#the secret temple is the open studio

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Princess & The Playboy (Part 5)

Summary: While meeting Dean's parents went smoothly, the reader's may be a different story. Meanwhile, Dean confides in Eric he knows a secret of his that sheds light on Eric's past actions and the boys set their plan in action...

Masterlist

Pairing: NFL Quarterback!Dean x Pop Star!reader

Word Count: 6,500ish

Warnings: language, family trauma/angst, kidnapping

A/N: 👀

_________

Dean POV

I woke with a jerk, eyes flashing open as a small surge of adrenaline coursed through my veins. I sighed, closing my eyes as glimpses of a nightmare ran through my mind. I was honestly surprised at how long I’d gone without one.

I wondered if Y/N ever had that recurring dream about not being able to get to Max in time like I did with Sam. I turned in bed, scooting closer, searching for her warm body to curl up against. When my arm reached out to find her though, all I discovered were cold sheets. My eyes popped open again, the clock on her nightstand showing it was almost six in the morning.

I was due to get up in half an hour but Y/N could sleep in. Given how she’d told me just last week she was a night owl, my thoughts wandered to not so great places.

Either she was missing or she was so stressed about her parents visit she was losing sleep over it. The fact she lived in fucking Fort Knox led me to believe it was the later.

I stretched in bed before wandering over to the closet, smiling at the previously empty side. I stayed over most every night, even if the most intimate thing we did was a cuddle. We hadn’t officially said I had a drawer or anything like that but I had a space in the closet for some personal items. Mostly it was fresh underwear and socks but Y/N had hung up a few things that hadn’t belonged to me. Just things she thought it’d be “nice to have” around.

Including a dope ass robe that looked way too freaking comfy on the chilly morning. I threw it on and wrapped my arms around myself, humming as the fleece warmed my cool skin. I wasn’t exactly a robe guy and suspected this thing cost more than some people’s rent, but it did feel damn good.

I trudged through the dark house, ears perking up as I made my way towards her home gym. Piano notes filled the air and I saw light spilling through a cracked door, a soft melody breaking through the quiet.

“Endless,” breathed out Y/N, smashing her fingers against the keys, her eyes closed, face contorting like she didn’t like that sound. “Endless,” she sang softly again, moving her fingers to a lower note, her face less critical. 

I didn’t want to disturb her and tried to close the door. Unfortunately, it was enough to prick her spidey senses because next thing I knew, a hardcover notebook was smacking me in the forehead.

“Oh my god!” she gasped, covering her hands with her face as she shot up. I rubbed my temple and picked up her papers, Y/N moving my hand away before I even straightened up. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine, sweetheart.” She guided me to the couch in what looked like a studio, taking off quickly and returning in less then thirty seconds with a small first aid kit. “I’m fine, I swear.”

She ignored me, dabbing a cotton ball with alcohol before lighting pressing it against the cut. I winced, Y/N frowning as she found a butterfly bandage and stuck it on. 

“I am fine,” I said again, taking hold of her cheeks, smiling sleepily before pecking a light kiss on her lips. “I promise.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. I shook my head, pulling her to sit in my lap.

“I’m not. You’re kind of a badass. Plus with an arm like that I’m thinking we get you in as backup QB. If you ever got sick of singing, I got a job lined up for ya.” She didn’t smile like she usually did when I teased her though. “What’s wrong? It’s one little bump is all. No biggie.”

“I woke you up early and you need your sleep and now I’m sure you have a headache on top of that and I have my stupid parents coming in this afternoon and you’re not going to be to stay over like normal because god knows what they’ll say and I’m so behind on the next album already and-”

I put my hand over her mouth to stop her, Y/N blinking as tears welled up in her eyes. Fuck, she ripped my heart out when I saw her like that. 

“Listen, listen,” I shushed her, Y/N wearily watching me. “I am fine and I’ll tell you if I’m not. You are exhausted, honey. You have not caught up from when you were on tour for half the freaking year. I want you to go back to bed and I’ll talk to Eric, make sure your morning gets cleared. All I want you to do is get some sleep. Someone from your team can grab your parents and entertain them until tonight where I will come over to have dinner with you and then I will stay over like always. You’re not going to worry about any other shit. Promise?”

She closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around me in a deep hug. “My parents stress me out whenever they visit. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t say sorry,” I said, pressing my lips to her ear. “I just want you to get some sleep. Now do you promise?”

“Promise,” she mumbled, burying her face in my neck. She sighed softly and it was only a few beats later I realized her breathing had evened out, fast asleep. My girl really was at the end of her rope. As gently as I could, I carried her out and upstairs, tucking her into bed before changing. Downstairs, I filled up my thermos with coffee and made Y/N some pancakes she could reheat for lunch later.

“Good morning,” said Eric quietly. I glanced left, his body drenched in sweat, most likely from the gym. “You’re up early a lot.”

“My day starts at eight on the dot, sometimes sooner. I get fined if I’m late,” I said, taking a mug from beside the sink and filling it up for him.

“Thank you,” he said, taking a long sip. “You guys get Tuesdays off, right?”

“Yeah but I normally work it and review game film. Gotta set a good example for the team.” I wrapped up the pancakes on a plate, putting a sticky note on top. “I turned off Y/N’s phone. She needs to catch up on sleep. I know she’s busy but please let her sleep late today and cancel any morning meetings she has. And make sure her parents stay away until this evening. She’s worried about them and I told her I’d be here when they get here.”

“Can do.” I nodded, washing up the pan and taking another sip of coffee. “Dean.”

I turned around from the sink, Eric leaned back against the counter. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry again for how I treated you before. Y/N’s always deserved someone good. I’m glad she finally has that with you.” 

“Thank you,” I said, holding out my hand to him. Eric shook it, a quiet beat passing. “Do you think you and Sloane have a chance of working things out?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t even want her forgiveness. I just want her to know my reasoning and that I regret it. I just need her to know that I never thought she was weak or incapable and especially that I didn’t string her along. I always loved her. Even if I fucked it up for good.”

“I’m no relationship expert but why didn’t you go to her in the hospital?” I asked, Eric taking a seat at the island with a sigh. “Like, is there any possible reason you could tell Sloane about why you left?”

“You blamed yourself for your brother’s abduction when there logically was no reason to. For years you did.” He stared me down and nodded. “Now imagine that feeling of guilt but you know you fucked up. The intel was bad and you were distracted and imagine Sam or Y/N were taken, beat to hell, every inch of skin battered. And it was 100% your fault. Your job was to protect them and you screwed up. Would you be able to walk in that room and sit there, your mistake staring right back at you?”

“Were you abused as a kid?” Eric’s eyebrows shot up fast before his jaw clenched. 

“What the fuck kind of question is that?” he snapped. 

“Survivors often blame things out of their control on themselves because they’ve been conditioned to,” I said, raising my chin. Eric closed his eyes, rubbing his temples.

“You did a background check on me,” he mumbled.

“I didn’t use Sloane for it if it makes you feel better. No one knows except me and I plan on it staying that way. I wanted to know who the fuck you were was all.” Eric nodded, inhaling sharply. “Does Sloane know about your dad?”

“No and it doesn’t matter. I screwed up-”

“You probably ran away because you’re conditioned-”

“I’m a fucking solider, Winchester. My sack of shit father has been dead and gone for a very long time. I did not run away from Sloane because of some childhood trauma crap. I was a shitty person. Case closed.”

I stepped closer, looking down at him with a hard face. “Y/N and I were barely adults when we got our trauma and it’s still inside us. Don’t you fucking dare try and say it had no effect because it did. It made you a protector. It also made you expect Sloane to do or say awful things to you when you did go in that room. You’re smart enough to know I’m right.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Eric grit out, shooting daggers at me. “I wasn’t there when she needed me and that’s that.”

“Do you know why Y/N let me in? Because I talked to her, because I was vulnerable. Big bad bodyguard and you’re too scared to tell the girl you love all your secrets.”

“So what? I tell her and nothing changes so what’s the fucking point? I still hurt her.” I grasped his shoulder, shaking my head at him.

“Buddy, we both love two badass strong women. You’re right, Sloane could tell you to fuck off. Or she can finally understand and maybe forgive you. A guy like you isn’t the bad guy, no matter how much you tell yourself.”

Eric lowered his head, his shoulders rising when he breathed deeply. “I can’t. I’ve never told anyone. Shit, my own sister doesn’t even know.”

“Well you can practice with me if you ever decide you do want to,” I said, patting his back. “Take care of Y/N for me today.”

He hummed, Sloane waiting out front by my SUV when I left.

“What are you doing here so early?” I asked. Sloane rubbed her eye, opening the car door.

“I was working on understanding Y/N’s security protocols,” she said, still rubbing her eye.

“At six in the morning?”

“I wake up early. Is that a crime?” she snapped, her eyes red rimmed. I glanced back at the house, Sloane glaring at me. “What?”

“You overheard me talking to him, didn’t you.” She kept my gaze, only a slight tick of her jaw giving her away. “You’re in jeans and a t-shirt today.”

“So what?”

“So maybe your outfit choice doesn’t have to be the only change you make. You could talk to him-“

Sloane held up a hand. “I am not talking about this with anyone, including you. Understand?”

“And the world thinks I’m the emotionally immature one around here,” I mumbled, sliding into the passenger seat. Sloane slammed the door shut and I winced. I could only hope the rest of the day turned around.

Late Afternoon

“Winchester.” I blinked my eyes, noticing the conference room was mostly cleared out. Benny waited by the door as I grabbed my playbook and quickly followed after. “You alright, man?”

“Yeah. Just need to get some sleep,” I yawned, my phone buzzing in my pocket. My agent was having a field day today, fending off offers left and right from companies wanting to capitalize on my recent popularity. Thankfully Brad was a good guy and he knew what I was and wasn’t willing to endorse. 

And any mention of Y/N meant they got an automatic rejection. No questions asked. I wasn’t about to profit off the fact people knew she was my girlfriend.

My phone buzzed again and I reached into my pocket, surprised to see Eric calling. “Uh, hey. What’s up?”

“What time do you get done with work?” Eric asked. I shrugged, waving for Benny to go on ahead of me back to the locker room.

“About an hour. Why?” Eric sighed. “What’s wrong?”

“Listen.” The phone got quiet for a moment, faint footsteps in the background. But then I heard it. Heard it loud and clear.

“Liars and cheats and oh you dirty, dirty sneaks! Like I’m the stain on your perfect life making it bleak!” Y/N sang loudly through the phone, her voice raw while her fingers slammed piano keys.

The noise dissipated, Eric clearing his throat. “Good news, she wrote a song for her record this morning. Bad news, her parents showed up early on their own and they had a massive blowout. I guess they saw the cake you guys made for Max and freaked.”

“...You wouldn’t call me with this unless you were concerned, would you.” 

“Girl’s always used music to process her feelings. But she’s sort of bawling in there and I’ve promised in the past to not interfere when it comes to her parents.” I ran my hand through my hair and sighed. “She’d rip my head off and probably yours if we went in there and talked to her. She’ll either be calmer in an hour or be halfway through another song.”

“I’ll be there in forty five,” I said, heading for the locker room. “Don’t tell her.”

I could feel his hesitancy on the other end. “Did you say not to tell her you’re coming over?”

“Yeah. Let her stay in her studio. I need to talk to her parents. Alone.” Eric was silent for a beat and then another. “Tell me the truth, buddy. Does Y/N exaggerate about her folks or do they say some fucked up shit to her sometimes?”

Eric breathed heavy, a door closing, the sounds of the outdoors surrounding him. “They already don’t like you. Her mom called you a man whore and her dad flipped that she wore your jersey the other night. So I guess you got nothing to lose.”

“I don’t give a fuck if they like me. But they will change their act if they want to be part of their daughter’s life. They can’t hurt her like that everytime she sees them.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you, kid,” said Eric, opening a car door. “I’ll pick you up at the stadium.”

“I distinctly recall you hating my guts.” Eric scoffed, a sliver of a smile on my face. “Oh, I forgot. You loved me from the start, right?”

“Don’t push it, Winchester,” he said. “Get back to work. I’ll see you in a few.”

One hour later I was bouncing my knee in the passenger seat of my truck, Eric pulling into Y/N’s driveway. If my conversation with him over the past twenty minutes was anything to go by, Y/N had been far too kind regarding her parents.

They’d blamed her for Max’s kidnapping. Said it straight to her fucking face when she was eighteen years old. She was a kid and they told her it was her fault. Seven years later they told her they wished she was the one that was dead and they were burying. Called her a brat and diva for being upset on the day of Max’s funeral. Blamed her for paparazzi invading their moment. Blamed her when she tried to talk about Max or hear stories from when they were kids, told her not to speak his name, not when she screwed up his life. The day they “buried” her brother, their relationship had been done for good. They had no problem taking her money though, playing the warm set of parents when they needed to. 

Y/N was not about to be forced to hide in her own home just to get away from people who clearly didn’t give a rats ass about her.

A strong hand gripped my shirt collar as Eric parked, my gaze shooting over my shoulder.

“Hey. I fucked up because I was too protective of Sloane. I don’t want that to happen to you,” he said. I nodded, Eric still leery. “She still loves them, Dean.”

“I know. And if she hates me for what I’m about to do, then she hates me. But her parents need a wake up call and I’ll be the bad guy. Like you said, they already hate me so no harm no foul.” 

“They’ve been by the pool,” said Eric, dropping his hand. I slid out and gave a nod to a few of the security guys in the shack I recognized. I walked around the side of the house, nerves flaring up like this was a freaking super bowl for some reason. Sure, I’d like it if Y/N’s parents were friendly and she had a good relationship. 

But she didn’t deserve their shit. I just hoped it didn’t turn into a screaming match immediately.

I inhaled slowly as I found the older couple relaxing under the umbrella on the patio. 

“Hi, I’m Dean Winchester,” I said as I approached, both their heads turning toward me. “Y/N’s boyfriend. I think the three of us need to talk.”

“Excuse me son but I don’t think we have anything to discuss aside from the fact you're not the kind of man we want dating our daughter,” said her father. I sat down in an open chair at the table, leaning forward with a smile.

“See that’s funny. You think you have a right to have any say in your daughter’s love life. Regardless of the fact the media portrays me as someone I’m not or that your daughter is thirty two years old, you think you have the right based on what? That she’s your flesh and blood? As if you gave an actual shit about her. It’s just us, no need to pretend.”

“What the fuck is your problem?” said her mom, voice on the edge of something dangerous I didn’t like. “Who the fuck are you to say that crap? Of course we love Y/N-”

“There you go being funny again,” I said, narrowing my eyes, looking between them both. “I would never blame my daughter for something that wasn’t her motherfucking fault. I wouldn’t wish her fucking dead or call her names or forbid her from speaking of her missing brother. I certainly wouldn’t snap at her for making a cake to celebrate her brother. If you two really hate Y/N that much, just stay the fuck away. I’m sure she’ll keep giving you as much money as you ask for.”

To my surprise, they didn’t get angry. Y/N’s mom simply stood and wandered off towards the pool, holding a hand over her mouth. Meanwhile, her father closed his eyes, lowering his head.

“At least you have the decency to not lie about it,” I said. “You people are fucking disgusting to come into your daughter’s life like nothing’s wrong when you’ve hurt her as much as those kidnappers did. He was her little brother. She knows she was late to pick him up. You have no idea how hard she’s working to start to feel like it was simply something out of her control.”

They were both silent, still not looking at me.

“Where the hell were you two? Why wasn’t it your responsibility? Why not the parents of Max’s friend? The police? The damn kidnappers? Why’d it fall on the shoulders of an eighteen year old girl? Because you’re weak people, that’s why. It’s why you keep blaming her. You have no idea how lucky you are she’s strong. Telling her you wished it was her in the ground? She might have followed up on that, you morons. She deserves to be able to remember Max openly. She deserves to believe he’s still out there somewhere, even if you don’t. She deserves parents better than you two. I’m only sorry I wasn’t here sooner to say it to your faces.”

I stood up and headed for the back door, her mom making a sort of hiccup sound.

“We never forgave her for not picking Max up on time,” she whispered, lowering her head. “When she gets…I get so angry at her when she wants to bring him up.”

“So much of our lives changed because she wanted to sing. Our privacy. People always offering fake tips about Max. It hurts so much and we keep blaming Y/N for that pain,” said her dad. “We know we shouldn’t but we don’t know how to stop.”

“Try some fucking therapy,” said Eric, walking around the near side of the house, my eyes darting to his. “This is your official notice. You are both banned from this property and contacting Y/N until further notice. Pack up your things and you will be escorted to your hotel.”

I stared at him wide eyed, Eric raising his chin, ignoring me. 

“Now!” he barked. Y/N’s father rose slowly, something steely about him.

“My daughter ask you to do that? Because I’m not leaving without her wanting me gone,” he said. Eric stepped closer, getting in his face.

“My job is to protect Y/N from threats and I am sick of you two coming in here every year and fucking breaking her heart. Get some damn therapy and deal with your shit or never, I mean never, fucking contact her again. You want something, you deal with me. Now get the fuck out.”

Roughly five minutes later Eric and I watched them both be driven down the driveway, my eyes still stuck on him. 

“Keep staring like that Winchester and I’ll think you have a crush,” said Eric, giving a satisfied nod when the gate closed again.

“You said you’re not supposed to interfere with her parents.” Eric shrugged, giving me a smirk.

“She wants to fire me, she can. But those assholes send her spiraling and I’m sick of standing there and watching it. Kiddo was a fucking shell for months after what happened the day of the funeral.”

“I thought I said I had it handled.” Eric spun around and headed back for the house. “Eric.”

“Just cause you can do something on your own doesn’t mean you have to,” he said, opening the door, holding it open. I slid past him into the foyer, Eric patting my shoulder. “Go take care of her. I’ll face the music later.”

“Doesn’t seem your style to hide,” I said, Eric spinning back around to head out, pausing in the doorway. 

“I have an appointment…therapy,” he said quietly. “Probably going to be a waste of time.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Eric shrugged. “I’ll put in a good word with the boss for you.”

