. “So far you guys haven’t given us anything. Why would I hand over our most valuable item?”

The leader frowns. “Because we have the guns. We won’t take her inside until the trade is done, but I want her in our hands.”

He reaches out toward you, his hand nearly touching your shoulder. You shudder and try to back away, but Gojo is behind you, unmoving. Just before the man’s fingertips can brush the fabric of your shirt, Gojo suddenly grabs his wrist. 

The man looks up at him, seeming confused. But before he can react any further, Gojo releases you, stepping around your body and yanking the man by the arm so that he falls face-first to the ground. At the same time, Gojo jerks the gun free of the bewildered man’s hand. 

The other soldiers look up from the bags of food, but before they can even aim their weapons, the others in your group have disarmed them and knocked them out. 

Wow, you can’t believe it was that easy. 

Gojo and Geto gather up guns while Nanami and Higuruma tie up the soldiers. Sukuna has already went inside the bunker, apparently not caring that there are still five more men in there, possibly armed. 

“You can stay out here until we’re done if you want,” Gojo tells you, checking one of the guns for ammo. 

You hear gunfire coming from inside. “Okay, yeah, I think I’ll do that,” you say. Your heart is still beating fast. 

Gojo grins and pats you playfully on the back. “You’re a pretty good actress,” he says. Then he lowers his voice. “But all that squirming around you did got me riled up.”

Your eyes widen and your face flushes with heat, but you can’t think of a witty retort. Instead you’re left to stare after him as he winks and heads into the bunker. 

While waiting outside, you realize you’re going to have to decide soon if you want to take him up on his offer. You’re certainly attracted to Gojo, and you have no real hang ups to speak of. Your only concern is that you’ll fall for him, and even if he did end up returning your feelings, the two of you are living in a zombie apocalypse. Either one of you could die at any moment. Why put yourself through the heartache? 

But he’s so fucking charming, and he is really strong. Especially with the relative safety of the bunker, it seems unlikely that either of you will die anytime soon. So why not go for it? If you are living out your last days, why not enjoy them? 

Within an hour, the soldiers have been rounded up, disarmed, and restrained. There were only nine of them now, one having died after the defector left. You wonder what your group plans to do with them. Will they murder them? Simply leave them alone out here to fend for themselves? You’re not sure if you’re comfortable with either of those options, even though the leader clearly had ominous plans for you. 

Geto and Nanami usher all of the men but one into the back of the now empty trailer, their arms still tied behind their backs. The last remaining soldier is the baby faced guy who spoke earlier. Gojo cuts him free and hands him the knife. 

“Take one bag of supplies, that one by your feet, and drive this truck away from here,” Gojo tells him. “I suggest driving until daylight, then you can stop and untie them. If we ever catch you guys near here, we’ll kill you all. Understand?”

The young soldier nods, his face sweaty and red, his eyes frantic. “C-can I have just one gun?” 

Gojo shakes his head and pat’s the guy’s back. “You don’t want a gun, trust me. All they do is draw a crowd of zombies. Too loud. Knives are quiet. Zombies can be scary, but they’re slow and weak. Don’t fight unless you’re cornered. Wear thick fabric on your extremities to protect from bites. Don’t be out in the open at night. Watch out for yourself.”

The soldier nods to all of that, then Geto hands him the keys to the truck. He climbs in and starts the engine, then he’s gone. 

Gojo throws his arm around you. “Now that all the unpleasant stuff is out of the way, let’s go tour our new home!”

You smile, relieved that no one died tonight, on either side. You let Gojo lead you into the bunker and show you around. 

There’s a living area, far more spacious than you imagined, with two couches and three recliners. There’s a pool table off to one side, a tv with a large screen, and a shelf stacked messily with books and magazines. The lighting in here, and everywhere else in the bunker, is quite dim. They’re probably using the last of their fuel for the generator. 

The kitchen is very small, with barely enough room for the round table and four chairs between rows of cabinets, a sink, small stove, and microwave. There’s a short, squat refrigerator in the corner. 

There are three separate sleeping areas, all quite large and holding six narrow beds in each. There’s also two bathrooms, though only one contains a shower. 

You don’t ask, or even hint, but the men all agree to let you use the shower first. You like that they’re considerate, but you feel a little guilty as you strip off your well-worn clothes and step into the shower. 

It’s the first shower you’ve had in weeks, and it feels incredible. The water is actually warm! Your tense muscles begin to relax under the firm pressure, your sinuses clearing from the steam. They even have soap and shampoo! Nothing fancy like you used at home, but it smells nice and clean. 

Just as you’re finishing rinsing off your body, you hear the door to the bathroom open. You freeze up. The door had no lock, but you assumed none of these guys would walk in on you. Through the frosted glass of the shower door, you can see a tall blurry figure. 

“Hey.”  Gojo’s voice. “If I’m being too forward, tell me to fuck off and I will. But do you mind if I join you?”

Join you? In this cramped shower stall?! You’ve already decided to sleep with him, but things are moving a little more quickly than you expected. Still, he’s right there. So close. The idea of seeing him dripping wet, hair in his eyes, towering over you in this small, steamy space… it’s doing things to you. 

“Okay, sure,” you tell him, and you watch through the glass as he peels off his clothes. You can’t make out any details, just his vague shape as more and more of his creamy skin is exposed. Then, he opens the shower door. 

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, each taking the opportunity to drink the other in. He’s built like a god, all taut, lean muscle. He looked thinner when dressed, but this is the best kind of surprise. 

He smiles, clearly aware of how good looking he is, his crystalline eyes shamelessly moving over your body. In return, your own eyes fall to below his waist. 

Oh. Oh wow. So he’s hung like a fucking horse. 

“So? Do you think I’ll fit?”

You look up suddenly. “What?”

He’s grinning. “The shower. It’s pretty small. Do you think I’ll fit in there with you?”

“Oh, uh, I think so,” you stammer, stepping to the side to give him room. 

He slides in beside you, his bare body brushing against yours. This is probably the first shower he’s had in a while too, but you’d never know it. He looks and smells inexplicably clean already, but he lathers up his hair and body regardless. 

This was his idea, so it’s okay to watch, right? You stand back as far as you can while he cleans himself, giving you an eyeful and not seeming the least bit shy. Of course, he’s getting an eyeful too, and it’s difficult to ignore the way his cock is hardening the longer he looks at you. 

By the time he rinses off, he’s fully hard, and you’re drenched in a way that has nothing to do with the water pouring down over your body. He faces you, and in a split second his arms are around you, his mouth on yours. 

He kisses the way he fights, fiercely, like he’s eager to lose himself in it, like he’s been holding back for a while and something has snapped inside him. 

You’ve never been kissed so passionately before, your back pressed against the glass door, his tall frame hovering over you. Heat is seeping into your skin, from the water or his body, you’re not sure. 

He suddenly turns you around to face away from him, then pushes your upper half against the glass door, slightly bending you at the waist. His hand slides down your back, along your spine, rubbing over your ass before his fingers slip between your legs from behind. 

You automatically spread your feet wider apart, wanting to give him more access. His fingers dip into your slick folds, finding your clit with the sort of ease only a man who has pleasured many women could do. You gasp as he rubs circles on the sensitive little nub, your hands pressed into the glass to keep you stable. When he rubs just a little harder, you moan out loud and your legs begin to tremble. 

“There we go,” he says, his voice a little lower than usual. “It’s probably been a while, huh? Just relax and enjoy it.”

You sigh, letting more of your upper half lean against the glass. It has been a while. Even if you had the privacy and time to masturbate, you hadn’t been in the right mindset for it since all this started. But now, with at least a semblance of safety and a gorgeous naked man playing with your clit, all the pent up stress is melting away, leaving only raw hormones. 

So you let yourself melt into the pleasure. Your legs quiver, your breaths quicken, as you focus on the heat, on the feeling of his fingers sliding inside you. The orgasm washes over you in waves, rippling over your body, spreading out from your core to the tips of your toes and fingers. 

You almost collapse. If not for Gojo’s arm around your waist, you would have. He holds you snugly between himself and the shower door, his fingers still stroking you, until your body stops shaking. 

A second later, you feel his hands move to grip your waist, and then all at once he’s plunging into you, making you cry out in surprise. Your hands fly to the glass again, needing something to grip as he begins thrusting impossibly deep. 

“Sorry,” he says into your ear. “It’s been a while for me too.”

“We’re gonna break this door,” you tell him, feeling it give a little, as if it’s going to bust off its frame. 

“I don’t care,” he grunts out, picking up his pace. 

“The others are gonna hear us,” you say, your voice shaking as he pounds into you. 

“I extra don’t care,” he says, one hand slipping around to squeeze your breast. 

Your breath hitches when he hits that sweet, tender spot inside you that drives you mad, making you clench him tightly. 

He must have noticed your reaction, because he hammers that spot like it’s a loose nail. Seconds later, you’re cumming for the second time, clamping down on his cock, wanting to milk it dry. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he mutters, his grip on you tightening. “And as much as I’d love to fill this pussy full�� we can’t risk it.”

With that, he pulls out, and you feel something warm and thick land on your lower back, dripping down onto your ass. 

You wanted to feel him cum inside you, but you agree that it would be a terrible idea. An unplanned pregnancy in this world would be disastrous. You make a mental note to look for condoms later. 

Wait, later? You’re not even sure if there’ll be a later with Gojo. Maybe this is just a one-time thing. It’s not like the two of you are in a relationship. You have to keep reminding yourself of that. He’s practically a stranger to you. 

After the two of you finish showering and get dressed, you both walk out of the bathroom, which is directly beside the living area. The rest of the guys are sitting around on the couches and recliners, all of them staring at the two of you with unamused faces. 

Nanami stands up. “You two do realize the rest of us have to shower in there after you,” he says, looking like a stern teacher who just caught you smoking in the bathroom. 

You look at the floor, your face heating up. 

Gojo laughs. “Don’t worry, we cleaned up after ourselves!”

Geto sighs. “Did you have to be so loud? We could hear you all over the bunker.”

Gojo throws an arm around you. “Well you guys better get used to it.”

The others blanch and you look up at him in surprise. Does that mean he’s counting on this being a regular thing? 

He grins down at you. “Wanna bunk with me?”

You blink, then smile. “Yeah, I’d like that,” you tell him, walking with him to one of the sleeping areas. Maybe the zombie apocalypse wasn’t so bad, if it led you to meeting Gojo. Maybe you could even have a life, and have love, in this crazy new world. 

Tag List:

@tadabzzzbee @babysoo-meu @atomicweaselpaperapricot

[bobbydagen24]

If you could make any changes you wanted to the finale what would they be?

Personally I'd remove the years long time jump and have the show at most jump ahead maybe 6 months or a single year

Just to the point where the immediate aftermath of the final battle has gone by but not to the point where these may as well be different characters

Given the amount of implied development they've undergone off screen that the show is basically teasing us that we'll never actually see ( because the writers chose to use what screen time they did have to show us other stuff instead )

and just end the show with the characters going to school showing them just living the normal mundane lives as regular kids aka what the hex squad was fighting for.

maybe show them all attending Grom together and that way we still get the big party to show all the characters saying goodbye

But the writers didn't need to ruin the ending for the sake of jerking off to fancy new character designs fanart is its own thing separate from the actual works someone higher up really needed to tell the owl crew that ffs.

Also I'd probably also give Hunter a final scene with Belos as ending their relationship on thanks to them just leaves a sour taste in my mouth tbh.

I wouldn't want Hunter to actually kill Belos or even witness his death as that would just be even more angst for him

But I would probably have him show up just as Belos is depowered and he's trying his little possessed by dark magic lie to Luz

maybe he tries to get Hunter to back him up saying that that he saw what the curse did to him and how it "" made him do bad things "" but same as Luz Hunter's just having none of it

and he turns around and walks away while Belos is calling his name maybe at first he's pleadingly calling after him only for him to eventually get angrier and shout his name but it makes no difference

and after he's left the rest of the scene plays out the same I just feel after the sad ending of thanks to them Hunter should have gotten a final chance to defy Belos and stand up to him.

and the final change I'd make is that I'd just have the Collector stick around in the end as I just feel it makes more sense for him and everyone else.

he's a god like being who still currently has the emotional intelligence of a kid and who has been manipulated and used by bad people in the past

keeping him around so they can continue to teach him right from wrong and help him grow just makes more sense to me than him going off on his own especially when he was terrified of ending up alone again like he was in the other realm so like why would he leave just as he was starting to find people he could actually trust?

anyway what changes would you make if given the chance?

[felassan]

Some more info on the Mass Effect board game, from co-designer Calvin:

"Hi all, Calvin here, co-designer of the game. I've gathered all the frequently asked questions on social media and bgg and gathered them into some answers for you. Feel free to ask more questions if yours is not answered, and if I can answer it I will. I will be updating this as more information about the game becomes available. Release info - The release date is (hopefully) November depending on the gods of shipping - Price is confirmed, the game will be $50/£40 - The team is currently working on translation deals for 9 or so languages. More details soon. - For info on pre-orders go to https://www.modiphius.net/pages/mass-effect-signup - There are currently no plans for a collector’s edition vs standard edition - It is not crowdfunded, the game is direct to retail - "If you'd like to support the game right now, there's nothing better than going into your local FLGS and asking them if they'll stock the game when it comes out. With the vast amount of great games coming out every week, retailers rely on fans asking about the game. This helps them gauge how much to buy, the more people ask, the more buzz they know there is, the more confident they are to buy enough and the more likely there's one waiting for you on the shelf when you go in :-) That feeds up the chain; the more retailers ask their sales reps at Asmodee, the more Asmodee goes, "Oh wait, let's order more, so we have enough for all the shops". Plot - The game is set on the planet Hagalaz, early during the events of Mass Effect 3 - The players are tasked with investigating a crashed Cerberus research cruiser which could have info that contributes to War Readiness and could help stop the Reapers - The game is designed so people who have never played Mass Effect can still enjoy it. Eric hasn't played the games as much as I did so he got to do what he calls “the meathead test” on all the theming and story. - We worked with Bioware on all the plot and theming. - Yes you can do calibrations in this game Basic game info - Co-operative squad tactics - 1-4 players - Included are six 32mm minis, masc Shep, fem Shep, Liara, Garrus, Tali, and Wrex - Not many other components to keep price and complexity low - 45 minute missions - 3-5 missions per campaign - Branching paragon/renegade choices + sidequests - Enough missions to replay the campaign several times without repeats - Solo play is really fun, in fact I like all the player counts equally, which is something I’m very proud that we were able to achieve in this game - Solo play is basically multi-handing, you control more than one character. - There is no legacy aspect, the game is fully resettable - There will be new original art"

[character limit text break]

"Gameplay info - Low rules complexity, but with lots of tactical depth. We aimed for an audience of Mass Effect fans who might not know anything about board games. Board gamers should still find something to enjoy if they’re into co-op tactics. - A group that just wants to turn their brain off and blast through the game should have an easy time - But a group who wants to get the best endings, complete all the sidequests, get all the level ups will have to min-max pretty heavily - The game has relatively low randomness. Planning, prediction, and preparation are very important to avoid bad outcomes - but there’s still enough randomness to avoid AP as players try to plan out perfect turns. - Important gameplay elements include positioning and combo-ing abilities with other players. - There is a tactical map. - Players will level up their characters by performing in game actions and learn new abilities. - We got all 6 Shepard classes in there. It is one of the things I am very proud of doing. - Re: alpha gamers, Eric and I do not believe it is the designer’s job to solve for jerks at your gaming table. Obviously we have designed the game so that every player has something to contribute and there’s plenty of info so that it’s hard to track. But we also recommend having adult conversations with your table partners. Interviews/Behind The Scenes Beyond Solitaire https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q-nLGDt97i4 Topics: how we designed the game and implemented the narrative UKGE promo copy https://twitter.com/Modiphius/status/1796844231018811782/" Post last updated August 8th

[source]

New original art 👀

[neoarchipelago]

Madripoor High (part 6)

A/N: this was supposed to be some miniseries but i feel like it's turning into a slow burn again... also, this is an emotional rollercosater. I gave Y/N a backstory, tragic, similar to Ghost's one.

Warnings: TRAUMA ABUSE DEATH READ UNTIL (_-_-_-_) TO AVOID IT THEN START AGAIN AT (_-_-_-_) IF YOU WANT TO AVOID IT

+ SEXUAL CONTENT

You walked through the base, the warm sun barely helping with the cold wind. Two months. You were working on this contract for two months. You were more than frustrated. You were starting to think you simply couldn't find Echo because they didn't exist at all. 

The obvious side eyes and murmuring made you want to chuckle. Not only word of the punishments from the Lieutenant spread like wildfire. The fact that you showered alone under his close watch also spread. You were aware of the little whispers. 'the lieutenant's temptation' , 'the lieutenant's bitch' or 'whore'. You probably heard 'the forbidden pussy' at some point. You could end all of these fuckers careers with a simple search of their background, the worst skeletons in their closet unburied but you honestly couldn't care less. It was a funny change from the usuals 'criminal' 'terrorist'. 

For some reason it almost made you giddy. Of course, Ghost was entirely unaware of all of this. The cadets were way too terrified to even mumble if he was in the surrounding 20 feet. You also tried to keep it to yourself, the next punishment being way more harmful for the boys than for you. Walking up to the barracks you felt surrounded. You stopped in the middle of the hallway. Looking at the boys surrounding you. 

"Well well, little ducklings away from their mommies." You smirked. 

"How about we call you mommy huh?" You heard from one. 

"Oh sorry. I have daddy issues, not mommy ones." You teased again.

"You got a big mouth for a little thing." Someone rang.

"Not only this little thing could end your reputation, your careers and your families in a blink of an eye. But I'm not at all worried. I walk through this base with no fear." You stated. 

"Maybe that's your problem. You're FUCKING full of yourself." A man spat. 

You looked at the cadet who spoke. Of course. You were perfectly prepared for such a thing. You had an excellent memory. 

"Cadet Davis. 25 years old, divorced parents both remarried, two biological brothers, one half sister and a baby half brother on the way." The boy frowned slowly paling. "You enlisted because of your bad civilian behavior, last resort to get straight in life after not only dropping out of high school for misconduct but also out of interest per your therapist's notes." You smirked, the boys eyeing each other. "Now, I know that you and your squad sneak out every Thursday you're not on duty to play cards in one of the barracks near the east wall." Now the group paled. "I know about the phones on which you watch porn while you guys jerk off all together." You said again. 

"I know. Everything. Ending you is almost boring." You finally spat. 

"What's going on here?" You heard. 

You turned to the voice smiling at Soap and Gaz as they appeared into view. The cadets stood to attention as soon as they saw them. 

"We're bonding." You teased. Soap snickered as Gaz frowned. You crossed your arms, smirking towards the cadets. "They're such adorable boys." 

"Alright. Yeah. No doubt." Gaz said, not believing it for one second. 

"Come on, let's go. Stop giving the kids attention. They'll become soft." Soap added. 

You chuckled, shaking your head before walking to them. You threw a last glare towards the squad before climbing up with the two Sergeants. Once inside you sighed, heading for the kitchen. 

"Are you alright?" You heard Gaz ask from behind.

"I'm fine." You sighed. 

"If they're giving you a hard time you have to tell us." Soap said. 

You were going to answer when a voice rose from the couch. 

"Who's giving you a hard time?" 

You froze. The sergeant's heads snapped towards the couch. You didn't need to turn. The voice. That voice that made you want to simply fall to your knees sometimes and others want to fight him. 

"No one!" You said, walking to the fridge. 

"Soap? Gaz?" He asked, standing from the couch. The two tried to look away, one rubbing the back of his head. 

"No. One." You repeated. 

Soap grinned, heading for the fridge as well. He stood next to you, eyes roaming the inside.

"I think you should tell him." He whispered, hidden by the open door of the fridge. 

"It's fine. I'm not in any danger. And he's annoying…" you whispered back. 

He snickered, making you bite your lip. You grabbed a small juice box, turning around to sit at the counter. Soap decided he wanted juice as well, but the last one being in your hand, he closed the fridge, running behind you to steal the precious liquid. 

"Hey!" You yelped. 

He laughed running out of the room. 

"JOHNNY!" You yelled. 

Gaz smirked. 

"Just get another one…" Ghost mumbled. 

"It was the last one!" You told him, clear annoyance on your face. 

Gaz laughed softly, shaking his head as he walked out of the kitchen. You groaned, turning back to the lieutenant who didn't take his eyes off of you. 

"What?" You let out. 

He simply stared intensely at you. You started to feel that little tingle in the back of the neck, that feeling of being watched by a predator. It could work. Could. If only he knew that it wasn't fear that it elicited in you. But burning fucking need. 

That, had been a brand new problem to you. Since the shower incident, you felt yourself melt a tiny bit more under his gaze. Felt yourself shiver at his raspy voice. Felt the dangerous warmth in the pit of your stomach when you heard him scold a recruit. You didn't even want to remember how you felt when you saw him spare. His strength, his body, his eyes… oh god. 

You looked away, walking to the couch. You wanted to avoid his gaze, the way it made you feel, but also wanted to hide it from him.  Hide the way he made you feel. It didn't matter much if he knew. Two things could happen. He would like it and you'd have a wonderful night, or perhaps various ones. Or he would feel uncomfortable about it and you'd simply take a step back. No. What mattered was a certain someone could not know. 

"Muñeca.." 

You looked up at the voice. Her. She couldn't know. If she did, you'd never hear the end of it. You smiled at her, Price and Alejandro right behind her. You pat the couch next to you, beckoning her to sit down. Price called the rest of the squad as you let your head fall back. 

Soap walked in, sending you a teasing smile as you shook your head. You pat the couch on the other side, the boy not hesitating to run and jump next to you. 

"God's sake Johnny…" you chuckled. 

Price had a warm smile on his face as he witnessed the scene. The room had filled up, you started to feel the obvious important news arriving. 

"Alright. Here's the brief." Price started. 

You let your head fall on Soap's shoulder, his hand rising to playful pat and or gently slap your cheek. You pushed his hand away, trying to listen to the captain. 

"Thanks to Tracker's latest Intel, we have eyes on a cartel.  Squad 141 will be heading out tomorrow for a recon mission." You frowned but didn't say anything. "It should be a few days. Until then, Laswell will be here to help you, colonel Vargas and Rudy will also remain here with the Prisoner. " 

"Cabron." She spat. 

You chuckled, playfully slapping her arm. Price chuckled as well, a darker tone to it as he eyed Valeria. Price continued, falling into more detailed information about their mission. You zoned out. For as much as you tried to avoid thinking of it, you couldn't stop. The skull face kept showing up again and again in your brain. You wondered how his hands would feel on your skin. How it would feel to trace his faded tattoos. Did he have more? You were sure he did. You wanted to search for them. His blond lashes flashed in your brain. Was his hair also blond? Was his happy trail-

"Tracker?!" Valeria snapped her fingers in front of your face. You snapped out of your very spicy daydream as you frowned. You looked up at her. 

"Are you ok muñeca?" She asked, a little frown on her face. Soap immediately jumped as well to look at you. 

"I'm… fine!" You stammered. It obviously didn't help your case, now the room was looking at you. You felt yourself blush and heat up under the scrutinizing gazes. 

"Are you sure, you look a bit red…" soap added with a worried look. You wanted to scream and hide. He wasn't helping at all. 

"I'm fine!" You said again. 

Ghost stepped closer, your heart jumping in your chest at the sight of the object of all your nasty thoughts eyeing you again. A hand touched your cheek, Soap testing your body warmth with the back of his hand. 

"Your pupils are dilated… and your heartbeat is a bit fast." He stated..

"Oh god please shut up…" you finally whined, embarrassment washing over you. "I'm fine, really, maybe got a bit sick overnight it's nothing really…" you lied. 

"Perhaps you should go over to the infirmary." Price said with a little worry in his eyes too. 

"No it's ok… thank you. I'll rest a bit." You finished with a smile. God if he knew it was simply you fantasizing about his Lieutenant. 

You avoided eye contact with everyone for the rest of the briefing, scurrying off discreetly to your room as soon as it was over.  

—

You could finally take a deep breath once the wooden door shut itself. You barely had time to take a step forward before the door opened again. You turned, falling eye to eye with deep brown orbs. You frowned, swallowing hard before turning back towards your bed. 

"Yes lieutenant ?" You asked. He stared. "You have a staring problem, Ghost." You stated. 

He crossed his arms leaning back against the door. The t-shirt he was wearing showed his arms perfectly. The sleeved tattoo almost plastered for everyone to see. 

"Now you're the one staring." 

You snapped out of the day dream. You were in fact staring. You snickered, turning back to your bed where you let yourself fall upon. You groaned into your pillow. You felt a wave of frustration splash onto a shore of exhaustion. You felt like the heavy weight you weren't aware of, finally fell on you. You turned your head to the side, staring at the wall. Should you glance at him? Was he still staring? 

The sound of the lock echoed. Heavy boots stomped on the floor, the sound growing closer before it stopped next to the bed. Your body tensed. What..

Shock filled you as you felt two arms turn you around. You laid on your back, watching the man kneel on the bed, letting himself down as well, his head on your chest. Your heart was threatening to jump out of your chest. 

"What… are you?" You questioned. 

His body flexed as the shock in your voice. You anticipated him trying to stand back up. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, one on his head. Not a word was said. You let yourself enjoy the moment. The heaviness of his body on you was making you sleepy. He had relaxed, his body reacting to the soft caresses on his head and back. 

