#i’m sure i’ll feel that way about dc when i move on

[luveline]

Craving a postprison!Spencer x stripper!reader fic, please ma’am.

Maybe she gets a daytime job at a coffee shop or a bookstore - to “supplement her income”/ not have to dance as often (not that she’s ashamed!!) and Spencer is just so proud of her for trying and can’t quit kissing her and praising her because I know in other fics you’ve mentioned she didn’t think anyone would hire her because of her profession/self esteem, plus after prison she didn’t want to dance because she wanted to be with Spencer. 🥺

Or really just anything with a proud Spencer x stripper!reader doing anything.

Your work is fantastic and I’m in love with everything you do!! 💕 thank you and it’s totally okay if you think this request is lame or don’t wanna write it!

thank you angel! —you find a new job while making decisions about your old one after Spencer returns from prison, and Spencer would praise you for breathing, so he’s extremely proud. fem, 1.8k

Statistics differ, but estimates suggest that there are around twenty thousand strippers in Las Vegas. With a population of seven hundred thousand people (estimated up), that means that one in thirty five people living in Las Vegas dances for a living. 

It’s more than you’d think. Spencer knew of plenty of women who worked as strippers, exotic dancers, or private entertainers when he was still living at home. And while the numbers are much smaller in Washington DC where he lives now, it’s far from zero. More surprising for the average person to be one, perhaps, but not for Spencer. 

It used to make him blush like a steam train, sure, but it never did any of the things you were scared of. He’s never looked down on you for it, never been jealous (well, never acted like a jerk because of it), never positioned it as anything other than work. His only complaints are in your concern. You don’t like the club, most of the time. You feel unsafe often. The risk of femicide is yards higher for you as a sex worker than it would be otherwise, but who is Spencer to talk about danger? He still has stitches in his leg. 

Your job used to feel more urgent, a red flashing light above your head, because you’d come around with bruises or cut knees, tear stained cheeks, and you couldn’t make ends meet for all your efforts, but things have changed. You’re reluctant to depend on him, but you’ll accept the help when you need it. Nothing keeps you there if you don’t want to be there, and when you do you’re a marvel. You are beautiful, in Spencer’s eyes. Your dancing when you’re having a good night is one of the prettiest things he’s ever seen —more than pretty, sometimes. A hot coal in his stomach. 

But the fact of the matter is that Spencer’s home, and you don’t want to dance. You haven’t been to the club for weeks as far as he’s aware, and he’d consider himself well informed. You spent all your savings and started spending his instead and he couldn’t care less, what’s his is yours, whatever keeps you aloft while you make whatever decision it is you’re working toward. Not that it presented itself that way. 

I’ll have to go back.

Spencer on his back, you sitting with your head turned from the TV and toward him, your hand on his hip, just resting. Where?

To work. I have enough money for the next two weeks, and then I’m all out. 

Spencer wouldn’t do something as unkind as rolling his eyes, but the point of you moving in was to cement that he’d look after you no matter what. He’d turned his head to you on his pillow and reached for your elbow. You’re still resting. 

You’ve been home for two months, Spencer. I’ve rested enough. I… I only managed this long because you haven’t asked me for anything and that’s not fair, we both live here. 

I earn more than you, so I pay more, he’d said, confused. It’s not as though it hurt him to continue paying for an apartment he’s been living in for years. 

I won’t be your leech. 

You’re not my leech, don’t say that.

I can’t just not have money. 

Well… he’d said. He’d never discussed it with you so openly before, always stopped at the first suggestion, but there’s a first time for everything. You know you can have whatever you want from me. Anything you want, you don’t have to ask. 

Spencer… you’re my boyfriend. 

Exactly. 

No, you’re my boyfriend. You don’t have to keep me. I don’t want that. 

He understood the ‘want’ most heavily. What do you want, angel? he’d asked, dragging your hand up his naked chest to rest over his diaphragm, your arm moving up and down in time with his breathing. 

You’d seemed stricken, but not upset. Like the question surprised you in having no answer. Not sure… you’d said eventually. Mostly you. 

A week passed, two. A third and you’d asked him to borrow money, just for a little while, and with the vehement promise you’d pay him back. 

He’s not expecting it. So soon, either. But here you are standing in front of him with a beaming smile and little book in your hands, unzipping one of the book's inner pockets to count out the money you’d ’borrowed’. “Here you go, my angel, there’s everything.” 

Spencer just looks at it. “What is it?” 

“The money I owe you.” 

He presses his hands to his stomach to stop you from forcing the notes into them. “You don’t owe me anything.” 

“No, seriously, please take it.” 

He shakes his head. “Seriously. I don’t want anything from you, I love you. That money was for you to do what you wanted, or needed. It was yours as soon as I gave it to you.” 

You try regardless to put it in his hands. Your hair was done freshly a week ago, your nails manicured but unpainted, your face adorned with some new makeup he’d seen on his (your) vanity a few days ago. It honestly hadn’t crossed his mind why you’d suddenly given yourself a refresh, and he had no suspicions. You would’ve told him if you went to the club, even just via text, because it’s important he knows you’ve had access to your phone or that you’re coming home. (Plus, he’d notice you leaving at night. You’ve spent the last few evenings laying across his lap.)

“Where did you get this?” he asks, smiling softly, wondering if he’s come to the right conclusion. 

You drop the money on his thigh and take a couple of steps back. 