“Just focus on taking care of her. I can wait,” he said, leaving and pulling the door shut. I closed my eyes and ditched my bag by the base of the stairs, walking quietly down to the studio.

I knocked once, poking my head inside, frowning as I found the room silent.

And Y/N nowhere in sight.

I flinched when a pair of arms wrapped around my waist, a small body hugging me tight. “Y/N, we should-”

“The team in the shack texted I should watch the security video in the back. I heard the whole thing.” Her head burrowed between my shoulder blades, squeezing me hard. Soft, mumbled cries filled the air, my heart aching for her. Slowly, I turned in her embrace, her face hiding away in my chest when I came to face her. I gently shushed her, one arm around her back, one around her shoulders as I tucked her head under my chin.

“I’m sorry I upset you but I’m not sorry I set them straight. You don’t have to put up with people that won’t take accountability for their actions. So be mad with me and Eric but we saw how much it hurt you. We don’t regret it. The only-”

“You think I’m mad at you guys?” she whispered, raising her head, puffy, red rimmed eyes staring back. A quiet laugh slipped past her delicious lips, her head shaking as she laughed harder. “You’re such a goof, Winchester. That was…that was what they needed to hear. Thank you for saying it when I couldn’t.”

“Maybe they’ll get some help for themselves and things can get better,” I said, even if I didn’t believe they would. I’d happily be proven wrong but I wasn’t counting on it. Y/N shrugged, not seeming to have faith in the idea herself. “Can you play me something?”

“I just wrote two new ones,” she said, catching my head shake. “What’d you have in mind?”

“Nothing particular. Just want to sit and listen to you poke around if that’s alright.” She smiled, taking my hand and leading me inside. She left me at the couch and wandered to the piano bench, rolling her shoulders with a heavy inhale. 

“You like rock and grunge,” she said, tapping a key, her head cocked as she did it over and over. “Think I could pull off a few alt rock songs?”

“You can do whatever the hell you want to, sweetheart. Pretty sure you could throw bagpipes in a song and make it go number one.” I caught her smile as her fingers started to dance, hips starting to sway in her seat.

“Normally I come up with music before the lyrics,” she said, something rhythmic and heavy in the air. “You know people think because I’m the pop princess that’s all I listen to. Never would think Metallica inspired a good number of songs on the last album.”

“You partial to Zeppelin?” I asked, her smirk stronger, the puffiness around her eyes going down.

“Everyone loves Stairway and for good reason but I’m a Kashmir girl,” she said, my eyebrows raising. “Surprised?”

“No. Think I fell in love with you a little more is all,” I chuckled, getting up and taking a seat on the edge of the piano bench, watching her fingers move quickly, a hint of both songs coming through. “I am sorry about your parents, sweetheart. I wish things were different.”

“Me too,” she said, flurrying her fingers before abruptly pulling back. “But I won’t ever completely forgive myself for Max as long as they’re in my life. At least how they are right now. S’like Sloane said, even if you're strong, sometimes you want someone else to be strong for you.”

She bumped my shoulder, a coy smile sneaking onto her face. My hand found hers, clasping them together. “We take turns and it’ll work out how it’s supposed to.”

Her head rested on my shoulder, nodding once. “I don’t want to be sad anymore today. Do you want to go out to dinner?”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” I said, kissing her temple. “People will probably take pictures of us though.”

“I really don’t care anymore,” she said, squeezing my hand. “If I want to go out with my boyfriend, that’s what I’m going to do.”

“That’s my girl.”

Sam POV

“Eek! Y/N and Dean went out! In public!” squealed Cecilia from the kitchen island, showing her phone to Sebastian’s event planner. The woman in her mid-thirties gave the phone a passing glance, probably wishing she could plan a party for one of them instead of fucking Seb. 

He was even more of a dick whenever it got to close to him hosting one of his stupid ass parties at the house.

But the piece of shit’s desire to mingle with the rich and famous on a regular basis meant Max and I had a real shot at our plan working. I worked at the end of the island, near the open planner with a tentative guest list, my back blocking the camera.

All I had to do was slip the piece of paper from my pocket into the planner and hope the event planner added Y/N and Dean to the list without too much thought. 

Without getting caught of course.

And assume that the super detailed planner lady would just go ahead and invite two of the most popular people on the planet right now willy nilly.

That was all assuming Max didn’t get caught in his part of the plan. Or too hurt. Or dead.

Shit, we really were laying it on the line for this one.

A few moments later, we all heard the loud thud, our heads snapping towards the front of the house. I moved fast, taking the split second opportunity to place the paper in the planner. Then I was off the second Max groaned, playing the role of concerned friend. 

Sebastian knew how close we were, that we considered ourselves brothers. Even if we were both scared shitless about the consequences of breaking a rule, he knew I’d abandon my “job” duties to go to him if he was hurt. So I rushed through the front hall to where a few security guys were already surrounding a grunting Max on the floor.

“I’m fine,” grit out Max, even though we could all see the growing bruise on his cheek. Shit. He wasn’t supposed to hit his head. He tried to sit up, a few of the security guys urging him to stay down. Ironic considering they were the ones they’d kill us if we ever got caught.

“What the fuck…” said Seb, coming out of his office, staring at the scene before him.

“He fell down the stairs, boss,” said a guard, Max brushing the guy off and sitting up, wincing a bit. 

“I said I’m fine,” said Max, his movements proving that was a lie. He was hurt. Hopefully just bumps and bruises. But that was key.

If we wanted a believable story, one of us had to get fucked up in the process. And unfortunately for Max, he was beyond shitty at rock papers scissors and had to take the fall. Literally.

“He needs to rest,” I said, forcing my way into the crowd, helping Max to his feet with another wince. I didn’t wait for a response and started taking him towards our room, Seb’s tsk making us both freeze.

“Andy, make sure he’s alright and then Max should rest the remainder of the day. Sam, I trust you can complete all unfinished chores yourself?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” I said, reluctantly letting Andy take my place and help support Max. I watched them disappear down the hall, Seb turning to another guard, Frankie.

“Explain yourself.” The guard stared at Sebastian, his thick swallow heard loud and clear. Sebastian stepped closer, until his nose was jammed right against the young guard’s. “Why the fuck did you punch my house staff in the face after he fell?”

I stared at Frankie, Sebastian smirking when he saw my face. 

“His knuckles are scrapped, Sam,” he said, turning back to Sebastian. “Question is why the fuck do you think you can touch my fucking property?”

“The guy doesn’t respect me,” said Frankie, finding his voice. “Doesn’t laugh at my jokes, don’t call me sir.”

“He knows his role and abides by it. You on the other hand need a reminder,” snapped Seb. “Sam, dismissed.”

I quickly went back to the kitchen to finish my vegetable prep. On the one hand, Frankie was about to have a world of shit thrown his way which normally I’d feel bad about. On the other, I hated his guts and he’d hit Max for no damn reason so he deserved what was coming to him.

“Take a tylenol in six hours and ice that ankle,” said Andy, patting Max’s shoulder from where he looked him over. We shared a quick look before Max headed for our quarters, the event planner shaking her head.

“That’s why I always say you need a stair runner on those grand staircases, be damned the design.” 

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” said Andy with a role of his eyes. Cecilia eyed me up and down before looking at her phone.

Weird…

“What do you think about maroon?” asked the planner to her just as I caught Seb storming across the hall to his office.

Yeah, today was not about to be Frankie’s day.

It was late when I finally finished with the chores. I was a better cook than Max so I normally handled dinner and prepping snacks and lunches. But doing all of Max’s cleaning on top of all of mine meant I was exhausted and starving for my own dinner.

“Sam.” I turned my head in the dim hallway, Sebastian sitting in his office, sipping on a glass of what I guessed was very expensive whiskey. “Come in here, please.”

I swallowed. The last time I had a late night conversation in that office, I was being branded by the poker in the fire place. God, if he was going to kill me hopefully it’d be fast.

I entered the room, pulling the door shut when he waved his hand. “Yes, sir?”

“How’s Max?” I clasped my hands behind my back, lowering my gaze. 

“I haven’t seen him yet. I’d assume he’s resting.” 

“You’re a hard worker, Sam. Always appreciated that about you. Max too,” he said, standing with his glass. He spun slowly, taking a sip. “You know what I like most about you boys though?”

Oh God. I was so dead.

“You’re loyal,” he said with a grin. “Sure, it took us a little bit to get there but you were young men. I made plenty of mistakes when I was twenty too. Now…now you boys know your place and I haven’t done a single thing to either one of you since. That’s the kind of trust I know we have. It’s loyalty. Something I seem to be lacking with some of my men.”

I raised my head, Sebastian finishing off his drink. 

“Frankie’s…no longer with the operation. That kind of boy wants my head. All he sees is how to get rid of me. And I won’t say I liked the way he looked at my daughter.”

Okay. Good news, Frankie was dead and buried out in the woods out back. Bad news, Sebastian was in one of his killing moods which normally didn’t stop at one body. Mob bosses were like that.

“It’s too bad you and Max aren’t suited for this kind of work. You’re the kind of boys I could trust to be successor,” said Seb, refilling his glass from the bottle on the desk.

“That’s very flattering of you sir,” I said, his chin raising.

“Those are my issues to deal with though. You and Max on the other hand, I can promise that even when I step down and am long gone, you’ll always have your places in this organization. You were a big investment and it’s paying off. I don’t want all that effort to go to waste,” he said, clasping my shoulder. Fuck, I could literally taste the bile pooling up from my gut.

“Thank you sir,” I said quietly, fighting back a shake when he ruffled my hair.

“If only Cecilia were a man. This kind of work doesn’t lend itself to women…although she does have enough rage inside her to handle it,” he said, walking over to his desk, my eyes widening for only a split second when I saw the planner there. “She fucking slipped that singer and Dean Winchester’s names on the guest list. Can you believe that? The balls on that kid.”

Fuck. It didn’t work. It didn’t-

“I guess it’ll make her happy though,” he sighed, cracking a smile when he looked at me. “And I wouldn’t mind meeting Dean Winchester. I bet I could get him to sign my jersey in the game room.”

“I know how much you enjoy the LA Wolves. I know your work is…stressful,” I said carefully, Seb allowing it. “Perhaps Miss Cecilia wouldn’t be the only one to get some happiness out of the guests.”

“This is why I like you, Sam. Always looking out for the big guy,” he chuckled, nodding his head. “She practically begged when I asked her about it earlier so I suppose if I get a benefit out of it too that’s a happy accident.”

I forced a smile, Seb humming to himself. 

“Alright. Go and tend to your friend. I have work to do.”

“Yes sir,” I said. I was quiet in the house as I made my way to our room, closing our door with a quiet thud. Max sat up from the twin mattress, a shiner on his eye and some bruises covering his arms and legs but otherwise in one piece. “It worked.”

“It worked?” asked Max, a smile growing on his face as I nodded. “It fucking worked!”

“Yup. Now we just got to hope they accept,” I said, kicking off my shoes. “Although…we may have a problem with Cecilia. Dickface confronted her about the names, thought she slipped them in. She covered for us. The way she looked at me in the kitchen earlier, I think she knows I did it.”

“The kid is smart and knows her dad’s in the fucking mob. Maybe she’s got a gut feeling something’s not right. Let’s just hope she keeps her mouth shut until after the party,” said Max. I tried not to worry about her right now. I think she knew enough to not say anything.

“So now we just wait for them to accept a random ass invitation to a party for a guy they’ve never heard of.” I sat down beside him, Max still all smiles.

“Have a little faith, Sammy. We made it this far. Who knows? Two weeks from now we could be free men.”

Free or dead. One way or the other, I had a feeling our stay at the Sebastian household would be coming to an end very soon.

_______

A/N: Read Part 6 here!

[queenshelby]

Our Little Secret (Part 15)

Pairing: Dark! Cillian Murphy x Virgin! Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Brief Mention of Stillbirth

Notes: This will not be a love story. It will be dark, twisted and kinky. Cillian is portrayed as totally off cannon.

Two days following your phone call and without the knowledge of his sister, Cillian arrived at the place you were now staying at which, much to his surprise, was located in one of the worst areas of Dublin. 

It was a studio apartment you had rented out just a week ago after you were given notice by your cousin to vacate his townhouse near Temple Bar. The unit was located above a somewhat questionable establishment and the living space wasn't much, and consisted mostly of a mattress on the floor, a small TV and a study desk.

The kitchenette was cramped and cluttered and, whilst the bathroom was functional, it lacked any semblance of privacy, with peeling paint chipping from the walls and a cracked mirror hanging precariously from the wall. The window was sealed shut, trapping the stale air within.

Despite the less than ideal conditions, you managed to find solace in its simplicity. It was all you could afford and you were proud for the fact that you managed to pay your own way after your mother and stepfather had kicked you out. 

You received a financial support now from a public organization supporting women like you and, thanks to them, you managed to pay the bond for this place and were able to cover the cost of the abortion appointment scheduled for next week.

But then again, even though you considered terminating the pregnancy and knew that, doing so, would be for the best, the idea of ending your child's life felt increasingly unbearable now, making you consider Cillian's offer. 

"Hey," Cillian greeted softly, walking in cautiously after you opened the door. He was taken aback by the stark reality of your living situation. He had imagined something more akin to a charming apartment, rather than this dilapidated structure situated above a seedy bar.

"Hey," you countered

shyly, inviting him to step inside. "Come in."

His footsteps echoed loudly, amplifying the sense of isolation.

"How are you holding up?" he asked cautiously, glancing around the room.

"Just great, considering I live in a hole," you quipped sarcastically, motioning towards the mattress on the floor. "Make yourself comfortable."

The tension between you was palpable, a mixture of resentment and regret permeating the air.

"This place, Y/N, it does not seem safe," Cillian murmured uncomfortably, observing the grimy surroundings. "Not for you, definitely," he added, concern etched onto his face.

"Yeah, well, I am lacking options Cillian! My mother and Frank kicked me out after she found out about us which, I think, is understandable," you remarked sarcastically, sitting down on the mattress beside him. "And you know what? It's fine. It really is," you went on to say before Cillian sighed, his heart contracting painfully for you.

"It's not fine Y/N. You can't live like this," Cillian protested, his voice cracking with emotion. He felt utterly helpless witnessing your plight, trapped in a situation he inadvertently created.

"Well, I would rather live here than anywhere where I would have to face the consequences of my poor decision-making," you retorted defensively, casting your gaze downward.

"Y/N, please. Let me help you," Cillian urged, reaching out to grasp your arm gently. You recoiled instinctively, alarm flashing across your features. Cillian pulled back immediately, aware of the fragility of your emotional state.

"Are you still finishing college?" Cillian inquired and you nodded.

"Yes, but I had to change institutions. I am working during the day and go to school in the evening now. It works alright for me and I am almost done with my final exams," you confided, shifting restlessly on the mattress.

"And then? What are you going to do?" Cillian inquired, his voice laced with concern.

"Law school, if I get in," you replied, your voice softening slightly.

"That sounds promising," Cillian commented, his tone brightening. "Do you think you will pass your exams with all that is happening right now?"

"I have to, right?" you replied, your voice cracking slightly. 

"Yes, of course, but...," Cillian began but then stopped abruptly, noticing your hesitation. He knew that he couldn't push you too far, especially given the delicate nature of your predicament. You looked down, tugging at the hem of your shirt nervously.

"May I ask you something personal?" you ventured, shifting uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

"Of course," Cillian assured you, eager to learn more about your thoughts and feelings.

"Why exactly do you want me to keep the baby?" you probed tentatively, your curiosity piqued.

Cillian hesitated briefly, searching for the words to articulate his complex emotions.

"I guess I wanted to be father for a while, and I am most certainly not getting any younger either. Max is not my biological son and, whist I love him as if he was my own, I know that I may lose him sooner rather than later if my ex keeps carrying on the way she does. So, when I learned that you were carrying my child, Y/N," he faltered, his voice breaking slightly, "it felt like an opportunity for a second chance at parenthood. I mean, I don't want to impose my dreams on you, but the thought of having a child, a family, feels so meaningful to me," Cillian explained and you sat there quietly, absorbing every word Cillian spoke.

His honesty, his openness, and his willingness to share such intimate parts of himself touched you deeply but you were not ready to be a mother yet and this would not change overnight.

You hesitated briefly before answering, "I appreciate your honesty, Cillian, but I need some time to process everything."

"Of course," Cillian responded warmly "Whatever you choose, I promise to respect your decision."

As the conversation wound down, an awkward silence settled between you. Both of you were lost in your thoughts, wrestling with the implications of your shared predicament.

Cillian broke the silence first, suggesting that you reconsider moving to a safer neighborhood. "Regardless of whether you decide to keep the baby or not, you know that I can help you find a better place to stay, right?" he proposed generously.

"I know but...no, thank you, Cillian. I can manage on my own," you protested, your cheeks reddening slightly. "Besides, I am used to this now," you added, gesturing around the cramped quarters.

"It won't be easy, but I assure you, I can handle it," you assured him confidently, displaying strength and resilience.

You were grateful for Cillian's kindness but refused to depend on him, determined to forge your own path. "If you insist, then I will respect your wishes," Cillian conceded, acknowledging your stubbornness which was something that had drawn him to you in the first place.

"Thank you," you replied softly, gratitude swirling within you.

A brief silence ensued, the atmosphere thick with tension and anticipation. Neither of you dared break the silence, fearing that the wrong words might shatter the fragile equilibrium.

Cillian cast his gaze around the dimly lit room, pondering the situation. "We could take a walk and grab something to eat if you like," he suggested cautiously, eager to escape the confines of the cramped space. "I remember how much you like Chinese," he teased playfully, attempting to lighten the mood.

"I would love some food other than instant noodles," you admitted sheepishly as you gathered your belongings hastily, while Cillian attempted to conceal his amazement at your ability to pack everything into a single worn-out backpack. He couldn't imagine living in such conditions, and yet the admiration he felt for your perseverance grew stronger.

You grabbed your jacket and stepped into the chilly night air, the wind whipping your hair wildly around your face.