"Who's giving you a hard time?" You heard. 

"No one…" you mumbled through sleepiness. 

He groaned a bit but didn't move. His hands caressed the skin of your waist under your shirt, slow circles that gave you goosebumps. You sighed in content. You felt the heat. The breaths. It was a blink of an eye. And he was on top of you, his head in your neck, biting and sucking softly at the skin, one hand over your breast underneath your clothes, pressing his hard cock against you. 

The feeling of him, so close yet so far, was unbearable. He teased you, clothes keeping any real contact from each other. You wanted to rip your own pants and panties off to finally let him thrust into you. 

"Simon.." you moaned. 

A low chuckle answered your whines, only making you more and more desperate. 

"So needy. Have you been craving this? Thinking about how my hands would feel against your soft skin? Have you been fantasizing about my mouth biting and marking you? Shit…" he chuckled darkly again. "You've been imagining my cock stretching your pretty little pussy, haven't you?" 

You wanted to say no. Throw some snarky comments but you couldn't. Like some spell had hit you, making you unable to be anything but submissive. 

"Of course you have… look at you. You're thinking about it right now." You frowned at his words. "You're dreaming of it…" 

Your eyes flashed open, the white ceiling staring back at you. Your heart was racing, the silence and darkness of the room enveloping you, bringing you back to reality. So now, you were having wet dreams of that asshole?! You grabbed a pillow throwing it over your face to muffle an annoyed loud groan. The fluffy thing was quickly discarded with rage. What happened? What exactly made things turn out this way? The way he had looked at you in the showers while he was manhandling some perv who had been watching you? 

The fury in his eyes, the way he barked his orders at the boys, anger obviously biting through the air. The way he had effortlessly grabbed you by the waist to pull you up and make you sit on top of the little wall. He had wanted to punish you. He had been nothing but correct with you yet you felt like some Victorian man who's been shown ankles. 

Perhaps a warm drink would help. Some tea. You threw the covers away, standing up to escape your room towards the kitchen. You tiptoed your way through the hallway, the silence and shadows only remembering you that the team was sleeping at this hour. You flipped the light switch, blinding light burning your eyes for a split second. You decided against it, only turning on the soft lamps over the kitchen counter. 

Putting some water to boil in the kettle, you browsed through the various teas the team had. One good thing about so many British men. You picked out something that sounded pretty classic with still a tint of originality. Time ticked, waiting for the water so you could make your tea, you stretched your neck, rubbing the back. Flashbacks of the night at the hotel rushed through your mind. His hand around your throat, the fear and panic in his eyes once he realized what he was doing. The flinch when you tried to pull him to you. 

Something made you wonder what happened. What was it that made him, Ghost, crumble in the past? If he had even crumbled. The kettle clicked, notifying you that it was ready. You poured the hot liquid in your mug before heading to the counter and sitting in one of the high chairs. 

Sexually tortured. Lots of things came to mind. Every single one of them sent a disgusting taste to the back of your brain. Madripoor wasn't a stranger to these things. Human trafficking and other things were unfortunately part of the world you lived in. You were clearly against it, refusing contracts from cartel's and bosses. Making sure to bombard their plans and send a message to the high table. At least, in Madripoor, it wasn't allowed. 

But him? Curiosity made you want to peek at his file. It would be easy but… a part of you didn't want to break his trust. Or at least the tiny piece of trust if he had any towards you. It was fascinating to you how this mountain of a man, a beast, a hunter on the field, could have been so close to being broken. Obviously it hadn't fully worked, and he had built himself a reputation that the high table itself was aware of. 

All of these thoughts to avoid asking yourself the real question. Why was he constantly in your mind? What was with him… that since the first encounter, when he had chased you through the warehouse and trapped you, he simply attracted you. You were worried about what this might mean, as you watched the swirl of the liquid in your cup. 

"What did that mug do to you?" 

You jumped, turning to the doorway. 

"God sake! Please put a bell around your neck…" you scolded. 

He shook his head walking to you.

"Why are you up? Not feeling good?" He asked, nodding towards the tea. 

Ah yes. You were supposed to be feeling 'sick'. You smirked, looking back at your mug. 

"I'm fine. Just couldn't sleep." You stated. "There's hot water if you want some tea." You offered after a heartbeat. He couldn't sleep either. It was obvious. Was it his nightmares?

He moved towards the kettle, grabbing a mug in the process. You watched his movements, his muscles flexing with his movements as he made himself a cup of tea. You kept your eyes on him as he walked back to sit on the chair next to you. 

"You have a staring problem." He teased, staring back at you. 

"You're the one staring at me…" you whispered. 

His eyes faltered, slight twitch of his brows. You were blatantly staring at him, a little focused look on your face as if you were trying to figure out some riddle he had dropped. He had tensed again. 

"Simon.." you started in a whisper. 

His head tilted, questioning the reasons of his name on your lips. 

"I… what happened…?" You asked. 

He blinked, once, twice, before the dreadful realization fell on him. 

"None of your fucking business." He snarked.

You sighed. 

"I know. I'm sorry… I didn't mean to intrude. You don't have to tell me anything." You let out, turning back to your mug. 

The clock on the wall ticked, filling the silence with even more tension. You sipped on your wall beverage, closing your eyes as the liquid slid down your throat. 

"Why." He asked. You turned to him, confused. "Why are you asking this? Right now." He asked again, eyes boring into your very soul. "Did… did I… was I not correct towards you?" 

You felt a cold shower rush through the fibers of every muscle in your body. 

"What? No! No." You shook your head. "Simon. You've been… very correct with me. You haven't overstepped, or made me uncomfortable. It's fine." You reassured him. 

He took a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising before slumping back. 

"Why are you so worried that you'll overstep?" You asked in a low voice. 

He watched you carefully. He didn't trust you enough to say that. Not enough to tell you the truth. And you understood that. 

"You haven't." You caught his attention again, giving up on finding answers. "You've been a gentleman, apart from being annoying." You chuckled with a teasing smile. "And I… promise that if I ever feel uncomfortable, I'll be honest with you and give you a heads up." You finished with a soft smile. 

He nodded after a second of pondering. 

"You call Soap Johnny." He let out. 

You rolled your eyes with a little chuckle. 

"Are you jealous?" You teased. 

"No. But he doesn't let just anyone call him that." He explained. 

You were surprised by the revelation. Slightly taken aback by the confession that Soap had let you be a special person to him. 

"He reminds me… of my little brother." You whispered, looking at the wall. 

Ghost remained quiet. He sipped on his tea, waiting for you to either keep talking and explain or simply change the subject. 

"You're not going to ask…?" You questioned. 

"I haven't answered any of your questions. I don't deserve asking you some." He explained in a soft tone. 

"You deserve to ask them. It is, however, up to me to answer them, or not, like you did." You smiled at him. 

"I'm not really into… family talk." He answered honestly as he winced. 

"Don't worry." You whispered, his head turning towards you. "Me neither…" you said, trying to hide the sting of pain from being too obvious. 

But he noticed. Of course he did. He nodded, his hand raising to pat your head softly before turning back to his tea. It made you huff a laugh. You sipped your tea again before turning back to him. 

"How did you become Ghost?" You asked. He closed his eyes, groaning. "Too close…?" You asked. He didn't answer. "Sorry. I think I'll just shut up." You chuckled. 

"How did you become Tracker?"

You froze as the cup was barely inches from your lips. It hit close too. Way too close for comfort. Did you want to tell him? The amount of people who knew the truth could be counted on the fingers of a single hand. 

"Too close?" He asked. 

You took a deep breath, putting down the cup on the counter, eyes staring at it, as if it'd help you through the dilemma. Telling him the truth. Do you trust him? Yes. Enough to talk about it? Perhaps it would help him unravel himself to you. He had started saying something when you cut him. 

(_-_-_-_)

"My father was the type of man who loved the bottle more than his kids." You started. Simon immediately remained quiet, watching you. 

Deciding on avoiding his gaze, you let yourself get lost in the brown liquid of the mug as the flashbacks and memories rushed back in. "It was always hard. The abuse. I tried my best to stand in the middle of him and my mother and siblings. I mostly managed." 

You snickered to yourself bittersweetly. 

"But things didn't get better. I was almost 17. I was out with some friends. He had been out for two days, we had no news. I didn't know." 

"Y/N-" he started. But it was as if you couldn't hear him anymore. Words overspilling. 

"He had decided that he wasn't happy. And that if he couldn't be happy, no one else could. I got home, probably… twenty minutes after he did. And, he had enough time to.." 

You frowned, feelings bubbling up in your throat the more you spoke. Simon scooted closer with his high chair, legs spread as your chair rested in between. You still avoided his gaze. 

"He had killed them all. My mother, my sister and her husband. Their two kids. My little brother…" Your voice lowered. Tears swelling at the corner of your eyes. "He tried to kill me on sight. While I was in shock of seeing my family murdered on the living room floor. Blood everywhere. So… long story short. The neighbors had already called the cops, they arrived as we were fighting outside in the lawn. I ended up stabbing him repeatedly." You took a long sip from the tea, trying to calm the raging burn in your throat from holding back the tears. 

"On that night, at the police station, the social workers arrived and talked to the cops. I overheard them talking. How I was already old and almost an adult. That no foster homes would want a kid who killed someone. That I needed psychiatric help. And families would still refuse to take me in." 

You finally turned to him, trying a small smile. You felt your heart skip a beat as he eyed you intensely. It was hard to understand what his eyes conveyed. 

"So, I ran off. I used the moment where the window was unattended. They were too busy. So I hopped out and ran. Managed to get into my house in the upstairs bedroom even while the cops were there. Took some stuff, my laptop mostly. And I ran." You sighed. "This story is taking forever…" you laughed a bit, trying to lie to yourself that these emotions, this trauma wasn't affecting you anymore.

(_-_-_-_ bad childhood daddy issues, family dead) 

"So, I stayed in the streets for a few months, coffee shops would give me wifi and I already had some basis on hacking. Made sure to steal money from bank accounts to buy food and stuff like that. Some cartel boss eventually heard of me and offered me a deal. I accepted, became known over the years as I got better and better. The high table of Madripoor decided to bring me on their side once my… talent was widely known." You smacked your lips together, looking away. 

"There it is. The story of Tracker…" you whispered in a sarcastic, tasteless voice. 

He leaned forward as you turned to him, his forehead touching yours as your eyes opened wide. A little soothing gesture. 

"You did good." He whispered.

It was three simple words. No special tone, no actual praise. But it made the tears fall. You tried to catch your breath as he froze. You shook your head, cracking a smile as you closed your eyes. 

"I'm ok… I'm ok." You sniffled, leaning back. 

You opened your eyes, brushing away the tears with your fingers. 

"It's ok." He said. 

You smiled even more, nodding softly. His hand had someone ended up on the small of your back, his thumb drawing slow circles. You closed your eyes at the sensation. It was reassuring. Calming. When you opened your eyes, he tilted his head, eyeing you with curiosity. 

"You ok?" He asked. 

"Yeah… just… your fingers-" 

He stilled. Realizing his action. His hand flew off like your skin was a scorching braze. 

"Shit… sorry…" he was ready to stand when you put your hand on his chest. 

"Simon. It's fine. It was a soft gesture. I saw no harm in it. Breathe…" you reassured. 

His eyes stuck to yours, he tried to even his breath. 

"You look… so ok. With my touch." He said. 

"Hmm…" you started. "Well. Your touch is nothing inappropriate. It's soothing so I don't mind." You explained. "I mean… you've had me naked in your arms" you teased. 

He straightened his neck at the thought, making the heat rush to your cheeks. 

"It's fine Simon…" you repeated. 

"You wouldn't be fine if you knew the whole truth… you wouldn't want me to touch you." He hissed, anger biting at himself more than you. 

You sighed, scooting your chair even closer, forcing him to spread his legs even wider. His eyes were fixating on you, burning through your skin, his body as stiff as stone. You let your head slowly fall to his chest, forcing him to straighten himself and hold you so you wouldn't slip and fall off your chair. You could hear his heart stammering against his rib cage. 

"Maybe. But right now. After knowing you for a few months, I trust you. And I don't mind your touch at all." You whispered. 

"You're insane…" he whispered back. 

"Without a single doubt…" you chuckled under your breath. 

You remained like this for a little while. You could feel his heart calming down. You were falling asleep at the sound of his steady heartbeat. He realized it as your body felt slightly heavier in his arms. He shifted quickly, picking you up bridal style. Your eyes snapped open at the sudden shift. Looking at him. 

"You're ok." He simply said. 

You sighed, letting your head against his shoulder. He walked to your door, opening it before walking in, heading to your bed. He slowly dropped you down, letting you settle in bed comfortably. The way he watched you, standing over the bed, it made you feel… surprisingly secure. You threw him a sleepy smile as he softly brushed a hair strand away from your face. After a long minute, he walked away, closing the door softly behind him. 

Your eyes were closing on their own, the image of him lulling you to sleep. 

—

The next morning, you woke up to silence. You opened your eyes, fighting the need to keep them close as the light shone through the window. You sighed, getting up and throwing some sweatpants and a t-shirt on before stepping out into the hallway. The eerie feeling of the empty place felt heavy on you. You walked to the kitchen, looking around. No one. You sat at the counter, noticing a small paper. 

'out on mission, be back soon, Alejandro and Rudy are still on base if you need anything! -squad 141' 

You smiled. It was obviously soap's handwriting, and the thought warmed your heart. You frowned. You felt… lonely. It wasn't something unusual for you. Even in Madripoor, walking through town or resting on the large couch in your living room, you felt lonely. This kind of loneliness however. You hadn't felt it in a while. The one you felt on that night. You shook your head. It was silly. Nonsense. Something however, screamed in the back of your mind, that the relationship you were creating with this team was getting concerning. Dangerous… it wouldn't end well. 

Getting attached to them, it could be a terrible mistake. And you could feel it. That it was getting way too close for comfort. Lying to yourself, however, sounded like a much better solution. 

You took a deep breath, looking up at the kitchen counters. Breakfast. And then. Work. 

—

It was late. Around four in the morning. You rubbed your eyes as they started to get blurry from the screen light in the dark conference room. You stretched, checking the time a last time, settling your mind on packing your things and going back to the barracks to get some sleep. 

The base seemed to be asleep, the few soldiers patrolling around being the only noise you could hear. You walked through the hallways, your backpack on your back, already dreaming about the warmth of your bed. The tingling feeling at the back of your neck however, warned you that someone… was clearly watching you. It was becoming even clearer that they were following you. You sighed, taking sharper turns into darker alleys. You tiptoed your way into a warehouse, jumping on some iron ladder to make your way up to the first balcony on top. You slowly made your way to a little hideout, perfect for you to see, without being seen. You waited, watching the entrance. 

Three shadows made their way in, looking around. You easily recognized three of the men from squad 8. You shook your head slowly. Idiots. Observing the three as they looked for you, you let your head fall against the wall behind you. You were tired. You didn't need this right now. A part of your brain kept watch over the boys as they walked back to the entrance, the other was drowning in sleepy thoughts. Finally alone in the warehouse, you remained sitting on the ground, against the wall. You waited to make sure they were gone. But your eyelids keep closing themselves, as you battled and battled but allowed them to remain closed a little while longer each time. 

—

It was the rough sound of the warehouse door being rolled open that made you jolt awake. Your heart pounding, you took in your surroundings. A team had walked in, taking their gear as they were briefing each other on the next training. You looked around, noticing how the sun was already shining through the door. 

"Shit.." you mumbled. 

You rose to your feet, feeling the ache in your body from the very uncomfortable sleepy spot. You groaned, making your way to the ladder. You climbed down, jumping down the last few steps, the sound of your shoes echoing. The attention of the team was brought upon you as you simply nodded their way with a 'good morning'. You walked out into the sun. The warmth of it did nothing to help the exhaustion from your body. 

Unfortunately, the same thing occured again and again. You found yourself having to avoid certain spots, certain people. At some point after a few nights, you realized that they weren't afraid to enter the barracks, making your own room unsafe. You had to find a way to sleep somewhere, in different spots every night. You decided to keep it to yourself, not wanting to bother Alejandro and Rudy who probably had a lot to deal with already. Frustration was starting to grow to an impossible level. The bad sleep, it kept you on edge. 

It had been almost two weeks when you decided that enough was enough. You decided that if they wanted to act like idiots, and come after you, then you'd treat them like that. You spent a full day preparing a little forgotten room, adding the perfect illegal things in it. It was used as some 'throw everything in' room. It was therefore quite easy to drop some things. Drugs, confidential files you had… found… laying around. 

That night, you made sure to stay extra late, working on your laptop before making your way to the room, the boys obviously following you. You grinned, stepping into the room before quickly running to your hiding spot. As the three boys walked in behind you, you immediately texted Laswell. 

You waited. Patiently, watching the three search around the various crates, boxes and old furniture, coating their hands in the various substances you had flung around the room. When Laswell arrived she was closely followed by Alejandro and a few men. You didn't exactly pay attention to what was going on as they interrogated the recruits, or when they were dragged out. You sighed, swiftly getting out of your hiding place to walk out the door. You made sure to be far enough from the big group, walking away. 

It was a good start. It wouldn't make them stop. But it'd help. You let yourself lean back against a humvee, crossing your arms. You waited, until you saw his frame. 

"Colonel…" you greeted. 

"Tracker." He greeted back. 

He looked at you, frowning. Even under the dim light of the courtyard, it was clear to see how tired you were. You had been in a worse state. But this wasn't that kind of mission. 

"Everything alright princesa?" 

You smiled at the nickname. 

"I'm… tired." You answered honestly. 

He frowned, taking a few seconds to think before he looked at you. 

"This… was you?" He asked. You nodded. "Why?". You didn't have time to answer. "They bothered you? Pendejos." 

You smirked to yourself. It was incredibly obvious how similar Valeria was to him. 

"I'm fine. It was just slightly annoying. They've been distracting me from my work…" you said. 

"Come on. You'll sleep with us tonight." 

He nodded towards a building before starting to walk, leaving no room for discussion. 

—

You were glad to be able to sleep near the vaqueros. Valeria was in a cell nearby. You had spent a very calm night, waking up quite late. Rudy had very kindly offered you his room. Unfortunately, you couldn't just spend the entire time in Rudy's room. You talked to them, including Laswell, offering for them to move into the squad's barracks. They were skeptical, especially towards letting Valeria into anything else than a cell. You assured them that Valeria wouldn't be a problem, warning her that if she didn't behave, you'd hunt her down yourself. 

She had pouted, angrily cursing at the vaqueros. Eventually, they had moved into the barracks, and you were glad to be back to your little room. You could finally rest a bit, without constantly having to watch your six. On the other side you felt like you missed the team. You missed hearing Soap and Gaz laughing together, Price talking and the smell of his cigars. But you also missed him. All of that combined with the fact that you seemed stuck in your current search was starting to feel like too much. 

You sat on the ground, the laptop on the coffee table looking at you mockingly. 

"What's wrong muñeca?" Valeria asked. 

"I'm… frustrated. I can't find anything about 'snake'. Obviously that guy is keeping Echo's identity secret like some kind of fucking bodyguard. I can't find anything that could identify it. Nowhere, in all of the underground, can I find a single clue on 'snake'..." You vented. 

You groaned, letting your head fall into your hands. Rudy sat nearby, the poor boy on babysitting duty as Alejandro was with Laswell for the day. You heard some commotion, looking up. 

"VALERIA!" You yelled. 

The woman had knocked out the poor man, hovering over his unconscious body. 

"Calm down… he's sleeping." 

"Why did you do that?!" You scolded. 

"I wanted to offer you tequila. He wouldn't have agreed." She shrugged, walking to one of the cupboards. 

"You didn't even try asking him!" You angrily said. 

She shrugged again, grabbing a bottle of tequila from the cupboard before walking to you. She closed the laptop, putting it aside as she opened the bottle. 

"You need to breathe a bit" she teased with a wink. 

You shook your head, bewildered. It was an obvious Valeria move. You watched as she stood again grabbing a chair before lifting Rudy to sit on it. She then handcuffed him, making sure that he wouldn't escape. 

"Valeria…" you scolded. 

"He's fine! Come on." She sat back next to you after grabbing two cups. 

You watched as she poured the liquid into them. Maybe… you did need to relax a bit. 

But as per habit. Every Valeria move would end up in some kind of chaos.

-----

tags:

@thychuvaluswife  @emily-roberts  @warrior-of-justice  @gh0stedddd  @ladyelissarose

@kiruoris  @kaeyamain-zonglilover  @salsa-reads-stuff  @coacaiyne @hufflepuff-hugz 

[riddley-art]

Pawns of the Past: A RiddleCat love story

Chapter 7

Summary: Set six months after the fall of the Justice League, thanks to the Suicide Squad, and five years after Arkham Knight, Riddler tracks down Catwoman, who’s been living far from Gotham, determined to reclaim the money she stole from him. Their tense confrontation takes an unexpected turn as old sparks reignite. What begins as a mission of revenge slowly evolves into a complicated romance, forcing both Selina and Eddie to confront their feelings, their pasts, and the possibility of a future neither expected.

I’m beyond excited to finally share the project I’ve been working on with the incredible @adhdnursegoat! This is our very first RiddleCat fic, and we’re so thrilled to bring it to life today. 💜💚

Rated: Mature

Need to catch up or re-read? Here's the link to: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 Chapter 6- On Archive of our Own

Edward stirs, his face buried in the pillow, the warmth beside him noticeably absent. It takes him a moment to register the void where Selina had been. He blinks groggily, rolling over with the sluggish determination of someone trying to reclaim what they’ve lost. His hand reaches out blindly, searching for her familiar form.

Instead, his palm lands on something firm. Very firm.

His fingers hesitate, then press again, his mind struggling to reconcile the sensation. What in the world— He lifts his head, bleary eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering through the room.

The sight before him makes his stomach drop.

“Riddle me this,” a deep, unmistakably smug voice drawls, the tone heavy with mockery. “What kind of genius doesn’t understand the concept of ‘bright and early’ for a lookout?”

He jerks upright, his heart leaping into his throat. “Crosby!?” he yelps, his voice cracking as he scrambles backward. In his panic, his legs get caught in the blanket, and he tumbles off the bed with a thud that does nothing for his dignity.

Sprawled sideways on the bed, Crosby props himself up lazily on one elbow, looking entirely at ease in his black V-neck and jeans. The shirt stretches slightly over his broad chest, the casual fabric somehow amplifying the air of smug confidence radiating off him. His grin is wide and wolfish, clearly relishing Edward’s discomfort.

“About time you woke up,” Crosby says, swinging his legs off the edge of the bed with infuriating nonchalance. “We should’ve left an hour ago.”

Edward scrambles to his feet, clutching the blanket around himself like a makeshift shield. His face burns red, the heat creeping up his neck to his ears. “You know,” he snaps, his voice sharper than he intends, “there are plenty of ways to wake someone up that don’t involve crawling into their bed and scaring the life out of them!”

Crosby just smirks, leaning back with an expression that practically screams relax, kid. “You’re too easy to mess with, Nygma.”

Edward glares as he snatches his glasses from the nightstand, shoving them onto his face with a huff. “You’re lucky I don’t have a trapdoor installed in this bedroom.”

“Good thing I’m light on my feet,” Crosby retorts, chuckling as he tosses a gift bag toward Edward. “Get dressed, genius. We’ve got work to do.” He turns his back, giving Edward a sliver of privacy while crossing his arms, still radiating smug amusement.

He catches the bag with a scowl, trudging toward the bathroom. “Where’s Selina?” he asks, peeking inside the bag to find neatly folded clothes. His tone is flat, but there’s a faint note of curiosity. “She’s usually the one waking me up.”

“She and Holly went for a run,” Crosby says, his voice casual as he faces the wall. “Selina told me to let you sleep in a little longer since you had, and I quote, ‘an exciting night.’”

Edward snorts, pulling the shirt from the bag and inspecting it with mild disdain before heading to the sink. “I wouldn’t call getting punched in the face ‘exciting.’”

Crosby turns, one eyebrow arching as his gaze sweeps over Edward with a knowing smirk. “I don’t think she meant that part was the exciting part,” he says, his tone loaded.

It takes a second for the words to sink in, but when they do, Edward freezes. His face goes from faintly flushed to full-on crimson in record time. He stiffens, his mind racing as the memories of the night before come flooding back—Selina’s touch, her laughter, the way she’d left her mark on him in more ways than one.

“Dammit,” he mutters, his voice muffled by the toothbrush as his free hand flies up to cover the evidence on his neck. He turns on his heel and retreats into the bathroom, shutting the door with a little more force than necessary.

Crosby’s laughter booms through the room, the sound rich and unapologetic. “Relax, lover boy!” he calls after him. “No one’s judging you—well, except me.”

From behind the bathroom door, Edward’s muffled voice groans, “I’m never letting her convince me to do that again.”

“Sure you’re not,” Crosby replies, his grin audible in his voice. “Take your time, Romeo. I’ll be right here when you’re ready.”

Edward sighs, leaning against the sink for a moment. The cool ceramic edge presses into his palms as he steadies himself, his mind spiraling back over the last forty-eight hours. Forty-eight hours that feel more like a week. A month.