“I,” you say, holding your little book to your stomach, “got a job as a barista. They gave me my first paycheck today, a direct deposit. So I took out what I owe you and the rest of it is in here.” 

“You what?” he asks. 

“I’m working at the coffeehouse by the library,” you say, nodding, parts proud of yourself and parts shy. 

“For how long? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You bite your lip. “Just this week. And honestly, I didn’t want you to know if I couldn’t do it.” 

Spencer stands up but doesn’t cross the room to you. He could reach out and catch your hand. “How could you work somewhere new all week without me noticing?” 

“You weren’t here on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday morning, and they gave me Thursday off, so I just told you a very small lie this morning about going to the store. I knew you’d get distracted by your Persian poetry again.” 

He did get distracted, very much so. You’ve been and worked a whole shift without his worrying, which is a bit awful in itself (he really does love you, and he’d like to know where you are), but is also, frankly, a great thing. You should be able to work without worry. You should do anything you want to do. 

Still, a whole week at a brand new job without any support, and to stand there with your paycheck as unmistakable waves of satisfaction melt off of you unkissed is insanity. Spencer’s laughing as he ushers you into his arms, as he hugs your shoulders tightly, “Oh my god!” he says, “Wow, congratulations!” He pulls back just a touch to see your face. “Please don’t lie to me about where you’re going, that’s so dangerous. I love you!” 

He takes your face into both hands with your arms hanging loosely behind his back and begins a reckoning of kisses. The slope of your cheek, the skin between your nose and lips, Spencer couldn’t care less where the kisses land, he just wants them all over you. You laugh softly as he goes, almost stickily, a sound that comes deep from your chest. “I’m so proud of you,” he says, pressing a quick, mildly rougher kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“I might still strip,” you say. 

“Whatever you want,” he says, squeezing your face between his palms. “What’s it like? Do you like it? Is it hard?” He kisses you again. “I wish you’d told me,” he says against your lips. 

You’re quieter than he expected, and warm. He pulls away more sternly to see what’s gone wrong. He could’ve asked the wrong questions. Maybe he’s embarrassed you. 

“I just wanted to make sure I could do it. I didn’t want to fail and… and have you know. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be, I get it.” God knows he’s failed a hundred times for you to see it. He wishes he would have hidden a lot of that from you, spared you some heartache, but he also knows how lucky he is to have you near. “That’s what we’re supposed to do, right? We should be together when stuff goes wrong.” He beams. “But it didn’t go wrong.” 

“I think I’m pretty good at it.” 

“Yeah?” 

You hold his wrist. “And I get tips, did you know that? Not as many as before,” —you laugh to yourself loudly— “but still. It’s really cool. They pay me even if nobody wants coffee, and when people want coffee I get extra.” 

Spencer kisses the corner of your eye. He kisses up to your eyebrow and down again, all over your cheek before turning your face to the other side to kiss circles into the other. “I,” —kiss— “can’t,” —kiss— “believe it.” Kiss. “Actually, I can, but I still can’t.” 

“It’s just a part time job.” 

“That you didn’t think you could do,” he says. “But you can do anything, I knew you could. I’m amazed by you.” 

He grins and throws his arms over your shoulders. 

You squeeze him right back, the two of you swaying, almost falling over. He can feel how proud you are of yourself. You deserve to feel this way no matter what. 

“I like dancing,” you say, “I do, I just wish I could do it in a different… world? Is that stupid?” 

“No. You’re never stupid.” He smiles as your hand weaves into his hair, fingertips scratching along his scalp, his curls caught between your fingers. 

“Do you think you could come on Monday? I can make you a cup of coffee. It’s not as hard as it looks.” 

“Please, I’d love for you to make me a cup of coffee.” His smile presses to your shoulder, where he breathes you in briefly, before remembering something very important. “Hey, do you wear an apron?” 

“Of course I do.”

Oh my god, he thinks. There are more than half a million baristas in the United States, and Spencer will bet his monthly paycheck that you’re the cutest one to ever exist. You look cute right now in your jeans and your button up shirt, but put an apron on top of that? To see you standing behind a bar mixing drinks and pouring latte art? Monday can’t come quick enough. 

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

[aprocessionofthoughts]

Sleepy Summons

whumptober23 day 29- scented candle fandom- dp x dc TW- none summary- Danny just wants to go to sleep

ao3 masterlist

Dick was kind of embarrassed. But at least everyone would be embarrassed with him. If they made it out alive.

Look, they had thought it was a simple cult, but apparently there was at least a little magic at play, because they had managed to capture not only Dick, but also Jason, Tim, and Damian.

Batman was supposed to be on his way, but he had been out of town so it might take him a while. Dick just hoped these cultists took their time with the summoning. 

The cultists began to gather around the summon circle which had been lined with candles.

Well, it looked like they wouldn't be that lucky today.

The chanting started and the candles glowed brighter as the chal lines glowed green. Then suddenly a figure appeared in the center of the circle.

Dick stared for a second, unsure if he was actually seeing what he thought he was seeing.

There was a boy, maybe between Damian and Tim’s age standing in the center of the circle.They had black hair and blue eyes, and were holding a toothbrush and toothpaste.

The boy blinked at the cultists around him and looked over at the tied up bats.

“Ummm….” The boy said.

Some of the cultists shifted and started muttering among themselves.