Cillian followed closely behind, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He kept his distance, giving you ample space to navigate the uneven cobblestone streets. As you walked together, the silence between you felt heavy with unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

"Are you feeling okay?" Cillian questioned tenderly, his eyes scanning your face carefully. Concern flickered across his features, and he reached out to touch your hand lightly. Your skin warmed beneath his fingertips, a subtle connection forming between you.

"Yes, I am," you answered honestly, turning your gaze away self-consciously.

"I have just been feeling a bit overwhelmed with everything that is happening in my life right now," you confided, placing your hand on your stomach protectively. The truth was, you were still undecided about whether to proceed with the termination, and the constant reminder of this tiny life growing inside you was overwhelming.

"That is understandable," Cillian murmured sympathetically, offering you moral support. "It's a lot to deal with, especially all at once. But I promise to be here for you, regardless of the outcome," he reassured you, his gentle touch conveying his sincerity.

You gazed at him gratefully, appreciative of his unwavering commitment. Even though your emotions were torn between resentment and affection, it was impossible to deny the depth of Cillian's compassion.

"I know it must sound strange, but I feel...

I feel like I can't breathe sometimes, like this is all happening to someone else," you confessed, your voice wavering slightly. "Like I am just watching myself fall apart," you continued, pausing briefly to catch your breath.

"I understand," Cillian consoled you, his grip tightening fractionally on your hand. "I have been there, you know, feeling like I was trapped in a relentless cycle of my own creation after Danielle, and I lost our first baby. I was so focused on my own grief that I didn't notice hers and it quickly drove us apart," he divulged candidly, recalling the darkest moments of his life.

"I am so sorry, Cillian" you whispered softly, your hand reflexively clasping his.

"Don't be," he replied, his grip firming around your fingers. "It's all in the past now. We are finally getting a divorce, which was something I put off for far too long. Besides, I wouldn't be here today if I hadn't gone through it all," he added optimistically, a faint smile flickering across his lips.

You glanced at him, his optimism infectious. His strength amazed you, inspiring you to embrace your own challenges and rise above whatever obstacles lay ahead.

"A few days ago, you asked me whether I would give evidence against Danielle, about the assault," you mused aloud, staring down at the cobblestones below. "I will do it," you declared resolutely, your jaw set firmly. "You need to be able to see Max and she shouldn't withhold him from you regardless of what happened," you added emphatically, your tone hardening noticeably.

Cillian's heart swelled with pride and gratitude, admiring your courage and tenacity. "Thank you," he murmured, squeezing your hand tightly. "I don't expect you to," he added, hesitant to burden you further.

"No, it's important," you insisted, your voice steady with conviction while Cillian stared at you blankly, marveling at your strength and resolve. "Are you sure?" he asked, seeking reassurance.

"Yes, I am," you affirmed, smiling weakly. "But you need to buy me dinner, because I am broke," you joked, playfully nudging Cillian's shoulder.

"Consider it done," Cillian promised, leading you towards a restaurant he knew in the area.

When you arrived at a small Chinese diner nestled between two larger establishments, the scent of authentic stir fry and dumplings filled the air. The neon sign outside buzzed, casting ominous shadows along the street. You exchanged uncertain glances before stepping inside.

Inside, the restaurant was bustling with patrons, a lively mix of locals and tourists enjoying a late supper. The hostess greeted Cillian warmly, her eyes widening upon spotting him. You felt a rush of embarrassment, wondering why everyone seemed to recognize him.

"Can we get a booth please?" Cillian requested politely, guiding you toward a corner table nestled amidst the din of laughter and clinking dishes. The hostess obliged, smiling warmly as she led you both to your desired seating area.

As you slid into the cozy booth seats, you admired the quaint charm of the restaurant and the eclectic mix of patrons milling about. You couldn't help but feel a sense of relief, knowing that you were safely tucked away from the majority of the crowd, which you knew was why Cillian had chosen this table. 

Soon after you were seated, you ordered your favorite dish, spicy fried rice and spring rolls, while Cillian ordered a variety of dishes to share, ensuring that you would enjoy the experience.

"Can you please not put any sprouts on any of these dishes?" Cillian requested politely, squirming slightly in his seat.

Confusion washed over your face. "I am sorry, but is there a reason why you dislike beansprouts?" you wondered curiously, genuinely perplexed.

"Oh, no...I like them. It's just that they are risky when you are pregnant. They sometimes carry listeria," Cillian clarified, his face scrunching up slightly. "You know, just in case you decide to keep the baby, there are some foods you shouldn't eat. I read it somewhere."

You paused, mulling over his words. "Well, then, I suppose we should avoid those," you chuckled nervously, exchanging a fleeting glance with Cillian.

The mention of the pregnancy stirred mixed emotions within you again, prompting a wave of discomfort. Yet, despite the turmoil brewing beneath the surface, you couldn't help but feel compelled by the notion of embracing this newfound potentiality.

"If I was to keep the baby, how would this work, between us?" you asked Cillian warily, trying to gauge his intentions.

Swallowing hard, Cillian shifted uneasily in his seat. "Well, I suppose that depends on what you want," he hedged cautiously, wanting to present a fair arrangement without jeopardizing your autonomy.

"I want to finish my studies and become a lawyer," you replied firmly, meeting his gaze head-on. "I need to focus on that and raising a child at the same time will be difficult," you explained, worry clouding your expression.

Cillian studied you intently, sensing the uncertainty behind your words. "I understand," he murmured, nodding slowly. "I truly do," he repeated, allowing himself a moment to gather his thoughts. "Let me propose something," he offered, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I will help you financially, however discreetly possible, until you graduate. I will buy you a house, for you and our child to live and, in return, you can let me be a part of our child's life. I can help look after the baby. You can work and study. Whatever you want to do. We can have a shared care arrangement in place," he proposed delicately but with determination burning in his eyes.

Your gaze drifted to the busy kitchen, watching the chefs whip up plates of delectable delights. The aromas wafting towards you stirred memories of your childhood spent cooking with your mother. You blinked back tears, yearning for a simpler time when life was less complicated. Swallowing hard, you turned your attention back to Cillian.

"Okay," you said, your voice barely audible amid the cacophony of the restaurant. "But, before I agree to anything, I need to clarify some things. First, you cannot buy me a house. That's too much and it wouldn't feel right," you argued fiercely, clutching your purse tightly.

Cillian shook his head vehemently, his gaze locked on yours. "Please, let me do this," he pleaded, his voice trembling slightly. "You cannot live the way you do with a child on the way," he implored earnestly, his blue eyes pleading with you.

"No, Cillian," you interrupted sternly, the corners of your mouth flattening into a thin line. "I refuse to be indebted to you. If I accept your offer, it will be on my terms."

"How about I buy the house on trust for our child, in my name, and you can pay the same amount of rent you are paying now, for the place you are living in," Cillian tried to compromise his initial proposal.

"That's more reasonable, I suppose," you agreed, your eyebrows arching upward.

"And where would you live?" you pressed, curious about the logistics of such an arrangement. Cillian hesitated, his gaze drifting to the candle flickering on the table.

"Nearby, I suppose," he muttered reluctantly, feeling the weight of responsibility bearing down on him. 

Your heart raced, your palms sweating with anxiety. "Alright," you agreed, swallowing hard. "But I will not stop working or studying," you stressed adamantly, raising your chin defiantly. "I want to make a life for myself and our child," you declared, your voice steadying.

Cillian smiled widely, relief washing over him. "I understand," he assured you sincerely before asking "so you will keep the baby?"

You deliberated silently. The decision weighed heavily on your shoulders, as the gravity of your choice bore down on you. This little life growing inside you was a force to be reckoned with, a tangible reminder of the consequences of your actions.

Finally, you met Cillian's gaze, determination reflecting in your eyes. "Yes, I will," you confirmed softly, your voice scarcely rising above a whisper just before Cillian's phone buzzed and he received a message from his sister.

"You are an idiot!" was all it said on the screen before, suddenly, a photograph popped up beneath it.

You glanced at Cillian who was staring at his phone incredulously, his face crinkling in disbelief, seeing that someone had snapped a photo of you, together, holding hands, before posting it on Twitter. 

Tags:

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[goodwhump-temp]

Rin Okumura Whump - Blue Exorcist

Yukio Okumura Whump Stupidity is contagious

Season 1 1x01 The Devil Resides in Human Souls - Bloody fist, face cut, held down 1x02 Gehenna Gate - Hunted, almost falls, trips, slapped, dragged, restrained, emotional 1x04 Garden of Amahara - Sobbing (reading Manga) 1x05 A Boy from the Cursed Temple - Flustered, chased, knocked down, almost bitten, almost shot inconspicuously 1x06 The Phantom Chef - Restrained multiple times, justified anger, dies (of horrible food), loopy, held, master chef battle against a pokemon, collapse, hurt feelings/crying, knocked back 1x07 A Flock of Plovers - Thrown, knocked down, choked 1x08 Now A Certain Man was Sick - Jumpscared, hits his head, slapped, dropped heavy rock on his foot, chased, thrown multiple times, knocked down 1x09 Memories - Targetted, hurt with holy water, squeezed, pain, stabbed, bleeding 1x10 Black Cat - Headbut, bloody nose 1x12 A Game of Tag - Smacked, knocked down, punched multiple times, feral, pinned, bloody face, knees collapse 1x13 Proof - Headlocked, sliced, impaled, bandaged, traumatic flashback 1x14 A Fun Camping Trip - Depressing high school flashbacks, panic, restrained 1x15 Act of Kindness - Knocked back, knocked to the ground, unconscious, reveals powers to friends, tail hurts, goes feral 1x16 The Wager - Feral, collapse, unconscious, targetted, imprisoned, nightmare of turning into a demon 1x17 Temptation - Moves while imprisoned, crystal prison broken, unconscious, squeezed, dazed, collapses unconscious, knife held to neck, confronted by ex-friends [insert season 2 here] 1x18 Hurricane - Face sliced, misunderstood, held at gunpoint, punched, stabbed, punched down, held by the head, exhausted 1x20 Mask - Targetted, sword to throat twice, held at gunpoint, shot with tranq, paralyzed, passes out, weak 1x21 The Secret Garden - Targetted, pinned to the ground, knocked down 1x22 Demon Hunting - Betrayed, held at gunpoint, thrown, unconscious, captured/imprisoned, chained as ritual sacrifice, extreme pain, bleeding 1x23 Truth - Bleeding profusely, extreme pain, unconscious, carried 1x24 Satan's Spawn - Punched, confronts Yukio, punched multiple times, bloody, weak, shot, collapse, bleeding profusely, emotional

Season 2: Kyoto Saga (This is loyal to the manga; when making season 1, the manga wasn't completed, so the studio came up with the rest)

2x01 Small Beginnings - Avoided, sad 2x02 Strange Bedfellows - Sad, not trusted, drunk, passed out/carried 2x03 Suspicion Will Raise Bogies - Hungover, tired as balls 2x04 Act of Treachery - Trying to prevent Bon from making the same mistakes as him and his father, emotional, leash tightened, pain, passes out 2x05 Mysterious Connections - Imprisoned 2x07 Like a Fire Burning Bright - Can't draw Kurakara (scared), no confidence, re-imprisoned, sentenced to death, friends worried, depressed, emotional x2 2x08 From Father to Son - Mental block 2x09 Through Thick and Thin - Mental block 2x10 Unbowed and Unbroken - Mental block broken, badass 2x11 Shine Bright as the Sun - Soloing the impure king, no confidence, emotional pain, badass, confronted by angry Yukio, punched, collapse, unconscious 2x12 Candid and Open - Flustered

[tantalizingtopi]

Snow

Gortash x The Dark Urge

NSFW

Word count: 1110

Disclaimer: characters belong to Larian Studios and Baldur’s Gate 3

The Dark Urge discovers an intruder in their private oasis during a blizzard.

I’m longing for my bitter cold winter storms and wanted to pen a little something with two characters that live rent free in my brain. Enjoy!

The white comes in droves, the wind whipping the minuscule crystals into a raging silent blindness. Markings of those who may have ventured out into the abyss vanish almost as quickly as they appear. The streets of the city are devoid of any life as I make my way home, having quickly found my own place away from the temple so that I am not always consumed by my work, worship and surroundings.

Nothing special, a small one room house just barely in the outer city. Sceleritas had a fit when he discovered where I had been spending a fair share of my evenings. He had fretted, “Milady, this shack is so beneath your status, what will the others think of their vile leader if they knew you were staying here?”

I had slid my knife beneath his throat. “Then you will make sure they don’t find out, won’t you? You will stay away from this place, or I will cast you off.”

He had not returned for fear my threat may not be idle, and no one had mentioned my little hideaway. I had secured a more prominent residence in the Upper City as well, for dealings and clout. But my dirty little hole in the outer city is special. My little secret. Well, one of my little secrets.

So when I see the soft glow of the fire through the white, lashing out at the cold through the cracks in the doorframe, I stop short, electric alarm streaking down my spine. Someone unwanted in my space. My sacred space. Fury clamps down around my throat, my hand reaching into the folds of my cloak to pluck my knife from its strap. Flashes of beautiful blood spattering in the white snow, the heat of it melting into the white leaving behind stains that none will find until spring gnaw at my vision.

I fling open the door, intent on murderous happenings, only to freeze my blade centimeters from my partner's neck. He smiles. “I thought you might come here tonight.”

Maim, kill, destroy, murder, your spot your sacred spot your safe place violated, kill him kill him kill him! Do it now do it do it! My urge demands of me. My hand trembles, urging me to dig in, my heart screaming at me to stop. My eyes widen in fear as I fight against my nature, against what I know is best. I shudder out a noise akin to a displacer beast in agony.

His fingers wrap against my shaking wrist, pulling it away from his throat, where I can almost see his pulse thumping. His eyebrow quirks skyward as he watches my expression, his remaining neutral, if not almost pleased. He takes his other hand and pries my little finger from the handle and jerks it backwards, forcing the dagger to fall to the floor, sticking into the wood. He immediately laces his fingers with mine, quelling the shake, and bringing it to its original position, he presses his lips to the back of my hand, a flirtatious grin on his face.

A shuddering breath I didn’t realize I was holding escapes my lips, and I feel my body relax slightly, having been successful at defying the urges within. For now. I let this man lead me further into my own home, closing the door against the white sheets of snow behind us. “How did you find this place?”

“It’s merely good business sense to be aware of any and all assets my partner possesses,” his dark eyes lock onto my pale ones. “And anything that may possess them. I’m trusting you’re feeling… better now?”

“I am,” feeling the heat from the hearth beginning to warm the chill from my bones. “You are incredibly foolish, coming here, surprising me. If I don’t slay you, your dimwittedness will.”

He chuckles as he begins to put more wood into the fire, stirring errant sparks. “You find me just as brilliant as I find you.”

“That is the harshest insult I think I’ve ever received. You wound me, Gortash.”

His laughter booms throughout the small home, warming me more than the fire ever could. He finishes tending the fire and stands up, closer to me than before. He plucks at the hem of my cloak, his voice dropping lower. “Let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”

My tongue is suddenly thick and unmoving in my mouth, and all I can do is nod imperceptibly, dropping my gaze slightly. I move to pull the length of fabric from around my neck, but his fingers beat me to it, his hands skimming over my shoulders as he lets the cloak pool on the floor at my feet. He clucks his tongue. “These are wet too, just how long were you out in this weather dear?”

“I—“ My sentence dies in my mouth as he takes two fingers and pushes an errant strand of hair from my face, then trails them down my neck, running them along the collar of my top, feather light against the top of my breasts. He lets them drift down farther, hooking them into the top of my corset and pulling me forward, closer to him.

My eyes catch his again, deep dark pools of desire reflecting my image back at me. In a flash, our lips find one another, the months of coiled tension releasing. We make quick work of one another’s clothing, and his hands grab at my thighs, hauling me up and around him as he brings me to the small bed tucked in the corner. He drops me onto it, himself following right behind, hands and mouth marauding my skin, setting me aflame.

The unrelenting onslaught of his tongue against me has me shattering to pieces beneath him, and when he finally slots his hips against mine, I dig my nails into his back, earning a groan from him. He moves ruthlessly against me, pinning me between him and the mattress. I sink my teeth into his shoulder, attempting to drown my cry of pleasure with his flesh.

“Fuck,” he snarls, twisting a hand in my hair and jerking my face to his, his lips bruising my own. He bites my lower lip and metallic taste blooms over my tongue, and we come apart together.

Outside, the snow continues to fall, wrapping around the one room home, blanketing our indiscretion. Tomorrow I know we will have to face what we have just done, but tonight, tonight I let Enver Gortash hold me close and whisper sweet nothings into my ear as I drift off, completely relaxed for the first time in recent memory.

[demifiendrsa]

Indiana Jones and the Great Circle - Gamescom Date Reveal Trailer

Indiana Jones and the Great Circle will launch for Xbox Series X|S and PC via Steam and Microsoft Store on December 9, 2024, followed by the newly announced PS5 version in Spring 2025. It will also be available via Xbox Game Pass.

screenshots

Overview

About

Uncover one of history’s greatest mysteries in Indiana Jones and the Great Circle, a first-person, single-player adventure set between the events of Raiders of the Lost Ark and The Last Crusade. The year is 1937, sinister forces are scouring the globe for the secret to an ancient power connected to the Great Circle, and only one person can stop them—Indiana Jones. You’ll become the legendary archaeologist in this cinematic action-adventure game from MachineGames, the award-winning studio behind the recent Wolfenstein series, and executive produced by Hall of Fame game designer Todd Howard.

You Are Indiana Jones

Live the adventure as Indy in a thrilling story full of exploration, immersive action, and intriguing puzzles. As the brilliant archaeologist—famed for his keen intellect, cunning resourcefulness, and trademark humor—you will travel the world in a race against enemy forces to discover the secrets to one of the greatest mysteries of all time.

A World of Mystery Awaits

Travel from the halls of Marshall College to the heart of the Vatican, the pyramids of Egypt, the sunken temples of Sukhothai, and beyond. When a break-in in the dead of night ends in a confrontation with a mysterious colossal man, you must set out to discover the world-shattering secret behind the theft of a seemingly unimportant artifact. Forging new alliances and facing familiar enemies, you’ll engage with intriguing characters, use guile and wits to solve ancient riddles, and survive intense set-pieces.