The first night, staying up with Selina for hours. Their quiet, shared moments laced with unspoken words. The connection between them had been immediate, undeniable, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself from sinking into it.

Then there was the... encounter. Heat rushes to his face, his blush rising as he shuts his eyes against the memory. It had been electric, all-consuming. He can still feel the ghost of her touch, the curve of her smile when she leaned in too close. It’s too much to process, even now, even after everything else that’s happened since.

Meeting her “family” came next. Holly with her sharp tongue and quick wit, Crosby with his mountain of muscle and endless smirks and quips. They had poked and prodded at him like he was some strange new species. And in a way, maybe he was. He wasn’t used to this—being pulled into someone’s circle, being given a place among their people.

The night feels like a fever dream, a blur of lights and music that blends into fleeting moments. Derek’s smug face flashes in his memory—the instant Edward had stood his ground. The punch—he winces at the thought of it, the ache still faint but present—was something he’d never believed himself capable of. Yet it had happened. And the way Selina had looked at him afterward... it wasn’t just approval. It wasn’t pity. It was something warmer, deeper. She had looked at him like he was more than the Riddler. More than Edward Nygma.

And then there was the shower.

He catches his reflection in the mirror and his stomach tightens. The faint, dark marks on his neck and chest are a glaring reminder, their edges soft but unmistakable. His blush rises, spreading like fire under his skin. The memory floods his mind unbidden: the heat of her hands, the deliberate press of her mouth, the intensity of her gaze. The way her touch had felt like a claim, like she was leaving fragments of herself etched into him, pieces that would stay long after the water had gone cold.

Edward swallows hard, pulling his tie into place as though the action will anchor him to the present. And now this. Playing buddy-buddy with Crosby—a man whose scrutinizing stare feels like a constant reminder that Edward is out of his depth. Crosby looks at him the way a predator watches prey, like he’s weighing whether Edward’s worth the trouble or if he should simply crush him and be done with it.

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. The past two days have been a whirlwind. No, not just a whirlwind—a hurricane, pulling him so far out of his comfort zone that he’s almost forgotten what his comfort zone even is. Plans, puzzles, order—all of it feels distant, as if belonging to a different version of himself.

And yet, there’s a strange, undeniable allure to the chaos. To Selina. To this unexpected orbit he’s been pulled into. Against all logic, he doesn’t want to leave it. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

After a few more minutes, Edward splashes water on his face, and steps out of the bathroom, his polished appearance belying the storm still swirling in his mind. He wears a navy-blue button-up shirt, meticulously tucked into tailored slacks, and a sleek black tie that adds an edge of precision to his look. His damp hair is combed neatly back, every strand in place, a portrait of control he doesn’t entirely feel.

Crosby glances up, giving him a once-over. His nod of approval is subtle but unmistakable. “Not bad. At least you look the part. Come on, I’ll fill you in on the details in the car.” Without waiting for a reply, Crosby turns and strides toward the door, his broad frame cutting an imposing figure.

Edward lingers for a moment, his gaze trailing after Crosby before his stomach interjects with a low, audible growl. He veers toward the kitchen, his instincts kicking in as he scans the counter for something to eat—or at the very least, coffee. His hand reaches for the nearest mug.

But before he can make it farther than a step, Crosby’s grip hooks him by the collar, pulling him back with an almost practiced ease. “Sorry, Rid. You missed your chance. We’re out of here before the place gets too crowded.”

Edward wrestles free, tugging at his collar as he shoots an annoyed glare. “Can I at least grab an apple? A granola bar? Something? I need brain power.” Without waiting for an answer, he darts into the kitchen, his hand landing on the first piece of fruit in sight—a pear.

Leaning casually against the doorway, Crosby watches the scene unfold with a raised eyebrow and an expression teetering between amusement and exasperation. “A pear? Really?”

He straightens, holding the fruit like a small victory. “Don’t judge me,” he quips, defiant, before taking a deliberate bite. “It’s fuel.”

Crosby rolls his eyes, his lips twitching as if holding back a smirk. “Fine. Just don’t get juice on that tie, genius. Let’s go.”

As they step outside, Edward’s ears pick up the telltale jingle of car keys, followed by the smooth beep of a locking system disengaging. His eyes dart toward the sound, landing on a sleek grey BMW. Its polished metallic surface gleams under the morning light, and its angular, aggressive design catches his attention.

For a moment, he hesitates. Something about the car—its precision, its stark efficiency—pulls at a corner of his mind. It reminds him, inexplicably and unpleasantly, of the Batmobile. The association is fleeting but potent, a flood of memories rising unbidden. Nights spent in the shadow of Gotham’s most relentless force. Schemes foiled. Ego bruised.

Edward grimaces briefly. Old times. The phrase feels like a relic, something too sharp-edged to hold comfortably.

Before he can sink too deep into his thoughts, a familiar voice calls out, clear and vibrant. “Hey, Eddie!”

He turns quickly, his heart giving an involuntary jolt. Selina jogs up the driveway, her strides graceful despite the sweat glistening on her skin. Behind her, Holly trails at a more leisurely pace. Edward’s face lights up instinctively at the sight of Selina, though the heat crawling up his neck betrays him—yet another moment of infuriatingly obvious vulnerability.

Crosby groans loudly from the car, leaning lazily against it. “Fantastic. More delays. Better make it quick if you want to say goodbye!”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Without a word, he breaks into a light jog toward her, his steps quick but unsteady. He’s not exactly built for speed. Holly passes by them with a casual wave, heading straight for Crosby, who nods at her in acknowledgment, his impatience simmering just beneath the surface.

When Edward and Selina meet in the middle, she bends forward slightly, hands on her knees, catching her breath. Her ponytail sways with the motion, a few strands clinging to her flushed face. She’s wearing gray leggings and a purple sports bra, the simplicity of her outfit doing nothing to diminish the effortless grace she carries, even after a run.

“Good morning,” Edward says, his grin sheepish as he tries—and fails—not to look utterly flustered. “You should’ve woken me up. I would’ve joined you for the run.”

Selina glances up, her lips curving into a smirk despite her labored breathing. “Oh, please. You? Run? I’d pay to see that.”

He chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. “I could surprise you.”

Her smirk widens, her voice dropping into a teasing lilt. “You already did last night.”

The words hit their mark perfectly. Edward’s face flushes deeper, the memory of the shower and every touch rushing to the forefront of his mind. He quickly averts his gaze, adjusting his glasses as if that might shield him from her knowing eyes.

Selina straightens up, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, her amusement evident. Behind them, Crosby’s voice slices through the moment, sharp and impatient. “Tick-tock, lovebirds! Some of us have places to be!”

Edward glances back at Crosby, who looks one groan away from honking the car horn, and then turns to Selina. He sighs heavily, the reluctance plain on his face as he fidgets, his fingers twitching with unspent nerves. Finally, he reaches for her hand, gripping it lightly but firmly.

“Please, for the love of God, come with me,” he blurts out, his voice pitched with desperation. “I don’t want to be alone with Crosby. I’m terrible at small talk.”

Selina’s expression softens, her teasing replaced with something gentler, more understanding. She threads her fingers through his, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll be fine, Eddie. I promise. He’s not as bad as he seems—he just likes messing with you. Underneath all that muscle, he’s a big teddy bear. I’ve known him since we were kids.”

Her free hand lifts, brushing gently against the bruise on his cheek. Her touch is light, tender, and he can’t help but lean into it ever so slightly.

“Just talk about the mission,” Selina says, her tone steady and encouraging, though there’s a glimmer of teasing in her eyes. “You might even find out you’ve got more in common than you think.”

Edward exhales sharply, the weight of her words sitting uncomfortably in his chest. He’s unconvinced but willing to trust her judgment—mostly. “That’s... a big might,” he mutters, his voice tinged with reluctant acceptance.

Though, when Selina grins, her smirk softening into something warmer, he feels the tension relax in his shoulders. “Think of it as a bonding moment,” she says, tilting her head. Then, with a casual but deliberate gesture, she motions between them. “Besides, if this—” her fingers wave lightly in the space between them, “—keeps going, you’re gonna have to get along with him.”

His breath catches, heart thudding unexpectedly hard. Is she really thinking about that? About a future where he’s... in her life? His throat tightens, words stalling on his tongue. “Well, I—”

A loud car horn blares, cutting through the moment like a knife. “Rid! Let’s go! Not gonna say it again!” Crosby’s voice barrels from the car window, loud and impatient.

He groans audibly, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Selina laughs softly, the sound light and teasing. “Well, hurry along,” she says, her tone playful but warm. Her green eyes hold his, and for a moment, it feels like she’s holding him in place. “And don’t be late for our date tonight. Be back no later than six. I figured we could cook dinner and have our movie night.”

The promise in her voice strikes something deep in him. Before he can respond, she leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his unbruised cheek. Her lips are warm, and the gesture sends a quiet thrill down his spine.

For a moment, his mind goes blank, both from the kiss and when he remembers last night’s discussion on the dance floow. His eyes widen as the realization crashes over him. He’d completely forgotten about their plans amidst the chaos of the night before—the fight, the shower, everything.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says quickly, the words tumbling out with more sincerity than he expects. On impulse, he leans down and kisses her back, this time on the lips. It’s brief, just a light brush, but it leaves them both smiling when they pull away.

“Good,” Selina murmurs, her eyes sparkling. “Now, get going before Crosby has a meltdown.”

Edward nods, the grin tugging at his lips feeling almost foreign in its ease. He turns and jogs toward the car, his steps lighter, more purposeful. Despite Crosby’s irritated shouts, the world feels quieter, softer, somehow less daunting.

As he slides into the passenger seat, still grinning, Crosby raises an eyebrow, giving him a once-over, but he says nothing. 

Glancing out the window as they pull away, he waves back at Selina, feeling a little reluctant to leave. Selina stands in the driveway, her figure framed by the morning light, one hand resting on her hip, the other raised in a casual wave. Her silhouette grows smaller as the car moves down the main road, but Edward keeps looking until she disappears from view.

“About forty minutes to get there,” Crosby says, his hands steady on the wheel, his tone calm but businesslike. “It’s not far from the main shopping center here in town.”

He reaches over without taking his eyes off the road and hands Eddie a folder. “Here. I printed out more info on the guy who owns the place.”

The pear’s sweetness slips along Edward’s tongue as finishes it off and reaches for the folder, his hand brushing against the rough texture of the paper. He balances it on his lap with an arched brow, the motion casual but precise, a habit born of years of meticulous planning. With his free hand, he flicks it open, the rustle of paper sharp against the steady hum of the car’s engine.

“Client ‘Woodlands’,” he reads, his voice thoughtful, almost mechanical, as if testing the weight of the name. “Owned the business for over twenty years. Good reviews…” His gaze flickers up, sharp now. “But you think he’s running more than just a jewelry store?”

Crosby’s focus never strays from the road, his posture rigid yet composed, the sunlight cutting clean lines across his face. His jaw tightens briefly before he speaks, his tone even, almost too controlled. “We know he’s hiding something,” he says. “And it might not even belong to him.”

“What do you mean by that?” Edward’s fingers brush together, ridding themselves of the pear’s faint stickiness, as if clearing his hands will somehow clear his thoughts.

“Rumor has it he pulled some shady deals in Gotham back in the day. Could be tied to the Falcones or Rupert Thorne.” The weight of his words is deliberate, Crosby’s voice dipping lower. His grip on the wheel tightens subtly, knuckles paling. “If that’s true, we’re not just taking from some guy trying to make an honest living—it’s dirty money.”

Leaning back against the seat, Edward lets the folder rest heavy in his lap. He stares out the window, the scenery rushing past in a blur, though his mind latches onto each word Crosby just said, turning them over like pieces of a puzzle. “So, if this guy’s connected to Gotham’s crime families, he’s fair game,” he murmurs, half to himself. “A bunker makes sense. Could be hiding the dirty money there.”

“Exactly.” Crosby glances at him briefly, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his face. “While we’re in there, you’re hacking into their systems. Get everything you can—just don’t make it obvious.”

Edward tilts his head slightly, his skepticism seeping through his expression. “And how exactly are we pulling that off?”

The corner of Crosby’s mouth lifts in a quick grin, a fleeting moment of levity. “Glad you asked,” he says, slipping a hand into his pocket. He produces a sleek business card, handing it over with an air of theatricality.

With his lips twisted in a skeptical line, Edward takes the card, the polished surface gleaming under the soft light of the dashboard. His fingers trace its precision-cut corners as if testing its legitimacy. The details on the card seem absurd at first glance—more absurd still as Crosby’s grin stretches wider, brimming with unchecked amusement.

“You’ll be Edward Brookelny,” Crosby announces, his tone theatrical, like he’s delivering a sales pitch. “A psychology professor from Metropolis University. You’re here to purchase a ring for your ‘lady.’” He caps the statement with a wink, clearly reveling in the absurdity of it all. “And I’ll play the part of your bodyguard, to make it believable.”

With the card still balanced in his hand, Edward studies it, the skepticism already etched across his face deepening. “And this bruise on my face?” he asks, voice dry, as his thumb absently brushes the textured print.

“Perfect cover.” Crosby doesn’t miss a beat. “It sells the idea that people are targeting you because you’ve got money. You’re just a rich academic with a rough patch of luck.”

Groaning under his breath, Edward drags a hand over his face, his fingers pressing momentarily into his temples. “A psychology professor?” he repeats, incredulous. “Seriously? And you think this is believable?”

A chuckle rumbles low in Crosby’s chest, his confidence unshakable. “With your big words and smug attitude, it’s practically typecasting.”

Edward shoots him a flat glare, but the card disappears into his shirt pocket with a resigned flick of his hand. “Fine,” he mutters, crossing his arms and leaning back against the seat. “But don’t expect me to act impressed by your so-called bodyguard skills.”

 “Don’t worry, genius.” 

Unfazed, Crosby’s smirk lingers, his grip on the steering wheel casual yet firm. “Stick to the plan, and we’ll be in and out before you know it.”

A skeptical frown shadows Edward’s features as he fixes Crosby with a pointed look. “And how exactly do you expect me to hack into their systems while I’m busy talking to people?”

Glancing at him briefly, Crosby shifts his weight, his eyes flicking back to the road. “Haven’t noticed yet? Those glasses you’re wearing aren’t your usual ones.” He gestures toward Edward’s face with a quick tilt of his chin. “They’ve got a camera built into the frame. It’ll scan any device—cameras, computers, whatever—and send the data straight to your system for remote access later.”

The revelation pulls Edward upright, his posture snapping into focus as he carefully removes the glasses. Turning them over in his hands, he inspects them closely, his brow furrowing as he takes in the subtle modifications. “Wait a second…” He shoots Crosby a narrowed gaze. “How did you even get my prescription for these?”

“I picked up the pair that went flying last night during the fight. Guess you didn’t notice.” Crosby grins, a flash of teeth making his smug face even more unbearable for Edward. 

His mind races, piecing together fragments of memory—the jarring impact of Derek’s fist, the sting in his cheek, and the chaos that followed. His glasses had been the last thing on his mind at the time, and the realization that Crosby had scooped them up without him even noticing stirs a mix of unease and begrudging respect.

“Well, that’s... unsettlingly efficient of you,” Edward mutters, sliding the glasses back onto his face. 

They settle into place with a weight that feels both familiar and foreign, the knowledge of their hidden tech making them feel heavier than they should. Adjusting them with a precise flick of his index finger, he casts Crosby a wary glance, his mind already running calculations on the potential risks and advantages of this unexpected addition to their plan.

From the driver’s seat, Crosby chuckles, the sound low and easy, as if he’s in on a joke Edward hasn’t caught. “Relax, genius,” he says, his tone breezy. “You’ll thank me later when this plan goes off without a hitch.”

Edward rolls his eyes, leaning back in the seat, his silence a mix of begrudging acceptance and simmering skepticism. As much as he hates to admit it, Crosby’s foresight is... impressive. Too impressive, maybe. The man is annoyingly competent for someone who seems to operate primarily on gut instinct. Still, Edward’s natural inclination toward distrust hums quietly in the back of his mind. He files the thought away, focusing instead on the present.

The silence that follows feels oppressive, thick and stifling like a humid summer day. Minutes stretch into what feels like hours, each passing second pressing down on Edward’s chest. Conversation has never been his strong suit—he thrives on structure, on knowing the rules of engagement. Small talk, on the other hand, is a minefield of unpredictability, and the thought of navigating it with someone like Crosby makes his stomach churn.

He shifts in his seat, Edward’s fingers drumming nervously on his thigh. The tension builds until it’s unbearable, and he decides—reluctantly—that he has to say something. Anything. Like ripping off a bandage, he reasons.

“So...” he begins, the word hanging awkwardly in the air. His voice is hesitant, uncertain. “The weather’s... nice, at least.”

“Sure is,” Crosby replies curtly, his tone utterly indifferent. He doesn’t even glance at him, his hands steady on the wheel. 

Edward winces inwardly, the heat of humiliation creeping up his neck. That was a disaster. A complete and utter failure. Determined to salvage the situation, he clears his throat, forcing himself to try again. “Uh... how’s it like being a bartender at a club?”

“It pays the bills.” Crosby shrugs, his expression unreadable. “Can’t complain.”

The words are flat, offering nothing, and Edward clenches his jaw to keep from groaning aloud. Another misstep. He glances out the window, watching the blur of trees and asphalt, desperately searching his mind for something—anything—that might spark a real conversation. This is worse than getting punched in the face, he decides. At least with Derek, there had been an obvious solution: hit back.

“Really nice car you’ve got,” he says finally, the words tumbling out in a tone so strained it makes him cringe.

“Thanks,” Crosby replies, his tone still neutral. “Just finished paying it off.”

Edward pinches the bridge of his nose, frustration simmering just below the surface. Torture, plain and simple. Crosby’s conversational indifference is a brick wall, and Edward’s social repertoire isn’t built to scale it. His eyes dart to the dashboard clock, the numbers glaring back at him like a countdown to his own demise. Twenty-five minutes left.

Exhaling sharply, he slumps back in his seat, muttering under his breath, “This is hell.”

Beside him, Crosby glances his way, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Not much of a chatter, are you?” His tone is casual, like he’s enjoying Edward’s discomfort.

Turning his head slowly, Edward shoots him a sideways glare, his voice flat. “No. And clearly, neither are you.”

“Don’t worry, genius,” Crosby chuckles, the sound deep and annoyingly amused, his grip on the wheel steady as he shifts lanes. “You’ll survive. Consider this practice for when we’re in the field.”

“Practice for what? Talking to brick walls?” Edward grumbles, crossing his arms and sinking deeper into the passenger seat.

Shaking his head, Crosby lets out another quiet laugh, the smirk still etched on his face. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

Edward groans, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment as if that will block out the infuriating man beside him. Patience is a resource in short supply, and Crosby’s cryptic quips are testing its limits. The silence feels heavier than the noise, pressing down on him, prickling at the edges of his thoughts.

Part of him wonders if this is his fault. Socializing has never come naturally—friendships even less so. After years of being overlooked, dismissed, or mocked, he’d stopped trying altogether. People didn’t make an effort with him, so why should he? The logic was airtight. Rational. He needed no one, and no one needed him. That’s what he told himself.

But now…

Now, there’s Selina. Her laughter, her sharp wit, the way her green eyes soften when they land on him. She’s pulled him into her orbit with a gravity he can’t resist, and for the first time in years, he feels a pull to connect, to belong. Crosby matters to her. That much is clear. And if Edward wants something real with her, he knows—begrudgingly—that this has to matter too.

His sigh is quiet, almost imperceptible, as he shifts in his seat. The leather creaks under the motion, and his gaze flicks to Crosby’s arm. There, beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt, a tattoo stands out. He’s noticed it before, glimpsed in passing, but never paused long enough to study it. Now, in the stillness of the car, the details come into focus: a simple cross, stark and clean, with a name etched beneath it—Sarah.

The name burrows in Edward’s mind, prodding at his curiosity with an insistence that won’t let go. Reaching out, caring—this isn’t him. Not naturally, not easily. But Selina’s voice rings in his thoughts, her laughter, her teasing warmth. If being part of her world means learning to navigate these uncharted waters, maybe, just maybe, he can try. 

Straightening slightly, he tilts his head toward Crosby, his voice soft but threaded with genuine interest. “So,” he begins, hesitant, but the words spill out before he can second-guess them, “who’s Sarah?”

The moment the question leaves his lips, the car jerks violently. Crosby slams the brakes, narrowly avoiding running a red light. Edward lurches forward, his chest colliding with the seatbelt as it locks him back with a harsh snap. The air in the car turns electric, buzzing with tension.

“What the hell!” Edward sputters, his fingers gripping the armrest like it might steady his racing pulse. The words shoot out sharper than intended, more from the adrenaline than anything else.

Crosby doesn’t answer. His hands grip the steering wheel with a white-knuckled intensity, his gaze fixed ahead like he’s staring down a memory instead of the road. His jaw tightens, the muscles flickering in sharp relief under the muted light. He doesn’t look at Edward.

The silence stretches, too taut and too loud. Edward sinks back into his seat, the question hanging between them like an echo that refuses to fade. His heart still pounds, but it’s not just from the sudden stop now. Clearly, I hit a nerve. Regret needles its way into his thoughts, but it’s tangled with an unexpected pang of guilt. He hadn’t expected to dig this deep.

The light changes to green. Crosby eases his foot back onto the gas, the car resuming its smooth, steady motion as if nothing had happened. But the air hasn’t cleared. If anything, it’s grown heavier, suffocating with unspoken weight.

Minutes pass, long and uncomfortable, before Crosby finally breaks the silence. His voice is low, deliberate, and thick with a tightly leashed emotion. “She was my wife,” he says, the words landing like a sharp-edged stone between them. His grip on the wheel loosens slightly, though his knuckles still betray a tension he can’t quite shake. “My beloved wife.”

Edward blinks, the revelation hitting harder than he’d anticipated. Wife? He hadn’t expected such a raw, personal truth. His usual arsenal of quick comebacks and razor-sharp wit feels suddenly inadequate, leaving him floundering for something—anything—worth saying.

“I—” he starts, then stops. The weight of the moment makes every word feel wrong, too hollow, too small. Shifting awkwardly, he glances at Crosby out of the corner of his eye, searching for some sign, any sign, that this conversation isn’t a complete disaster.

“You didn’t know, so it’s fine,” Crosby says, his voice calmer now, though there’s an undertone that betrays his struggle to keep steady. He doesn’t glance over, his focus still locked on the road. But the words feel practiced, not entirely true.

Crosby exhales, a sound too soft to be a sigh but carrying the same weight. “She died that night,” he says, his voice dipping lower, the edges roughened with a pain that time hasn’t dulled. “That Halloween night... during Scarecrow’s wrath.”

The car feels quieter now, the engine’s hum reduced to a soft undercurrent against the unspoken tension. Edward shifts slightly in his seat, the weight of Crosby’s revelation pressing against his chest like a heavy hand. He wants to say something—to ask, to understand—but the way Crosby’s knuckles flex and relax against the wheel warns him to tread carefully. Sometimes silence carries more meaning than words.

Swallowing hard, Edward lets the moment settle. The name Sarah echoes in his mind, wrapped in the context of Scarecrow’s chaos. That night had left scars on everyone who had lived through it—himself, Selina, even Batman. A night etched into Gotham’s bones.

“I’m... sorry to hear that,” Edward finally says, his voice quieter than he expects. The words feel clumsy on his tongue, but they carry sincerity. He doesn’t know what else to offer, only that he needs to say something.

Crosby inclines his head slightly, his grip on the wheel loosening but not entirely relaxed. “Appreciate it,” he replies, his tone signaling he doesn’t want to linger on the topic.

The silence that follows feels softer, no longer suffocating but heavy with shared understanding. Edward turns his gaze to the window, the city rolling by as his mind churns. Crosby’s loss carves a sharp contrast to his own memories of that night, their connection to Gotham threading a tenuous bridge between them.

Breaking the quiet, Crosby speaks again, his voice low, almost tentative. “Selina never told you much about me, did she?”

Edward glances back at him, caught off guard by the shift in tone. Twiddling his thumbs in his lap, he shakes his head. “Only that you two grew up in the orphanage together,” he admits, his curiosity piqued despite himself.

Crosby nods, his gaze steady on the road, his posture softening. “Yeah, that’s the simple version,” he says, his voice carrying a note of something deeper. “I was older, so I left the orphanage before her. Ended up joining the Army, went the medical route.”

Edward tilts his head slightly, the awkwardness of the conversation giving way to genuine interest. The details add layers to the man beside him, shifting his perception.

“Met Sarah while I was in,” Crosby continues, his voice gaining a rare warmth. “She was in the Army too. We both got out with honorable discharges, got married, and... had a daughter. Grace.”

The name feels like a ghost. Edward watches Crosby’s face, noting the way his jaw softens, the way his grip on the wheel relaxes completely for the first time. There’s a bittersweet curve to his mouth, a fleeting smile that speaks of a life long past but not forgotten.

Leaning back, Edward feels something stir in his chest—respect, sympathy, perhaps both. He doesn’t interrupt, letting Crosby follow the thread of his own story.

“We moved to Gotham after that,” Crosby says, his voice hardening slightly, as though stepping into a darker chapter. “That’s when I crossed paths with a man named Jason Todd. You’d know him better as the Arkham Knight.”