Then the boy sniffed the air. “Are those pumpkin spice scented candles?”

“They had a sale.” one of the cultists said.

“Shut up, Jerry.” the potential leader said.

“No, no. I like it.” said the boy. “But now I'm hungry for pumpkin pie.”

“Me too.”

“Shut up, Jim. We’re not making conversation with the foul demon.”

“Wos, okay. I didn't think I smelled that bad.”

“Shut up.” snarled the lead cultist.

The boy held his hands up, accidentally squeezing the toothpaste. He stared at his now toothpaste covered hand. “Look what you made me do.”

“It doesn’t matter.” the leader gritted his teeth. “I summoned you–”

“Actually, it wasn’t just you that summoned me.”

Dick could see the leader trembling with suppressed rage. 

“As the leader of this group, I command you to obey my orders.” 

“But, like, dit you get to be the leader through a cote or did you just appoint yourself.” the boy said, ignoring him.

“He kind of just appointed himself.” said one of the other cultists.

“Dud, that sucks. Are you guys really willing to put up with this?”

“Shut up!” the leader screeched.

“No, he’s right. I want to vote for our leader. What do you guys think?”

Several of the other cultists nodded.

“I vote for you, Freddie. All in favor?”

“Aye.” said everyone but the leader who was spluttering with anger.

“You can’t do that! I’m the leader! I gave you all the leader !”

“But we gathered all the ingredients and drew the circle!”

The boy spoke up again. “What do you guys even get out of this?”

There was silence for a moment.

“You know, I actually don’t really know. What about you Jerry?”

“No. What about you Linda?”

“I just thought we were going to get drunk or something.”

“Demon, I command you to be silent!” the leader said, looking like he’d finally had enough.

The boy glared at him. “First of all, I’m not a demon. Second of all, I don’t feel like being quiet. And third of all, I was finally going to get to sleep on time when you guys summoned me. So, I’m sure you’ll all understand that I'm a bit peeved. And lastly,” the boy stepped out of the summoning circle and the cultists scrambled back. “You were fools for thinking that you could control creatures from the other side of the veil. Most of them would kill you, but since I already showered and don’t feel like washing blood off of myself tonight, I’ll just leave you for the bats.”

The boy's eyes began to glow a bright blue and his hair moved in a nonexistent wind. Frost began to sweep from under his feet toward the cultists. Ice climbed up their legs and crept up until it completely covered them.

Then the boy turned toward them.

Dick swallowed. He hated the occult. He just hoped that whoever this was would leave them alone. He had said he’d leave the cultists for the bats, but still, you could never be certain with the occult. This being was probably not even human.

The boy stepped forward and Dick tensed as he reached out and touched Tim on the shoulder. The ropes holding him fell to the ground, and the boy repeated the process with all of them.

When Dick had removed the tape that covered his mouth he asked, “Who are you?”

“Look,” the boy had rolled his eyes, “I’m tired and I don’t have time to play twenty questions with you right now. If you want, you can just ask your sad trenchcoat man about the Infinite Realms, and also, tell him to stop selling his soul. It causes a lot of paperwork.”

With that, the boy disappeared.

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

Damnny groaned as he appeared back in his bathroom. He abandoned his toothbrush and toothpaste and rinsed off his hand, before heading to his room and collapsing on his bed.

He’d deal with all the problems that summoning caused tomorrow. Or next week. As long as Clockwork didn’t say anything, he could take his time.

#whumptober2023 #whumptober #no.29 #scented candles #Danny fenton #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #cults #dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc fanfic #summoning

[spacedace]

Oh hey here’s the lil prolog thing I wrote for my DP x DC Leverage AU. I’m gonna actually write more of one day I swear but for now have this opening bit and feel free to use it as a prompt if you want :D

-

The station went utterly quiet as they brought her in.

Room after room going as silent as the grave when the young woman in handcuffs stepped through the door. Chatter stopped. Bodies stilled. Heads turned. Eyes widened. It almost felt like everyone was too afraid to even breath as she walked by. Cops and crooks alike watching with fear and awe in equal measures as Jim Gordon led her past them to the interrogation room.

She didn’t give the gaping crowd any mind. Head tilted up at an angle, shoulders back, steps sure. The solid heals of her boots clicked upon the scuffed linoleum, echoing loud in the stifling quiet. Like a royal herald announcing her presence. She held herself like a queen, which was fitting Jim supposed. Until tonight, the only name anyone had to call her by was Queen.

The blood, unnervingly, only made her seem more regal.

Batman was already in the interrogation room when they arrived. Jim didn’t even have it in him to sigh at the broody bat looming in the corner. He knew he’d be there. There was no way he would miss the interrogation of someone they’d been chasing for so long. Especially not now considering…well.

Considering.

Jim largely ignored the vigilante in the corner as he moved through the familiar process of getting the young woman handcuffed in place to the table, starting the recording and rattling off the relevant details: date, time, the - many - charges the young woman had been arrested for. If he faltered over the victim’s name of the young woman’s most recent crime no one commented on it. In the corner, Batman watched and lurked. Nearly lost in the shadowy corner of the room while still being impossible to ignore.

They’d done this before. Good cop, bad vigilante. It was usually effective in getting the truth out of stubborn criminals.

Jim rather doubted it would work in this case.