Whip-Cracking Action

Indiana’s trademark whip remains at the heart of his gear and can be used to distract, disarm, and attack enemies. But the whip isn’t just a weapon, it’s Indy’s most valuable tool for navigating the environment. Swing over unsuspecting patrols and scale walls as you make your way through a striking world. Combine stealth infiltration, melee combat, and gunplay to combat the enemy threat and unravel the mystery.

The Spirit of Discovery

Venture through a dynamic mix of linear, narrative-driven gameplay and open-area maps. Indulge your inner explorer and unearth a world of fascinating secrets, deadly traps and fiendish puzzles, where anything could potentially hide the next piece of the mystery—or snakes. Why did it have to be snakes?

[hopepaigeturner]

An Offer From an Avid Reader: The Sofa Scene Part 2.

Posted as part of #benophie week 2023

Prompt: "You're much better off without me." "You're not the judge of that."

(Vibes rather than direct quote)

✨The Context✨

See Part 1 here.

Prior to this scene we have had Grandam Alexandra’s will scene. The start of this written here and overview written here. 

By the end of this scene, Anthony, Violet and Kate have agreed (not amicably or happily I must say)  that Benophie cannot be together. Benedict needs distance to forget this little love. The family cannot be ruined by this scandal. And so, a solution is found–Francesca. Sophie can become Francesca’s ladies maid, Francesca who is about to marry an Earl and move to Scotland. 

The scene ends with Anthony doing a “Are we in agreement” and Kate and Violet agreeing begrudgingly.

Now! Back to the happy couple…

✨The Scene✨

Scene cuts to the studio with Benophie enwrapped on the sofa. Benedict is awake and lovingly staring down at Sophie, a hand caressing her back as she presses close to him. He kisses her temple lightly and whispers,

“This is where I belong.”

The clock strikes the hour and Benedict knows Sophie needs to return, so he gently coaxes her awake even though she protests and snuggles even closer to him.

“Sophie, we need to get up, and we need to talk…”

Sophie finally opens her eyes and smiles up at him. Then the reality of the situation settles on her and she jerks away.

“Oh my Lord!” She clutches her discarded stays to her.

“Sophie, wait—”

“What have I done?” she cries.

“I think more accurate would be what have we done—”

“No, no, no—this was a mistake.”

“Sophie, take a breath—” Benedict reaches out to soothe her again but she hits his hands away.

“Get away! Just…” Sophie holds her hand out. Benedict nods and turns around. Sophie quickly dresses, muttering to herself. “Foolish, stupid girl…I cannot believe you would…”

“Sophie, we need to talk.”

“What is there to talk about!” she cries, buttoning up her dress, eyes to the ceiling to stop the tears from flowing.  “It is not as if there is some future to be had here. It is not as if we can stride into your brother’s study and he will be overjoyed that you befouled yourself with a maid!. And even if I were not a maid, no illegitimate child would be allowed even close to your ivory gates. The only way that would occur was if Araminta formally legitimised me, which I can assure you will never happen because Araminta would rather be six feet under than do such a thing—"

As she has been speaking, the viewer sees Benedict still on the sofa, his hands running over the cushion that Sophie’s head had occupied mere moments earlier.

“So, marry me.”

“What?”

Sophie swivels around. Benedict stands up and says again,

“Marry me.”

“Benedict you are—”

“Do you love me?”

Sophie struggles—but she cannot lie about her heart.

“Yes…yes I do.”

“And I love you. I loved you in a silver dress. I loved you in breeches and in a servant’s uniform. I do not care whether you are descended from a maid or the King of England himself. I love you, Sophie. And you were right, it was wrong of me to expect you to be my mistress, to treat you like a secret, like something that is a mere shadow of my true feelings. So do not be my mistress.” He gets down on one knee. “Become my wife, Sophie.”

Sophie stares.

“You are out of your mind.”

“I disagree. It is very simple. I love you and you love me.”

Sophie stares–then steps away.

“Simple? Simple!? Benedict, if I married you, we would be ostracised from society, forced to flee into the country.”

Benedict is obvisouly disappointed but not disheartened. He stands up.

“Good, I find the entire ton pointless and petty. I would rather have a quiet life with you than an empty one in public.”

“But your paintings! You have such talent Benedict, such wonderful talent that deserves to be honoured in galleries. That could never happen if you married me.”

“It would not happen without my muse either. And a lifetime of moments with you is worth infinitely more than a couple framed moments in a gallery.”

His sincerity is at once soul-gratifying and infuriating. Why does he not understand?

“If I married you, you would have to give up most of your luxuries. You would not have the generous allowance from your brother.”

“No. But I know that I will receive my grandmother’s ring, which, when sold along with other frivolous possessions of mine, would be enough to buy a small cottage in the country. You could work as a governess, or in the village.” Benedict smiles to himself, already picturing it. “ I could sell paintings or find a job.”

“A job?” Sophie scoffs. But Benedict does not laugh, instead his eyes are intent. He takes her hands and brings them to his heart, so she has no choice but to look into his eyes.

“If it meant I could wake up every day with you in my arms , then I would work until my hands were raw.” Sophie's breath hitches, then he smirks. “And, you must admit, I make quite a good, cooked breakfast.”

Sophie is scrmbbling, old taunts muddying the waters of her heart. For it is ridiculous. He could not want a life with her? Who would want a life with her? She needs something, anything, any little piece--

“And your family?”

For the first time, Benedict hesitates. Sophie latches onto it.

“You would willingly thrust your family into a scandal? Tarnish your sisters’ reputations?”

“Francesca is to be married to an Earl. Eloise would most probably appreciate a couple years without suitors and all whispers will have dissipated by the time Hyacinth debuts.

“You think your family will just welcome us with open arms—welcome me?”

“My family adore you.”

“They adore me as a maid. You truly think such sentiment will continue when I ensnare and run off with their favourite brother.”

“I am not their—”

“Yes, you are!” Sophei cries. “Your entire family adores you, Benedict, your entire family relies on you, cares for you, needs you.”

As she says the words her yearning tone increases. What she would not give to have grown up with Violet as a mother, or Eloise as a sister. What she would give up to experience such love.

“At some point I need to lead my own life…”

“They love you, Benedict. They love you, so very much.”

Benedict pulls her closer, holding her by the arms, voice gentle.

“And that love will mean that they will not ostracise us. It might take time, some more than others, but we would not be estranged.”

“You would risk that love? You would willingly give up that love? A love that is so rare, and so precious?”

“Sophie—”

“No. No. You are being delusional.”

“I am not delusional—”

“Ofcourse you are!” Sophie breaks away. “Or if not then you are being naïve and reckless with the privilege and love that has been handed to you on a silver platter—just like every other gentleman. I know what it is like to not have that love, Benedict.” The tears choke her voice. “And it is a fate I would never wish to inflict on anyone, let alone the man I love. No. I will not let you throw away such a special, wonderful love on someone like me.”

“You are worth it.”

“I am not.”

“Sophie, you do not dictate what or who I value and put worth into. I choose to value you, to love you—”

“You are being ridiculous! Love may have triumphed for your siblings, but their silks match, as do their cravats and pearls. Your siblings’ love is treasured in paintings and poems, looked on with envy but also admiration…But I wear cotton while you wear silk, and my neck is bare. Our love would be discarded in the dusty shadows and treated with disdain until it is disfigured. And we will be disfigured and miserable. No one would ever choose a love like that. No one should choose a love like that.”

Benedict steps towards her as he speaks,

“I would choose a love like that. I will choose a love like that. I am choosing a love like that. A love that is disdained by others but coveted by us. A love that burns too bright to ever submit to the shadows and a love so strong that it heals its wounds and rises after every fall.” He is so close that he can cup her face tenderly, the other hand on her waist. His eyes staring into her soul. “What you say is true, the world can be a cruel place, but I am willing to brave it with you, I am willing to brave it for you. Please.”

A couple beats of shared heartbeats—until Sophie whispers,

“I will not be the one who ruins you.”

She pushes away.

“But you love me and I love you. Why is that not enough?”

“It will never be enough…” Benedict staggers back. “And I will never risk ruining you nor the love you deserve.”

“You are the love I deserve. You are the only love I want.”

He tries to come close and capture her again. But Sophie steps out of reach—always just out of reach.

“I am not. I am just a dream that will one day disappear when you find the lady that is the love of your life.”

“You are—”

“Please. Please, stop.” She sobs. Benedict halts even though all he wants to do is take her in his arms, hold her and kiss her until she understands how much love he has for her, how reverently he holds her in his life.

But Benedict knows that Sophie is a woman of conviction. And since that day at the lake he has learnt the need to respect her even if it wrenches the heart apart. So, with great effort, he says,

“Very well…You have every right to make your own decision and I should respect that. So, goodbye…” his voice chokes and he struggles to swallow. He steps away, unable to look her in the eye. “Goodbye Sophie.”

“Goodbye, Benedict.”

With tears in her eyes Sophie walks to the door, but just as she opens it, Benedict says.

“But you must know, Sophie, that you are breaking my heart once more,” He finally looks up at her, tears running down his face, “and you are condemning me to spend the rest of my life wandering this earth with half a heart and half a soul.”

Sophie tries to hold his stare as her heart rips at the seams. For she wishes she could run into his arms and never let go. In her heart she longs for this man, dreams of a life with him, a life where she would be enough for him.

But such dreams are as fantastical as the stories she makes up. She can only believe in what she knows—that she will make him miserable. Just as she has made everyone miserable: her father, her stepmother, and her step siblings. So, she turns away and says,

“I assure you, Benedict. That fate is far better than the alternative.”

And she leaves.

She shuts the door and rests on it, hand on her stomach, hand over her mouth, tears spilling as she closes her eyes. But after a moment she takes a shaky breath, breaths deep and stands rigidly tall. And then leaves down the corridor.

The camera pans through to the other side of the door to find Benedict resting his forehead on the door.

Waiting, hoping.

But then he hears her footsteps leave and his eyes close in anguish. And he slides to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

*~*~*~*~*

Ah...you smell that? Sweet, sweet angst. 😉

I’d love to hear your ideas/corrections/opinions and always open to chat or requests. So...

Check out the list here, for more of my ideas.

Check out the general arcs of my prospective S4 here.

[ohanahoku-ao3]

Whumptober Day 9

Late on this one, but I like how it came out!

Teen & Up - Gen - Stranger Things

The Depth of a Bruise Is Shallower Than the Depth of Determination

The light in Steve’s bathroom was too bright, the harsh white lights making the ache in his temples pulse towards migraine territory. He’d taken too many hits this time and let one too many punches land. His entire body ached from the abuse he’d suffered in the ring, and Steve hung his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he wondered if what he was doing was even worth it. The answer was given to him when he raised his head again, eyes opening to catch on the photos he had taped to the side of his mirror.

The first photo was of him and Nancy, taken during the first year they dated, with Nancy laughing at something he said while Steve stared at her with hearts in his eyes. The second was a photo of him with Dustin, courtesy of Claudia, doing their secret handshake. Dustin’s exuberant expression and his own joyful grin made his lips tick up even now, despite the pain Steve was in. The third photo was a snapshot of him with Max and El, from Flash Studios at the mall that one day that El was playing hooky. It had him kneeling down, wearing sunglasses and a leather jacket over his Scoops Ahoy uniform, with the two girls leaning on his shoulders, dressed up as over-the-top fashionistas. The fourth photo was a strip of five, actually, from a weekend trip to Indy he took with Robin, the two of them crammed into a tiny photo booth, making silly faces. The last photo was a group one, taken recently when Joyce took the entire party on a trip to the beach.

These people, his family, were why he kept returning to the ring. They were the reason he welcomed the bruises on his skin. He had a duty to protect them; to do that, he had to learn how to fight. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how many times he lost, he would do anything for this ragtag family he’d found. He wouldn’t lose another member of his family. Not after losing Hopper, the one family member Steve never even got a picture of, who somehow left the group photo feeling incomplete.

With that sobering thought, Steve pushed through the pain from his throbbing head and set to cataloguing his injuries. There were the glaringly obvious: the cut on his left eyebrow and the yellowing bruise on his jaw. The cut he’d have to explain away, but the bruise could be covered up easily enough before his shift tomorrow. Then there was the not-so-obvious revealed as he slipped off his tank top and sweat pants: A dark, purple bruise on the left side of his ribs and a smaller smattering of them on his left. His left knee was a mottled bluish-green from landing on it too hard, and his right shin had a sharply cornered red bruise from a boot’s harsh kick. Steve sighed, looking down at his newly acquired injuries and the litany of others that littered his skin, all in various stages of healing. It seemed like one rib healed just for another to break, but even with the ever-present ache, Steve had managed with far more pain before. Under Billy, under the Russians. The pain he was dealt by the down-on-their-luck Hawkins’ men was nothing compared to those past experiences.

With a sigh, Steve reached for the salve on the counter, hissing when the motion pulled at his ribs uncomfortably. The minute flinch caused his fingers to fumble the jar, and Steve lurched forward to grab it before it hit the floor. He saved it from shattering across the floor but found himself bent over in tears from the pain that pulsed from his lower chest. His tears dripped to the floor as Steve desperately gripped the counter with one hand to keep himself from collapsing to the floor. The bruises scattered across his back were coming to life after having gone numb at some point, and Steve couldn’t stop the choked sob that escaped his mouth, nor the second nor fifth nor twentieth.

By the time Steve managed to pull himself together, he was slumped on the bathroom floor, legs sprawled out in front of him as he leaned against the sink cabinets. His tears were slowly drying on his face, and his eyes were slowly closing. Messy, uneven swathes of salve were smeared against his skin, and as Steve slowly fell asleep to the distant ringing in his ears, his only thought was that it was worth the pain. His family would always be worth the pain.

######

Two days later, Steve stood outside the ring, his hands wrapped, just like his ribs under the tank he wore, and his jaw set in determination as he stood under the glare of the club’s manager.

“Look, kid. I told ya to take a week before comin’ back ‘ere.” He said, crossing his arms. “I like ya, and I let ya keep coming back, but I ain’t gonna letcha kill yerself for some petty cash.”

“I’m fine,” Steve told him, hands on his hips, a habit from scolding the kids that he couldn’t seem to break. Still, he matched his glare with an intense look that gave the manager pause, albeit grudgingly. “I don’t need a week, two days is enough.”

The manager grunted what might have been a curse under his breath, reaching up to rub at his chin. “Y’re not gonna let this go, is ya? Y’re obsessed, kid.”

Steve shrugged, moving to cross his arms instead as he relaxed a bit. He could tell that he was close to getting what he wanted. “Am I in today’s roster or not?”

“Not.” The manager answered, holding a hand up to stop his protests before he could respond. “If y’re gonna keep comin’ back when ya c’n barely bend over far enough to pull yer pants up, then y’gotta learn a few things ‘fore I put’cha back in the ring. Come back t’morrah, early, say one. I’ll show ya a thing or two.”

Steve narrowed his eyes at the man. He was wary of trusting the man, who was, after all, a profiteer who made money off people beating each other into a bloody pulp. “And if I don’t?"

The man shrugged. “Then ya don’t fight ‘ere anymore.”

He could be lying, Steve mused, but there was no way to be sure. And he couldn’t afford to get himself barred from the club. “Fine.” Steve spat, his anger boiling over at being trapped by the condition. “I’ll be here.” He turned and stalked away, tearing the wraps from his hands as he went and snarling a curse at someone who bumped into him. Fear and rage battled for supremacy in his chest. He had to fight for his family. He couldn’t let anyone take the club away from him.

The manager watched him go, nodding to himself when he saw Steve shove someone who had blocked him aside. He’d saved someone’s life by sending him away, be it Steve’s or whoever was unlucky enough to go up against the angry young man. Steve was rough around the edges, undisciplined, and inexperienced, but the manager had seen more than one man win against all odds when driven by the fire Steve had in his eyes that day.

Once Steve was gone, the manager turned back to the ring, watching two grizzled veterans go at each other. Somehow, the two men, experienced soldiers, couldn’t match the depths of intensity that the Harrington kid carried in his soul.

[out-with-the-boys]

The Dance- Chapter 06

Homelander x Supe OC

Notes: 18+ No warnings apply for this chapter. Each chapter will have individual content warnings as they apply to avoid spoilers. Find this work on AO3. Tumblr master post here.

Previous chapter.

“No, I believe you, Mom. You know you and Dad could never keep secrets from me, even before my powers manifested.”

“I just needed you to hear it straight from the horse’s mouth, Morgan,” her mother replied, her voice tinged with frustration. “Your father and I are only just learning about this whole Compound V nonsense. We would have never let some corporate whack jobs experiment on our baby.”

Her parents might have been a thousand miles away, but Morgan could practically feel her mother’s righteous fury radiating through the phone. It was a familiar heat, protective and fierce, but this time, it only deepened the knot of unease in Morgan’s chest.

Pacing around her apartment, she’d been on the phone with them for over an hour, venting about the chaos of the last few weeks. So much had happened since she moved into the tower, and the pace of it all was becoming impossible to manage. Every day brought new complications, and it felt like the ground beneath her feet was constantly shifting.

Life really seemed to take a turn after the charity ball. A-Train had returned to work, but that came with all manner of drama. Ashley’s “Girls Get It Done” initiative launched soon after, alongside pre-production for a new Vought Studios movie, and both seemed to consume her every waking moment. Even worse, Stan had been slipping through her fingers, always too busy or too elusive for a real conversation, and that was enough to drive her insane.

But the most unsettling piece of all? Homelander’s sudden disappearance.

He’d been gone for days now. No one seemed to have any solid answers about where he could be, just a series of excuses that never quite fit. The Seven had been swamped with work, but Homelander’s absence hung over everything like a dark cloud.

The one thing that oddly brought any sense of comfort to her was that Charlie hadn’t gone missing alongside him.

And then, like a nuclear explosion, Vought’s biggest secret hit the world. The revelation that the company had been manufacturing superheroes for decades—quietly spinning the narrative around them—had saturated every media outlet that afternoon. At the epicenter of it all, seeing the chaos unfold at the tower, Morgan couldn’t make any sense of it.