The shift in Crosby’s tone pulls Edward upright, his posture stiffening as Jason Todd’s name hits him like a jolt of static electricity. The memories flood in unbidden—Jason’s icy precision, his calculated fury, the raw force of his presence. Edward can still recall the brief but indelible impression the Arkham Knight left on him. “You worked with him?” he asks, his voice tinged with disbelief. “The militia? The entire operation?”

Crosby nods slowly, the motion weighted, reluctant. “Yeah,” he admits, his voice quieter now, almost as if he’s confessing. “Not exactly a high point in my life. But back then... he promised me the kind of money you dream about. Enough to keep my family safe. Enough to get out.” His hands tighten on the wheel briefly before relaxing again. “He trusted me to head his medical team—practically his personal physician. We went way back.”

Edward’s eyebrows lift, the puzzle pieces reshuffling in his mind. “You knew him before all that?” he asks, the sharp edge of curiosity cutting through his initial shock.

For a moment, Crosby doesn’t answer. The wheel creaks faintly under his tightened grip before he exhales a low, tired sigh. “Yeah. Army days. He was... different back then. Angry, sure, but not like he was later. Not broken.”

Leaning back slightly, Edward folds his hands in his lap, his mind turning over the implications. “And you believed him? About the riches?” he presses, unable to keep the skepticism from his tone.

A bitter chuckle escapes Crosby, low and humorless. “Desperation makes you believe a lot of things you shouldn’t,” he says, his voice darkening. “Especially when you’ve got people you care about, people you’re trying to protect.”

The gravity of Crosby’s words presses against Edward, stirring something uncomfortable in his chest. He recognizes the tone—the regret, the bitterness of choices made under duress. Edward doesn’t interrupt, sensing the story isn’t finished.

“I thought it was my ticket out,” Crosby continues, his voice heavier now, like every word costs him. “A clean break. An early retirement. But I was blind because...” His sentence trails off, his jaw working as he fights to get the words out. After a long pause, he takes a breath that shudders slightly. “During that time, my wife was back in Gotham. Alone. Our baby was out of state, visiting her granddad, and that lunatic Zsasz...”

Zsasz. 

The very mention of him sends a chill down his spine. Edward knows the name too well, knows the blood-soaked trail that monster left in his wake. Refusing to work with Zsasz had been one of the few ethical boundaries Edward hadn’t dared cross.

“He killed her.” Crosby’s grip on the steering wheel tightens until his knuckles go white, the tremor in his voice betraying the storm beneath. “In cold blood. I wasn’t there to protect her.”

The silence that follows feels suffocating, as if the car itself is holding its breath. Edward glances sideways, his own hands twitching uselessly in his lap. He doesn’t know what to say—what could possibly be said in the face of that kind of pain?

“I found her,” Crosby continues, his voice breaking now. “I... I came back and... she was just there. Gone. Because I wasn’t there to stop it.”

His words crumble into silence, and Edward notices, with a tight pull in his chest, the single tear tracking down Crosby’s face. The man, so steady and unshakable, suddenly feels like someone else entirely—someone Edward barely recognizes.

Awkwardly, Edward reaches out, his hand hovering for a moment before settling on Crosby’s shoulder. The gesture feels clumsy, inadequate, but it’s all he can think to do. Crosby doesn’t flinch, doesn’t acknowledge it, but he doesn’t shrug it off either.

The car crawls forward in the sluggish morning traffic, the lull giving Crosby a moment to lean forward, resting his head briefly against the steering wheel. Quiet sobs shake his broad shoulders, the sound low and muffled, like he’s trying to keep it contained.

Edward, out of his depth but unwilling to sit idle, rifles through the glove compartment with fumbling fingers. The mess of papers and trinkets spills over until his hand closes around a small packet of napkins. He pulls them out and holds them toward Crosby, his voice softer than usual. “Here.”

Crosby takes the napkins with a quick nod, the motion brusque, his shoulders still hunched from the weight of his words. He blows his nose loudly, the sound cutting through the thick tension in the car. “Thanks,” he mutters, his voice rough and raw.

For a moment, Edward doesn’t know where to look—out the window, at the road ahead, or at the man beside him who seems to be unraveling. Who is this person? The Crosby he imagined, the one built from sharp smirks and gruff teasing, feels unrecognizable in this moment. Vulnerability seeps from him like a wound left too long untreated. And yet, it’s not Crosby alone that unsettles Edward—it’s the way he sees himself mirrored in this transformation.

Five years ago, Edward Nygma would have sneered at the idea of “softness.” Weakness was what he called it then. Compassion was a tool, a puzzle piece to manipulate others. He’d have looked at the man he is now, offering napkins and silent support, with disdain, mocking how far he’d fallen from his self-perceived heights. Yet here he is, unable to retreat into the safety of his old armor, his jagged edges smoothed by time, by pain, and by Selina.

A low sigh escapes Edward’s lips, unbidden, as he tries to piece together something—anything—to bridge the heavy silence Crosby’s confession has left in its wake. Finally, hesitantly, he ventures, “So... your daughter is still alive, then?”

Crosby sits back against the seat, his chest rising and falling with a long, measured breath. His expression softens, and a faint, weary smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah,” he says, his tone quieter, more reflective now. “Grace is safe. She’s with her granddad here in town.”

For a moment, that smile twitches, a flicker of something brighter in the storm of his grief. But it fades just as quickly, replaced by the shadow of frustration. “The bad thing is, after Jason fled that night, most of the militia got arrested for the damage we caused in Gotham. Me included.” His hands tighten around the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. “Destruction of property, mostly. Others had worse charges. And because of that...” He exhales heavily, his jaw tightening. “The judge decided I couldn’t have full custody of my daughter. Now, I only get to see her twice a month.”

Anger creeps into his voice, turning the edges of his words sharp. His fist slams against the steering wheel, the thud reverberating through the car. “Sarah’s father—he’s furious with me. Furious I didn’t protect her. He limits my time with Grace. And... I get it.” Crosby’s voice cracks slightly, his frustration tempered by guilt. “I really do. He has every right to be mad at me.”

The car inches forward as traffic finally starts to move again, but Crosby’s tension doesn’t ease. If anything, it seems to build. His grip on the wheel is almost crushing, his knuckles pale as his voice rises, raw and brittle. “But dammit, he’s right! I should’ve protected my wife! I should’ve been there for her, not running around for that stupid Arkham Knight.” The bitterness in his tone twists, morphing into something darker. “And what does Jason do? He runs away like a scared little bitch because his daddy called him home.”

Edward watches him from the corner of his eye, feeling the weight of the man’s pain as if it’s filling the confined space between them. This is uncharted territory for him—sitting in silence, allowing someone else’s emotions to take up all the oxygen. Words linger at the tip of his tongue, but each one feels too small, too inconsequential against the raw torrent pouring out of Crosby.

“But hopefully,” Crosby says, his voice softening as his grip on the wheel loosens, “with my bartending job and Selina’s help, the judge will eventually grant me at least half custody.” A faint, almost fragile smile flickers across his face, a moment of hope breaking through the storm.

Sensing the shift, Edward straightens slightly, deciding to latch onto the positivity like a lifeline. “So,” he ventures, his tone lighter but still careful, “Selina moved here for you, it sounds like.”

“Yeah,” Crosby replies, nodding as his smile fades into something more solemn. “She’s like a sister to me. Always has been.”

The air thickens again as Crosby’s expression darkens, a shadow falling over his features. He casts Edward a sidelong glance, sharp and unflinching, and Ed braces himself for whatever’s coming next.

Crosby’s voice lowers, the weight of his words gathering force like a rolling wave. “The other worst part? I had no idea she was being held like a prisoner by an idiot that night, too. I couldn’t protect her, either. I couldn’t protect any of the people I loved.”

The statement is jagged, and Edward feels the tension in the car thicken, suffocating, his stomach twisting as the memories surface unbidden. Crosby’s hands grip the wheel tightly, the taut cords of his forearms betraying the storm of anger and regret brewing beneath his calm exterior. The car speeds up, a subtle but undeniable acceleration that mirrors the escalating emotions inside.

For Edward, the mention of that night is like a trigger. It brings back the chaos, the calculated cruelty he had once prided himself on. He remembers the decision to use Selina—her defiance, her vulnerability, her silent strength. At the time, she had been a means to an end, a piece on the board he could control. But even as he schemed, even as he locked her away, there had been a gnawing discomfort beneath his ego-driven justifications. She wasn’t supposed to feel so real, so... human.

That night had been a tipping point. The Riddler in him had reveled in the power, the control, the carefully orchestrated chaos. But Edward—the part of him buried deep beneath layers of bravado—had known better. Selina had looked at him not with fear but with contempt, and it had been unbearable. He’d told himself it didn’t matter, that she didn’t matter. But now? Now he sees her differently.

He leans back, the leather seat creaking softly under the motion, and closes his eyes for a fleeting second. The words he’s about to say claw their way up from a place he doesn’t often acknowledge, raw and unfiltered. “Look,” he starts, his voice breaking the silence but quieter, steadier than he expects. “I know what I did was messed up, and I know nothing I say or do will ever fully fix that.”

His gaze shifts toward Crosby, catching the faint lines of tension in the man’s jaw. Edward’s own hands tighten reflexively in his lap. “But I want you to know that I’m truly trying to get better,” he continues, the words coming more easily now, even if they feel strange. “Just like you—proving something to someone.”

The admission is awkward, like stepping onto fragile ice. Edward isn’t used to this—baring himself, speaking without the protective armor of riddles or calculated wit. Vulnerability grates against his instincts, yet here he is, pressing forward. “I’m not the same person I was that night,” he says, his voice softer now, barely audible over the low hum of the engine. “Honestly, I don’t think anyone is. But I’ve realized something... how much Selina means to me. I care for her deeply—more than I’ve ever cared for anyone in my life.”

The tension wraps around his ribs, unrelenting. Edward exhales, his chest tightening as he waits for Crosby’s response. The pause feels interminable, each second dragging out with the force of a held breath. Crosby’s hands relax on the wheel, his fingers flexing briefly, their whitened knuckles softening against the leather.

With a deliberate exhale, Crosby drums his fingers against the steering wheel, each tap deliberate and steady, like a man pacing his words. “Look, Rid,” he begins, his tone blunt, unvarnished. “I’m gonna be honest—nothing would bring me more joy than to punch the Riddler’s nonsense right out of that idiot brain of yours for what you did to Selina.”

Edward flinches, even though the sharpness of Crosby’s words doesn’t come as a surprise. His chest tightens, the sting of guilt mixing with something more complicated—an ache to prove that he isn’t that person anymore. He watches Crosby’s profile, noting the tightness in his jaw, the steady focus on the road ahead.

“But...” Crosby’s tone shifts, softening just enough to break through Edward’s thoughts, “what you did last night—standing up for her, squaring up to that guy? I have to admit, it impressed me.”

“Wait—” Edward blinks, the unexpected compliment throwing him off balance. He can’t help but search Crosby’s face for any sign of sarcasm, but the other man doesn’t look at him, his attention fixed firmly on the stretch of road ahead. “Really?” 

“Yeah.” Crosby nods, the movement brief but definitive, and definitely laced with caution. “Not only that, but you took that punch like a man. Didn’t back down, didn’t crumble. That says something—more than you probably realize.” He casts Edward a quick sidelong glance, his expression unreadable. “So,” he continues, his tone measured, “I’ve decided to give you a chance—not just on this job, but with Selina. For some weird, inexplicable reason, you seem to make her happy. And if that’s true, I’m not gonna stand in the way.”

The words settle, and Edward feels an unexpected rush of warmth. A tentative smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, growing despite his effort to suppress it. “Thanks,” he says quietly, the sincerity in his voice surprising even himself. “That... means a lot.”

“Don’t get too excited, genius,” Crosby teases in a near musical tone. He smirks, his tone shifting back to its usual gruffness, like the brief moment of vulnerability never happened. “I’ll still be watching you like a hawk. Screw this up, and you’ll wish you were dealing with the Batman again.”

“Noted.” Edward lets out a nervous chuckle, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “Loud and clear.”

For a moment, silence settles in again, but it’s lighter now, the earlier tension dissipating. Crosby’s fingers drum lightly on the steering wheel as the car glides along the road. Eventually, he breaks the quiet, his tone softer, almost casual. “Also... thanks for listening,” he says, the words carrying a quiet sincerity. “Guess I needed to get that off my chest.”

Without warning, Crosby throws a friendly fist bump against Edward’s shoulder—not hard, but enough to jostle him. The gesture, rare and unexpected, leaves Edward blinking in surprise before wincing theatrically, grabbing at his shoulder.

“Well,” Edward says with a grin, his voice tinged with dry humor, “I am a psychology professor, apparently. Just doing my job.”

A genuine laugh bubbles out before he can stop it, surprising him with how easy it feels. The sound even earns a flicker of amusement from Crosby, whose smirk deepens as he shakes his head, his eyes still on the road.

“Not bad, Rid,” Crosby says, his voice carrying a faint note of approval. “Not bad at all.” The corner of his mouth twitches, just shy of a full smile, but Edward notices, and it feels like a small victory.

As the miles stretch out behind them, the car grows quieter again, but it’s a comfortable quiet now. Edward leans back in his seat, his body finally relaxing. The earlier weight pressing on his chest seems to lift, replaced by a tentative sense of ease.

His mind drifts, unbidden, to Selina. To the future he’s slowly trying to piece together—fragile and uncertain, but something he wants desperately to hold onto. For the first time, he allows himself to hope, not just for the success of the job ahead, but for the possibility of something more. A connection, however tenuous, with Crosby. A chance at a life that doesn’t feel like it’s teetering on the edge of chaos.

Maybe, just maybe, he thinks, there’s room for this. For her. For them. And, against all odds, for the idea that someone like Crosby could one day be a friend.

Just shy of 11 a.m., the car rolls to a smooth stop in front of Woodland Jewelers. The building looms ahead, all sleek glass and elegant signage, projecting an aura of wealth that feels almost suffocating. Edward stares at it through the windshield for a moment, his fingers fiddling absently with his tie, as if tightening it could tether his nerves.

Beside him, Crosby straightens his jacket, his movements calm and deliberate. He turns, giving Edward a steady, appraising look. “You ready?”

With a sharp inhale, Edward straightens in his seat, nodding as much to convince himself as Crosby. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he says, attempting a grin that feels just shy of convincing.

Opening the car door, Edward steps out into the crisp morning air. It carries a slight chill, grounding him as he adjusts his tie one last time. Crosby follows close behind, his towering frame and easy confidence exuding the kind of authority Edward can only hope to mimic. Together, they cross the short distance to the store, their footsteps measured, purposeful.

The bell above the door chimes softly as they enter, announcing their presence. Inside, the jewelry store gleams with opulence. Polished floors reflect the ambient light like a still pond, and the display cases, lined with velvet and lit with precision, sparkle as though the diamonds within have caught tiny fragments of stars. The air smells faintly of fresh flowers, subtle but unmistakably curated for a luxurious experience.

Edward adopts a confident stride, his hands slipping into his pockets with feigned ease. The persona of a wealthy professor accustomed to such places weighs heavily on him, but he knows it must feel natural. Beside him, Crosby’s presence looms large—a silent bodyguard, stoic and unflinching, completing the illusion of importance.

From behind the counter, a well-dressed clerk lifts their head, their expression shifting into a practiced, professional smile. Their attire is immaculate, every detail designed to put customers at ease while reminding them of the exclusivity of their surroundings.

“Good morning, gentlemen!” the clerk greets warmly, their voice smooth, polished like the store itself. “Welcome to Woodland Jewelers. How can I assist you today?”

“Good morning.” Edward allows the faintest smile to play at his lips as he steps forward, every movement calculated. His heart pounds harder than he cares to admit, but he doesn’t let it show. “I’m looking for something special. For someone... very special.”

The clerk’s smile widens slightly, their eyes alight with interest. “Of course. I’d be delighted to assist. Do you have something specific in mind, or would you like to browse our collection?”

With a subtle glance toward Crosby, Edward catches the faintest nod of encouragement. Drawing a breath, he steps forward, his fingers brushing against the frame of his glasses as he adjusts them—a gesture that steadies him as much as it completes his polished facade. “Ah, yes,” he begins, his tone measured, aiming for that elusive mix of refined yet approachable. “I’m looking for something special—a ring. My, uh, lady and I are celebrating an anniversary, and I thought it was about time to make things official.”

The clerk’s practiced smile widens, a glimmer of excitement lighting their expression as they step around the counter. With a graceful gesture, they motion toward a gleaming display nearby. “Of course! We have an exquisite selection of engagement rings. Allow me to show you.”

Trailing behind, Edward follows the clerk’s lead, his movements deliberate, each step calculated to exude confidence. Meanwhile, Crosby lingers a few paces back, his arms crossed and his gaze sweeping the room. His eyes flick methodically over the security cameras, the exits, the store layout—his demeanor the epitome of a bodyguard scanning for potential threats. Leaning slightly toward Edward, he murmurs low enough that only he can hear, “Stay sharp. Clock’s ticking.”

A subtle nod is Edward’s only response as the clerk begins their presentation. They slide open the glass case with practiced precision, revealing rows of glittering rings nestled on velvet. “These are some of our finest pieces,” the clerk explains, their voice smooth, almost reverent. “Do you have a particular style in mind?”

Feigning interest, Edward leans closer, his eyes scanning the display with a deliberate slowness. “Oh, definitely something timeless,” he replies, his words careful, deliberate. Beneath the surface of his composure, the tiny camera embedded in his glasses begins its silent work, scanning for the network access points scattered throughout the store. The data streams back to his hidden system, but his expression betrays nothing.

Behind him, Crosby shifts, his looming presence an anchor for the charade. His tone sharpens, low and gruff, as he plays his part. “How long will this take?” he grumbles, the irritation in his voice perfectly staged.

Edward casts him a quick glance, his mouth twitching in what could almost pass for a reassuring smile. “Not too long, I hope,” he mutters, the tension threading through his words subtle enough to blend with the role he’s playing. The glasses continue their silent sweep, mapping the store’s infrastructure even as Edward pretends to weigh the merits of diamonds and settings.

The clerk, oblivious to the undercurrent of subterfuge, chuckles nervously. “Take all the time you need, sir. A decision like this is worth careful thought.”

Edward forces a thin smile, the weight of the operation pressing heavily on him. “Careful thought,” he echoes under his breath, the words carrying a quiet edge of irony. “Right.”

Leaning in slightly, the clerk’s professional smile sharpens, eager and polished. “So, sir, what do you do for a living? And what’s the lucky lady like? Knowing more about her will help us find the perfect ring.”

Edward hesitates just long enough to seem thoughtful, then adjusts his glasses with an easy, calculated motion, slipping effortlessly into the role. “I’m a psychology professor at Metropolis University,” he says, his tone smooth and measured. He injects just the right amount of gravitas, channeling the confidence of someone accustomed to being admired for their intellect. “My work keeps me busy—lectures, research, the occasional book publication. It’s a bit of a balancing act.”

“Impressive!” The clerk nods appreciatively, their eyes glinting with interest. “And your partner? What’s she like?”

Clearing his throat, Edward glances briefly at Crosby. The man’s raised eyebrow speaks volumes, but he remains silent, his arms crossed and his demeanor as impenetrable as ever. Edward returns his gaze to the clerk, his expression softening as he answers. “She’s... incredible,” he begins, carefully layering warmth into his voice. “Brilliant, driven, confident. The kind of person who lights up every room she walks into.”

The clerk beams, their smile widening. “Sounds like she’s quite the catch.”

“She is,” Edward says, allowing his tone to dip into something quieter, almost wistful. “She’s always been there for me, even when I didn’t deserve it. That’s why this ring has to be perfect.”

A low grunt from Crosby punctuates the moment, the sound impatient but perfectly in character. Shifting closer to the counter, he fixes the clerk with a pointed look. “Enough chitchat,” he growls, his voice gravelly. “The professor’s got a busy day. Show us the best you’ve got.”

Snapping to attention, the clerk straightens, nodding briskly. “Of course, of course. Right this way.” With a fluid motion, they move to another display case, carefully pulling out a velvet-lined tray of dazzling rings.

Trailing behind, Edward adjusts his tie, glancing quickly at Crosby. The man offers a subtle nod—confirmation that the glasses’ scan is almost complete. For now, though, the charade must hold.

The clerk places the tray on the counter with the precision of someone handling priceless artifacts. Their voice takes on a reverent quality as they gesture toward the rings. “These are some of our finest options—timeless and elegant. Each one is designed to make an unforgettable impression.”

Edward leans over the display, feigning deep consideration. The gleaming stones catch the light, casting fractured rainbows onto the polished counter. Beneath his composed exterior, the hidden camera in his glasses quietly transfers the final streams of data. “They’re certainly impressive,” he says, letting his voice carry the weight of deliberation. His finger hovers above a modest but exquisitely cut diamond before he points to it. “Tell me more about this one.”

The clerk’s enthusiasm swells. “An excellent choice,” they say, sliding the ring forward for closer inspection. “This is a classic solitaire design, handcrafted with the highest quality materials. It’s understated yet striking, a testament to the wearer’s sophistication.”

“Understated but sophisticated,” Edward murmurs, tilting his head as though weighing the words in his mind. “Yes, I think that suits her.”

Leaning in slightly, Crosby’s voice cuts through the air like a low growl. “Professor, are we about done here?”

“Almost,” Edward replies, suppressing a smirk as his glasses signal the scan’s completion. He straightens, brushing his fingers over his tie in a practiced motion. “But decisions like this can’t be rushed, can they?”

The clerk lets out a nervous laugh, their hands clasping together with an eagerness that borders on uncomfortable. “Not at all, sir. Take all the time you need.”

A faint smile tugs at Edward’s lips as he casts a sidelong glance at Crosby. “Patience, my friend. We’re nearly there.”

As he continues to feign deliberation, his eyes flickering over the rings with mock interest, the clerk’s gaze shifts toward Crosby. The man stands like a sentinel, arms crossed, his presence looming over the transaction. Curiosity gleams in the clerk’s eyes as they hesitantly venture, “If you don’t mind me asking... why the bodyguard? Is it because of your work, or...?”

Edward pauses, his movements deliberate as he adjusts his glasses. Crafting a response with the precision of a scalpel, he finally answers, “Well, when you’re a public figure in academia—particularly one who’s written controversial research like I have—you tend to attract... attention.”

“It’s true.” Crosby smirks faintly, his sharp gaze catching the clerk’s. “Professor Brookelny has a knack for rubbing people the wrong way. His theories about human behavior? Not everyone’s a fan.”

The clerk’s brows lift, their intrigue palpable. “I see,” they say cautiously, glancing at Edward’s cheek with mild hesitation. “And, um... the bruise?”

Edward raises a hand, his fingers brushing the discolored skin as he lets out a sheepish chuckle. “Ah, this.” He exhales as if embarrassed, his tone carefully measured. “Occupational hazard, I’m afraid. Occasionally, the ‘attention’ gets a bit physical. A rather disgruntled attendee at one of my recent lectures... well, they didn’t appreciate my stance on morality and decision-making.”

Crosby steps forward, the brown leather of his jacket creaking faintly as he folds his arms, his expression darkening with well-practiced intensity. “Which is exactly why I’m here,” he says, his voice low, almost threatening. “People think they can just walk up and take a swing at him without consequences.” He leans slightly toward the clerk, lowering his tone as if to share a secret. “Let’s just say I make sure they regret it.”

A flicker of unease crosses the clerk’s face, but they nod quickly, their demeanor shifting back to polite professionalism. “That must be... nerve-wracking,” they offer, their sympathy genuine but tentative. “But I suppose it comes with the territory, being as accomplished as you are.”

With a modest shrug, Edward adjusts his glasses, the faint glint of light off the frames catching the clerk’s eye. “It’s part of the job,” he says smoothly, his voice calm and composed. “But I have people like him—” he gestures to Crosby with a subtle smile, his tone hinting at camaraderie “—to keep me safe.”

Standing rigid and authoritative, Crosby nods curtly. “All in a day’s work.”

The clerk’s gaze shifts between them, visibly impressed. Turning back to the array of glittering rings, they smile warmly. “Well, I hope this new chapter for you and your partner brings nothing but happiness. She sounds like she’s worth all the trouble.”

Edward’s fingers brush lightly against the edge of the display case, his touch deliberate, contemplative. A soft smile graces his lips, one that feels just real enough to sell the act. “She absolutely is,” he murmurs, his words carrying a sincerity that surprises even him.

The faint hum of the glasses’ system vibrates in his awareness, signaling the data upload is complete. A brief glance exchanged with Crosby confirms it. Time to move on.

Straightening his posture, Edward taps the display case with an air of finality. “You know, I think I’ll need to sleep on it,” he says, his tone measured and thoughtful. “A decision like this can’t be rushed, after all.”

The clerk’s polite smile falters just slightly, disappointment flickering across their features before professionalism overrides it. “Of course,” they reply graciously. “Feel free to come back anytime. We’d love to help you make this moment special.”

Edward dips his head in acknowledgment, his movements smooth as he steps back. “Thank you for your time,” he says, his voice steady, almost charming. “I’ll be in touch.”

Trailing a step behind, Crosby gives the clerk a terse nod, his imposing presence maintaining their cover as they head for the exit. Once the door closes behind them, the atmosphere shifts, the tension ebbing with each step toward the car.