“Please state your name for the record.” He said, only to be met with the same cool silence Queen had given everyone since her arrest. She shifted in her seat, not a nervous fidget but an easy, languid movement. Even the uncomfortable metal chair seemed like a throne when she was involved. Jim bit back a sigh. “We have your information. I’m asking as a courtesy.”

Queen tilted her head faintly, looking at him with something almost like amusement, one brow twitching slightly upward. “You’ll have to forgive my disbelief, Commissioner Gordon.” She said, polite as ever. “But I’m rather sure that you won’t find me in any system you run my fingerprints or face through.”

She was right about that. They’d tried a hundred times over the past few years she and her team had been operating in Gotham. Her face never appeared in any pictures or recordings - not even in her mugshot during processing, all that was visible was her red hair and a mess of corrupted visual data where her face should be. The most her fingerprints had ever led to where the other crimes they already knew she’d taken part in. Batman had done everything to try and circumvent whatever meta ability kept her from being recorded on film, had done even more to try and find her and her people in every system he and the Justice League had access to. Nothing. Jim had grumbled a few times about how Queen and her crew might as well be ghosts for all the proof that they existed officially.

Turned out, ghosts was exactly right.

“The Ghost Investigation Ward reached out to us two hours ago.” He said, leaning back in his own seat, watching her carefully. “I’ll repeat, Ms. Fenton, my asking is a courtesy.”

For the first time in the years he’d known her, Queen - real name Jasmine “Jazz” Fenton - looked scared. Beyond scared, even. Completely, and utterly terrified.

Her body went rigid, eyes growing wide, breath picking up as she sat up sharply. Any semblance of that calm, collected presence she always held even when she was at her most cornered and vulnerable vanished in an instant. He’d seen her breath in a cloud of Scarecrow’s Fear Toxin and laugh. Watched as Bane wrapped large hands around her throat and tilt her chin up to stare down at her attacker imperiously. A mobster pressed the barrel of a gun to her head and she’d smiled, coy and confidant and untouchable. Queen always, always was calm. Aggravatingly so, even. Utterly unshakable as she waltzed into every wild and insane situation carrying the undeniable air of one who was complete control of everything happening.

She hadn’t even looked scared when the Joker had held her hostage.

And now? Now all it had taken was those three words. Ghost Investigation Ward. A nonsense name for a government agency with a ridiculous purpose. And yet there the unshakable Queen sat, looking terrified out of her mind at the mere mention of them.

Not for the first time since he received that call, Jim Gordon felt uneasy.

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dp x dc fanfic #dp x dc writing prompt #jazz fenton #jim gordon #bruce wayne #leverage au #Jazz is the mastermind in this one #and has been having a great time up til this moment #everyone on the team has code names #Danny is Spaceman because of course it is lol #Sam is Nightshade #Tucker is Pharaoh #Ellie is Nomad #they're not actually shown here but I just wanted to share the codenames I came up for them lol

[pedroscurls]

second chances | pt. 2

Character(s): Marcus Pike x fem!Reader Summary: Marcus gets ready to go back to work after his last few days off. He finds that you and him run on a similar schedule and slowly develop a routine. Word count: 3k A/N: This story is all fluff and eventually smut, fyi. I just want to see that smile back on Marcus Pike's face after Lisbon literally just ditches him👀 (lol i'm still bitter) Warning: None.  SERIES MASTERLIST - ultimate masterlist

Marcus spends the rest of his days off at home, only stepping out to get food. He finds that he prefers his solitude and since meeting you, he realizes that Lisbon hasn’t crossed his mind since. He isn’t sure what that means exactly, but he continues to tell himself that nothing could ever happen between the two of you. He hasn’t seen you since he helped you move your bed into your apartment and he doesn’t see you when he does step out of his apartment, but he has heard you throughout the day when he opens the door to his patio to let some fresh air into his apartment. 

He assumes that your sliding door must be open too because he hears the music playing softly in the background. It’s loud enough that he can hear it and he wonders if you’re beginning to unpack. Since meeting you, Marcus feels a little more hopeful about his new life in DC. 

When Monday rolls around, Marcus is already dressed and ready to head out the door by six in the morning. He’s got a travel mug filled with coffee and a bag slung over his shoulder. He hopes that he gets to see you today, even if it’s only in passing. Finally grabbing his keys, Marcus steps out of his apartment and locks it behind him. He turns on his heel and instantly smiles when he sees you locking the door to your apartment. His eyes rake over your frame, taking in what you’re wearing. You’re dressed in a white sweater with rainbow-colored horizontal stripes on it and it’s tucked into a pair of dark slacks. Your hair is pulled back into two loose braids and you have an overly-sized bag draped over your shoulder. You’re also wearing high top white converse and it puts a smile on Marcus’s face. You definitely look like a Kindergarten teacher. And it’s cute. You’re cute. 

“Morning,” Marcus calls out softly.

You look up at him and immediately grin. You couldn’t stop thinking about Marcus since meeting him. The first time you met him, it wasn’t that he was wearing a lack of clothing that you noticed, but rather his big, brown eyes that were staring back at you. And when he smiled and a dimple appeared on his right side of his cheek, you found yourself captivated. You just couldn’t believe that you tripped over your feet and that he had been watching. It was embarrassing and it was something that you always found yourself doing whenever someone that good looking was paying attention to you. 