“Except now these same corporate whack jobs have her on their payroll.” Her father’s gruff voice broke the silence on the other end. “I don’t feel safe with you there, Morgan.”

She exhaled slowly, trying to keep the tension from bleeding into her words. “I know, Dad. But it’s not as simple as just leaving.”

“I’m not asking you to walk out the door tonight,” her father replied, softer this time, but still firm. “But you can’t trust them. If they could do this to you—lie to your face, rewrite your life—what else are they hiding? You’ve got to be careful.”

Morgan pressed her free hand to her temple, the headache from earlier making a slow return. “I know. Believe me, I’m being careful.”

Before her father could respond, Morgan heard a knock at the door. The sound was sharp and impatient, making her stomach sink. Whoever was at her door had no intention of waiting. 

“Mom, Dad, I have to go,” she said quickly, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ll call you later, okay? And tell Sammy I said hi.”

“Alright, pumpkin,” her mom said, sounding reluctant. “We love you.”

Morgan hung up just as the door swung open.

Stormfront stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame with a smirk that set Morgan’s teeth on edge. If she knew it wouldn’t cause more problems than it would fix, she would have loved to give that stupid smirk a solid right hook. One of the biggest things holding her back was simply the fact she’d wind up hurting herself more than Stormfront in the process. Telekinesis was always an option, but the idea of hitting her seemed so much more satisfying.

“Hey Boo, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” she asked with a bat of her eyelashes and a false smile.

“Oh, no, I was just wrapping up a call with my folks.” she said, mirroring Stormfront’s energy with a syrupy smile of her own. “Did you need something?”

“Nah, I was just swinging by to let you know Homelander’s back and Mr. Head Honcho himself just called a meeting.” she said far too casually. 

Morgan blinked. Homelander was back? A chill swept over her, but she quickly pushed it aside. Stormfront’s gaze lingered, a little too long, as if she were waiting for a reaction. Morgan kept her expression carefully neutral.

Deciding not to wait any longer for a response, she gave her a quick up and down glance. “You know, I’ll go ahead to the meeting while you transform and roll out. Don’t worry, I’ll give you the Cliffs Notes on what you miss.”

Morgan should have known better than to take off her armor in the middle of the day. At the very least she still had her Kevlar bodysuit on. 

“Yeah, don’t let everyone wait on my account,” Morgan replied with a tight smile. The door swung shut with a mental push before Stormfront could respond. Morgan didn’t care if she got out of the way in time.

Homelander’s return stirred a swirl of contradictory emotions. On one hand, relief—he was back within range. Given the duty Edgar had saddled her with, she couldn’t afford him running off like that. But on the other hand, unease—because now she was within his range too. Considering the day’s events, she could feel Vought’s proverbial noose tightening around her neck.

She pulled her armor into place, the familiar weight of it grounding her. Her presence here was important. Stan Edgar’s words came back to her, clipped and clinical: Your job is to keep him under control. I don’t care how you do it, but if you don’t, people will die .

That first meeting played back in her mind far too often, his implication chilling. 

Mind control, isn’t that what you do?  

She had refused. Using her telepathy to play puppeteer to someone like Homelander wasn’t a solution—it was a ticking time bomb. And if it went off, she would be caught in the blast.

No, her approach was subtler, more delicate. It had to be. She wasn’t going to rewrite his mind, wasn’t going to rob him of his free will—no matter how much Edgar might push her to. Instead, she walked the knife’s edge, nudging him in certain directions, steering him when she could. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than triggering his already unstable ego.

She adjusted her gloves with trembling fingers, staring into her faint reflection in the massive window of her living room. The armor kept her grounded, but the real weight pressing down on her wasn’t the titanium alloy. It was the tension of living in constant uncertainty—every interaction with Homelander a gamble.

Why had he disappeared like that? Did he need space after the charity ball? Had she triggered something when she’d opened up? The image of Madelyn Stillwell—unintentionally conjured in his mind—still haunted her.

His reaction to it—so visceral, so raw—had startled her in ways she hadn't anticipated. It wasn’t just the flicker of pain behind his eyes, but the sudden vulnerability he’d let slip for only a heartbeat before it was swallowed by the usual bravado. That moment had given her more insight into him than anything she’d picked up in passing thoughts.

Morgan inhaled deeply, brushing off her unease. This was no time to dwell. She didn’t have the luxury of second-guessing herself. Not now. Lifting her chin, she mentally steeled herself for whatever awaited her in that conference room.

However, as she made her way from her apartment with long, purposeful strides, Homelander was already leading The Seven out—his usual swagger laced with something sharper, more volatile. Inside the conference room, Stan Edgar stood calmly by the large table, his hands clasped behind his back, eyes tracking Homelander’s departure with cold intensity.

Morgan barely had to look at him to pick up the threads of what she’d missed. She let her mind graze his, and the scene unfolded in an instant.

First came the mission: an intercept on the coast, a boat carrying a supe-terrorist. Edgar’s plan was clear—use this as part of his new narrative around Compound V. The blame was to fall on Madelyn Stillwell, a convenient scapegoat to cleanse Vought’s hands of the mess.

That led to Homelander, simmering with frustration, who barely kept his temper in check. His resentment toward Vought was palpable, seething beneath the surface. You are my real family. This guy… He doesn’t care about us— the phrase rang out in his thoughts. Edgar, however, remained cold and unaffected, letting the tantrum play out.

It took only a moment for Morgan to absorb all of this, her telepathy cutting through Edgar's composed exterior like it was nothing. But he knew it too.

“Remember your job, Ms. Daly,” Edgar said, his voice low and controlled. His gaze locked onto hers, unwavering. Keep him under control.

Trying to keep Homelander under control without a heavy-handed approach was already easier said than done. Whether he meant to or not, Edgar had thrown a variable into the mix that made it even harder. Stormfront was there to stir the pot in any way she could, and that was enough to keep Morgan on edge all the way to a grisly scene where their perpetrator had last been spotted.

The Seven had found The Deep, an absolute wreck, over the body of a whale that had a speedboat run through it. Their target had most likely escaped into a nearby storm drain, and from what The Deep had seen, they weren’t alone. Morgan saw the glimpse of William Butcher, the alleged murderer of Stillwell, flash through his mind and immediately she tensed.

Stormfront was already hellbent on finding their target first with every intent to snatch victory from Homelander. At that, she had no intention of sparing the man either. If she were to alert the rest of the team to Butcher’s presence, she might as well be throwing a match into an oil refinery. 

The trolley was careening down the tracks and Morgan had to pick which direction it was going to go. 

Ultimately, Morgan made the decision to quietly tail Stormfront through the winding passageways that wove beneath the city. Something in her gut told her it was the right choice.

The air in the tunnels was unnervingly still, the only sound the distant, uneven footsteps of Stormfront ahead of her. Morgan reached out with her telepathy, cautiously extending her awareness through the surrounding walls. Her mind brushed lightly against each of her teammates', just to ensure they were all still alright.

Then, a sharp, violent tremor shattered the eerie silence, sending loose debris tumbling from the tunnel ceiling. Morgan flinched, her senses momentarily overwhelmed. The force of a telekinetic push from someone else buzzed in her brain.

Their target.

It didn’t take long for her to realize what had happened: the target had struck, using his powers to collapse part of the tunnel. Homelander was buried under tons of concrete, but Morgan wasn’t worried. He’d be out of the rubble soon enough.

Her mental tether snapped back to Stormfront just in time to sense her quickening pace, as if spurred on by the chaos. Morgan hesitated for only a heartbeat before breaking into a run. Stormfront was getting close to the surface, and whatever she was planning wasn’t good.

By the time Morgan reached topside, Stormfront was already marching through a massive hole in the side of an apartment building. The cries of terror rang through the air, but Morgan could also hear the panicked thoughts of civilians mingling with those of the target. Cutting through it all was Stormfront’s bloodlust—and not just for the man they were supposed to be tracking. No one in that building was safe.

Morgan felt her pulse spike. She had to stop this.

Stormfront’s electricity crackled in the air, her hands raised, ready to send a deadly blast toward one of the unwitting civilians they were supposed to be protecting.

“Stormfront!” Morgan shouted, sprinting toward her. “Stop!”

A silent curse flared in Stormfront’s mind as she lowered her hands, sparing the man she was about to execute—simply for the color of his skin. A half-baked plan surfaced in Stormfront’s mind as her eyes darted between Morgan, the terrified family between them, and the hallway where the target had disappeared. Too much chaos was unfolding around her for Morgan to stop what came next.

Arcs of lightning sliced through the air as Stormfront shot through the ceiling, careening toward the roof. With each floor she crashed through, the building’s integrity weakened more and more. That whole section of the apartment was set to collapse on everyone inside.

Morgan’s telekinesis had never been her strongest suit, but instinctively, she reached out to the floors above to steady them.

Everyone, please, you need to evacuate the building in a calm and orderly manner!

Her mental plea was as calm and measured as Morgan could manage as she touched the minds of the remaining residents. The family in the ruined living room looked stunned, but they quickly shook it off, making a hasty exit through the hole Stormfront had blasted into their home. All Morgan had to do was keep the building stable long enough for everyone to escape.

Maintaining her focus on the crumbling apartment, she tried to keep tabs on the minds of those trapped on the upper floors. With every ounce of her mental strength, she fought to keep the structure from collapsing entirely. Her ears began to ring as a trickle of blood trailed from her nose.

She was nearing her limit.

Her body trembled under the strain, and any thoughts of Stormfront or the rest of the team had all but vanished. She could feel her grip slipping as she counted the minds that had made it outside, but the number still wasn’t high enough. Not everyone had escaped.

“Psyren!”

It was impossible to tell whose voice it was—Starlight? Maybe Queen Maeve? Either way, the shout shattered her concentration.

Her mental reach violently snapped back, and the building collapsed. In a last-ditch effort, Morgan made one more push upward, softening the descent of a large chunk of the ceiling just before everything went dark. 

It was hard to say how much time passed by the time her senses slowly flickered back to life. The first thing she registered was the weight pressing down on her chest—layers of debris pinning her in place. Dust filled her lungs, and she could barely make out the distant voices cutting through the haze. 

“Psyren! Can you hear me?”

Maeve’s voice—urgent, panicked. It wasn’t a tone Morgan was used to hearing from her. 

A soft thud sounded nearby, the scraping of rubble shifting. Then, a new sensation—the pressure lightening, piece by piece, as someone began to dig her out. A shadow passed over her face, and for a brief moment, she caught sight of Black Noir’s unflinching form pulling aside a slab of concrete with ease.

More voices broke through—civilians, their thoughts a mixture of panic and resolve. Some of them were joining the efforts, moving debris with bare hands. Her mind, still sluggish from the strain, latched onto their thoughts briefly. They weren’t just saving her—they were pulling others from the wreckage as well.

Come on. Get up!

She urged herself to move as Noir reached out a hand. Wrestling through her pain and exhaustion with sheer stubbornness and willpower, she clapped her hand around his wrist and held on with what little strength she had as he pulled her upward. As she got her feet beneath her, she stood unsteadily atop the pile of debris, swaying. 

For a moment, everyone that wasn’t still digging through the rubble looked up at her, a stillness falling over them. Closing her eyes, she sifted through their thoughts. They were scared. Psyren, a symbol of indomitable force and hope, had almost fallen. She needed to show them she was alright.

Eyes snapping back open, she thrust a fist in the air, signaling their triumph.

A murmur spread through the gathered crowd, some of them shouting in relief, others just staring in awe. A faint smile tugged at her lips—she could hear the gratitude and hope in their minds, mixing with the pain and fear. Despite how much she hurt, and despite how much her body protested, she stood proud beside Maeve and Noir.

“Easy, Psyren,” Maeve murmured, placing a hand on her shoulder to gently steady her.

Maeve’s hand was the only thing keeping Morgan grounded as the world tilted precariously around her. Every breath sent a sharp pain through her chest. Despite the armor, she could feel the dull ache of cracked ribs beneath it. Her head pounded, vision wavering in and out of focus, but she refused to let herself fall. Not yet.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, voice strained as she tried to wave Maeve off. “Just need a second—”

As she fought to even put words together, the rest of The Seven converged on the wreckage. Starlight and A-Train arrived first, Starlight’s face pale as she scanned the damage. A-Train’s usual bravado was missing, replaced by wide-eyed disbelief.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, catching sight of Morgan. “You’re lucky to still be standing after that.”

Morgan forced a tired smile, but didn’t have the energy to respond. The strain of her telekinesis, combined with the injuries she was trying to ignore, had taken a far greater toll than she was willing to admit.

Then came Homelander, descending from above, landing with a force that sent dust swirling around him. His eyes flicked between Morgan and the surrounding wreckage, sharp and calculating. The fury still simmering from his earlier clash with Stormfront only intensified when he noticed Morgan’s condition.

“Psyren,” he said, voice low and controlled, “what the hell happened here?”

“I—” Morgan started, her breath catching as the pain flared again. “I kept the building from collapsing completely… Everyone’s safe… I think.”

But as the words left her lips, Homelander’s expression darkened. His eyes narrowed as he looked her over, and she felt the sudden shift in the atmosphere—a mixture of concern and anger that caught her off guard. The way he was intently scanning her didn’t help either.

“You’re not fine,” he growled, stepping closer, his voice almost a whisper. “You’ve got two cracked ribs, and you’re bleeding internally.”

Morgan’s brow furrowed. She could feel the ache in her chest but hadn’t realized it was that bad. Even so, she squared her shoulders, unwilling to show weakness. “I can manage—”

“No,” Homelander cut her off, his tone final. “You’re done here.”

With dizzying speed, he scooped her up, cradling her with an unexpected gentleness. For a split second, Morgan considered protesting, but the throbbing pain and overwhelming exhaustion kept her silent.

Maeve shot Homelander a sidelong glance but didn’t argue. Morgan blinked, trying to focus. Behind him, Stormfront lingered, a smug look still plastered on her face. She glanced at Morgan briefly before shifting her attention elsewhere.

“I’m taking her back to the tower,” Homelander declared, ignoring the looks from the others. His grip tightened ever so slightly.

Morgan could barely keep her head upright, the fight quickly draining out of her. She hated to admit it, but Homelander was right. She wasn’t going to make it much further on her own.

“Just… don’t drop me,” she murmured, a weak attempt at humor, her voice barely audible.

A rare, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve got you.”

He lifted off the ground, and the wreckage of the building fell away beneath them. Morgan let her head fall against his chest, closing her eyes. She caught the tail end of his thoughts—anger still simmering over Stormfront. She had stolen his thunder. But at least now, he still looked like their competent, compassionate leader in the end.

Song: Under Pressure by Queen and David Bowie Author’s notes: While I definitely had a few story beats from season 2 I wanted to include, there were definitely a few I wanted changed. I’ve really enjoyed pitting Morgan against Stormfront in this way. Not only is it a little cathartic, but I think this adds a certain layer to the dynamic that Morgan and Homelander are developing. I’m so excited to explore it further. Thanks again for reading! Let me know what you thought!

Next chapter.

[themuse-if]

20 (or so) Questions with R Fukushi

Let's try to figure out this icy ballet bot! Is ballet really all that exists to them or do they have a secret sweet spot for something else?

Interviewer: Rina/Ren, thanks for taking the time to dive into more details. Let's start with your birthday – you're a Virgo, right?

R: Yes, September 10th. It's just another day, but people seem to think it holds some cosmic significance.

Interviewer: Understandable. Do you go by any nicknames, or is it all about Rina/Ren?

R: It's just Rina/Ren. Keeps it simple, and there's no need for unnecessary embellishments.

Interviewer: Got it. Beyond the world of dance, what are some good traits you'd say you possess?

R: Dedication and precision. When I set my mind on a goal, I don't stop until I've perfected it. Discipline is key.

Interviewer: Admirable qualities. Now, on the flip side, any challenging traits you're aware of?

R: Closed-off, perhaps a bit cold. Small talk isn't my forte.

Interviewer: Understood. Do you have any hobbies outside of dance?

R: Cardio and Pilates. Taking care of my body is not just a hobby; it's a necessity. A dancer's body is their temple.

Interviewer: Absolutely. Let's explore strengths a bit more. Besides dance, what do you consider your greatest strength?

R: Perfectionism. I strive for excellence in every move, every routine. Anything less is unacceptable.

Interviewer: And your biggest weakness?

R: Lack of openness, perhaps. I keep my circle small, and I don't readily let people in.

Interviewer: Understandable. Describe yourself in one word.

R: Focused.

Interviewer: How do you think others see you in one word?

R: Distant.

Interviewer: Let's talk about fears. What’s your greatest fear?

R: Not living up to my own standards. Failure isn't an option in my world.

Interviewer: Intense pressure. What are your top priorities in your life right now?

R: Becoming the best ballet dancer. Everything else comes second. It's about dominance in the world of dance.

Interviewer: Family time – tell me more about yours.

R: Fairly normal. My dad works in an office, my mom teaches Japanese at a community college, and my younger sister is navigating high school.

Interviewer: Future goals – what's on your agenda?

R: Dominating the ballet world. That's the only goal. Each performance is a step towards that.

Interviewer: Ambitious. Rainy days – how do you spend them?

R: If it's absolutely pouring and I can't force myself to walk over to the studio, then I'll just let myself relax. Maybe make some quick spaghetti and watch a movie. Maybe "Suspiria" the original of course. I have a thing for horror and suspense.

Interviewer: Not what I expected. Favorite book?

R: I'm Not that big on reading, but one of my friends made me read "The Dance of the Dolls" by Lucy Ashe. It features two of my favorite thing suspense and ballet, what more could I ask for. *shrugs*

Interviewer: Fair point. And your favorite movie?

R: Probably "Suspiria" the one done 1977 not the remake. It's visually stunning and the soundtrack by the band Goblin is a jarring masterpiece.

Interviewer: Alright. Any dark secrets?

R: No, not at all. What you see is pretty much what you get.

Interviewer: Ok...What about your physical appearance, what would you say is your best feature?