Crosby leans slightly closer, his voice a low mutter. “You actually didn’t do half bad in there, genius.”

Adjusting his tie with a smirk, Edward casts him a sidelong glance. “You really think so?”

“Yeah,” Crosby replies, the gruff edge of his voice softening just enough to pass for humor. “But if you ever call me ‘your person’ again, we’re gonna have a problem.”

A laugh escapes Edward, genuine and unguarded. The weight of the mission, the nerves, the charade—they all lift, replaced by a rare ease as they approach the car.

Before any words about their successful operation can pass between them, both Edward and Crosby silently agree: leaving the area is the immediate priority. Drawing unnecessary attention isn’t just inconvenient—it’s dangerous. Crosby keeps his pace measured, casual yet purposeful, as they exit the parking lot and merge into the late-morning traffic. The hum of the car engine feels like a barrier between them and the tension they’ve just left behind.

At a red light, Edward lets out a yawn that feels like it’s been building since dawn, stretching stiffly in his seat. “This professor needs coffee,” he says, the words escaping in a half-grumble. “Can we please stop somewhere before I collapse?”

With a sidelong glance, Crosby raises an eyebrow. “Not a bad idea,” he replies, his tone almost nonchalant. “I’ve got a few errands to run in town anyway.”

Edward perks up, his curiosity sparked. “Errands? What kind of errands?”

Keeping his eyes on the road, Crosby smirks faintly. “Just some business,” he says, his voice carrying that maddening air of vagueness. “Sit tight, and we’ll grab coffee on the way.”

Leaning back into the seat, Edward rubs his temples, the tension of the morning still in his body. “Fine,” he mutters. “As long as it’s strong. And not from some gas station convenience store.”

A dry chuckle escapes Crosby, his smirk widening just slightly. “Relax, genius. Even I have standards. There’s a café downtown—good coffee, decent snacks, no baristas asking too many damn questions.”

“Now that sounds like a plan.” The corner of Edward’s mouth quirks upward in reluctant approval. “Coffee first, questions later.”

As the car picks up speed, the pressure of the jewelry store mission starts to dissipate, replaced by the steady rhythm of the city waking up. The morning sunlight filters through the car window, soft and warm, and Edward feels his shoulders begin to loosen.

Arriving at the shopping center, the two step out of the car. The air smells faintly of asphalt warming in the sun, mingling with the inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting from a nearby café. Edward inhales deeply, his senses drawn to the promise of caffeine, and follows Crosby toward the entrance.

Inside, the café hums with quiet activity. A moderately long line snakes toward the counter—not ideal, but manageable. Edward sighs and glances at Crosby, his tone begrudging. “What do you recommend?”

“I usually go for black coffee.” Crosby shrugs, his gaze flicking lazily to the menu board. “If I need a kick, Americano.”

The line inches forward, and when it’s their turn, they’re greeted by a cheerful young woman whose radiant smile seems to brighten the cozy interior. “Hey, howdy, hey! What can I get you, gents?” she chirps, her enthusiasm almost contagious.

Crosby nods toward Edward, nudging him with his shoulder. “Just a regular coffee. And whatever he wants.”

Caught off guard, Edward hesitates, his eyes darting to the menu. “Umm... I don’t know. What’s your favorite?” The words tumble out awkwardly, his indecision palpable.

The cashier’s face lights up. “Well, you can’t go wrong with our mocha latte, but my favorite is the caramel vanilla latte.”

“I’ll try that, then,” Edward says, managing a small smile as some of his earlier stiffness fades.

As she rings up the order, the cashier’s gaze lingers on Edward, her expression shifting subtly. Her brows knit together for a moment, her lips parting slightly as if she’s trying to piece something together. Then, like a light flicking on, recognition dawns. Her eyes widen, and she points a finger at him, her voice rising with excitement. “Wait, hold on!” she exclaims, her finger flicking toward the bruise on his cheek. “You’re the guy from the club last night—the one who punched that guy clean out, right?!”

Heat rushes to Edward’s face, blooming across his cheeks and crawling up his neck. He hadn’t realized just how small this town was. “Oh, well, umm, yeah,” he stammers, raising his hands defensively as if to ward off the sudden attention. “But I didn’t mean for it to get like that.”

The cashier grins, clearly unfazed by his awkwardness. “No, I totally get it. And honestly? It was kinda hot.” She winks, her tone playful and teasing.

Edward freezes, completely at a loss for words. His mouth opens slightly, but nothing comes out. He stares at her, his thoughts scrambling for a coherent response, caught entirely off guard.

Beside him, Crosby chuckles, a deep, amused sound that only heightens Edward’s discomfort.

“You’re on the house,” the cashier announces cheerfully, her fingers dancing over the register as she enters the discount. “Hero’s discount.”

Hero…? He’s never been called a hero before—a villain, a fiend, an ass, an asshole, an asshat—but never a hero. 

“Th-thanks,” Edward manages to mumble, his voice barely audible as Crosby claps him on the back with a grin.

As they wait for their drinks, Crosby leans in, his smirk practically gleaming. “Looks like you’ve got a fan club, genius.”

“Shut up,” Edward mutters, his cheeks still burning. He glances at the floor, wishing he could melt into it, but Crosby’s laughter only grows louder.

When their drinks are ready, they carry them to a small table by the window. Sunlight streams in, catching the steam rising from their cups and bathing the café in a warm, inviting glow. Edward stirs his latte carefully, using the moment to center himself.

“Well,” he says finally, his tone dry but laced with resignation, “we’re just gonna pretend that didn’t happen.”

Crosby leans back in his chair, pulling out his phone. “Holly would die if she heard about this.”

Edward freezes mid-stir, his eyes narrowing sharply. “Hold on. You can’t just text something like that!” He lunges forward slightly, his hand outstretched toward Crosby’s phone.

With practiced ease, Crosby raises a hand, keeping the phone just out of reach. “Calm down, lover boy,” he teases, his smirk firmly in place. “I’m not spilling your little fan club moment. Just letting them know the job went smoothly. Also checking my to-do list. Got errands to knock out before we head back.”

Settling back into his seat, Edward glares, his voice clipped. “You could’ve just said that instead of making it sound like you were about to broadcast my humiliation.”

Crosby takes a triumphant sip of his coffee, his grin widening. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Edward rolls his eyes and lifts his cup to his lips, taking a tentative sip of his caramel vanilla latte. The moment the flavor hits his tongue, his expression shifts—first surprise, then reluctant approval. “Okay... this is actually pretty good.”

“Better than expected, huh?”

“Yeah,” Edward admits begrudgingly, glancing down at his cup. “Almost worth the embarrassment.”

“See?” Crosby grins, leaning back in his chair. “Sometimes stepping out of your comfort zone isn’t so bad.”

Edward shakes his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth despite himself. “Says the guy who drinks plain black coffee.”

With mock seriousness, Crosby replies, “Hey. Some of us don’t need dessert in a cup to function.”

For a moment, they sit in companionable silence, the hum of the café surrounding them. The faint clinking of spoons against porcelain, the low murmur of voices, and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine weave together a soothing backdrop. As Edward takes another sip a small sense of normalcy settles over him. Almost.

The calm shatters almost immediately. With a bounce in her step, the cheerful barista returns, a plate of pastries balanced expertly in her hands. She sets them down with an overly bright smile, her gaze holding a little too long on Edward.

“Since it seems like it’s your first time here, I thought I’d treat you to some pastries,” she says sweetly, her voice practically dripping with enthusiasm. Her eyes remain fixed on Edward, who instinctively leans back in his chair as though trying to escape the spotlight suddenly thrust upon him.

“Oh, thanks, but that’s really not necessary,” Edward stammers, his voice pitching higher than he’d like. He gestures faintly toward the pastries, hoping to deflect the attention. “I’m fine with just the coffee.”

The barista waves off his protest with a playful laugh, dismissing his awkward refusal entirely. “Oh, please. A man like you needs carbs to keep his strength up—for punching out punks like that.”

The words hit Edward like a sudden gust of wind, and he feels his face heat again, a traitorous blush creeping up his neck. Before he can muster a response, she reaches across the table, grabbing his coffee cup with a confidence that leaves him stunned.

The sound of her pen scratching against the cup fills the air, and Edward’s eyes widen as realization dawns. His gaze flicks to Crosby, who is now watching with a mixture of amusement and mild disbelief, one brow arched in a silent commentary Edward can almost hear: You’ve got to be kidding me.

Setting the cup back down, the barista leans forward slightly, her smile downright conspiratorial as she winks. “Here’s my number,” she says, her tone sly. “Give me a call if you ever need some company.”

Edward’s face turns a deeper shade of red, his collar suddenly too tight. He tugs at it reflexively, the heat of embarrassment overwhelming. “Umm, thanks, but... I’m actually seeing someone,” he manages, his voice strained.

Unfazed, the barista tilts her head, her grin widening. “Oh, well, she can join us too. I’m open to things like that.” She blows him a kiss before spinning on her heel, her stride confident as she saunters back behind the counter.

For a moment, the table is frozen in silence, both men staring after her in varying degrees of shock. Edward’s hands hover uselessly over the cup, as though he’s debating whether to throw it away or hide it.

“What... just happened?” he finally says, breaking the silence. His voice is tinged with disbelief, as if saying it aloud might help him understand.

Crosby shakes his head slowly, his expression one of equal parts amusement and awe. “I don’t know, but I’ve officially seen everything.”

Groaning, Edward buries his face in his hands, his embarrassment complete. “This... is absurd.”

Unconcerned, Crosby reaches over and plucks a pastry from the plate, examining it briefly before taking a large, unapologetic bite. “Looks like the ladies are into your whole ‘professor meets Riddler’ vibe,” he teases. “Must be the outfit... or maybe it’s the bruised, mysterious charm.”

 “Please don’t tell Selina about this.” Edward glares at him over his fingers. “You clearly saw I didn’t encourage it.”

Crosby chews thoughtfully, taking his time to swallow before responding. “Oh, I don’t know. I think Selina would get a real kick out of hearing how you’ve managed to start your own little fan club.”

“I’m serious, Crosby.” Edward’s tone sharpens, his glare intensifying. “This? Stays between us.”

With exaggerated nonchalance, Crosby leans back in his chair, smirking as he grabs another pastry. “Relax, lover boy. I’m not gonna say anything... for now.” He pops the pastry into his mouth, his grin widening. “But you might owe me one later.”

Edward groans again, sinking back into his seat and reluctantly picking up a pastry. “This day just keeps getting better and better,” he mutters before taking a bite.

Crosby laughs, a deep, hearty sound that echoes in the café and only adds to Edward’s regret at having walked through the door.

As they finish their coffee and pastries, Crosby leans back in his chair, studying Edward with an intensity that makes him shift uncomfortably. The weight of Crosby’s gaze feels like a puzzle he can’t quite solve, and Edward braces himself, half-expecting another round of biting sarcasm.

“What?” Edward says finally, brushing a few stray crumbs off his lap. “I know, the bruise on my face is huge. No need to point it out again.”

“Nah, it’s not just the bruise.” Crosby shakes his head slowly. “Your hair’s looking a bit... uneven. Now that I see it in the light, it’s like it gave up halfway through being styled.”

“Seriously?” Edward’s frown deepens as his hand flies self-consciously to his hair, smoothing it down in a futile attempt to assess the damage. “It doesn’t look that bad, does it?”

“Look, you’ve got a big date with Selina tonight, right?” Crosby stands, stretching with the ease of someone who doesn’t care much about appearances but knows when to spot a flaw. “Might as well look sharp for her. Trust me, she’ll notice if you don’t.”

The suggestion gives Edward pause. He considers Crosby’s point, a twinge of doubt curling in his chest. “You think so?” 

“Absolutely. Come on.” His partner cranes his neck towards the door, already heading out. “I know a great place to get a haircut. We’ve got time to kill anyway while we’re waiting for the store to open.”

Trailing behind, Edward makes a point of avoiding eye contact with the flirty barista as they leave the café. The lingering sting of her antics still makes his skin crawl with embarrassment. He discreetly tosses his coffee cup into a nearby trash can, as if erasing the physical evidence might somehow erase the memory.

“This way.” Crosby gestures down the street with the confidence of someone who knows exactly where he’s going. “It’s only a couple of blocks.”

Edward follows, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, the brisk air brushing against his face. As they approach the barber shop Crosby mentioned, a flicker of uncertainty worms its way into his thoughts. The lively chatter and bursts of laughter spilling out onto the sidewalk make the place seem warm, welcoming—and utterly overwhelming.

When they step inside, Edward hesitates near the entrance, his discomfort growing as his eyes dart around the room. A handful of patrons lounge in the chairs, most of them chatting with an ease that marks them as regulars. The air carries the clean, sharp scent of aftershave and hair products.

From across the room, a woman in her mid-40s lights up the moment she spots Crosby. Her presence is magnetic, her wide grin warm and unapologetically confident. “Well, look who it is! Big, tall, handsome Crosby,” she calls, spreading her arms like she’s greeting an old friend. “Come on, give me some sugar!”

Crosby grins, stepping forward to embrace her with the familiarity of someone who’s clearly been here more than a few times. “Hey, Darcy. Good to see you.”

Hovering near the door, Edward feels out of place amid the cheerful energy of the shop. He shifts on his feet, his discomfort evident as a few curious patrons glance his way, their gazes lingering a beat too long.

Darcy pulls back from Crosby, her sharp eyes immediately locking onto Edward. She gives him a once-over, her gaze tracing the bruise marking his cheek. Her lips curve into a sly smile. “And who’s this serious-looking man? With just a hint of danger, I see.”

Before Edward can offer a response, Crosby clamps a hand on his shoulder, his grin widening. “This is Edward. He’s new in town and an old friend of Selina’s. He’s got a date with her tonight, so I figured you could spruce him up a bit.”

Edward opens his mouth to protest, but before he can get a word out, Darcy strides forward with the authority of someone who’s already made up her mind. She grabs his arm, her grip surprisingly firm, and starts guiding him toward one of the chairs.

Darcy’s exclamation carries a brightness that fills the shop, her enthusiasm palpable. “A date with my girl Selina? Oh, la la!” she says, her tone teasing yet warm. “Say no more. Come sit down, sugar. I’ll make you look fit as a fiddle by the time I’m done with you.”

Edward shoots a panicked glance at Crosby, silently pleading for intervention. But Crosby leans back against the counter with an infuriatingly amused smirk, crossing his arms as if settling in for a show. “You’ll thank me later.” 

The cosmetologist gently but firmly steers Edward into the barber chair. The chair squeaks faintly as Edward sinks into it, his discomfort plain. Darcy snaps the cape over him with practiced ease, fastening it snugly around his neck. “Alright, Edward,” she says, tapping her fingers against her hip as she surveys him. “What’s the plan? Something classic? Rugged? Or are we going full-on heartthrob for Selina?”

Edward groans softly, slumping ever so slightly in the chair. “Just... something decent. Not too much, not too little.” 

“Don’t you worry, hon.” Darcy’s grin widens, her eyes sparkling as she starts gathering her tools. “Selina’s a dear friend of mine, and I’ll make sure you look so good she won’t be able to take her eyes off you.”

Edward sighs heavily, the heat rising to his face. “No pressure, right?” 

“Oh, sugar, there’s always pressure when it comes to a woman like Selina.” Her scissors snip with a deliberate rhythm. “But lucky for you, I’m the best in town.”

“Relax, genius.” From his spot by the wall, Crosby chuckles, his arms still crossed as he watches the scene unfold. “By the time she’s done, you’ll look like you belong on the cover of Gotham Style.”

Edward narrows his eyes at Crosby through the mirror, his tone dry. “If this backfires, I’m blaming you.”

“Trust me, sweetheart.” Darcy winks at Edward’s reflection, her scissors pausing briefly. “You’re in very good hands.”

Removing Edward’s glasses, Darcy sets them aside with care before throwing a thoughtful glance at his reflection. She tilts her head slightly, a gleam of contemplation in her eye as she assesses him. “Hmm... Date with Selina. Now that’s a new one,” a barber working on another patron chimes in, his voice light but curious. He shifts his gaze toward Crosby, his brow arching. “I’m surprised you didn’t try to make a move on her, Cros. You two have history.”

The comment makes Edward’s stomach drop. His eyes widen in the mirror, and his face loses a shade of color as he instinctively looks at Crosby. What history? The thought rattles around in his mind, and for a moment, he’s unsure if he wants to know the answer.

“Nah, man.” Crosby, unfazed, waves off the remark with a lazy grin. “Selina and I? We’re like siblings. Always have been, always will be.”

For a moment, his grin fades, replaced by a softer, more reflective expression. “Besides,” he continues, his voice lowering slightly, “I’m not sure anyone could ever replace Sarah—not for a long while, at least.”

The shop grows quieter, the hum of clippers and low conversations momentarily subdued. Even the man who had made the comment nods respectfully before returning to his work. The weight of Crosby’s words settles in the room, a quiet testament to the pain just beneath his usual bravado.

Edward watches Crosby in the mirror, a pang of sympathy cutting his discomfort. He recalls the rawness Crosby had shown in the car, but seeing it resurface here, in this quieter, more public setting, feels different—heavier.

Darcy, ever the professional, breaks the silence with a gentle smile, her voice light as she moves around Edward. “Well, Cros, you’re right about one thing—Selina sees you like a big brother. And let me tell you, this one here,” she motions toward Edward with her comb, “has his work cut out for him if he’s going to impress her.”

Crosby’s smirk deepens, his usual good humor sliding easily back into place. “Oh, he’ll manage,” he says with a shrug, his confidence radiating like the hum of a well-tuned engine. “One way or another.”

Edward groans, sinking lower into the chair, the cape brushing against his knees as if to swallow him whole. “You’re not exactly helping.”

“Not my job to help,” Crosby shoots back, adding a wink for good measure. “My job’s to make sure you don’t screw it up. Besides, you’re already doing fine—this man here punched the living daylights out of some guy for Selina last night.” His smirk stretches wider, clearly relishing Edward’s discomfort.

Pausing mid-snip, DJ—the barber working nearby—leans on his station with raised brows. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he says, his voice carrying the weight of amused disbelief. “That explains the bruise! I thought maybe you’d tripped and clocked yourself on a payphone or something.” A hearty laugh escapes him, rough yet good-natured.

Edward sighs, his cheeks flushing as he slumps deeper into the chair. “Honestly? I’d prefer the phone story.”

“You’d be surprised, DJ,” Crosby continues, his tone now tinged with something that almost sounds like pride. “Edward here can take a punch like a champ. Even caught me off guard.”

In the mirror’s reflection, Edward glances at Crosby, caught off guard by what sounds suspiciously like a compliment. Crosby notices, grins wider, and taps the edge of the counter. “Gotta give credit where it’s due, genius. You’ve got guts.”

Darcy, her scissors working methodically, jumps in with her own assessment. “Well, a man willing to throw hands for Selina? That puts him way ahead in my book. She’s not the kind to let just anyone fight for her, you know.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly plan on it.” Edward offers a small, sheepish smile, unsure of how to respond. “It just... happened.”

“That’s called instinct,” Crosby cuts in, leaning casually against the counter. “And if Selina didn’t care about you, trust me, you wouldn’t have walked out of there in one piece.”

“Selina’s tough, no doubt.” DJ nods, a knowing expression crossing his face as he picks up his clippers. “If she’s letting you stick around, you’re definitely doing something right.”

A flicker of relief loosens the tension in Edward’s shoulders. He catches a glance at himself in the mirror, the corners of his lips curving into an unintentional smile. “Well,” he says, voice lighter now, “I guess that’s something.”

“It’s more than something,” Darcy chimes, stepping back and surveying her handiwork with a satisfied gleam in her eye. “And once I’m done here, she’ll be falling head over heels all over again.”

Edward chuckles nervously, watching his reflection as she snips the final strands, the sharp rhythm of the scissors oddly soothing. A new him stares back—a sleeker, sharper version that even he finds hard to recognize.

As Darcy tidies up the station, DJ speaks again, his tone casual but inviting. “Hey, Edward, you a poker man?” he asks, brushing stray hair from his clippers. “Me, Crosby, and some of the other guys get together for poker night every other week. Could use another formidable player—that is, if you’re planning on sticking around.”

Edward’s expression shifts in an instant. Poker. Now that, he knows. The question doesn’t catch him off guard—it invigorates him. His lips twitch into something close to a smirk, his fingers adjusting the frame of his glasses with slow, deliberate ease.

“Poker?” he echoes. “Let’s just say I have a certain… proclivity for games.” His voice dips into something almost pleased with itself. “I wouldn’t want to clean you all out too quickly, though. That wouldn’t be very hospitable of me.”

DJ lets out a bark of laughter, shaking his head. “Oh-ho, I like this guy.” He jerks a thumb in Edward’s direction. “You hear that, Crosby? We’ve got a real shark in the making.”

With a roll of his eyes, Crosby scoffs, clapping Edward on the shoulder. “Alright, genius, don’t get ahead of yourself. I don’t care how good you are at numbers—I’ve been running this table for years. You wanna sit with us, you’d better bring more than just a sharp mind.”

“Oh, I fully intend to.” Edward’s smirk widens and he taps a thoughtful finger against his temple. “Bluffing, misdirection, reading the opposition—I’m afraid you’ve invited someone who takes these things rather seriously.”

“Well, damn. Guess we’ll see just how seriously soon enough.”

Edward lets out a quiet laugh, the thrill of a challenge lighting up something sharp behind his eyes. “Indeed,” he muses, already calculating strategies, already playing the game before the first hand is even dealt.

“Good. We’ll hit you up for the next game.” DJ finishes wiping down his station, his grin widening. “Be ready to lose your first few hands, though—it’s tradition.”

The warmth of the exchange settles over Edward like a coat. So this is what it feels like, he thinks, a little less chaos, a little more... life. For the first time in what feels like an eternity—probably ever—he lets himself feel something foreign yet welcome: belonging.

“Alrighty, sugar!” Darcy’s cheerful voice cuts through his thoughts as she whirls the black cape away with a practiced flourish. “What do you think?”

Turning toward the mirror, Edward’s eyes brighten. The reflection staring back at him isn’t drastically different, yet it feels transformed—sleeker, sharper, a style that exudes quiet confidence. The sides are perfectly trimmed, the top evened out, the lines clean and precise. It’s a glimpse of something more—a version of himself that feels like a balance between who he is and who he might become. “It’s perfect.” He runs a hand through his freshly styled hair.

“Told you!” Darcy beams, clearly pleased with her work. “You’re looking sharp enough to knock Selina’s socks off.”

Leaning forward to inspect Edward’s reflection with a teasing smirk, Crosby nods. “Not bad. You might actually pass as a respectable man now.”

Edward rolls his eyes, though the smile pulling at his lips betrays his amusement. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as high praise.”

“You should,” Crosby quips, tossing a few bills onto Darcy’s counter without hesitation. “This one’s on me. Consider it a down payment for not screwing up tonight.”

Caught off guard, Edward blinks. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re part of the team now.” With a shrug, Crosby’s smirk softens into something almost brotherly. “And besides, Selina deserves the best. You’ve got big shoes to fill, genius.”

Swallowing the unexpected lump in his throat, Edward nods, his voice quieter. “Thanks. Really.”

Darcy waves them off, her voice ringing out as they head for the door. “Good luck tonight, Edward! And don’t forget—confidence is key!”

Stepping outside, Edward catches his reflection in a nearby window, his gaze studying the sharp lines of his haircut, the slight lift of his posture. For the first time in years, he not only looks like someone worth believing in—he feels it.

As the bustling sidewalk hums with life, Crosby gestures toward a storefront just a few paces ahead. “Here,” he says, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

Edward follows, glancing up at the understated sign above the door. A phone store? he wonders, noting the quiet atmosphere as they step into the nearly empty space. Before he can voice the question forming on his lips, a cheerful employee with thick glasses approaches, their smile bright and welcoming. “Welcome in! How can I help you today?”

“Picking up an order. Should be under Selina Kyle,” Crosby says, his tone brisk as he leans casually against the counter.

Edward’s ears prick at the mention of her name, curiosity sparking as the employee nods and disappears into the back. “Oh, so we’re here to pick something up for Selina,” he murmurs, nodding slowly as the pieces click into place.

“More or less,” Crosby replies, his tone cryptic, his posture relaxed but watchful.

Moments later, the employee returns, carrying a sleek box with the kind of care one might reserve for a priceless artifact. “Here we are—the newest smartphone, fully set up with an unlimited plan,” they announce, opening the box to reveal the glossy device inside. “And in light green, as requested.”

Edward’s eyes widen, the polished surface of the phone catching the store’s soft lighting. “Wow. That’s... nice,” he admits, a flicker of envy passing through him. The phone looks like something out of a high-tech catalog, far from the outdated brick he’s been carrying around.

As Crosby takes the box, Edward’s hands instinctively pat his pockets. A sudden realization dawns. “Wait a second,” he mutters, brow furrowing. “I think my phone’s still in my bag. I haven’t touched it since... well...” His voice trails off, thinking back to his last tense conversation with Harley.

“Funny thing about that,” Crosby interjects with a grin, casually reaching into Edward’s bag and pulling out the old phone. He sets it aside before handing over the new device. “Hope you weren’t too attached to that ancient relic, because here’s your upgrade.”