You had hoped to see him again after he initially helped you move your large bed into your apartment, but was disappointed that you kept missing him. You had enough to distract you though, plenty of boxes to unpack, but you couldn’t help that your mind kept drifting to Marcus. Even when you opened your sliding door to your patio, you always looked over to the left to see if you would catch him standing outside too. 

But as Monday approaches, your mind is focused solely on your first day at the new school. You’re excited to start working again, so when you step out of your apartment and lock your front door at six in the morning, you’re surprised to hear his voice. You look at him from top to bottom and smile to yourself; he’s wearing a dark gray suit with a lighter gray button down shirt paired with a red tie with white dots. 

“Good morning, Marcus.” You both begin making your way to the elevator and you reach out to press the down button. As you and Marcus stand at the elevator doors, waiting for them to arrive and open, it’s Marcus that’s the first one to speak. 

“Been hearing your music,” he chuckles. 

“I’m sorry,” you blush. “I’ll keep it down–”

“It’s okay,” he interrupts with a smile. “I like it. It’s soothing. Better than hearing cars honking.” 

You nod and adjust the handle of your bag. “How were your days off?” 

“Peaceful,” he says. “Though, I think I ate a bit too much take out.”

You laugh quietly and before you could stop yourself, you ask, “Well, I make a really good pesto pasta and I was planning on making some tonight after I get home from work. Would you like to come over?” 

Marcus clears his throat. It’s as if life is throwing this fully on his lap. He’s trying to tell himself no no no, that something like this can’t happen again. He doesn’t want to open himself up to the possibility of getting hurt again, but the way you’re looking at him with your big, hopeful and excited eyes has him rethinking that maybe this could be good for him. That maybe you could be good for him. 

“Oh, that would be–” Marcus bites his lower lip. “I don’t know when I’ll be back home. I usually have late nights.” 

“That’s okay,” you say softly. “I’ll pack you a plate anyway.” 

The elevator doors open and Marcus extends a hand out for you to step inside first. You smile over at him and walk inside the elevator, pressing the button for the parking garage. Once he steps inside and the doors close, Marcus looks down at you. 

“That’d be real nice, thank you.” 

“Well, you did help me move my big ass bed into my apartment, so it’s the least I could do.”

Marcus laughs. “You really need a bed that big for someone as tiny as you?” he teases.

“Tiny?” you pout playfully, but a quiet giggle leaves your lips. “I like having space.” 

“You move around a lot in your sleep?” 

You blush again. “Well, sure, but also for other reasons…”

Marcus’s eyes widen and he realizes what you’re insinuating and it’s now his turn to blush. “Makes total sense. I’d want that much space too.”

You bite your lower lip and look up at him. You’re so attracted to him and you’re trying to tell yourself that there is no way someone like him would be single and yet, here you are telling him that your bed is so big because you like having the space for sex. How embarrassing, you think to yourself. You’re so deep in thought and regret that you don’t hear Marcus speak. 

“Hey,” he says softly. “Did you hear me?” 

“I’m sorry,” you laugh nervously. “What was that?” 

“It’s okay. I just asked if it’s your first day today. At the school.”

“Oh!” You nod, grateful that he changed the subject. “Yeah, it is. I’m excited.”

Then, the elevator doors open and Marcus is the first to step outside. You follow and look up at him, not wanting the conversation to end. 

“Well, I hope you have a great first day then,” Marcus says with a smile big enough that his dimple appears again. 

It makes you smile in return. “Thank you, Marcus.” 

“And I like the outfit. It’s cute.” Marcus winks and then walks in the opposite direction to where his car was parked. 

You bite your lower lip and watch him walk away before he disappears around the corner. You’re sure that you’re so pink in the cheeks because of your interaction with Marcus and while you’re excited for your first day at school, you’re also excited for when you could see him next. 

—

You’re exhausted by the time you get home, but the tiredness doesn’t even compare to the excitement you feel when you realize that there’s a possibility you could be seeing Marcus again. Your first day at work was busy, but it was always such a joy to be able to teach young kids and kindergartners always kept you on your toes. Having worked at a public school for most of your career, teaching kindergarten students at a private school was a little different. The class size was much smaller and you were able to establish your own curriculum and get as creative as you wanted.

You change into a pair of light gray lounge shorts, a white tank-top, and a black oversized cardigan. You pour yourself a glass of white wine, turn on some music, and then step out on your patio, leaning against the railing as you look out at your view. The sun is beginning to set and there’s a slight chilly breeze that makes you wrap your cardigan tighter around your frame. You only stay outside for a few more minutes before you head back inside to begin making dinner, setting aside a plate for Marcus. 

The boxes are still scattered around your apartment, but you had moved it around to make it easier to walk around. You’re already on your second glass of white wine when you finish cooking, but as you’re about to put enough food for Marcus on the plate, there’s a knock at your door. It’s a little after six in the afternoon, so when you open it to see Marcus on the other side, you feel your heart flutter and the butterflies in your tummy begin to swarm around again. 

“Marcus, hi.” 

“Hey,” he smiles. “Does that invite for dinner still stand?” 

“Of course,” you bite the inside of your cheek and nod. “As long as you don’t mind the mess, come on in. I just finished cooking.” 

Marcus steps inside and smiles to himself. Even if your apartment isn’t yet complete and you haven’t yet fully unpacked, it feels a lot more cozy and homey than his own and you had only moved in just a few days ago. When you shut the door, Marcus turns around to face you and he takes note of what you’re wearing. Your shorts expose enough of your legs and the tanktop you’re wearing sits just above your waistband and he can see just a tiny sliver of skin. 