R: My body. I've put a lot of work into it, and I'm extremely proud of it

Interviewer: *gives R a long assessing look up and down* Indeed. I can tell. So, what about your least favorite?

R: My moles. there are just to many of them.

Interviewer: I think they're lovely, lots of people would call them beauty marks. *soft smile*

R: Yeah, I've heard that before. *completely deadpan*

Interviewer: Ok...last question, how would you describe being in love?

R: Haven't really thought about it. My focus is on dance, not romantic distractions. Then again, maybe one day once I've properly started my professional career.

Interviewer: Got it, Rina/Ren. Thanks for delving deeper into your world. Excited to witness your journey and dominance in the ballet scene!

[luxe-pauvre]

When Richard Sackler graduated from medical school, Félix Martí-Ibáñez had tried to impress upon him the sort of esteem he would enjoy in life because he bore the Sackler name. This was only more true now, and perhaps nowhere more so than in London. The name was everywhere in the United Kingdom. There was the Sackler Building at the Royal College of Art, the Sackler Education Centre at the Victoria and Albert Museum, the Sackler Room at the National Gallery, Sackler Hall at the Museum of London, the Sackler Pavilion at the National Theatre, the Sackler Studios at the Globe Theatre. In 2013, the Serpentine Gallery was renamed the Serpentine Sackler, with a gala opening co-hosted by Vanity Fair and the New York mayor, Mike Bloomberg (who was a friend of the family). One of the stained-glass windows in Westminster Abbey was dedicated to Mortimer and Theresa. It was decorated in lovely reds and blues depicting the seals of Harvard, Columbia, NYU, and other recipients of the family’s largesse. “M&T Sackler Family,” the window said. “Peace Through Education.” The Sacklers’ impulse to slap their name on any bequest, no matter how large or small, might have found its surreal culmination at the Tate Modern, the cavernous temple to modern art that occupies an old power station on the south bank of the Thames, in which a silver plaque informs visitors that they happen to be riding on the Sackler Escalator.

Patrick Radden Keefe, Empire of Pain: The Secret History of the Sackler Dynasty

[tripthelightfandomtastic]

Wilde Wednesday thinking about learning an instrument with one of the boys around. Sam for this one.

—

You’d wait until you thought the apartment was empty before getting your bass out. A hand me down Epiphone Thunderbird that was well loved and always sounded great even out of a tiny practise amp.

You’d kept it a secret that you were learning to play the Caravel bass part, one of the most technically difficult song you’ve learned so far but you were so close to getting it right. You’d been playing for about a year so you figured you had the experience to at least try.

Sam was supposed to be out for a long lunch with his brother but he decided to come home early to spend the whole evening with you. Walking into the house he hears a familiar melody coming from upstairs. Then it stops, then starts up again, then stops, and starts up again, then stops, followed by a loud “FUCK!!”

A door slams and you come storming down the stairs in frustration, freezing in your tracks when you spot Sam at the bottom of the stairs looking up at you with a huge goofy grin.

“Sounding great baby”

You brush off his compliment, burying your face in your hands.

“Shut up, I can’t get that middle riff section right. I’m so close and I just got frustrated”

“Yeah I heard” he pulls your hands into his, rubbing slow circles into your palms.

“I know you don’t like playing with me around, which I don’t understand by the way, but do you want me to help?”

You look up at him and he’s giving you the biggest puppy dog eyes. You sigh and wrap your arms around his slender, huggable frame “I was keeping it a secret so I could surprise you”

He returns your hug cradling the back of your head and pressing kisses to your temple

“That’s so sweet of you lovely, nothing wrong with asking for help though. Plus you already surprised me! I didn’t realise how great you could play! From what I heard you’ve nearly got it nailed, it sounds like you’ve just gotta work on your slides.”

You wiggle out of his arms and start pulling him up the stairs

“Come help me then rockstar”

His face lights up and he races ahead of you to the home studio. You spend the rest of the evening and half of the night playing bass with him. Sam is very patient and reassures you when you start to get frustrated. By the end of the night you’re both playing the whole song through with him and he’s beaming at your concentrated face as you get it right all the way through for the first time. As the last note plays you look at him with your mouth hanging open in shock.

“I got it!” “You got it!” You both say at the same time.

Putting your basses down you both jump up and do a victory dance before heading to the kitchen to make celebratory margaritas.

Ugh so cute. I love domestic Sam. As someone who has zero ability to play an instrument, I'd need a lot of patience from him. I bet he'd be so cute, adjusting your finger placement and the pacing of your movements, "Ah, don't lift your index finger, keep it down." Little reminders added as he moves your finger back to the strings, followed by sweet compliments like, "You've got it, baby. Nearly there." And flirty things like, "You look good playing bass." With a stupid wink.

[soft-bellied-tannies]

Poorly Kept Secrets

Read here or on AO3!

Taehyung has never hidden the fact that he had no interest in fitness. His boyfriends never minded - having that time together and then different hobbies or interests with Taehyung. It wouldn’t be as noticeable, but Taehyung was dating what he would consider two fitness gurus. Jimin owned a dance studio with Hoseok, spending the majority of his day training and dancing with his students. Jungkook was a personal trainer who split his time between high-interval training, weight lifting, and boxing.

While they were all toned and trim, Taehyung was comfortably soft. He worked from home as an illustrator for children’s books and preferred to watch a drama over going to the gym. His boyfriends were sweet - they never judged and told him that his body can be however he likes as long as he is happy.

Taehyung knew that the main reason he was still fairly slim was his metabolism and their balanced diet. Jimin did most of the cooking and even though their fitness guys, Jungkook and Jimin both enjoyed food. If they wanted ramen instead of a salad, they were going to have it. They simply prioritized getting in their proper nutrients to keep their energy up for work while also indulging in their favorite foods.

During their fifth year together, Taehyung received an interesting opportunity to go work with a publishing team in New York City for an author that wanted to meet him and see his work in person before agreeing to bring him on the project. He didn’t love the idea of being away from his partners for nearly three weeks, but Taehyung liked the author and thought his style could fit the book series well so he went.

A few nights into his trip, the three were on a video call when Taehyung said something that piqued his boyfriends’ interest. He had told them he was disappointed in his tight schedule in NYC because he would have loved to do a food tour of popular restaurants. While that was understandable, his next comment is what sent Jimin into a new headspace.

“Man, if I actually had free time while I was here, I’d probably come home ten pounds heavier.”

Jungkook had laughed, agreeing with his boyfriend that he would be the same way. Jimin giggled and gave his attention until the conversation ended, but once they hung up, he turned to Jungkook and looked to be deep in thought.

“What’s up, Minnie?”

“I just…did you see Tae’s face when he said that?”

“Said what? That he wanted to do a food tour because I would honestly be pretty disappointed to miss out on that too, but I’m sure he’s still happy to be there,” Jungkook replied, assuming that Jimin was concerned with Taehyung’s enjoyment of the trip.

Jimin shook his head, contemplating if he was overthinking or jumping to conclusions. He knew Jungkook would be honest with him so he decided to go for it. “No, I’m sure he is happy too. It was actually when he said something about gaining weight. His face…he just looked, I don’t know, like he wanted to gain those ten pounds.”

“Huh…I mean, yeah, I guess he did,” Jungkook said, thinking back to the conversation and realizing that Jimin is right. It honestly wasn’t even surprising to consider that Taehyung liked the softness - he is actually pretty open about his tummy appreciation.

“Do you think he…does he feel like we won’t like it if he gains weight?”

Jungkook wrapped his arm around Jimin’s shoulder and kissed his temple. He knew that Jimin would spiral over something like this if he thought Taehyung was even slightly unhappy. “Baby, I am certain that Taehyung knows we love him no matter what. I think he just goes with the flow.”

Jimin was quiet for a moment, thinking yet again but also comforted by Jungkook. “What if we helped?”

“Helped how?”

Jimin shrugged, looking a little embarrassed that he was even bringing it up. “Maybe give him more snacks or bigger servings. We could test it out when he gets back and see if he reacts positively. The minute he makes any mention of not enjoying it, we stop.”

Jungkook thought it over and couldn’t seem to find a downside. “Yeah, okay, could be fun. It would be cute if he doesn’t even notice.”

Jimin laughed and shook his head, “I’m sure he will be onto us right away.”

—

Upon Taehyung’s return home, he was smothered with love by his boyfriends who so desperately missed him. Jungkook encouraged him to shower while he unpacked his bags for him. Jimin was making all of Taehyung’s favorite dishes for dinner to celebrate his return.

Taehyung thought nothing of it considering his boyfriends were absolute sweethearts. Jimin had a reputation for spoiling them both so it was pretty expected to see the table full of kalbi, japchae, sweet potatoes, and little banchan dishes. “Wow, Minnie, this looks delicious. Thank you!”

Jimin accepted the kiss with a laugh, determined to keep that cute smile on his boyfriend’s face forever. He took Taehyung’s plate and put just a bit more of each serving than he typically would, piling it up with food. If his boyfriend said anything about the amount of food he was given, Jimin was simply going to reason that he just had a long flight and deserved it - however, Taehyung accepted the plate with a smile and tucked right in.

Jungkook ate well too, having trained two extra clients that day so he had been starving when he got home from work. His large appetite seemed to be a welcome push for Taehyung who actually refilled his serving of japchae and sweet potatoes to Jimin’s surprise. They talked about his trip which seemed to be enough conversation to stop him from realizing how much he had eaten. Jimin had been finished for quite some time while he watched the other two enjoy the dinner he made.

Once Taehyung seemed to be slowing down, Jimin went to the fridge and grabbed a strawberry cake. It was one of Taehyung’s favorite things that Jimin made so it went with the meal properly. “I made a cake for you too. It’s the strawberry one you like.”

“Oh my gosh, Minnie, I love you. I honestly don’t think I could eat another bite right now, but I promise it won’t go to waste,” Taehyung replied, still not suspecting a thing since it seemed like a normal Jimin act of service for his boyfriends.

“That’s fine, baby. It’ll be in the fridge whenever you want it.”

Jungkook hopped up to help Jimin clear the table, offering to do the dishes. Taehyung sat back momentarily, letting out a deep breath as his fullness finally hit. He looked up to make sure his boyfriends weren’t looking and rubbed over the top which was rounded out with the evidence of his dinner packed inside.

With more effort needed than he expected, Taehyung hoisted himself out of his chair to bring his dishes to the sink. He kissed Jimin’s cheek as another show of gratitude for the amazing meal his boyfriend prepared before he was instructed to go find a movie or a drama to watch while Jimin changed clothes and Jungkook cleaned up.

Jimin returned from their bedroom and he was caught off guard by the sight in front of him. Taehyung was leaning back against the couch, one hand on his lower stomach resting while his other hand rubbed gently at the crest of his belly bloated with dinner. He had an older white t-shirt on that usually was form-fitting, but it was now clinging to his taut skin. Not wanting to interrupt, Jimin went to the kitchen first to grab some drinks and share his discovery with Jungkook who tried to sneak a glimpse from the kitchen.

When Jimin came back to the living room, Taehyung was no longer in that position and was covered up with a blanket as he scrolled through their shows. Jimin put some water, soju, and cherry coke on the table - free for anyone to take. They looked through the show options together for about fifteen minutes before Taehyung shifted next to him, looking back towards the kitchen.

“Hey, Gguk?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“Would you mind bringing some of the cake when you’re done?”

“Of course. Minnie, you want some, baby?”

“Yes, please!”

“Okay, three slices of cake, coming up!”

Taehyung laughed at Jungkook’s silly voice he put on at the end as if he was taking their order, not noticing how the request was affecting Jimin who had genuinely not expected Taehyung to even touch the cake that night. He was definitely not complaining, but he had barely digested his own food and he had eaten a third of what Taehyung had.

Jungkook was quite generous with his servings of cake, knowing very well that he was pushing the limits. Taehyung happily accepted the cake and started digging in as they watched the movie he selected. Jimin was eating slowly which was not out of the norm, but this time it was from the distraction of watching Taehyung eat.

Jimin waited until Taehyung only had a few bites left before offering his over, nearly half of the slice left. “Tae, you want the rest of mine? I’m so full and I was snacking on the berries the entire time I was cooking so I think I’m over the taste of them,” he said with a laugh, actually telling the truth.

“Oh, sure! That’s what you get for your cooking snacks, Min,” Taehyung teased as he took the last bite of his own slice to accept Jimin’s plate.

“Snacks are the best part of cooking,” Jimin replied, giggling so much that he leaned into Taehyung’s side. Both of his boyfriends watched him with endeared expressions. He kept his spot on Taehyung’s shoulder even while he worked his way through the next piece of cake, having to restrain himself from rubbing Taehyung’s belly which was getting tighter with each bite.

Jungkook offered the cherry coke to Taehyung when he leaned forward to grab the water. After his last bite of Jimin’s cake, Taehyung took a long drink of coke which topped off his belly to his absolute limit. Taehyung had not eaten that much before, but he would admit that it felt great.

Jimin switched their position so Taehyung’s head was tucked against his shoulder, gently running his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair. “You okay, love?”

“Yeah, just feeling full. I guess I really missed having homecooked meals while I was gone,” Taehyung admitted, trying to understand the feeling for himself while also being lulled into a food coma with Jimin’s tender scalp massage.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I missed cooking for you,” Jimin replied, trying to sound innocent in his intentions. He continued his little motions until Taehyugn fell asleep. Jimin immediately looked at Jungkook who had also found the night interesting, both sharing a knowing look that this plan was going very well so far.

—

Two months went by quickly and although they had not had another night like Taehyung’s welcome home, Jimin and Jungkook had certainly worked out a system. Jungkook had made a cute little snack basket for Taehyung’s office when his boyfriend mentioned getting distracted by his work to the point of missing lunch sometimes. Jimin had been beefing up Taehyung’s portions at various meals without it being obvious - an extra egg or two in his omelets, doubling his meat or veggies - and maintaining a healthy balance.

Taehyung’s middle had undoubtedly shown the most results, his soft tummy burgeoning into a pudgy belly. While the weight did distribute a little bit, it seemed that his stomach was the main landing place of his new weight. Jimin and Jungkook both agreed that the one downside of their plan was the lacking of feeling him up, both wanting to get their hands on him but not wanting to give away their current plan.

Jimin entered the bedroom one morning, intrigued by huffing coming from their closet. “Tae, everything okay, baby?” he asked, walking in to find his boyfriend fighting to get one of Jungkook’s hoodies to fit correctly. He had to utilize every ounce of his willpower to not comment on how amazing Taehyung looked.

“Just wanted to wear one of Gguk’s hoodies and I realized that I may be getting a little…chunky,” Taehyung said as he gripped a handful of his stomach, not sounding sad but more disappointed about the sweatshirt in particular.

Completely on the fly, Jimin remedied the situation. He was thankful that Taehyung picked a hoodie that was inconspicuous enough to get by convincing him it was his. “Well, first of all, it probably helps if you actually picked one of his. That’s mine, Tae,” he said, absolutely lying through his teeth.

“Oh, really? It didn’t have a tag, but I assumed all the gym hoodies were his.”

“That’s a dance studio, babe, not a gym,” Jimin said with a laugh as that part of his story was true. He and Jungkook both had hoodies from a friend’s dance studio called The Lab, however, Jimin knew that his was hanging on a hook in his office at the dance studio right now meaning that Taehyung was most definitely wearing Jungkook’s and it was definitely a little snug.

Taehyung blushed slightly, embarrassed about being called out on his mistake. Sometimes he felt bad for not fully knowing about the dance world even though he supported Jimin with his whole heart. He stood and watched Jimin grab another hoodie from Jungkook’s section of the closet, handing it over to him with a smile and a kiss on the cheek.

“Try this one, love,” Jimin instructed, watching as Taehyung took off the first hoodie with a bit of struggle. He purposefully picked one of Jungkook’s that he knew was well oversized, his boyfriend’s preference for his clothes. The hoodie went on perfectly fine, even hiding a bit of Taehyung’s new size under the baggy garment. “See, perfectly fine. You are not getting chunky or whatever you said. Everyone gains a little relationship weight after a while, it means that we are happy, right?”

Taehyung nodded, accepting Jimin’s kiss and watching his petite boyfriend leave their bedroom after the little pep talk. Honestly, Taehyung could care less if he was gaining weight. He loved feeling full of Jimin’s homecooked meals, the warm weight around his middle actually made him feel pretty incredible.

But, he also wasn’t blind - he had most certainly put on weight. The scale had been creeping up a little more than usual over the past few weeks. He had always hovered around 150, fluctuating at times, but he always stayed in that area. Since his return from America, the number has only gone up; his latest weigh-in that morning read 164 - the highest it’s ever been.

Fourteen pounds wasn’t crazy in the grand scheme of things, but Taehyung could not seem to equate it back to anything he had actively done. That thought alone is what made him consider his boyfriends having a hand in it. Maybe Jungkook’s kind gesture of his office snack pile and Jimin’s generous portions were intentional. He instinctively went to leave the bedroom, planning to approach them about it when he decided that he could play their game too.

Taehyung leaned into their little efforts for the next month, noticing them more blatantly when he was actively aware of it. Jimin had definitely been serving him bigger portions or adding a bit more to his food almost unconsciously while Jungkook’s healthy snack options were often accompanied by more sugary or calorie-dense options. He was usually given his beloved cherry coke rather than them asking what he would like and the right side of the middle fridge shelf had become home to whatever dessert Jimin had made.

Jimin and Jungkook had a few conversations about it on their way to and from work on the days they could go together. They both noticed Taehyung’s more active participation as the evidence was rounding out healthy in his midsection. Jimin had told Jungkook about the hoodie situation, both laughing about it afterward at Taehyung’s easy acceptance of Jimin’s excuse. They certainly weren’t going to complain when their boyfriend was so happy.

Another two weeks went by when Taehyung had secured the biggest book deal of his career by far. A prolific children’s author was looking for a fresh hand to illustrate their upcoming ten-book series. The story and direction were totally Taehyung’s style and the paycheck was going to be huge in comparison to his normal rate. It was absolutely a cause for celebration.