The screen of the new phone lights up as it powers on, sleek and modern, like a window into a better-connected world. Edward’s lips twitch into a childlike smile, his fingers brushing over the pristine edges of the device. “This is mine?” he asks, disbelief threading through his voice.

Crosby nods, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Yep. All yours. And don’t worry—your contacts, emails, and apps? All transferred. Even set you up with a new number. Now you’re off Waller’s radar, at least for a little while.”

Edward blinks, his brain struggling to catch up. “I... I don’t even know what to say,” he murmurs, overwhelmed by the gesture.

“Say it to Selina,” Crosby replies, his tone softening as he hands Edward the bag containing the phone’s box, charger, and accessories. “She’s the one who set this up for you. Numbers already programmed—hers, mine, Holly’s. She wanted you ready.”

A swell of emotion rises in Edward’s chest.. “She really didn’t have to do this,” he says quietly, his fingers curling around the phone.

Crosby smiles knowingly, stepping toward the door. “That’s Selina for you. She doesn’t do anything halfway for the people she cares about.”

Edward swallows hard, slipping the phone into his pocket as they step outside. The air feels lighter somehow, and he wonders if it’s the phone, the gesture, or the growing sense of connection weaving through his fractured life.

As they head down the street, the phone vibrates against his leg, a series of rapid notifications lighting up the screen. “What the—?” he mutters, pulling it out to see a cascade of messages filling the screen.

Ahead of him, Crosby glances back, laughter bubbling from his chest. “Oh, right. Forgot to mention—welcome to the group chat. Holly and Selina don’t exactly believe in moderation.”

Edward stares at the phone, squinting at the endless string of messages. “A group chat?” he says, his voice laced with both dread and mild amusement. “Fantastic. Just what I need—another place to be publicly roasted.”

“Get used to it, genius.” Crosby smirks, hands shoved in his pockets as he walks ahead. “They’re relentless. They won’t hold back.”

Still fumbling with the phone, Edward shakes his head, muttering under his breath. “I was better off when my old phone barely worked.” Despite his complaint, a faint smile tugs at his lips as he hesitantly types a thank-you message to Selina. The words feel awkward, but they’re heartfelt, and he presses send before he can overthink it.

Ahead, Crosby calls over his shoulder, his tone brisk. “Come on, genius. We’ve got more errands to run. Bookstore first, then a suit shop. Formal event at the club coming up. And while we’re at it, maybe we’ll find something sharp for you—for your date tonight.”

Sliding the phone back into his pocket, Edward picks up his pace to catch up. “A suit? What, you think Selina’s expecting me to show up dressed like her old friend Bruce Wayne?” His voice drips with sarcasm, but there’s an undercurrent of genuine uncertainty.

Crosby raises an eyebrow, smirking as they fall into step together. “Do you really want to show up looking like a guy who just rolled out of bed? Trust me—a suit’ll do you some favors.”

Edward frowns, his skepticism plain. “I can’t even afford this stuff. I can’t let you keep buying things for me.”

Waving off the protest, Crosby lets out a dry laugh. “Please. Selina’s basically the sugar mom for all of us. We’re set for a while, and if this job goes as planned, we’ll be set for life.”

Tilting his head, Edward narrows his eyes. “Then why do you even have a job?”

Crosby huffs, rolling his shoulders as they cross the street. “Because I’ve got a judge to impress if I ever want more custody of my daughter. Gotta prove I’m turning things around.”

The answer makes Edward pause, his curiosity sharpening. “And the job helps with that?”

“Yeah,” Crosby says, nodding. “It’s steady. It shows I’m meeting people, making connections, doing something honest. The judge doesn’t exactly love the idea of me mooching off Selina.” He gives Edward a pointed look, a teasing grin curling his lips. “Unlike some people.”

Edward raises his hands defensively. “Hey, I didn’t ask for all this. She just keeps... helping.”

“That’s Selina for you,” Crosby says, his tone softening. “She sees potential in people, even when they don’t see it in themselves. Don’t worry—you’ll pay her back. In your own way.”

Exhaling deeply, Edward lets his shoulders relax slightly, the weight of the day momentarily easing. “I guess.”

Clapping him on the back, Crosby gestures toward the row of shops ahead. “Come on. Let’s get you suited up. Big night ahead, and trust me—you’re gonna want to look like you belong by Selina Kyle’s side.”

The words hit harder than Edward expects, but he swallows the lump forming in his throat and follows, keeping pace with Crosby as they approach a sleek boutique. Inside, the store smells of cedar and leather, with racks of tailored suits arranged under soft lighting that feels more like an art gallery than a clothing shop. Everything about the place radiates expense.

Edward waits by the entrance, his gaze darting over the polished mannequins and perfectly pressed fabrics. “Are you sure about this?” he mutters, his unease plain as he trails behind Crosby.

“Relax, genius,” Crosby says with a smirk, leading the way to the formalwear section. “You’ve got the haircut. Now you just need the rest of the package.”

Before Edward can voice another protest, a young woman in a sharp black blazer approaches. Her confident stride and practiced smile are disarming, but Edward stiffens instinctively as her gaze flicks between him and Crosby.

“Hi there!” she greets brightly. “Looking for something special today?”

Crosby gestures toward Edward, his smirk widening. “My buddy here’s got a big date tonight. Needs a suit that’ll leave an impression.”

Her smile broadens, her eyes sparkling with curiosity and a touch of mischief as she sizes Edward up. “A big date, huh? Let’s make sure you’re dressed to impress.” Tilting her head slightly, she adds with a teasing lilt, “And here I thought you were one of those rugged types who’d skip the suit altogether.”

Edward feels his cheeks flush under her scrutiny, his discomfort obvious. “I, uh, don’t usually do this kind of thing.”

Her laugh is light and easy as she steps back, beckoning him to follow. “That’s why I’m here. Don’t worry—we’ll find something perfect. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

As she rifles through racks with practiced ease, the salesperson pulls out options, her movements confident and precise. Crosby leans casually against a nearby display, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Looks like the fan club just added a new member,” he mutters under his breath.

Edward shoots him a sharp glare, his irritation simmering just beneath the surface. “Not funny.”

“Oh, it’s hilarious,” Crosby replies, his smirk widening as he gestures for Edward to relax. “Just go with it, genius.”

The woman returns moments later, holding up a sharp charcoal gray suit. She positions it in front of Edward, her smile bright and encouraging. “This one’s perfect—classic, sophisticated, with just enough edge to turn heads. It’ll definitely catch her eye.”

Edward hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line. But her enthusiasm, paired with Crosby’s insistent smirk, leaves him with little choice. “Fine,” he mutters, disappearing into the fitting room with the suit draped over his arm.

When he steps out, the salesperson tilts her head, her sharp eyes assessing him critically. She taps her chin thoughtfully. “It’s good, but it’s not perfect. Let’s go for something timeless—classic black. It’s sharper, more confident, and works for every occasion. Trust me, it’ll suit you better.”

From his perch against a rack, Crosby nods in agreement. “She’s got a point. A black suit never misses.”

Edward groans softly but takes the sleek black suit she hands him. The fabric is rich, smooth, with a faint sheen that speaks of understated elegance. “Alright, I’ll give it a try,” he mutters, disappearing once again behind the curtain.

When he emerges, the transformation is immediate. The salesperson’s face lights up, her excitement palpable. “Now that’s the one,” she says, stepping closer to adjust the fit on his shoulders. “Bold, polished, and with just enough edge to show you mean business.”

Crosby straightens, giving Edward an appraising look. “Yeah, that’s it. You’re finally looking like someone Selina might actually want to show off.”

Edward tugs at the cuffs, rolling his eyes as he glances at his reflection in the mirror. “Can we just buy it and call it a day?”

“Not so fast,” the salesperson interjects, her tone playful but firm. She holds up a handful of ties, each draped over her arm. “The suit’s the foundation, but the tie is where you add personality. Let’s find the perfect one to seal the deal.”

She spreads them out on the counter: sleek black, deep burgundy, a subtle silver-gray, and a striking emerald green. “Which one speaks to you?” she asks, her tone inviting.

Edward stares at the options, clearly overwhelmed. “Uh... I have no idea.”

The salesperson’s smile softens as she picks up the green tie. “What color are her eyes?” she asks, her voice gentle but pointed.

Edward freezes, the question catching him off guard. He swallows hard, his voice dropping. “Green,” he says quietly. “Like... emeralds.”

The words feel heavier than he expects, his mind immediately conjuring the memory of Selina’s piercing gaze. He can almost see her in the dim glow of last night, her eyes locking onto his, holding him in place with an intensity that left him breathless. Heat rises to his cheeks as the memory settles over him, vivid and unshakable.

“Then this is the one,” the salesperson declares, holding the tie against the black suit. “This’ll make her melt.”

Crosby raises an eyebrow, his smirk tinged with curiosity as he notices Edward’s far-off expression. “Still with us, genius?”

Clearing his throat, Edward nods quickly, his tone clipped. “Yeah. The tie’s fine.”

Crosby chuckles knowingly. “Good choice. Trust me—Selina’s going to notice.”

The salesperson folds the suit with care, tucking the tie neatly into the bag before handing it over with a satisfied smile. “All set. You’re going to knock her socks off.”

Edward takes the bag, his grip tentative as he sneaks a glance at Crosby. “Thanks, I guess,” he mutters, his voice quieter than usual.

Crosby claps him on the shoulder, the gesture firm but encouraging. “Good work, genius. You might actually pull this off.”

As they step out of the store and onto the bustling street, Edward’s gaze drifts to his reflection in a nearby shop window. Though he’s still wearing his usual clothes, the promise of the suit in the bag gives him a moment of pause. For the first time, the thought of stepping into Selina’s world—if only for one night—feels a little less daunting.

Pulling out his new phone, Edward checks the time: 1:00 PM. The day is slipping by faster than he expected. Adjusting the shopping bag in his hand, he picks up his pace to catch Crosby, who strides ahead with casual ease.

“Where else do we need to go?” Edward asks, his tone edged with curiosity as he falls into step beside him.

Crosby gestures toward the street ahead, his voice steady. “The bookstore. I want to grab a mixology book—brushing up on recipes never hurts. And I promised Grace I’d find her something new to read. Thought it’d be a nice surprise when I see her next week.”

As they step into the bookstore, Edward takes in the familiar scent of paper and ink. The quiet ambiance wraps around him like a comforting blanket, a sharp contrast to the bustling city streets they’ve just left. His eyes drift across the shelves, the orderly spines offering a brief sense of calm. He’s always liked being surrounded by books. They hold knowledge, clarity, and a sense of control—qualities he admires. Books don’t talk back. They don’t judge.

But recently, Edward has found himself enjoying the company of people who do challenge him. The dynamic is new, and while it’s uncomfortable at times, there’s a strange satisfaction in it. Maybe this is what change feels like.

“What are you looking for?” Edward asks as Crosby scans the Bartending and Mixology section.

“Not sure yet,” Crosby replies, his eyes darting over the spines. “But I’ll know it when I see it.”

Edward lets Crosby be, his feet carrying him down the aisles without much thought. His fingers trail along the edges of the books, their cool, textured covers grounding him as he meanders. It isn’t until he glances up that he realizes where he’s ended up. The sign above reads: Romance.

Heat creeps up his neck as he freezes. Glancing around to ensure no one has noticed, he takes a cautious step forward, his eyes landing on a sleek book with a title that makes him falter: The Bedroom Blueprint: A Practical Guide to Pleasure.

The cover is minimalist, adorned with clean, geometric designs that mimic a literal blueprint. Edward’s fingers hover over the book, intrigue flickering in his mind. He’s always liked blueprints—logical, straightforward, and easy to follow. But this? This feels... different.

His hand finally settles on the book, and he pulls it from the shelf. At the end of the day, I really have no idea what I’m doing in bed, he thinks, his chest tightening slightly. Selina had assured him he’d been wonderful, but a nagging voice in the back of his mind whispers otherwise. What if she was just being nice? What if she didn’t want to hurt my ego?

The doubt gnaws at him, compelling him to crack the book open. The pages are filled with diagrams and practical explanations, the tone clinical yet approachable. It’s more detailed than he expected, and his face flushes as he skims through it. This is... educational, he thinks, his heart pounding faster the longer he reads.

“Reading up before the test, huh?” Crosby’s voice rumbles near his ear, making Edward jump so violently that the book nearly slips from his hands.

“Crosby!” Edward hisses, slamming the book shut. His glasses slip slightly down the bridge of his nose, and he pushes them back with a frustrated shove. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

Crosby leans against the shelf, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “Relax, genius. Just teasing. But I wasn’t expecting to find you in this section.” He raises an eyebrow, the smirk turning downright devilish. “So... were you a virgin before that night?”

Edward’s jaw tightens, his glare sharp. “Why does everyone assume that? Do I really give off a virgin vibe?”

“Kind of.” Crosby shrugs, clearly enjoying himself. 

Groaning, Edward runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he can’t seem to break. “For the record, no, I wasn’t. But it’s been years, okay? And if this thing with Selina is real, I just... I don’t want to screw it up.” His voice drops. “I’m not exactly the most experienced person, and I feel like I need to be better. For her. I don’t want to let her down.”

The smirk fades from Crosby’s face as he studies Edward. Clearing his throat, Crosby picks up the book, flipping through the pages with a casual air. “Not that it’s any of my business—because it’s really not—but Selina did mention something about you... scratching the itch.”

Edward’s head snaps up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “She said that?”

“Well, not in those exact words,” Crosby admits, smirking again as he hands the book back. “But she seemed happy enough. You’re doing fine, genius.”

Edward exhales, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “You think so?”

With a casual shrug, Crosby steps back, gesturing toward the register. “A little studying never hurt anyone. If this’ll help you get out of your head and focus on what really matters, go for it. Hell, I’ll even buy it for you. Call it an investment in your future success.”

Edward blinks, startled by the gesture. “You’d actually do that?”

Crosby grins, his confidence unwavering as he snatches the book and tucks it under his arm. “Sure. Selina deserves the best, doesn’t she? And if this helps you stop second-guessing yourself, it’s worth every penny.”

A faint smile tugs at Edward’s lips, reluctant but genuine. “Thanks, Cros. I mean it.”

“Don’t get sappy on me now,” Crosby teases as they stroll toward the checkout. “Think of it as you owing me one.” His smirk widens as he places his own selections on the counter—a glossy mixology book and a bright, colorful storybook clearly meant for Grace.

Standing beside him, Edward watches the cashier ring up their purchases. An unfamiliar warmth blooms in his chest, something he’s not entirely comfortable with: gratitude. Crosby’s jabs are relentless, but beneath the rough exterior lies an unexpected kindness. Edward can’t remember the last time someone extended a hand without ulterior motives. 

After paying, Crosby hands Edward the bag containing his book. “There you go, genius. Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

Edward shakes his head, unable to suppress a chuckle. “You’re not as bad as you want people to think, you know.”

“Keep that to yourself,” Crosby says with mock seriousness. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

As they step outside, the sunlight bathes the sidewalk in a golden warmth. The hum of the city fills the air, blending with the distant chatter of passersby. Edward feels an odd calm settle over him, a reprieve from the chaos that usually clings to his every step.

“So,” Crosby says, nudging him with an elbow, “what’s the plan for tonight? Or are you just winging it?”

Edward rubs his side where Crosby jabbed him, shooting him a mildly annoyed glance. “She mentioned making dinner and watching a movie... Dirty Dancing, I think? Never seen it.”

Crosby raises an eyebrow, nodding approvingly. “Classic romance. My wife used to love that movie—it’s actually pretty good. You might even learn a thing or two.”

A flicker of uncertainty crosses Edward’s face. “Dinner, though... what are we even going to make? I haven’t checked her fridge, so I have no idea what’s in there.”

Crosby laughs, shaking his head. “We’ll stop somewhere on the way back. Selina loves catfish. If you want to impress her, go with that—it’s one of her favorites.”

“I love catfish!” Edward’s eyes light up, his enthusiasm slipping past his usual composure. “People act like it’s a garbage fish, but it’s seriously underrated.” 

“Then it’s settled,” Crosby says with a grin. “We’ll grab what you need, and you’ll dazzle her with your culinary skills—or, at the very least, not set the kitchen on fire.”

“I’m an excellent cook, I’ll have you know.” Edward raises his chin, mock indignation in his tone. “It’s probably why my brain is so sharp. All those nutritious meals.”

“Alright, Top Chef, let’s get moving. Car’s this way.”

They reach the car, loading their bags into the back seat. Edward moves toward the passenger side, but stops short when Crosby suddenly freezes. His easy demeanor vanishes, replaced by something taut and watchful. His eyes lock onto a figure across the street—a man standing by the curb, his posture stiff.

“You alright?” Edward asks, his hand resting on the door handle.

Crosby shakes his head slightly, brushing off the question. “Yeah. Totally fine.” His tone is clipped, his focus unbroken. Tossing the keys to Edward, he adds, “Start the car. I’ll be right back.”

Before Edward can respond, Crosby strides away, his movements sharp and purposeful. Edward watches him cross the lot, heading straight for the man on the sidewalk. There’s tension in his steps, something that sets Edward’s nerves on edge.

“What the hell is he doing now?” Edward mutters, closing the car door softly. Curiosity gnaws at him, and he finds himself trailing after Crosby, keeping a safe distance. His steps are measured, his posture casual, as though he’s just another pedestrian. He angles himself behind a parked car, far enough to avoid detection but close enough to catch fragments of the exchange.

As Edward moves closer, the muted voices sharpen, and he can make out Crosby’s words. The older man standing across from him has a guarded posture, his arms crossed tightly, but Crosby’s tone is laced with raw desperation.

“Please, David,” Crosby says, his voice low but pleading. His hands clasp together like a man praying for a miracle. “Let me see my baby girl. I’ve got a job now, a stable home. I’ve turned things around. Twice a month isn’t enough—I need more time with her.”

Edward halts a few steps away, his eyes narrowing as the pieces fall into place. This must be David, Crosby’s father-in-law, the man with full custody of Grace. He can feel the tension radiating from them.

David sighs heavily, his expression softening just enough to show he isn’t unmoved, though his stance remains firm. “Crosby, I can see you’re trying. And I appreciate that—you moving down here shows a lot. But you can’t just erase what happened. You can’t undo the years you weren’t there.”

From where Edward stands, the slope of Crosby’s shoulders makes it clear the words hit hard. His head dips slightly, a defeated sag in his frame that Edward hadn’t seen before. David’s voice isn’t cruel, but the steel in his tone carries an air of finality. He isn’t budging, and Edward can sense it as if it were a lock clicking into place.

Then Crosby speaks again, his voice cracking at the edges. “I know I can’t change the past. I’ll never stop regretting what happened, but I’m doing better now, David. Please, let me do better for her.” He pauses, the name catching like glass in his throat. “You know Sarah would’ve wanted that.”

David’s face flickers with emotion at the mention of his daughter, his resolve shifting just slightly. Edward notices the hesitation, the barely perceptible crack in his armor, and something clicks in his mind.

Before the moment slips away, Edward steps forward with an easy, confident smile. “Ah, so this must be the world-famous David I’ve heard so much about,” he says smoothly, extending a hand. “What a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Both men turn, surprise flashing across their faces. Crosby’s eyes widen, panic flashing briefly as though Edward is about to make things worse, while David regards him with caution. “And you are...?” he asks, his tone sharp but curious.

Feigning mild embarrassment, Edward chuckles and retrieves the business card from his pocket—the one Crosby handed him during the jewelry store job. “Oh, of course, forgive my manners. Edward Brookelny, psychology professor at Metropolis University,” he says, holding up the card. “I’ve been working with Crosby for a little over a month now. Helping him process the loss of his wife and take steps to improve his life for Grace’s sake.”

David blinks, his furrowed brow easing slightly as he glances back at Crosby, who looks like he’s just been tossed into an improv scene without a script. “I didn’t know Crosby was seeing a psychologist,” David says, his tone a mix of skepticism and intrigue.

With a practiced air of sincerity, Edward steps closer, his voice warm and professional. “Ah, yes, Crosby wanted to tell you in person—which is why I’m here. It’s not often I travel, but I happened to be visiting an old friend in town and thought I’d meet Crosby in person while exploring your lovely community. Truly charming, I must say.”

Edward smiles, slipping an arm casually around Crosby’s shoulders, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Most of my classes are online these days, so I get to avoid the chaos of city life—well, except for the occasional run-in with Justice League antics.” He waves a hand dismissively, his tone light but authoritative.

David regards him carefully, his skepticism softening into consideration. “And you’re saying Crosby’s been... improving?” he asks, his eyes narrowing slightly as though weighing Edward’s words.

“Remarkably so,” Edward replies without hesitation. “His dedication to bettering himself and creating a stable environment for Grace is nothing short of inspiring. I can say with confidence that he’s committed to being the father she needs.”

Crosby clears his throat, finally catching up to the act. “It’s true, David. Edward’s been a big help—keeps me on track, gives me tools to work through things. I wanted you to hear it from someone qualified.”

David’s gaze flicks between them both, his guarded expression betraying the faintest hint of uncertainty. For a long moment, he says nothing, the weight of his thoughts hanging in the air. Finally, he exhales slowly, his stance relaxing just enough. “Well, I’ll admit... I didn’t expect this.”

“Progress takes time, David.” Edward’s smile widens, though his tone remains calm, measured. “Every step forward matters.” His gaze shifts briefly to Crosby, his expression softening. “And Crosby’s been taking those steps.”

A beat of silence settles between the three men. David’s eyes flick between Edward and Crosby, scrutinizing them both as if searching for cracks in their sincerity. For the first time since Edward has known him in these few short days, Crosby looks uneasy. His usual bravado is replaced by a faint, twitchy smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the kind of expression that makes even Edward’s skin prickle with secondhand discomfort.

Sensing the tension, Edward pulls out his phone, slipping easily into the role of the ever-busy professional. He presses the device to his ear, pretending to answer a call as he steps back, creating a bubble of privacy for Crosby. “If you’ll excuse me,” he says with a polite nod to David, his voice effortlessly smooth. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.” The charm in his tone contrasts with the slight falter in his expression as he turns away.

Edward paces near the car, phone held to his ear as he carries on a convincing, animated conversation with no one. His gaze, however, never strays far from the two men. He observes their body language carefully—Crosby’s slouched shoulders, David’s guarded stance. The older man’s posture suggests reluctance, but there’s something softer beneath it, a hint of consideration that wasn’t there before.

David exhales deeply, the sound heavy with thought. “Alright, Crosby,” he begins, his voice quieter now, almost reluctant. “Since you’re clearly making an effort and even getting professional help...” He trails off, his eyes narrowing slightly as though weighing his next words. “I’ll take a step, too. I’ve got a meeting with the judge coming up. Maybe I can propose something—like a week at a time. See how it goes. If that works out, we’ll start talking about shared custody. But no guarantees.”

Crosby doesn’t hesitate, clasping David’s extended hand with both of his. “Thank you, David,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. “I swear, I won’t let you—or Grace—down. I’m going to keep working at this. And Edward...” His voice trails off as he glances toward the car, where Edward continues his “animated” phone conversation. “He’s someone I’m learning to depend on.”

David pats Crosby on the back, his firm demeanor softening. “Good. We’ll stay in touch.” With a final nod, David turns and disappears into the crowd, leaving Crosby standing alone for a moment.

Relief rushes through Crosby like a breaking wave. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself before turning back toward the car. 

Edward, still pacing dramatically with the phone pressed to his ear, notices Crosby’s approach and quickly “ends” the call with an exaggerated sigh. “All sorted,” he says with a crooked grin. “So... how’d it go?”

Before Edward can fully process what’s happening, Crosby closes the distance and pulls him into a bear hug, his arms wrapping around him tightly. Edward freezes, his hands awkwardly hovering midair as Crosby’s grip locks him in place. A couple of tears streak down Crosby’s face, but he quickly swipes them away with the sleeve of his jacket.

“Thank you,” Crosby says, his voice thick with emotion as he pulls back just enough to look Edward in the eye. “What you just did... you have no idea how much that means to me.”

Edward blinks, stunned by the raw gratitude in Crosby’s tone. A faint blush creeps up his neck, and he awkwardly pats Crosby’s shoulder. “You said I owed you one,” he mutters, his tone quieter now. “This seemed like the least I could do.”

Crosby laughs, a deep, almost disbelieving sound, as he tries to compose himself. “Yeah, well... consider the debt paid. Ten times over. Seriously, Edward. I don’t get people going out of their way like that for me. Not often. Not ever.”

“Let’s just say I’ve had enough people go out of their way to make my life worse.” Edward shrugs, his smirk faint but genuine. “Figured it was time I tried the opposite.”

“You’re alright, genius.” Crosby claps him on the shoulder, his trademark grin returning. “Better than alright.”

“Don’t get sappy on me now,” Edward retorts, stepping toward the car and tossing his suit bag into the back seat. “We’ve still got groceries to buy. Selina’s not going to be impressed with an empty fridge.”

“Fair enough.” Crosby chuckles, wiping traces of tears from his face as he climbs into the driver’s seat. “But seriously, Ed... thanks.”

Settling into the passenger seat, Edward leans back, an unspoken sense of accomplishment settling over him like a warm coat. Crosby starts the car, giving Edward a quick fist bump as they pull out of the parking lot.

“You’re a good friend,” Crosby says suddenly, his tone sincere as he glances at Edward.