“Smells delicious,” he points out, clearing his throat. Marcus has to look elsewhere before you catch him ogling. 

“Thank you,” you smile. “Want a glass of wine?” 

“That’d be great,” he replies. Marcus removes his blazer and drapes it over the back of one of your chairs at your kitchen island counter. He folds the sleeves of his button down shirt to his elbows and watches as you pour two glasses of wine and then sets food onto two plates. 

“I’m surprised you’re home early,” you say. “I thought you said you usually have late nights.” 

Marcus shrugs. “Guess I was eager to try this pesto pasta.” 

“Really?” you ask, eyes hopeful. 

“And I wanted to hear how your first day went.” 

You blush and set the glass of wine and plate of food in front of him. He takes a seat where his blazer was draped and you lean against the counter instead. “That’s very sweet, Marcus.” 

“Just trying to be a good neighbor,” he chuckles. “But if I’m overstepping any boundaries–”

“Not at all,” you interrupt all too quickly. “With me being new to the area, it’s nice to have someone like you around.” 

“Yeah?” Marcus smiles. 

“Yeah, now let’s eat. I’m starving and my day was exhausting.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he winks. Marcus takes a few bites of the food and grins at the taste, looking over in your direction. He watches you eat quietly to yourself and he notices the way your body is slightly swaying to the soft music in the background. Your happiness and joy is infectious and he finds himself smiling more and more around you. 

“This is really good,” he says your name and smiles when you look up at him. 

“I’m glad you think so. And I’m also glad you were able to leave work earlier than usual.” You set your fork down and then take a sip of your wine. “What do you do, by the way?” 

“FBI,” he says casually.

“Wait, what?” 

Marcus chuckles. “I’m a special agent for the FBI. My department deals with stolen arts and antiques.” 

“Now that sounds like a fun job.” 

He shrugs. “Hence the long hours and late nights.” 

“That would make sense.” You then move to sit next to him, turning in your seat to face him and Marcus turns his body to face you as well. 

“Enough about me,” Marcus chuckles. “How was your first day?” 

You grab your glass of wine and let out a contented sigh. Your arm is resting against the counter as you look up at him. “I know I said it was exhausting, but it was so fun,” you smile. “The kids are great and I’m just so excited to be able to make my own curriculum and have all the creative freedom. Public schools usually just give you their curriculum and tell you to teach it without giving you much wiggle room to make it your own. So, this is a nice change of pace.” You look into his eyes and bite your lower lip. He’s staring at you and you realize that you’re talking a bit too much. “Sorry, I just– I love teaching.”

“Sounds like it,” he smiles. “But I like hearing you talk. It’s nice.” 

You blush again and look down at your lap. You can still feel Marcus’s eyes on you, but it doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable. Instead, it does the opposite. You like the fact that he’s looking at you and he’s doing it in a way that makes you feel… seen. And it has been a while since you had a connection with anyone from the opposite sex – you were always so focused on work and didn’t have much time to date. Besides, most of the men you have been with weren’t all that great anyway. 

“So, tell me more…” Marcus says. 

“About teaching?” 

Marcus nods. “Sure. Or anything really.” 

“Oh, we’d be here all night,” you laugh, finishing your second glass of wine. “And I’m sure you have an early morning tomorrow, like I do.” 

Marcus chuckles. “You’re right. We shouldn’t get too crazy on a school night,” he winks. 

You laugh quietly and set your glass down on the counter. “So, Special Agent Marcus…”

“Pike,” he finishes. “Marcus Pike.”

“Oh, my favorite roast.”

Marcus arches a brow and lets out a chuckle. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“You know, Pike Place? Medium roast?”

Marcus shakes his head.

“Coffee, it’s coffee.” You laugh quietly. “It’s the only roast I’ll drink, really.” 

“Good to know,” Marcus says. He makes a mental note to buy a roast of Pike Place the next time he’s at the store.

“So, Special Agent Marcus Pike,” you repeat. “Sounds so… Official.” 

Marcus chuckles and he leans back against the chair, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m glad you think so.” 

“And here I am… Just a teacher,” you tease. 

“Just a teacher?” Marcus smiles. “I wouldn’t be in the FBI if I didn’t have great teachers. I’m sure you’re a good one too.” 

You blush. “I try to be.” 

Marcus smiles and stands from the chair, grabbing both empty plates and bringing it to your sink. 

“Marcus,” you say, following him towards the sink. “Just leave it. I’ll handle it.” 

“You cooked,” he replies, looking down at you. “At least let me help clean up.” 

“Are you sure you’re real?” you laugh quietly.

“What?” Marcus smiles. 

“You’re just so… Nice.” You bite your lower lip and look up at him. You want to say so much more: Cute, handsome, sweet, thoughtful… but you stop yourself from saying what you truly want to say. 

“Like I said,” Marcus says. “Just trying to be a good neighbor.” 

“Well, you sure are going above and beyond,” you point out. “You’re setting the bar pretty high for future neighbors,” you tease. 

“Maybe I just like you,” he winks. “Now, let me clean up these dishes and then I’ll be out of your hair.” Marcus turns back around and begins cleaning your dishes. You bite your lower lip and walk towards the leftovers, stealing a glance over in your direction to see him standing in front of your sink. His shirt is stretched over his broad back and you want nothing more than to just wrap your arms around him. 