Jimin and Jungkook insisted that Taehyung could ask for anything in wanted and they would make it happen - so proud of their partner for his accomplishment. Taehyung asked for a day trip to his favorite gallery in Seoul which they had expected. When Jimin asked what restaurant he should make dinner reservations at, Taehyung shocked them with his request. He hoped that Jimin would be willing to make that same dinner from his first night back after the NYC trip.

Taehyung told them it was all of his favorite foods that Jimin made just the way he liked it and they could spend a relaxing night together. Both were fully on board, preparing for Saturday all week long. Jimin made a list of all the food he needed, leaving the studio early on Friday afternoon to meet Jungkook at the grocery store.

On Saturday, their visit to the gallery was fun and they headed back home so Jimin could start cooking. Jungkook and Taehyung sat at the kitchen counter, keeping him company while he cooked and sneaking strawberries from his precious cooking snack bowl. He shooed them to set the table as he finished up and started bringing food to the table.

Jimin happily filled Taehyung’s plate high with even bigger servings than that first night. Jungkook wasn’t nearly as hungry as that first night which also meant more food for Taehyung. All three ate while making comfortable conversation, Jimin topping off Taehyung’s japchae twice while he was distracted by whatever Jungkook was saying.

As that telltale roundness at the top of Taehyung’s belly started to make an appearance, Jimin assumed that dinner was coming to a close. Much to his surprise, Taehyung asked him to pass the sweet potatoes and happily dished himself what was left in the serving dish. Jimin and Jungkook jumped into a conversation about doing a collaborative barre fitness class, something to focus on so they didn’t sit and stare at Taehyung who continued to eat.

A deep breath from their partner is what their attention back to Taehyung. He had made quick work of the sweet potatoes and looked determined to finish his japchae which had seemed bottomless thanks to Jimin’s refills. His shirt was clinging to his bloated belly, an old button-down that had already been close to being outgrown prior to dinner. He brought the plate to his mouth, scraping in the last few noodles stuck to the plate and ignoring the interested eyes directed at him.

Just as they were getting ready to clear the table, Taehyung grabbed his full glass of coke and chugged it, enjoying the tight bubble created by the carbonation on top of all his food. He had to admit that it felt amazing - so much better than the first time because he was purposefully indulging rather than not realizing what had happened.

Leaning back slightly only pushed his belly forward more and even he was a little surprised at the sight. The shirt was really giving his stomach an accentuated roundness with its fight against the buttons. Still choosing not to acknowledge it, Taehyung had to use both hands to push himself out of his chair. He took his dishes to the sink and smirked when he heard frantic whispers behind in from the dining room.

After another few seconds of whatever hushed conversation was being had, Jimin called out, “Tae, do you want to come change into something comfier before we start the movie?”

Jimin asking him that innocent question seemed to be the moment he decided to break their not-so-secret facade. He walked back to the dining room with his hand resting on top of his bloated middle. “Oh, are we skipping dessert?”

Both his partners halted their movements trying very hard to keep their composure. Jungkook recovered first, looking back at Taehyung with a soft expression. “I, uh…we just thought you might have wanted a little break. Maybe take a little time to digest.”

“Well, I was kind of hoping to see if we could pop the buttons on my shirt,” Taehyung responded with a casual shrug as if that was a normal thing for them.

Jimin dropped the plate in his hand, scrambling to pick up the mess he created from the shock he had experienced. “You…what?”

“Minnie, come on now, you think I haven’t noticed that my beloved gym bunnies are trying to fatten me up,” Taehyung replied, rubbing his hand across his stomach to ease the bubbly digestion going on. “I’m just trying to figure out who is enjoying it the most out of the three of us.”

Jungkook looked at him with a pleased smile knowing that his boyfriend was happy with the development while Jimin’s face was set with determination.

“Ggukie, can you please go get the cake?” Jimin asked sweetly, a kiss placed on Jungkook’s cheek as he passed him to take Taehyung’s hand. He guided his hefty boyfriend into one of the kitchen chairs, leaning down to kiss him. “You’re happy? With this and us?”

Taehyung’s expression softened, feeling so much love at the simple question. “Of course, baby, I wouldn’t be doing this if I was unhappy. Honestly, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this good.”

Jimin smiled giving him another kiss that was immediately followed by one from Jungkook who had heard the interaction. They exchanged quiet ‘I love you’s with each other and paused to appreciate the moment.

After an analytical gaze over Taehyung’s body, Jimin moved closer and whispered in his ear. “You know what I think would have at least one of these buttons popping, my love?”

“Hmm?” Taehyung asked, feeling a little dazed at Jimin’s sultry tone. He never imagined a scene like this playing out in their relationship and he could not ignore how turned on he was by it all.

“You finishing the whole cake.”

“Oh shit,” Jungkook mumbled, feeling just as hot under the collar as his partners. He was happy to let Jimin take control knowing that he was the best in a dominant role.

Jimin smirked, grabbing Jungkook’s hand and bringing it to join his on Taehyung’s stomach. “See, Jungkookie thinks it’s a good idea too. Want to give it a try? For us, baby?”

Taehyung whimpered in response, never able to hold his resolve for long when Jimin was in charge. He looked up at him with what they affectionately called his ‘puppy eyes’ and nodded his head gently. “I’ll try my best.”

“I know you will, my love,” Jimin whispered closely, followed by another kiss on Taehyung’s lips because he couldn’t resist. “Would you like to feed yourself or should we do it?”

“Jungkookie. Want Gguk to do it,” Taehyung answered, as he straighten his posture in the chair getting ready for the next round of food.

Jimin handed an eager Jungkook a spoon as the younger pulled a chair up beside Taehyung. He filled the first spoonful with a huge bite and got started right away. The first third of the cake disappeared so quickly that Taehyung hadn’t even realized how much he had eaten. He knew Jungkook was the right choice because he was a quick eater himself on top of being motivated whereas he was certain Jimin would have teased him and prolonged it as much as possible.

Speaking of Jimin, Taehyung assumed he was able to eat more and more because of the little hands massaging his midsection, breaking up the air bubbles, and helping him digest as his stomach was put to the test. The waistband on his jeans felt like it was going to break skin soon with how tight they were getting. Taehyung was both annoyed and proud for choosing to wear some of his older clothes for their gallery date.

Over half the cake was gone before Taehyung asked for a break. He let out a groan and relaxed into the chair under him while panting through a few cramps. His body was reaching its limit, stretching his stomach capacity to the widest it has ever been. The two buttons holding his shirt closed over the crest of his belly were ready to give up and Taehyung was determined.

“Okay, I’m good,” Taehyung said, nodding for Jungkook to continue. His partners were honestly impressed at that point, both thinking that the whole cake was just a teasing statement and not a reality. Jimin was about to ask if he wanted to tap out, but Taehyung had his sights set on those buttons.

Jungkook continued his consistent motions of feeding Taehyung, only allowing him enough time to breathe in between bites. They both watched as Jimin walked into the kitchen, continuing with the cake until he returned with another bottle of coke in one hand and a carton of milk in the other. “I figured you may need something to drink soon. Which one would you like, baby?”

Taehyung cringed at the thought of adding more bubbles to his stomach on top of all the sugar and the milk seemed genuinely refreshing at that point. He pointed to the milk and was thankful for Jimin bringing the carton to his lips, allowing him to take a large swig to wash down the cake. He considered giving up after feeling the milk sit heavy in his stomach, but there was only a little bit of the cake left and his buttons were creaking.

Jungkook seemed to understand Taehyung’s final push, leaving the spoon in front of him for however long he needed it. Jimn noticed the heavier breathing as Taehyung forced through the last bit of cake, keeping his eyes locked on the button hanging by a thread at the roundest part of his boyfriend’s stomach.

“Last bite, babe,” Jungkook said, his own cheeks flushed from watching Taehyung finish off the entire cake. He was equally impressed and turned on by the entire evening.

Taehyung swallowed slowly, somehow still wanting to savor the last bit of cake. It was his favorite after all, but he figured Jimin would be more willing to make it now. He was desperate to pop his button so even though he knew it was going to be a regret later, Taehyung asked Jimin for more milk claiming he needed to wash down the sugar.

Jimin held the carton up to his lips, his other hand resting on Taehyung’s meaty thigh as his boyfriend chugged the milk. Jungkook and Jimin both watched in anticipation until the moment they had been waiting for finally happened. Taehyung let the milk drain down his throat and then took a deep breath, enough for his belly to ever so slightly suck in before he fully pushed it out on the exhale.

A quick rip of the thread was followed by a button landing somewhere on the hardwood floor below the dining table. Taehyung’s shirt was not gaping right in the middle, his tan skin now peaking through from underneath. He moaned at the release of pressure and felt his belly continuing to fight its way out.

Jungkook leaned in, kissing his jaw and neck without being able to form any words about what he saw. Taehyung let his partners have their way with him, too stuffed to even move. He felt Jimin’s fingers sneak along his shirt, slowly undoing the remaining buttons and gently massaging his lower stomach to encourage the food to digest. Taehyung finally felt ultimate relief when Jimin managed to get his pants unbuttoned, belly rounding out now that it wasn’t contained in his tight clothes.

“Wow, baby, look at you. This is an impressive belly you’ve grown, looking so round right now,” Jimin said, a raspy tone overtaking his voice - a clear sign of his arousal.

“Feels good,” Taehyung mumbled, still panting in relief. “Love you both so much.”

Jungkook and Jimin both returned the sentiment as they both continued their exploration of Taehyung’s body. Jimin continued his vocal appreciation as well. "I wonder how heavy you've gotten with the way that gut sticks out now."

Taehyung moaned in response to Jimin's teasing words. He knew that he was certainly the heaviest he had ever been at that current moment, but he had weighed himself that morning in anticipation of their evening. "180."

"What?" Jimin asked, his hands stilling on Taehyung's stomach. Jungkook paused his movement as well, assuming he must've misheard their partner.

"180. Weighed myself this morning," Taehyung responded, looking between them as he waited for their reactions.

Jimin looked down at his belly and then back up at him, basically in awe of the information - not expecting that number quite yet. "You gained..."

"Thirty pounds," Taehyung finished his sentence before adding, "Well, thirty as of this morning. There's an awful lot in here right now so probably sitting closer to 185 now."

Without warning, Jungkook stood and offered his hands to Taehyung who looked at him with a bit of hesitation. “Think you can make it to bed, big guy?”

Taehyung’s face flushed a deep red at the nickname and nodded while placing his hands in Jungkook’s, allowing himself to get heaved out of the chair. Standing, his belly sat in the v of his open jeans sitting so plumply round that he looked pregnant. He tried to ignore Jimin’s pleased gasp at the sight as he turned to walk down the hallway, knowing his boyfriends were going to watch his every step. Walking wasn’t quite the right word as it was more like a waddle.

Once Taehyung crossed the threshold of their bedroom, Jungkook and Jimin turned to each other with a smile. Jimin kissed Jungkook, letting it linger until he pulled back slightly and whispered, “First one to undress gets to ride him first.”

Jimin immediately took off down the hallway, stripping his shirt as he went. Jungkook called out after him, running down the hall behind Jimin while unbuckling his belt. They sprinted into the bedroom through a flurry of clothing and were met with Taehyung collapsing back onto the bed, his belly in full view. He had never felt sexier than right now - stuffed to the brim with both his partners dying to get their hands on him.

“No fighting, boys. You’ll both get a turn.”

One thing was certain, this was definitely going to be happening again. Taehyung knew that scale would say 200 in no time.

[mt-musings]

Bluebell

Chapter 4: Come As You Are

After being abruptly transferred to the BAU at what she suspects was Gideon's request, Cassie Boann struggles to find her footing. Shy and solitary by nature, the transition is made all the more difficult when Dr. Spencer Reid seems to take an almost immediate dislike to her. Unfortunately for them both, their respective areas of expertise leave them paired off more often than not. But when Cassie's past literally starts hunting her, Spencer is forced to consider that he might, in fact, not hate her at all.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Spencer Reid x OC

Warnings: Canon typical violence, kidnapping, stalking, drug use, blood, injury, death, PTSD, eventual smut, depression, suicidal thoughts more tags to be added

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When she was seven her father made her a treehouse in the forest behind their house. It overlooked a brook that provided a near endless supply of grey, water-smoothed stones that she carried back to line her windowsill with. Inside the treehouse she kept the tin tea set she’d brought with her from Virginia and one of her mother’s old matryoshka dolls that she named Chuck. She’d spend hours making faery boats to send down the stream or pouring over the yellowed pages of the books that lined every inch of the house’s den.

Sometimes, if she closed her eyes, she could almost hear her father’s piano playing drifting out the open studio window, blending with the babbling of clear water and her mother’s near-musical laughter. Sometimes she could feel the roughness of the pulpy pages beneath her fingers, feel the sting of the scent of freshly cut wood and varnish. She could convince herself that if she opened her eyes and looked up she’d see the rafters on which her father had ardently painted the stars for her.

But more often she remembered the metallic scent of blood and the sharpness of steel, the way it felt for her lungs to burn for want of breath. More often he awoke with her nose still burning and her cheeks damp.

Sometimes she wondered if they would be proud of her, or just angry, after all they had sacrificed. Would they think it a supreme waste of her potential to spend her days surrounded by death and depravity? Would they be ashamed to know that she spent more time with corpses than her peers, that she preferred it that way?

That she had shattered so absolutely and easily?

She slammed the file shut, pinching her temples at the thought of having to explain to them what she’d become. Not who—she’d lost her long before. She’d become a creature, a clockwork oddity that stared stone-faced at daily horror and envied the quiet serenity of the dead.

“You alright there, kid?”

She looked up to find Morgan looking at her with concern clear in his eyes. She sighed, giving him what she hoped passed for a smile.

“Just tired.”

“I was just on my way to grab some coffee. Come on, take a break.”

She thought about refusing, about turning back to the never-ending stack of violent deaths that awaited her. Instead, she nodded and followed him to the break room, taking the mug he handed her numbly.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do you ever think about Nietzsche?”

Morgan laughed. “Not if I can help it. Why?”

“Because he merely cautions us against staring into the abyss. He doesn’t ask why we would.”

“I think I understand why you and Gideon get along so well,” he said, nudging her with his elbow as he leaned against the counter next to her. “I’m going to let you in on a secret though. It’s okay to compartmentalize. It’s okay to take a weekend off. It’s good for you.”

Cassie made a face, draining the still steaming mug of black coffee but said nothing. She knew he was coming from a place of kindness and concern, that he didn’t understand why she threw herself into the work with such obsession. She dropped her eyes to the mug in her hands, somehow feeling more disconnected than she had before.

“I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks.”

“Anytime. I’m always here if you need an ear.”

“Hey guys,” Emily said, popping her head through the breakroom door, “Hotch wants everyone in the conference room.”

~~~

Cassie lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. Chopin drifted from the stereo in an effort to bring her peace, but it only served as background noise. Her heart hadn’t stopped pounding since the briefing in the conference room six hours ago, the sound of her own blood deafening in her ears.

She hadn’t stepped foot in Whitefish since she was eight, Montana since she was nine. The thought of even stepping foot in the Glacier Park International Airport had been enough to make her empty her stomach in the third floor bathroom at work.

She glanced at the alarm clock on her bedside table. It was early for her, nearly eleven. She hesitated a moment before grabbing her phone and flipping it open, punching the only number in her speed dial.

Gideon picked up on the second ring.

“I’m going to tell Hotch I can’t go.”

“Bebe—”

“Whitefish is only like, thirty minutes from the house. I can’t. I just can’t.” She made a face at the way her voice cracked, trying to blink back tears. There was a pause on the other end, long enough that she had a momentary fear that he’d hung up.

“I hope you know I support you either way. You need to do what’s best for you.”

She huffed, tears slipping down her face. “You’re supposed to tell me I have to go. That it’s my job, that I need to identify the remains. That they asked, specifically.”

“They asked for someone to help identify the victims. We can find someone else in forensics to help.”

She tried to calm her breathing as her tears bordered on hysteric. She pressed her hand over her eyes as if it alone could block out the wave of emotion threatening to consume her.

“I can talk to Hotch, it won’t be an issue. Nobody else would know—”

“No,” she said, too sharply. “No, I—I’ve got to go back sometime, right? Flathead’s got enough unsolved murders. And nobody will know the woods better. I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have called so late. I was just freaking out a little.”

“I’d be more surprised if you weren’t. It’s perfectly natural.”

“I—” she began, but cut herself off, biting her lip, “Thanks Gideon. I’m sorry again for calling so late. I’ll see you on the plane in a few hours.”

“Any time kiddo. You know that.”

She said goodbye and hung up, tossing the phone to the other side of the bed as she blew out a lung full of air, wishing that speaking to Gideon had left her feeling settled, at the very least.

Instead she crossed to the bathroom yet again and heaved her guts into the toilet.

~~~

Cassie spent nearly the whole plane ride in silence, nose buried in the files Hotch had brought containing photos and forensic information. Spencer found himself glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, noting the furrow that never softened from between her brows. Her skin looked almost sallow and her hands trembled ever so slightly a they ran across the photos.

It was odd, even for her.

What was doubly odd was the way Gideon seemed to hover, nearly always within an arm’s length. It wasn’t until she broke away to complete the preliminary autopsies that he stepped away, going with the rest to conduct the first round of interviews. Spencer, as usual, stayed behind, synthesizing what information they had so far into a rough geographical profile.

After a few hours he meandered his way downstairs to the makeshift morgue the sheriff had cobbled together. It was little more than an old storage room filled with some spare folding tables wrapped in plastic. Still, it never seemed that Cassie was one to complain.

“Hey Cass, you doing okay down here?” he asked, making sure to take shallow breaths after the last debacle.

“Fine. I’m going to need them overnighted to the Smithsonian for further analysis, I just don’t have the equipment here,” she said, motioning to the stacks of boxes behind her, “I just need to finalize my instructions for the imaging department, then I can come up and help with the profile.”

“Are you sure? I mean, that you’re alright. You seem a little off.”