Feeling something unusual, Edward's head tilts, his brows lifting slightly. The word echoes in his mind, unfamiliar but oddly comforting. “Friend,” he repeats softly, almost to himself. The weight of it is heavier than he expected but not unwelcome.

“You good, genius?” 

Edward swallows, the corners of his mouth twitching upward into a small smile. “Yeah,” he says, his voice softer than usual. “It’s just... no one’s ever called me a friend before.” He pauses, his face flushing slightly as he adds, “Besides Selina, whatever we are.”

Crosby grins, his gaze fixed on the road. “Well, you’ve got one now. And soon enough, you’ll have Holly and the rest of us in your corner. Hell, poker night’s officially open to you. Trust me, Edward, when you decide to change for the better, good things start happening.”

He stares out the window, Crosby’s words settling somewhere deep within him. His thoughts drift to the changes in his life: Selina’s faith in him, Holly’s tentative acceptance, and now Crosby calling him a friend. It feels fragile, but for once, he doesn’t feel the urge to sabotage it.

“Better things,” he murmurs, the words carrying a sense of hope he hasn’t felt in years.

“Damn right, genius.” Crosby glances at him, his grin widening. “Now let’s grab those groceries before your big night. You’ve got a date to knock out of the park.”

As the car weaves through the city streets, Edward’s small but genuine smile lingers. For the first time in a long time, the future feels just a little brighter. 

[daisychains111]

live "tweet" books with me (via the Goodreads progress bar) pt. 6 A Court of Silver Flames by Sarah J. Maas

SHAMELESS PLUG: The rest of the books are on my page as pt 4/4.5 and pt 5 hehe

Nesta laughing at the cauldron is so badass oml.....she was really pissing me off in frost and starlight so this book better redeem her"

you're reading my mind cassian...man up and knock

is he gonna call her nes the whole book YES PEASE

 Nesta "You're not my high lord" Archeron back in action

hahahaha rhys is scared of nesta (for good reason but it's still funny)

I still say that Nesta and Mor are gonna be besties.... it's just a matter of time

HAHAHA self insert smut book shaming

damn Cass brutal as hell

I am beyond excited to watch these two losers lust after each other for the next 700 pages...my favorite annoyances to lovers....plus Cass drooling over Nesta in pants is HILARIOUS

cassian comparing his reactions to things that happened to Nesta to Rhys' reaction to feyre and Tamlin cracks me up....just patiently waiting for their mating bond to kick in

Eris is right, they need him...but 1 he doesn't need to be a dick about it, and 2. I'm not excited for Mor to find out

Nesta making fun of her celibate bat boy "making fun of my smut books? I raise you making fun of you having to jerk off yourself" ICON

how Az isn't laughing his ass off rn I will never know...he's stronger than me that's for sure

hmmmmmm....Nesta dear, that sounds suspiciously like a mating bond

these mf have dirty ass minds....they're really just horny af

cassian don't be a creeper

yes Cassian be very bashful about what the sentient house can see...ya nasty

I would choose to read books with a romantic subplot over just a plain romance book literally every day but sometimes I'm really just like "fuck your war go kiss"

hehe Nesta and Gwen bestie prediction

I love the house so much...such an instigator

OMG JUST KISS ALREADY WTF

choosing to ignore the length of Cassian's hair bc long hair is an ick

AHHHH HIM TELLING HER TO KEEP REACHING OUT HER HAND JUST LIKE MOR TOLD HIM TO DO WITH HER IS ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL...IM SOBBING

I'm really ready for the Archeron sisters to be on one team...this 2 vs 1 bullshit is stupid...like clearly you love each other

YYAAAYYY KISSIINNGGG

YAYA RHYS AND FEYRE BABY!!! I saw that coming from a millleeeeee away

that is gonna be the most spoiled child known to man

reading this in the library at school is an interesting choice

"Just sex," my ass

azrial is the worst chaperone in all of existence... but he's also clearly the biggest Cassian/Nesta shipper in existence, so it's fine... Also, the way he just knowingly ate at the table after what they did is BOLD

awwww smutty book club

the older sister disapproval is real...also Nesta calling Rhys Rhysand is hilarious

I love Emerie and Gwyn so much omg

Emerie and Gwyn giggling at the sword inuendos is peak bestie vibe energy

every once in a while the Archeron sisters will say something very "human girl in her 20s" and it cracks me up to no end to watch their centuries-old faerie boyfriends look at them as if they're speaking tongues

just admit you're in love with each other..." just sex" is just hurting both of you

that is just about the hottest thing I've ever read

ewwww what does Tamlin want

Nesta needs a pin that says "bitch and proud" bc she really owns that shit like no other

"your my friend" my absolute ass

I love dancer!Nesta

bc I haven't read in like 5 days I can't remember what plan Cassian is ruining rn but I'm glad he's doing it...go dance with your girl pookie

HE HAD MOR GIVE HIM DANCE LESSONS??!!?!? YOU SHUT UP RIGHT NOW

Rhys is good at his job bc he can have feyre AND Cassian freaking out at him in his head and still hold a conversation....live laugh love feyre and Cassian as the Nesta Archeron protection squad

ha ha az...can't hide that you are in love with Elain from Nesta, she sees all

Az getting Nesta a gift is the cutest thing ever

FUCKING FINALLY JESUS CHRIST 🤦🏽‍♀️

Cassian has the confidence of an actual doormat...sometimes it's sweet, sometimes it's annoying as hell

YAY THEY'RE MATES....BOOO THEY'RE STUPID

I love Gwen so much...that's all

THEY'RE GONNA WIN THE WHOLE THING I JUST KNOW

hehe her mate taught her 😊

there is a little too much plot happening right now for a book that only has 30 pages left

cracking jokes after you almost just died...Cassian I love you

OH GOOD GOD FEYRE

death pacts make me want to kill the people who made them

miracle magic objects are gonna miracle magic object now and bc Nesta's a badass everyone's gonna live...the end

YAY NESTA AND RHYS ARE GONNA BE BESTIESSS

awwwwww nyx

if I die never knowing what happened with Eris and Mor I'll kill Sarah myself (I never got to know)

(Afterthought in post-production: this could've been two books bc the way the plot was resolved in the last 30 pages of a 750-page book is WILD)

I'm also not gonna be reading fantasy for a while just bc that's not what's next on the tbr, so it might be a while before I do the next part cause these are harder to make for contemporary novels tehe

[no-thoughts-only-soup]

Recreyo has become my hyperfixation (again) and I can’t stop thinking about the SCP eps. So enjoy some writing!

Edit: FUCKING DAMMIT I SCREWED UP HIS NAME

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

——————

Curt started asking questions after the second test.

Truth to be told, he’d been having odd feelings about the whole thing from the beginning, but he’d kinda brushed them off. Chilly not being in the cell with the others was something he couldn’t brush off though. The others told him one of the scientists, accompanied by a bunch of guards, had asked her to come with them. Christian had a bad feeling and tried telling them to fuck off, but they reassured them nothing would happen to her.

The biggest reason it was so odd though, is that he hadn’t been informed about any of this.

He had been in charge of the chaotic group for two tests and he had known them for much longer. That they had chosen not to tell him was… kind of weird.

Which is why he flagged down an A-Class personnel.

“Oi, I just heard Chilly was moved elsewhere. What happened?”

The man in front of him raised an eyebrow. Curt sighed.

“Chilly Panda, girl with the panda hat, pretty dumb and loud, you know, the girl I’ve been in charge of?”

“Oh, miss Panda. I had assumed you’d been informed.”

“Well clearly I haven’t. Where is she?”

For a moment, the man was silent. Finally, he clasped his hands behind his back. On the name tag, Curt could read: ‘Jonathan Snee’.

“New evidence has brought to light that miss Panda couldn’t possibly be responsible for the c-18 incident. As such, she was found innocent by the court, and as we only employ death row inmates as D-Class personnel - and we do have morals, unlike what some people might say - we gave her the choice to either continue working for us as C-Class Personnel or leave the Foundation entirely. Evidently, she choose the latter.”

Those words felt like a slap across the face. Or a punch to the gut.

“She… left us?”

Sure, Chilly could be an asshole sometimes, just like all of them, and at first glance abandoning them to save her own skin would be in line with her.

Except.

“She didn’t even come to say goodbye…”

Chilly would have informed them. Maybe come back to the cell, mocking them. At the very least send them a letter or call. To just disappear on them felt… wrong.

“I’m sorry Richy, but that is what she choose.”

Curt ran a hand through his hair, underneath his cap, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

“N-no, she wouldn’t. She’s a jerk but she wouldn’t…”

Snee interrupted him harshly. “Then I guess you didn’t know her as well as you thought.”

That stung, although stung was an understatement. It felt like getting stabbed by Den.

“Now then, are there any more questions you have for me?” Snee asked.

With a deep breath, Curt tried his best to swallow the feelings of betrayal down and looked at Snee.

“Yes, sir. I was wondering… why are my only assignments related to my fr- squad D-45?”

Snee cocked his head slightly. “You have no other tasks?”

“I-I do, but they’re all… paperwork that literally could be done by any C-Class Personnel. I’m B-Class, shouldn’t I be having more responsibilities? Why don’t I get to lead more squads or tests, why—“

He cut himself off upon seeing the dark look in Snee’s eyes. It was accompanied by a threatening, powerful aura, that pressed down on him like a large rock.

“Mr Richy.” Snee began, tone coated with warning. “You should do best to remember that a B-Class Personnel is to take orders from A-Class Personnel without question. A-Class is not obligated to disclose all information, and you should trust that it isn’t without a good reason. Some things are better left unknown, especially in this facility, where even knowledge can be dangerous to your health. Please trust that we know what we are doing and are doing it to protect both humans and SCPs.”

He took a step forward, and Curt had to use every nerve in his body to avoid stepping backwards. Thankfully, Snee’s glare became less harsh.

“You are a valued member of B-Class personnel, Richy. And I’d like to keep it that way. Now, are there any questions left you want to ask?”

The unspoken was clear.

“N-no Sir.”

“Good.” Snee nodded, then took a folder from his jacket, handing it to him. “I have a new assignment from you. Be careful, this assignment involves SCP-173. Be sure to evacuate to your designated area in case of containment breach.”

Curt took the file, flipping through it, noting that it involved his friends again.

“Yes sir.”

Snee almost turned around there and then, but stopped himself.

“Oh, one more thing. I have taken the liberty to replace one of your squad members. Her name is Kristine. Be sure to treat her like you treat the other D-Class in your squad.”

Frowning, Curt flipped a little further to see a photo of a girl with flowers in her hair.

“What’s she in for?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“An incident we believe is related to the C-18 case.”

The tone in Snee’s voice indicated he wasn’t going to reveal much more on the subject, so Curt merely nodded and closed the folder, putting it under his arm. “I will gather a few guards and D-45 and head to the assignment immediately, sir.”

Snee gave a nod. “Excellent. You are doing very well, Richy. I hope the rest of A-Class notices your efforts too and give you a raise.” He complimented, but for whatever reason, it felt empty.

“Thank you, sir.” Curt managed to get out.

Snee turned around and walked away, leaving Curt with his thought. He took a deep breath and headed the other way. Dawdling wouldn’t help him right now. He would deal with this later.

[theunbonded]

6

Any celebratory feelings from passing the Gauntlet disappeared as we progressed through Presentation. 

I was always told it would be a feeling, an attraction that connected you with the dragon you were meant to bond with. When my father walked this path on his own Presentation day, he knew immediately which dragon would be his. 

But as I walked past the colorful array of red and blue and green dragons, I felt nothing. 

For the first time since entering Basgiath, an inkling of doubt creeped at the back of my brain.

Immediately, I shoved that feeling to the back of my head and locked it in a mental drawer. I would not show weakness in front of the dragons. Besides, today was for them to inspect us, not the other way around. At Threshing we would find our bonded pair. 

Was I really supposed to know my dragon after one look at them?

I survived Presentation, which is more than some of my squadmates could say, and ventured back out onto the flight field. Instead of listening to the rest of them talk about which dragons had caught their attention, since I guess they got a feeling, I searched for Garrick’s tall form amongst the riders. 

He was right where we had left him, giving out instructions on what to do during Presentation to a squad from Third Wing. He looked down his nose at a first-year, who must have asked him a stupid question, since Garrick’s response made the cadet turn red in the face. The squad left and I approached before he had to give out instructions to the next group. 

“Can you meet me tonight?” I asked him, forgoing pleasantries. We had never used them before so why start now.

“Finally decided to admit your feelings for me?” He didn’t even look up from the parchment he held, crossing off the name of the squad that just went up.

“I need a release.”

Garrick jerked his head up. “I was kidding, Capplynger.”

“On the mat, Tavis. I need to let off some energy with someone who can keep up. Are you free or not?”

His eyes wandered up and down my body. Each spot his gaze touched burned. “Are you sure? You just went up the Gauntlet, and you should let your body-”

“I can ask Riorson if you’re just going to baby me. Heard that the cut on your face was from him. Does he always win when you fight?” I cocked my head at him to see if he would take the bait.

He glowered at me. “I’ll be there.”

⤧⤧⤧

A thick glob of blood sat in the back of my throat, and I spat it onto the mat. It shined like a ruby in the dim lighting, a puddle of the deepest red. 

“Stop holding back, Tavis. Hit me like you mean it.” I ran my tongue across my teeth, hoping that they hadn’t been stained red. It was hard work keeping them pearly white and intact as a rider.

Garrick looked at me incredulously. “We go any harder, you’re going to pass out.”

“I can take it,” I snarled. 

Time had blurred together since after Presentation. We still had some of our afternoon classes, then dinner, and then squad training. All the while, a deep rage had brewed inside of me. Everyone talked about the dragons that they had seen and felt a connection with. How did the other first-years, who couldn’t keep up with me in the classroom or on the mat, already have an inkling of who they would bond with? That should be me. I was the best in our year. I should be the one talking about my dragon.

I didn't know how long Garrick and I had been sparring. It could have been hours or minutes. My body ached all over, like it was one giant bruise, and sweat filled every crevice. I was swaying on my feet, but I was still angry. That meant I needed to stay on the mat. Needed to get it out of my system until I was whittled down to nothing. Only then could I start to rebuild again.

“What happened, Capplynger? You’re normally not this stupid.”

Red filled my vision, and I charged, forgetting years of training and the fact he was almost twice my size. 

Garrick twisted out of my assault, grabbing my arm while sticking his leg out to trip me onto the floor. He fell with me, and his palm covered the back of my head to protect it from hitting the ground. He had me pinned underneath him, and when I raised my arms to try and do something, anything, he quickly grabbed them and trapped them above my head. 

“You of all people know better than to act on emotion, Capplynger. You know how important it is to keep your body in good shape, especially with Threshing coming up. Yet we ended up here. What happened?” In close proximity, I could smell the faint remnant of eucalyptus on his skin, sharp and herbal. 

“Get off me.” I tried to buck my hips, but he didn’t budge.

“Not until you tell me why I’m here tonight.” His voice was low, softer than he’s ever used with me. “

“The dragons,” I said as an explanation. This close, it seemed like there were three Garricks in front of me, six hazel eyes trying to dig into the trenches of my soul. I blinked to clear my head.

“What about the dragons, Capplynger?” Patience was a virtue Garrick Tavis seemed to have plenty of. 

“I didn’t feel a connection with any of them.” 

He paused at my confession, and then laughed. “That’s what upset you? That you didn’t know your dragon after Presentation?”

The pit of anger inside me had been given fuel. “Get off me, Tavis.”

“No one knows their dragon after Presentation. Why are you getting so upset over something so trivial?”

I began in earnest to get out from underneath him. Wriggling and squirming, I attempted to dislodge myself from his grip. He was right though; I was at a disadvantage with someone his size. My chest tightened. I was stuck in the same problem I had come to Garrick with in the first place.

If someone got me in this position, there would be no escape. 

“Let me out!” I yelled, and Garrick got up immediately. He scanned my face as he offered a hand to help me up, but I ignored it, choosing to stand on my own. My head felt separate from my body, and I staggered a couple of steps before I was able to right myself. 

“You don’t understand,” I spat at him. “I’m the best in my year. I should have walked in and known exactly which dragon I will be bonded with. That is who I am. I should not be worrying about Threshing, or that others know while I do not!”

He shook his head at me. I was starting to get really pissed when he did that. “Why is that even important? Most people are happy that they even survived up until this point.”

“Because I am the best!” I shouted. “There is no second-guessing for people like me!”

“People like you?” He took a menacing step towards me. “Do you mean people so obsessed with themselves and made-up titles that they focus on the wrong things?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Have you made a single ally here?” He yelled, his composure slipping. “I don’t even mean friend, since it seems like that word is foreign to you. You don’t have a single person in your corner to help you if something happens. Becoming the best has meant pushing everyone to the side for your own personal gain. That’s not what you’re supposed to be doing here.”

“And what am I supposed to be doing here?” I cocked my head at him.

“Finding people to have your back, because out there,” he jabbed a finger towards the window. “You can’t face them all on your own. That’s why we’re split into fucking squads, which you would know if you ever talked to yours.”

I took a step towards him, close enough where if he lost his temper again his spit would land on my face. “If you were as good as me, you would realize that spending time with those below you is a waste of time and energy.” I let myself look him up-and-down leisurely, and he clenched his fists when I reached his eyes with a smirk. “But I don’t think you’ll ever understand. A certain shadow wielder seems to always be one step ahead of you, Tavis.”

“Spoken like a true Capplynger.” He took a step back. “Go back to your bunk, Cadet, before I report you for breaking curfew.”

I gaped at him, and when I realized he had truly dismissed me, I stormed off the mat without a backwards glance. My anger was the only thing keeping me on my feet as I grabbed my belongings and exited the gym. 

The audacity of that man. How dare he speak to me like that. Sure, I wasn’t as close to my squad as they seemed to be with each other, but we were cordial. I didn’t need them to look after me; I was perfectly capable of handling myself. I knew my weaknesses and my strengths and how to keep myself from getting hurt. Garrick could go fuck himself for all I cared.

So engrossed in my thoughts, I didn’t notice the figure lurking in the shadows until a flash of silver passed my head, nicking my ear, and buried itself into the wall behind me. 

“Beatrice Capplynger.” The figure stepped out of the shadows, pulling two more daggers out of her sheafs. 

“Who the fuck are you?” 

She spat at me, and I recognized her as another first-year from Claw section. She was tall, lithe, and mediocre in classes, but she had won a fair share of her challenges. 

“It doesn’t matter. Get ready to say your goodbyes.” The girl threw another one of her dagger, rushing at me as I barely dodged it.

I grabbed my knife from my thigh and parried her attack. With the bottom of my boot, I kicked her stomach, sending her stumbling down the hall. 

This wasn’t Emetterio’s class. Weapons were in play, and she fully intended to kill me. 

I wasn’t going to let that happen.

I just wish I hadn’t exhausted myself. As she resumed her assault, I found my mind and body in disconnect, my limbs sluggish and moving a second after I needed them to. Although I was able to disarm her, she landed a nasty punch to my face. My head snapped to the side and she used the distraction to slam me into the wall. 

She ripped the knife out of my hand and attempted to jam it through my eye socket. I rolled away and the knife got stuck within the cracks of the stone. In her confusion I grabbed the back of her skull and smashed her forehead into the wall.

Blood splattered across the gray stone, and I slammed her once more for good measure before letting her body fall to the ground. Bending over her limp form, my fingers searched for a pulse and found a slight flutter at the base of her throat.

Footsteps echoed through the hall, and Garrick came running around the corner just as I was pulling my knife out of the wall. He quickly assessed the scene in front of him. 

“She’s not dead,” I said gruffly. “Guess I didn’t need those friends you were talking about.”

I walked out of the hall, trying to ignore the limp in my leg, the swelling that had started on my face, the blood slowly rolling down my ear. The tightness in my chest stayed well into the night, and I woke up with my hand still on the dagger underneath my pillowcase.

--

Masterlist

[foolishfoolsgold]

LORE💥💥💥

So I’m looking to get my fic printed when its done (and maybe but on a site too but we’ll see) and I have a big ass world building guide in there because I can’t be normal about anything! Here’s the section about common cell types that show up, all in black and white bc ooo official fancy. ID, mostly copy-pasted image text, below

[Start ID: first image showcases red blood cells and neutrophils alongside their real-life counterparts, reading “Red everything: cars, uniforms, markings, even their flagella are red more often than not. Membrane comes in shades of red or salmon. One of the two cell types not to have humanlike skin tones, the other being neutrophils. Red blood cells, also called erythrocytes (err-ITH-row-sites), are plentiful in the blood and function to exchange gases (02 and CO2) throughout the body. Then there’s an asterisk leading to: in the story, RBCs can be seen delivering nutrients as well, but it's not really in their job description. In real life, nutrients are just free in the blood plasma -which is nonexistent in the CaW world- and RBCs play no part in its distribution.” Reb blood cells have tails with two lobes at the end, long non frilled ears and their usual uniforms. For neutrophils, it says: “Black scleras. Handheld knives are their weapon of choice. Membrane can come in muted shades of blue or purple, but may be paper-white. Neutrophils are the most common type of white blood cell, taking up as much as 70% of immune cells in the blood. They will destroy bacteria or infected cells without selectivity.” Neutrophils also have their usual white uniforms and basic ears, but have skinnier tails with dorsal lobes.

The next image has killer T cells and neutrophils. Killer ts are anatomically similar to neutrophils but lack dorsal tail lobes. Text reads: “-Skinny tails with a pair of retractable stingers that can inject deadly perforin into victims. Markings are brown, black, or dark navy blue. Generally don't fight with weapons, prefer to use their tails or knee-jerk punches. Take their orders from helper T cells, who act as commanders. "Pack hunters" who form close bonds with their squadrons of about 6-10 cells, each led by an experienced squad leader. Killer Ts are lymphocytes born in the bone marrow and matured in the Thymus, where they face a rigorous selection process that primes them for targeted destruction of infected cells, cancer cells, and sometimes bacteria.” Eosinophils are also similar to neutrophils: “Wield two-pronged spears, the heads of which grow as proteins on the tips of their tails until they're ready to be changed out, keeping the weapon sharp and shiny. Pink uniforms and purple markings. Eyes have no scleras- the eye color, usually shades of purple, takes up the whole eye minus the pupils. Eosinophils aren't as swift as other non-selective WBCs with bacteria or viruses. They do, however, come into play during inflammation, allergic responses and parasitic infections.” The third image has B cells and macrophages. For B cells: “Fight using handheld bazookas or machine guns. Tons of bird inspiration because B cells were first discovered in chickens. Can't actually fly. B cells are especially important when it comes to known pathogens. During or after an infection, they're able to make antibodies to help speed up future encounters.” For macrophages, which have no legs and look a bit like Ursula body-plan wise, “Cephalopod-like body plan with long tentacles for snaring pathogens. Fight with giant cleavers and other heavy-duty melee weapons. Macrophages are one of the largest and most powerful non-selective immune cells and are very versatile. Along with nghting infections, they also help keep the body clean.” Next up are natural killer cells and dendritic cells. For NKs: “Four legs in a centauroid body plan. Green camo-style patterns. Have the most freedom of any immune cell when it comes to weapon choice. NK cells are "lone wolf" hunters who, like killer Ts, also use perforin stingers to take down all sorts of pathogens. They're not as supervised as killer Ts and act on their own judgement.” The bottom half of NK cells are clothed unlike traditional centaurs, and the top piece covers both the chest and front legs. For dendritic cells, “Also sport green markings. Generally calm and collected in the face of crisis. Often described as treelike, hence the plant features. Dendritic cells act as coordinators on the front lines of an infection. They also manage antigens (basically tangible memories of an attack that can set off a planned response in the future).” Lastly are enterocytes. Unlike in canon, they wear a scrub-like uniform with gloves and shoe bags. Also unlike previous cells, they have big frilled ears. Text reads: “Huge tails covered in microvilli. Enterocytes of the small intestine have bigger tails and pink patterns, while those of the large intestine have lighter tails and blue markings. Work in warehouses along the digestive canal. Usually have thick NYC accents. Also called intestinal epithelial cells, enterocytes work to extract raw nutrients from digested food and make it available to cells across the body.” End ID.]

[xenodile]

Goddess of Victory: Nikke - Story Recap

Chapter 6: Pilgrim - Part 2

Counters travels along the slope of a mountain, following Ludmilla's map to the first checkpoint. According to her intel, the Pilgrim in White should be passing by sometime today, so with luck, they'll be able to find her and make contact.

From here, the team has an excellent vantage point, and Rapi is about to suggest the team lie low and wait, when Neon points to something out in the snowfield below them. There, in the middle of the white expanse, a single humanoid figure stands, their back facing the team. Anis cautiously asks if that's the Pilgrim they're looking for, and Neon optimistically says it might. Even so, Anis is skeptical wondering aloud if they got lucky. The Commander can disagree, saying they deserve some good luck for once, or agree, saying that this feels too easy.

Anis asks if the Commander wants to call out to the figure, but Rapi cuts her off, asking for permission to open fire. Neon grins and welcomes Rapi to the Path of Firepower, but discourages her from shooting at people indiscriminately. Rapi interrupts her to point out there are no tracks around the distant, mysterious figure. Neon is a bit confused at first, but Anis concurs, noting that figure would have to have been trudging through deep snow but has left no footprints.