You grab a clean plate and pour half of the leftovers onto it. Wrapping it in foil, you then set it aside. Marcus turns around and dries his hand with a paper towel, pointing at the plate on your counter. 

“Is that for me?” he asks.

You nod. “Figured you could take this for lunch tomorrow.” 

Marcus smiles to himself. “You’re sweet, thank you.” He walks back to his blazer and drapes it over his arm as he reaches for the plate. “So, are you heading out again tomorrow at six?” 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

“Great. That’s usually the time I leave too. Would you like some company on the elevator ride down to the parking garage? You know, in case something happens, at least you have an FBI special agent with you,” he teases with a smile. 

You smile to yourself and before you can think about it, you reach out to rest a hand on his forearm. You feel his muscle flex underneath your fingertips and immediately drop your hand back to your side. “I think that sounds like a plan. I’d hate to be stuck in an elevator all by myself,” you smile. 

“Looking forward to tomorrow morning then,” Marcus smiles. “Thank you again for dinner.” 

“Thanks for coming over, Special Agent Marcus Pike,” you wink. You both walk towards your front door and you open it for him. He steps out and looks down at you, smiling big enough that his dimple reappears. 

“Good night,” he says softly.

“Good night, Marcus.” 

—

Since that night, you and Marcus had developed a routine every morning. Both of you would be out of the door by six in the morning and accompany each other on the elevator ride down to the parking garage. It was something you both looked forward to every morning and it was the perfect way to start the day. 

Sometimes, Marcus would forget coffee and you’d be right there to hand him a cup. And other times when you’d forget your coffee, Marcus prided himself in giving you a travel mug with your favorite roast: Pike Place.

—

prev. - next.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #the mentalist fanfic #marcus pike #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike x fem!reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x reader #story: second chances

[losergender]

masterpost of solangelo + others fic recommendations

absolutely no one asked for these but i need them all storaged in one place.

[ list goes from solangelo multi-chaptered fics to one-shots + other ships at the end ! will be updated from time to time ! ]

MULTICHAPTERED SOLANGELO FICS !

just an animal, looking for a home - ikeasharksss (https://archiveofourown.org/works/44264458)

Mortal 1987 AU. Nico is running away from his home in Washington, DC to find his sister, Bianca, at UCLA. Will is running away from his home in rural Texas to find his long-lost father, Lester Apollo Papadopoulos, in Hollywood. The two of them meet on the road and become runaway buddies, going on a journey together to survive Greyhound buses, amateur punk bands, Pizza Huts, pretentious music tastes, and their own pasts, tooth and nail.

can't see you, im losing my mind this time? - rabbit_soup (https://archiveofourown.org/works/38765766)

“You’ve got micro-pieces of glass in your skin, and I can’t in my right mind let that stuff just fester in there.” “Glass…? Where—?” He racked his brain, slowly glancing up at Will. He didn’t remember breaking any glass on the quest. “Strangest thing,” Will said, pulling an orange container out of the box. On its side, it read Arm and Hammer, Baking Soda in thick white lettering. “Both Annabeth and Percy swung by a few minutes ago, talking about the exact same thing—glass in their hands! The both of ‘em! Isn’t that interesting?” The glass beaches in Tartarus... Nico thought.

The Rose of Paphos - Tundras_and_Taigas (https://archiveofourown.org/works/30327402)

During a trip up to the Big House’s attic, Will, Valentina, and Mitchell stumble across an old relic of Aphrodite’s: the Rose of Paphos. Created by Hephaestus as a courting gift, the ancient metal rose blooms whenever it's held by someone who harbours romantic love for another. When the rose reveals Will's hidden feelings for an unnamed camper, Nico isn't sure whether to hold out hope or try to move on. OR: Nico and Will need a little nudge. Aphrodite is happy to oblige.

peach tea - ghosttotheparty (https://archiveofourown.org/works/48987730)

He sits up after a moment, but Nico doesn’t let go of his fingers, so he lifts the arm that’s awkward between them and sets it behind Nico, leaning back to rest on it. Nico just looks at the tapestry. Will brushes his thumb over the side of Nico’s hand gently. His skin is soft. Nico’s fingers tighten on Will’s. It kind of feels like neither of them wants to move. Will doesn’t mind. or; Will falls in love with the new kid.

Opportunity Knocks - nikkiRa (https://archiveofourown.org/works/5690698)

Two years after the war with Gaia, Nico tries to run away again, but on the way he is ambushed by Aphrodite, who has decided to take a personal interest in him - lucky him. Nico finds himself stuck in a Groundhog Day situation, reliving the same day over and over until he can figure out what the hell Aphrodite wants from him.

SOLANGELO ONE-SHOTS !