Something shifted in her expression, almost like a mask being set over her features. She gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be? Now, if you wouldn’t mind filling me in on what you’ve put together so far, perhaps I can fill in a few of the blanks.”

~~~

 “We’re a bit tight on space here so Reid and Boann, you’re going to have to bunk up,” Hotch said, eyeing the pair.

“Um, I’m not sure—” Spencer started, eyes widening. Cassie cut him off.

“That’s fine. What time are we heading down to the station?”

“We’re heading out at 8:15.”

“Right, thanks,” she said, taking a key from Hotch, “I’ll see you guys in the morning.”

Spencer watched her retreat and disappear into their now shared room with a sense of rising panic. Derek clapped a hand on his shoulder as the others broke away to their perspective rooms, chatting about where to grab dinner after they’d dropped off their bags.

“You going to be okay kid? You look a bit like a deer in the headlights.”

“Yeah, of course I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You ever share a room with a woman before?”

“I don’t see how that has anything to do with—”

“Some friendly advice, make sure to get up extra early if you want a warm shower,” he said, winking, “I’ll see you in ten for dinner.”

Spencer rolled his eyes as Derek set off to the room he was sharing with Hotch, though he did have to admit that he’d made him feel just a little better. He took a deep breath before pushing the door open, stealing himself for what would likely be another painfully awkward interaction.

The room was small and dimly lit, though mercifully contained two lumpy looking queen beds. Cassie had already taken the bed furthest from the door and was sitting cross legged on the duvet, typing furiously, case photos laid out neatly around her. She looked up as he entered, giving him a nod just as her cell rang. She glanced at the number before answering, sandwiching the phone between her shoulder and ear as she continued to type.

“Tell me you got it,” she said, by way of greeting. She nodded as whoever was on the other end spoke, furrowing her brow.

“No, I want a CT and a full modeling, not just the x-rays. Yeah, I know. Tell Martha it’s for me, she still owes me. I’m sending the paperwork right now. Yeah, no I understand. Can you make sure Dr. Bashir takes a look at it first thing tomorrow? Thanks Ayesh, you’re the best. Yeah. Alright, call me tomorrow.” She hung up, tossing the phone to the side, picking up one of the photos and examining it closer.

Spencer put his bag down on the other bed, loosening his tie. There was an unspoken rule in the BAU not to profile other members, but he found it especially hard around Cassie. Perhaps it was because he still knew so little about her, but then again, Emily was new as well and he didn’t feel the need to try and get in her head every quiet moment.

“We’re going to go and grab some food in ten if you want to come. It’ll probably be a good way to get a lay of the area.”

“Thanks, but I’ll probably just order in. I want to go over the dump sites again before we head in tomorrow.”

“Sure,” Spencer said, tossing his tie on top of his go bag, “See you in a bit then.”

“See ya Spence,” she said, absentmindedly, already back to her notes. He was glad she didn’t see the face he made at her off-handed use of his nickname. Perhaps it was so off-putting simply because he was so used to her stiff formality rivaling only Hotch. Maybe it was the soft tone her voice had taken, something he’d never heard from her before. Maybe it was the way she refused to allow him to pin her down.

He left the room, making sure the door was locked behind him before jogging to meet the rest of the team.

“Where’s Boann?” Derek asked.

“She wanted to stay back and go over the dump sites.”

“Yeah, but the kid’s gotta eat, right?”

Spencer just shrugged, glancing at Gideon who didn’t meet his eye.

“Well, I’m starving,” said Emily, breaking the tension.

They found a small mom and pop restaurant at the end of the main drag and took up most of the back of the place, though the owners hardly seemed to mind. Spencer was quite sure the others saw Gideon discretely order a veggie burger to go, but no one said anything about it, even though it was obvious it was for Cassie. He hated the little jealous part of him that resented her for the clear interest Gideon took with her—perhaps he’d simply gotten too used to being Gideon’s sole protégé. It wasn’t as if he had to be worried. Sure, she was handy with a gun, but she spent more time scouring over crime scene photos than trying to profile the unsub.

Even today she’d disappeared off to the grave site as soon as they’d finished relaying their respective information back and forth. It was almost as if she couldn’t sit still, her eyes constantly shifting to sweep the scene behind him, checking behind her at the slightest sound.

If it had been anyone else Spencer would have said they were terrified, but he couldn’t work out the reasoning behind it. It was a typical case—gut-wrenching, as all cases involving children, but typical. One might even argue it was less gruesome than others, not that that had ever seemed to bother her before.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by Gideon, who pushed the take out into his hands. He didn’t say anything but Spencer understood—try and get her to eat.

He unlocked the door and found her sitting cross legged on the far bed still, curls standing on end from all the time she’d run her hands through it. She’d changed into an old t shirt and a pair of cotton shorts that did little to disguise the scars that carved through her flesh.

It wasn’t just her arms and chest that were scarred—her thighs too were covered in the distinctive jagged wounds, interspersed with round hypertrophic scars. The hypertrophic scars were easy to identify—he’d seen enough on victims to know without second thought. They were cigarette burns. Dozens of them.

He felt a rising sense of nausea. They were old, years healed by the looks of them. Were they self-inflicted? Had someone done, well, all of that to her? He shook his head, trying to dispel the train of thought.

“Gideon thought you might’ve forgotten to eat,” he said awkwardly, placing the bag on the table next to her. She didn’t look up, too lost in thought to have even noticed that he’d been staring.

“Oh, um, thanks. I’ll get to it in a bit. Just going through the soil samples. They don’t quite make sense.” Spencer glanced at the alarm clock. It was already nearly eleven.

He sighed and grabbed his bag, dumping it on the bathroom counter as he flipped on the shower. He was dead tired. All he wanted was to pass out for as long as possible before starting over again tomorrow.

Cassie was in the same place when he returned, now squinting at photos practically pressed to her nose through a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. They made her look younger, somehow. Maybe it was the way they magnified her already over-large, doe-like eyes, or how the gold made her freckles stand out.

“Can you take a look at these for me? Would you say this indentation is more ovular or trapezoidal?” She handed him both the photograph and a large magnifying glass. He struggled over it for  moment before handing it back.

“I couldn’t be sure.”

“Damn. I’ll have to wait for imaging then.” She took the photo back, setting it aside while she rifled through a second stack of papers that looked like some sort of geological data. She checked a few figures before typing furiously, one hand massaging her temples.

“I’m going to head to bed.”

He eyes found his and she looked almost confused for a moment. “Oh—Oh, I can work out in the lobby if the light will bother you.”

“You’re fine just—maybe think about getting some sleep soon? We have a lot of canvassing to get done tomorrow.”

“Of course. I just have a little bit left.”

Spencer climbed under the covers, turning so he faced away from her light. He didn’t have to be a profiler to know she was lying.

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[soulfulempathy]

Saki Metsui Character Sheet

Name: Saki Metsui | 滅維先 Gender: Cis Female Sexual orientation: Bisexual Age: 29-37 (verse dependent) Date of Birth: October 15 | Libra Height: 5’8” Ethnicity: Japanese-American Ability: Empathy (fully evolved) Ability Evolution: Control emotions & heart rate of others Occupation: Self Defense Instructor - Impact Studio Role in the Narrative: Yuki’s mentor, catalyst character (a character that influences change) Physical Description: Long black hair, black eyes, dark ring around iris (imperceptible), athletic build Speech Pattern: Pending

Tw: suicide mention

Abridged:

Saki, a woman who has been training in martial arts and self defense since she was three years old, graduated high school and soon moved out of her parents’ house at the age of 21. Less than a year later, Saki’s mother goes missing. Once she returns, she’s gone insane from the torture Isen Reiou has inflicted on her, and eventually commits suicide. In response, Saki decides to open a self defense studio that helps people with abilities in need of food, water, and medicine. She trains them and finds them a place to live if needed. 

Saki saves Yuki from Raito Yokoshima and takes him in, training him to go up against Isen and anyone else who stood in his way. They train his ability, practice with weapons, and develop hand-to-hand combat skills. She keeps a low profile so as not to attract the attention of Isen, but he finds them a year after she took Yuki in, and captures Saki the morning after she gets Yuki to safety. Now in his clutches, Saki attempts to escape with no luck. Unbeknownst to both of them, Yuki has gathered up an army of the people Saki has helped to rise up against Isen and take him down. And with any luck, Isen’s gang of disloyal men will turn against him and join the fight.

Backstory:

Born to Japanese parents in Los Angeles, California, Saki was always full of energy and life. Her parents enrolled her in martial arts classes from the time she was three years old, which she stuck with until she graduated high school. Her family blended in, never a topic of interest or even memorable to their neighbors, their friends, of which they had few. And that kept them safe, because they hid two dangerous secrets; Saki’s empathy, and her mother’s clairvoyance.

Once Saki graduated from high school, she transitioned from martial arts to self defense. After all, it was unwise to rely solely on her ability in this city. She moved away from home at the age of 21. Later that year, she received a desperate, panicked call from her father. Her mother was missing.

Six months passed. Saki was closing in, tormenting the criminals of LA until she finally got a name. Isen Reiou. A rich mob leader who had recently come into his empire, following the death of his father. A man known for his inhumane experiments on people like Saki’s mother. People like her.

The night before Saki planned to recklessly go to the warehouse Isen operated out of, the night she believed would be her last with her father, the doorbell rang. Behind it stood a woman, bloody, bruised, and disoriented – but alive. Saki stared in disbelief.

“Mama?”

Something was wrong. Over the next few days, her mother struggled to remember, to speak. She was distant and confused, prone to angry outbursts. Saki could see marks at her temples that would no doubt scar. And with each passing day, her heart shattered piece by piece.

It wasn’t until Saki, in a soft tone, mentioned him, that she finally got an answer. Her mother flinched violently and burst into tears. Saki’s resolve renewed, She intended to kill Isen Reiou with her bare hands. In the early hours of the morning, she broke the lock on the bathroom door and found her mother there, lifeless, her wrists coated in blood. She was too late.

Saki dreams about that moment to this day.

Right now, going after Isen was a death sentence. Unwilling to leave her father alone, Saki did everything she could do to thwart him. She opened a self defense studio, something she’d always dreamed of doing, but it was far from ordinary. Soon the hushed whispers got around to those with abilities living in LA, word that Saki Metsui would provide food, water, medicine, even shelter to the gifted individuals who needed it. She would train them physically and mentally, having evolved her own ability to its fullest extent. It was an act of defiance in and of itself, a way to protect these people from that man, and men like him.

As soon as she met Yuki Hashikawa, she knew what he was. She would help him just like the others, even though their abilities were the same. The bond they formed ran deeper than the others. Saki felt protective of him. A soul with such a good heart couldn’t survive this city. And yet, she got the feeling Yuki had survived much worse.

They trained relentlessly, and Yuki never complained. She pushed his mind and his body to the limit, which he had a habit of going over. During that year, Saki was careful, making sure they couldn’t be found by Isen – until she and Yuki were ambushed by the man himself, flocked by several of his men. Their narrow escape may have saved Yuki’s life — but in the the morning, Saki was taken, leaving Yuki alone.

Now at the mercy of Isen Reiou, the man she hates with every cell in her body, she nearly escapes before being caught and put under even tighter restraint, even worse torture. Waiting to be rescued would only get her killed.

But every person Saki has helped is ready to bring Isen to his knees.

[demifiendrsa]

Indiana Jones and the Great Circle - Official Gameplay Reveal Trailer

Full reveal presentation

Indiana Jones and the Great Circle will launch for Xbox Series X|S and PC via Steam and Microsoft Store in 2024. It will also be available via Xbox Game Pass.

Title logo

Key visual

Screenshots

Overview

About

Uncover one of history’s greatest mysteries in Indiana Jones and the Great Circle, a first-person, single-player adventure set between the events of Raiders of the Lost Ark and The Last Crusade. The year is 1937, sinister forces are scouring the globe for the secret to an ancient power connected to the Great Circle, and only one person can stop them—Indiana Jones. You’ll become the legendary archaeologist in this cinematic action-adventure game from MachineGames, the award-winning studio behind the recent Wolfenstein series, and executive produced by Hall of Fame game designer Todd Howard.

You Are Indiana Jones

Live the adventure as Indy in a thrilling story full of exploration, immersive action, and intriguing puzzles. As the brilliant archaeologist—famed for his keen intellect, cunning resourcefulness, and trademark humor—you will travel the world in a race against enemy forces to discover the secrets to one of the greatest mysteries of all time.

A World of Mystery Awaits

Travel from the halls of Marshall College to the heart of the Vatican, the pyramids of Egypt, the sunken temples of Sukhothai, and beyond. When a break-in in the dead of night ends in a confrontation with a mysterious colossal man, you must set out to discover the world-shattering secret behind the theft of a seemingly unimportant artifact. Forging new alliances and facing familiar enemies, you’ll engage with intriguing characters, use guile and wits to solve ancient riddles, and survive intense set-pieces.

Whip-Cracking Action

Indiana’s trademark whip remains at the heart of his gear and can be used to distract, disarm, and attack enemies. But the whip isn’t just a weapon, it’s Indy’s most valuable tool for navigating the environment. Swing over unsuspecting patrols and scale walls as you make your way through a striking world. Combine stealth infiltration, melee combat, and gunplay to combat the enemy threat and unravel the mystery.

The Spirit of Discovery

Venture through a dynamic mix of linear, narrative-driven gameplay and open-area maps. Indulge your inner explorer and unearth a world of fascinating secrets, deadly traps and fiendish puzzles, where anything could potentially hide the next piece of the mystery—or snakes. Why did it have to be snakes?

[mylearningstyle]

Sekiro

Released by FromSoftware in 2019, Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice stands as a distinct yet familiar title in the studio’s catalog. Departing from the dark fantasy settings of Dark Souls and Bloodborne, Sekiro transports players to a reimagined late 1500s Japan during the Sengoku period. Combining samurai and ninja elements with a strong narrative and fast-paced combat, Sekiro offers a unique and challenging experience. Unlike the more open RPG structure of Dark Souls or Elden Ring, Sekiro focuses heavily on skill-based combat, stealth, and precision, making it one of the most challenging but rewarding games FromSoftware has produced.

The Story of the "One-Armed Wolf"

Sekiro follows the journey of a shinobi known as Wolf, a loyal servant to a young Divine Heir named Kuro. The game begins with the abduction of Kuro by enemy forces, and Wolf is left for dead after a brutal encounter with Genichiro, one of the main antagonists. However, Wolf is resurrected, thanks to a mysterious artifact, and given a prosthetic arm that opens up new combat abilities.

From this point, players embark on a quest for revenge, while also uncovering the mysteries surrounding the Divine Heir's immortality and the dangers it poses to the world. The narrative in Sekiro is more direct than in previous FromSoftware games, with clearer storytelling and character development, yet it retains the studio’s signature use of environmental storytelling and cryptic lore.

The Story of the "One-Armed Wolf"

Sekiro follows the journey of a shinobi known as Wolf, a loyal servant to a young Divine Heir named Kuro. The game begins with the abduction of Kuro by enemy forces, and Wolf is left for dead after a brutal encounter with Genichiro, one of the main antagonists. However, Wolf is resurrected, thanks to a mysterious artifact, and given a prosthetic arm that opens up new combat abilities.

From this point, players embark on a quest for revenge, while also uncovering the mysteries surrounding the Divine Heir's immortality and the dangers it poses to the world. The narrative in Sekiro is more direct than in previous FromSoftware games, with clearer storytelling and character development, yet it retains the studio’s signature use of environmental storytelling and cryptic lore.

The Shinobi Prosthetic: A Tool for Battle and Exploration

One of the most distinctive features of Sekiro is Wolf's prosthetic arm, which adds depth to both combat and exploration. The arm can be outfitted with various tools, such as a grappling hook, shuriken launcher, flamethrower, or even an axe. Each prosthetic tool serves a different purpose in battle, allowing players to adapt their strategy based on the situation. For example, the axe can be used to break enemy shields, while the flamethrower is effective against certain types of enemies.

The grappling hook, in particular, changes the way players navigate the game world. Wolf can zip between rooftops and scale cliffs, making exploration more vertical and dynamic. This adds a sense of freedom to movement and opens up new ways to approach enemies, either by sneaking from above or launching surprise attacks.

Stealth and Strategy

While Sekiro is filled with intense combat, stealth is also a core component of gameplay. Players can sneak through enemy camps, eavesdrop on conversations to gather intel, and assassinate foes from the shadows. This gives players the option to avoid direct confrontation, thinning out enemy groups before engaging more formidable opponents.

Stealth also ties into the game’s variety of environments, from dense forests and snowy mountains to abandoned temples and heavily guarded fortresses. Each location feels distinct, filled with hidden paths, secrets, and enemy patrols that encourage careful planning.

Death and Resurrection

True to the game’s title, Shadows Die Twice, death is not the end in Sekiro. Wolf possesses the ability to resurrect once after dying, allowing players a second chance to turn the tide of battle. This mechanic adds a strategic layer to combat, as players must decide when to use their resurrection wisely. Overusing the resurrection mechanic, however, has consequences, as it affects the world around Wolf, potentially making life harder for NPCs and even impacting certain questlines.

Boss Fights: A Test of Skill and Patience

Sekiro’s boss fights are some of the most challenging in FromSoftware’s history. Each boss has unique patterns, attacks, and strategies that require players to master the game’s mechanics. Notable bosses like Genichiro Ashina, the Guardian Ape, and the Sword Saint Isshin test every skill players have developed throughout the game.

Boss fights in Sekiro are more than just tests of endurance; they are intricate duels that require players to read their opponent, react to attacks, and capitalize on every opportunity. It’s not uncommon to spend hours learning a boss’s moveset, refining your technique until you achieve victory.

A World Steeped in Lore and Atmosphere

While Sekiro has a more direct narrative than other FromSoftware titles, it still features a rich, immersive world with deep lore. The Sengoku-period setting, combined with mythological elements, creates a world that feels both grounded in history and tinged with fantasy. The environments are meticulously designed, from the quiet beauty of Ashina Castle to the eerie depths of the Sunken Valley.

The game’s atmosphere is thick with tension, and every location feels meaningful, with enemies and NPCs that contribute to the broader story. As with other FromSoftware games, Sekiro rewards players who take the time to explore and piece together the lore from dialogue, items, and environmental clues.

Written by Daniel Bedoya