The Commander can rightly point out that this is clearly a trap...or suggest their mysterious Pilgrim might be a ghost, scaring Neon. Anis asks how a ghost could show up in broad daylight, and Neon says there's nothing saying ghosts can't show up during the day, which Anis cannot refute.

In either case, Rapi states that the situation is unsettling to say the least, and they should investigate and tread cautiously rather than charge in guns blazing.

No sooner does she that however, the distant figure explodes, a deafening crash resounding through the snowy valley, and snow around the squad begins to tumble and fall down the mountain. Another avalanche. Rapi immediately grabs the Commander's hand and shouts for everyone to run to cover. Anis complains about getting caught in an avalanche two days in a row, but Neon remains optimistic, since they stand a good chance of avoiding it this time. Rapi tells the Commander to hold her tight, swearing she won't fail them this time.

Suddenly Rapi's arm is jerked away, punctuated with a vicious snapping sound as her grip loosens and her arm falls limp. The Commander loses their balance and tumbles down the slope, struggling to get to their feet as snow begins crashing down the mountainside toward them.

More ominous than that, however, is the blasphemous silhouette barrelling down the mountain ahead of the avalanche, greeting Counters with its familiar, hideous grin.

Chatterbox briefly says how happy it is to see everyone again as it overtakes the Commander, and they lose consciousness...

When the Commander wakes up, they're freezing, they have a pounding headache, and Chatterbox's grotesque smile is inches from their face.

Chatterbox laments how disappointing it is the Commander didn't figure out its trap sooner, as it reckons Counters would've actually had a decent chance of beating it if they had, but as the saying goes, hindsight is 20/20.

The Commander coldly asks if Chatterbox wants something, and it says it wants plenty. They then say they're not interested and Chatterbox laughs, remarks that works out just fine, because just as the Commander hates Raptures, it hates humans. Commander asks Chatterbox to shut up and get to the point already.

Chatterbox says it has a few questions for the Commander, and it hopes they will answer honestly. The Commander asks what it wants to know, and it starts by asking if the "fake humans" the Commander works with have been "enhanced" in some way. The Commander lies, and says they don't know, but Chatterbox responds by breaking one of their fingers with its massive hands.

Chatterbox scolds the Commander, reminding them that it wants honest answers, and on top of that, it's just the two of them. No one is coming to save them. It then repeats is question, and the Commander concedes that yes, they have.

Next, it asks where the Commander is from, and they say the Ark. Third, it asks if they were ever hospitalized as a child. The Commander says they think they were, incredulous as to how Chatterbox could know that when they barely remember it themselves.

Chatterbox thinks on the Commander's answer, then chuckles approvingly. It then "invites" the Commander to come with it. They ask where to, but Chatterbox just says they don't need to know, just to hold on because it'll be a bumpy ride. Chatterbox picks the Commander up, then carries them further off into the snowfield.

As they go, Commander calls out and asks if Chatterbox will answer one of their questions. Chatterbox mutters that the Commander is too nosy for their own good, and if they speak out of turn again, it will use its knowledge of human anatomy to make them wish they hadn't. Commander threatens to blow themselves up if Chatterbox won't answer their questions. Chatterbox laughs, saying they're a human, not a machine, so that's an empty threat. The Commander nonchalantly responds that it's a trivial matter to implant an explosive inside the human body.

Chatterbox goes quiet, then mumbles that the Commander is bluffing. They press, saying that Chatterbox clearly wants them alive for something, otherwise it would have already killed them. It responds that the Commander is making a pretty bold assumption, and asks if they're willing to gamble their life. Not to mention that it has ways of making sure the Commander can't hurt themselves, so they couldn't blow themselves up even if they wanted to. The Commander dryly counters that Chatterbox is talking out its ass, because it has no idea how the bomb is detonated.

Chatterbox stops running, giving the Commander its full attention. It says they get one question, and one question only. The Commander demands two. Chatterbox grimaces and agrees, if only to get the Commander to cooperate.

The Commander feels a surge of elation that their bluff worked. They need to buy as much time as they can, they just have a hunch that things will work out if they can just stall Chatterbox for as long possible.

They ask if Chatterbox was behind the research base being hacked but left untouched, allowing them access to the Pilgrim map. It answers yes, clearly pleased with itself. It knew they were looking for the Pilgrims from the start, and it was all to easy to set the bait. If anything, it's disappointed its trap worked so well.

The Commander then asks if it has a mole inside the Ark. It very quietly answers yes, and the Commander immediately asks Chatterbox who it is. Not the mole, but Chatterbox itself, what IS it? Chatterbox scolds the Commander, saying they agreed to two questions only, and it's not answering any more. The Commander panics and threatens to blow themselves up, but desperation betrays their bluff, and Chatterbox tells them to shut it. It reminds them that there are no reinforcements, no fake humans on the way to save them.

It tells them to give up the act. Or better yet, blow themselves up, see if it cares. Chatterbox says that even the Commander has to understand that the only way everything ends is with the extinction of humanity, so there's no point dragging things out. Commander announces they're going to blow themselves up now, leaving Chatterbox incredulous at their stubbornness.

Just then, a shot rings out, and a hole rips through Chatterbox's body, sending them reeling as they drop the Commander. The Pilgrim in White asks what it will take to kill Chatterbox with some irritation, remarking it's not going to get away this time.

Chatterbox falls back, trying to find cover to put between itself and the heavily armed Pilgrim. She runs to the Commander's side and asks if they're alright. They ask if she's "Snow White" and she pauses, before saying it's been a long time since anyone called her that. She asks if they need any help, and the Commander readily accepts her offer, but she says they'll need to forget what they're about to see. The world isn't ready for the return of the Pilgrims yet, not until their missions is complete.

Chatterbox howls obscenities as Snow White, calling the Pilgrims a bunch of obsolete relics. Snow White tells it to be quiet, for it is a blasphemous mockery of life that should not exist.

To call what follows a battle is inaccurate. It is brutality. Before Snow White, Chatterbox is helpless. Its speed and strength are ineffective before the vicious efficiency with which she wields her expansive arsenal, Seven Dwarves. Rockets harry its every step, and its regeneration cannot keep up with the terrible damage she inflicts with every shot of her anti-ship rifle. By bringing the Commander out into the open snowfield, Chatterbox has sacrificed its ability to hide and avoid Snow White's attacks, and sealed its own fate.

In less than a minute, Chatterbox is incapacitated. Its regeneration struggling to keep it alive as it coughs, choking on black ichor, as it collapses and writhes in pain. Snow White tells the Commander to back off, as she needs a word with her "friend". She approaches Chatterbox, standing over it, and remarks that it took quite a while to finally catch it, but now she wants answers. It gurgles out a strained cry for help. Snow White ignores it, having no interest in its attempts to garner sympathy, and asks where it came from. What vile force brought such a monster in being?

Chatterbox continues begging for help, pleading to be spared. Snow White glares at the Rapture in disgust, but startles she realizes it's not pleading to her. It's pleading to an unseen force, something it calls..."My Queen".

The sky brightens and the clouds part, as something terrible descends from on high in a pillar of light.

It is undeniably a Rapture, a twisted, mechanized parody of the human form. The Commander shudders. It is cruelty and malice given form. It hates them. Hates them. The monstrous figure radiates pure, undisguised, visceral hatred toward the entire human race.

Even more disconcerting is the giant Rapture's chest opens and a woman emerges. She's a Nikke but...wrong. She bears cybernetic wings and secondary mechanical limbs fused directly into her flesh, like some kind of terrible fusion of Rapture and Nikke.

The Rapture-Nikke descends to the ground beside Chatterbox, and chides that it is truly pitiful. But it needn't worry, because she will save it. She turns her attention to Snow White, cordial tone and gentle smile belying the seething rage that can be felt emanating from her, and asks if Snow White is responsible for hurting her friend.

Snow White doesn't answer, only identifying the stranger as a Heretic, one who answers to the Queen, traitor to mankind. A Nikke that chose to serve the Raptures. The Heretic merely responds that all the titles are unnecessary, calling her Modernia is more than enough.

Snow White growls that she's lucky. Bagging Chatterbox and luring out a Heretic means she's one step closer to finding the Rapture's Queen. Modernia scowls and says she ought to kill Snow White where she stands but for the sake of her friend, they'll have to call it a day, but she won't forget Snow White's face. Snow White snarls out that she won't let Modernia or Chatterbox escape, but a number of flying Lord-class Raptures descend, interposing themselves between Snow White and Modernia.

Snow White readies her weapons and moves to engage, intending to blast through the chaff to pursue her targets...

[silverskull]

Forget and Forgive

Chenford Week 2023 Day 6: Get Creative Day Chenford + Why Lucy didn't tell Tim about the detective's exam (5x19)

Disclaimer - this was originally going to be my free day fic, but I much prefer the other one I wrote, so I'm leaving it for the end. This fic fought me a bit, so I'm looking forward to tomorrow a bit more. But it will also be the end of ChenfordWeek and I don't know how I'm gonna cope...

(Also! If you're looking for Tim's Metro plot from this epsiode, I highly recommend checking out quesera's I had a feeling so peculiar to fill in the gaps!)

Full fic below the cut, or here on AO3.

.

.

Nyla had the uncanny stealth of a snow leopard.

“You thinking of taking the detectives exam?”

Lucy nearly leapt out of her chair, her hand jerking the mouse so fast that she accidentally closed all her tabs.

She was sitting at a desk in the bullpen, ostensibly creating suspect profiles for a case she was working with Aaron, but then her email had dinged, luring her in with the subject line, and she’d ended up blithely tripping down a rabbit hole of test questions and interview advice and completely forgetting where she was. She turned to Nyla with a sheepish smile.

“I mean, I guess. I know it’s a bit far ahead of me yet - when I’m not even P3-”

“Don’t knock yourself down, Chen.” Nyla grabbed a nearby chair with her foot, dropping into it and rolling over to Lucy. “There���s plenty less-eligible candidates than you applying. Why not give them a run for their money?” She grinned, still cat-like, and Lucy felt a small shiver of pride.

“You really think I should do it?” she asked, turning to the monitor and clicking open her email again.

“What does it matter what I think? You’re damn capable, and there’s no one here with experience like yours. You know what you bring to the table.” Nyla swivelled from side to side in her chair, her face serene, but a bite to her words. She was analysing Lucy, gaging her response with a steady eye. It gave Lucy courage. She nodded firmly and clicked the ‘Reply’ button.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” The form was just an expression of interest. If she wasn’t qualified, she’d find out soon enough. Besides, she knew she was a good cop. Tim Bradford, of all people, had admitted as much.

“I know what I bring to the table.”

She’d muttered the last words under her breath, and she was soon lost in the details of the form, missing Nyla’s satisfied nod as she slid out of the chair and went on her way.

Lucy couldn’t wait to tell Tim.

***

“Chen! Hey, Chen!”

Lucy spun in place, not recognising the voice in the corridor at first.

Tim had just left for another meeting with his squad, squeezing her arm gently as they parted ways, and her mind was still daydreaming of the meal he’d promised her if they caught the guy - sushi at the marina, followed by ice-cream and cotton candy on the pier. It felt as if that candy had coated her brain, sugar-pink strands hazing her focus, and it took a second for her to recognise Carradine, waving for her attention from the other end of the hall.

“Oh, Detective! Sorry, I was… I…” She raised her coffee cup in greeting, coming up with no more plausible excuse in the moment. “I needed my caffeine hit. Sorry.”

Carradine snorted, shaking his own empty tumbler in his fist. “The price of the job, I’m afraid.” He gestured for her to follow him back into the break-room, making a beeline for the coffee maker. “This new machine is the business though. Pure rocket fuel.”

There was a moment of silence while the machine whirred and hissed into life, coffee-scented steam wafting enticingly through the room. Lucy shifted on her feet, waiting impatiently while Carradine sniffed and sipped his drink slowly, closing his eyes and savouring the first mouthful.

“So, ah… Is there something I can do for you, sir?” she asked, reluctant to intrude on his peace, but anxious to know what he wanted.

“Ah, yes, right.” Carradine twisted the lid tightly onto his mug, snapping the cover closed and looking at Lucy appraisingly. “You applied to be considered for the detective’s exam.”

She responded slowly, her eyes glancing nervously around the room. “I did, yes, sir.”

Carradine nodded thoughtfully, inspecting the top of his mug before he answered.

“You’ve got an impressive UC portfolio under your belt. Bradford gave you the highest marks I’ve ever seen from one of his rookies. Grey is forever singing your praises.” He looked back up at her suddenly, his gaze steady. “I think you should go for it. Consider this your tap.”

He nodded once more, then strode briskly past her and out of the room.

Lucy blinked, momentarily surprised, and then a slow smile spread across her face.

Tim was going to be impressed.

***

“Hey!” Angela’s voice was singsong, and she skipped merrily past the line of waiting customers to join Lucy at the front of the burrito queue. Lucy rolled her eyes, about to apologise to the people behind her, but Nyla appeared too, glaring any critics into silent submission before they even began.

“I was gonna order for them anyway,” Lucy offered to the man behind her, to assuage her own guilt.

“Never mind that - I just heard the news!” Angela interrupted, smiling conspiratorially.

“The news?” Lucy asked, her mind still focused on the grumpy line of customers behind them and thinking of a case she’d worked recently to intercept an all out brawl when a superstore checkout line had been too slow to move.

“The news, Chen, the news!” Nyla muttered, waggling her eyebrows at Lucy.

“Oh. Oh!” Lucy suddenly twigged, her neck getting hot with all the attention focused on her. “Right, the detective’s exam. I mean - that’s what you meant, right?”

“Duh.” Angela stuck out her tongue, pushing Lucy to the side as Nyla called out their order to the assistant at the window. “Carradine mentioned it to us at our morning meeting. Look at you, girl, getting all grown up and professional.” She grinned mischievously, and Lucy felt herself blush.

“Well, it’s just an expression of interest. Doesn’t mean anything yet.”

“Nu-uh.” Nyla was finished ordering and pulled both women to the second window of the truck. “It’s far more than that, don’t downplay this. Carradine gave you the tap.” Nyla smiled, and somehow Lucy could read pride in it.

“I mean, yeah. But there are still a lot of hurdles. I’ve got to talk to Tim, I need the backing of some active detectives, and there’s still the actual exam-”

“Pshhh.” Angela made a shushing gesture with her hand, tapping Lucy lightly on the shoulder. “Tim would promote you himself if he could, you’re gonna ace the exam, and you’ve got two top-notch, kickass, girl-power detectives on your side right here.” She stabbed her thumbs at herself and Nyla, exchanging a smirk with her partner and waiting for Lucy to respond.

“Are you… Are you serious?” Lucy asked after a moment, pleasantly surprised at the offer. “You’d back me, both of you?”

“Course we would. I mean, you already practically work for us and your track record speaks for itself.” Nyla paused for a moment, looking Lucy up and down while Angela collected their three burritos. “Besides, what are friends for?”

Nyla and Angela grinned at her, and Lucy felt a rush of love for both women overcome her, dipping her head and following as they walked in companionable silence to a picnic bench for their lunch.

He’d probably deny it, but Lucy could already see Tim’s proud smile in her mind’s eye, his shoulders straightening smugly as he lapped up their compliments to her, his fingers tapping gently against her thigh to let her know he heard.

***

“Officer Chen!”

Grey’s voice was never loud, but it soared above the chatter in the bullpen, drawing Lucy’s attention immediately. He was standing at his door, beckoning her over with one finger. Lucy dropped her files into the nearest tray, hurrying around the maze of desks and into the Watch Commander’s office. She stood to attention, waiting in front of his desk with her hands behind her back while Grey rustled at some papers in a shelf at the back of the room.

“Sir?”

Grey didn’t turn around, pulling out a sheaf of papers and dropping them on his desk.

“I hear you got the tap from Carradine.”

Lucy swallowed, nodding once, even though he couldn’t see her.

“Yes sir. I know I have a ways to go yet, but I think-”

“I think it’s the right move,” Grey interrupted, turning around at last and looking her in the eye. “You’re a damn good cop, Chen, but you’re meant for bigger things than patrol.”

Lucy felt a swell of pride within her, and she bit her lip to keep from smiling too obviously.

“Thank you, sir. I’ve learned from the best.” She returned his gaze, feeling suddenly overwhelmed and unusually lost for words.

“You have. That’s true.” Grey gave a small smile as he dropped into his chair, lacing his fingers across his chest. “But it doesn’t diminish what you’ve accomplished by yourself. You’re one of the finest officers in this station. Keep putting in the work like you have done, and you’ll reap the rewards you deserve.”

Lucy nodded mutely, too overcome to respond in words.

“In the meantime,” Grey unclasped his hands, leaning forward and shoving the little pile of books and papers he’d gathered across the desk to her. “Some reading material. Study up, and you’ll be ready for anything the exam throws at you.”

She stepped forward, gathering the papers into her arms and searching for the right words.

“Thank you, sir. It means so much to hear you say that. I won’t let you down.” She pulled the books tightly against her chest, stepping back and meeting Grey’s eyes again.

“I know you won’t, Lucy. The detectives don’t know how lucky they are to get you.”

She couldn’t help it - Lucy beamed.

Grey gave a small smile, nodding and dismissing her with a wave of his hand, and Lucy hurried out of his office, excited to get stuck into her research.

Tim was going to laugh. 

If she already knew all there was to know for the Sergeant’s exam, what could the Detective’s exam possibly throw at her? Well, she’d show him. 

It had frequently taken all her self-control not to turn his audiobooks into something far more racy, all those years ago. Wait until he saw what she could do with - she glanced down at the top two research journals on Grey’s pile: ‘Seduction of the Shadows’ and ‘A Lust for Larceny’.

Oh boy.

***

“Hey you!”

Lucy almost missed Nolan, her head bent and her tongue poked out as she struggled with the wrapper on her protein bar. She stopped in front of him, smiling. “Hey! How are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good. I was looking for you.” Nolan was back in his own regular clothes, heading from the locker room to the parking lot outside. “I heard the big news.”

Lucy dropped the protein bar to her side, pride and pity warring for prominence on her face.

“Yeah, I’m… The detective’s exam. I think it’s time.” She reached out, tapping his arm gently. “But look, I know it’s what you really wanted, and I-”

“Lucy, stop.” Nolan cut her off, smiling as he dropped his bag onto the edge of the planter nearby. “Yeah, sure, back in the day, it’s what I thought would be right for me. But that was all ego talking. Being a TO?” He paused in unzipping his bag, gazing absentmindedly into the distance. “It’s what I chose. It’s what I want now. I could have gone anywhere with that golden ticket, but the FTO programme… I love being able to give back. To be out there on the streets. Helping ordinary folk, and helping cops.”

He seemed to realise he’d gone off on a soliloquy when he looked back at Lucy and she was smiling fondly - patiently - as she waited for him to remember why he’d stopped her.

“But anyway, look - the point is, you’re gonna make an excellent detective. I have no doubt.” He smiled at her, pulling a bundle of books from his rucksack and handing them to her.

Lucy took them, turning them around so she could read the titles. “What are these?”

Nolan zipped up his bag again, tapping the top book on the pile. “I bought them back when I thought I still wanted to be a detective. Study material for the exam. They’re yours now.”

“Nolan…” Lucy was pleased, but she knew the price of revision books, and to take them without protest felt wrong.

“I don’t wanna hear it. Go kick ass in the exam. I know you will.” Nolan shifted his bag back onto his shoulder, smiling and reaching out to squeeze her hand once before he left, and Lucy felt another small surge of pride. 

Whatever Tim thought of Grey’s reading material, he was definitely not going to have time for Nolan’s books. She could hear his dismissive tone in her head already, tossing each title onto the rug as she passed them to him, and insisting that she already knew far more than Nolan could ever teach her.

Maybe. But a few extra hours curled up on the couch together sounded really good about now, and she was sure Tim wouldn’t actually care who’d supplied the books when it was her voice reading to him.

***

“What's all this?” Tim’s tired eyes peered over her paperwork scattered across the counter, his coffee mug abandoned as he trailed his fingers slowly along her arm.

“What? I'm studying for the detective's exam!” She slapped him gently on his good shoulder, half amused, half worried that his exhaustion was getting the better of him and he was now forgetting even basic facts about her life. 

“Since when?” His question was genuine, his confusion apparent, and she had the sudden sinking realisation that she’d missed seeing him so much, she’d only imagined talking to him about her plan.

“I didn't tell you?” Her mind flashed back to study sessions on the couch, lunches grilling Angela and Nyla, chatting to Carradine in the corridors of the station - Tim hadn’t actually been there for any of it.

“I... no, I don't think so.” He covered well, but she could hear the upset in his voice and she hurried to give him an explanation.

“If I'm gonna work undercover, the best move is to become a detective in some division, like intelligence or narcotics, right?”

“Right. So you got the tap?” His lips quirked up, his eyes brightening, and he tightened his grip on her hand in his lap.

“Harper and Lopez are backing me.” She felt her own smile broaden as he nodded confidently, and she continued on, “All I have to do is score in the top 12, which-” 

“Which you will.” He cut her off, and her momentary apprehension disappeared at the utter confidence in his expression and in his voice. He leaned forward and she gave a soft sigh, melting into his kiss contentedly, his skin still sleep-warm and his beard scratchy against her lips. He kissed her again, squeezing her hand tightly in his own and Lucy kept her eyes closed, memorising this feeling of being close to him; of being supported by him; of being loved by him.

It would change their lives, without question, but that was the nature of their job, and neither of them had gotten into this life - this career; this relationship - without expecting change.

***

By the end of the day, reality had come crashing in, cold and hard and riddled with bullets; Juarez with her formative years thrown into chaos and Tim under investigation by IA. A simple exam or a disgruntled interviewer didn’t seem like such a big deal any more, and Lucy was just happy to catch up with Tim in the corridor of the station, linking her arm into the crook of his elbow and running through the post-shooting playbook with him as her worried mind replayed his last words at the abduction house: Suspect down. Send an RA.

He brushed her off, reminded her that it wasn’t his first time, but she needed him to know that it was different now. It was different because he had her. His life affected her, just as much as hers affected his, and she wanted to be there, by his side, to work through whatever he needed to deal with.

At last, Tim seemed to get it, stopping to gently clasp her arm and thank her for her concern. 

And when he switched the topic back to her exam, offered to study with her, she couldn’t help remembering her daydreams - curled up on the couch, or in bed, reading her books to him with indecent inflections - and it seemed like it might be the perfect distraction to take him out of his own head.

Their future was never certain - he’d said as much himself - but in this moment, on this night, she could look forward with hope.

And as long as they had each other? 

Anything was possible.

[autisticbokutoenthusiast]

playboyy ep 6 stray thoughts:

- not the conspiracy board and murder mystery plot ideas lmao. is it purposeful that they use filming through a rectangular hole/ cropping to never fit the whole friend group in one shot, specifically porsche?? like you can always see nant/zouey/first/ and captain (mostly) but there’s a fifth person there who you only see the shoulder of and i assume is porsche…. (adds this to my list of reasons i think porsche is distanced from the group)

- on the one hand i feel bad for keen cause captain is making him do things but also oh how the turn tables and all that

- the music of zouey and teena’s scenes continues to catch my ear for whatever reason and porsche continuing to have the vibes of an annoying cousin who is just always there being annoying for no good reason….

- i need to crawl inside aobs skull and see what the fuck goes on… excited for his storyline

- why they keep zooming in on nont closing his fist what is this supposed to say… all i can think of is the arthur meme…

- did they decide to throw a costume party or are they just like this… also nonts outfit is everything [rewatched the beginning and nont says the theme is sexy sleepwear, but like to me the sleepwear was nowhere to be found]

- free my mans jump he don’t deserve to be here… free my mans keen as well he looks like he’d rather die

- this is the worst investigation in history nightmare private detective squad

- crying at the rich boys playing party games to try to solve a disappearance, jump being conflicted in whether to continue being used by porsche, first soong having break up/make up drama, keen and captain having drama, and then teena just jamming to the music in the background like king shit

-seven minutes to do whatever they want to eachother why do i think first is gonna end up crying and someone’s gonna end up dead

- not this ending up being couples therapy akskdjfj also first being like “sorry you couldn’t fix my relationship to your friend, should we still have sex tho?” HOLD ON NOT SOONG BEING THE SAME WAY ?!?!? NOT THIS BEING AN EXCUSE TO FUCK OVER THEIR FRIENDS TOO LMAO maybe they could be good for eachother…

- HOLD ON THE SET UP WAS A SET UP!?!?!? ok but did teena ask soong to do that or was soong just in a chaotic mood…

- “twins are so identical” oh he gonna kill you jump… sorry sir but you getting roasted tonight.. actually maybe in a very different way than i expect- NO THERES THE FLAME I WAS RIGHT

- no one:

nont: and what if i SET YOU ON FIRE

- a second nant hallucination

- HOLD HES A SUGAR DADDY PROM AND PORSCHE WHAT?!?!, what’s goin on?!?!?

- NUTH MURDER FANTASY?!?!? also the “protect trans lives shirt” to “i wanted to kill again” to why is his diary a word document?!?!?! like ahhhh this sequence got me damn near dizzy broooo

- honestly if you had to make a statement while jerking off to satiate your urge to kill at least it’s a valiant one 🫡

- is that a bloody handprint outside nuths door…

- phop is so sweet and nuth might take the crown for most unhinged little meow meow….

can’t believe i’m ending here for tonight…… i need answers…