Bigger 'n Texas - notalotgoingonatthisinstant (https://archiveofourown.org/works/27217360)

The accent. The accent was his problem. Well, it wasn’t his only problem. There were a lot of other things that drew Nico to the son of Apollo, to the point of him actually considering if he returned his feelings. All he knew was that he was going crazy and one of them would have to speak soon. . . . "'I’ll be back real quick with lunch,' Will told him. 'Don’t go anywhere. Unless I’m not back in twenty minutes, then you can hunt down my siblings until you find the culprit,' he winked. Nico told the skeletal butterflies in his stomach to quiet down and managed to keep a smile on his face until the door closed behind Will. Then he smacked himself in the forehead for being so stupid stupid stupid, again. First, get a crush on the live version of his childhood game hero. Then get a crush on the caring healer who was nursing him back to life. What was his problem?"

carving through the dark (to get so far) - doeheart (https://archiveofourown.org/works/51640546)

"Your soulmate wears all the bad things you believe about yourself on their skin. They hold it for you so you don't have to. When you look at the things you don’t like about yourself, you also have to face someone who loves you. It’s like feeling whole again. Apollo’s the god of truth, you know. So there are no lies between soulmates." Will got his first soulmark at night. Coiled around his bicep like a snake, the word 'cursed' hissed in jet-black letters. The marks kept coming after that. An au where all the worst things your soulmate believes about themselves show up on your skin. Will wants to know why his soulmate hates himself.

Those walls I built didn't even put up a fight - sazandorable (https://archiveofourown.org/works/2482184)

"Is it morally okay to stab a medic with their own scissors?" Nico asked Cecil. (Not that he usually cared about morally okay, as Octavian might demonstrate.) Nico's three days in the infirmary go by faster than he'd thought, and Will just won't stop flirting.

i could be your hero - sundaysabotage (https://archiveofourown.org/works/24528247)

“I just don’t get it,” he huffs to Will as they put up holiday decorations in the unusually quiet infirmary, “they talk to me like I’m supposed to know stuff. Like I’m the new Percy or something.” Nico expects Will to laugh at this, shrug off his concerns as unfounded and tell him he’s being over-dramatic like usual. He is wrong. “Okay, babe, don’t take this the wrong way. But, you kind of are the new Percy.”

OTHERS !

Like a New Yorker - notalotgoingonatthisinstant (https://archiveofourown.org/works/25231837)

Annabeth knew Percy was from New York City. Born and raised. She was very aware of that fact whenever she couldn’t understand what he’d said because he’d spoken so fast that there were barely any words. She had gotten used to it, having lived in New York for a while. What she hadn’t exactly gotten used to yet was… well. How many times he could let f*** slip in front of the little kids at Camp. // OR Percy curses like a true New Yorker and son of Poseidon, Annabeth's trying to keep things flowing, and Piper makes fun of him so he makes fun of her. Because, really, sometimes she sounds like a Kardashian and he sounds like he's not even speaking English.

King-sized Candy Bars - liktetolaugh (https://archiveofourown.org/works/44380360)

It takes a week or two for Percy and Grover to actually become friends, even after they're roomed together. Because Percy, twelve years old, pragmatic, and hostile, is about as easy to make friends with as Thalia was. Hopefully, Grover will pull it off in the end.

Stars on the Water - liketolaugh (https://archiveofourown.org/works/38319247) i love this one so much

"I dunno, I just think it would make a lot of things easier for a lot of people," Percy said to Thalia, when she just stared at him. His cheek rested in his hand, a rare pensive look leaving his eyes distant and unfocused. "Mom has Paul now, so it’ll be easier on her if she doesn’t have to worry about me mucking things up. Dad won’t have to keep threatening war every time Zeus gets his toga twisted. The prophecy’s done, so I won’t be bringing it down on Nico. And no one will have to worry about me blowing up another volcano."

#nico di angelo #will solace #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #solangelo #fic rec #fanfic recommendations #alternative universes #Ao3 #pjo fanfiction #pjo hoo toa #hoo #toa #pjo nico #nico pjo #will pjo #pjo will

[oven-thermometer]

Don’t Ask.

Summary: Damian needs a place to spend the night, somewhere he won’t be riddled with questions – somewhere he’d feel safe. Jason’s place just seems to materialise. 

(NOT A SHIP)

a/n: my bff and I made a sims world for dc and cod characters. that’s how this started. enjoy. This is a hurt/comfort if you were wondering. 

Warnings: mentions of abuse, violence, past trauma, swearing, the author has never written for dc before, spelling mistakes problably.

w/c: 4.7k

It was raining when Jason pushed the doors open. He had been sitting in that stuffy room in a sharing circle for what felt like hours. He hadn’t spoken much in today’s session, not that he minded. He preferred the days were he could sit back and silently make his own judgements about the other people sitting in shitty plastic chairs, pouring their hearts out for six strangers and one mildly qualified doctor.

A soft hand touched his arm as he stared listlessly at the wet parking lot. Turning his head, he found the comforting smile of Meemaw Vicky staring at him. The elderly woman had insisted he call her Vicky, it made her feel young apparently – he added the ‘Meemaw’ part himself to tease her.

“You didn’t talk in there today.” She remarked, letting her hand fall from his arm in preference of standing next to him.

“Didn’t feel like any of the topics applied to me much.” He lied.

She just hummed in reply, letting him stew in the fact that she knew exactly what he actually wanted to say. ‘Today just felt like one of those days where if I talk too much I’ll drop dead.’ 

She knew because she had those days too, he knew that as well. She was in the same therapy group as him, and he’d heard some of her stories. Her husband being murdered in front of her from a home invasion wasn’t what he was expecting to come out of what seemed to be the kindest old lady, although he didn’t think anyone was prepared to hear his truth either. He left out the raised by batman and dying part, but being kidnapped by the Joker was all too well known by some of the people in this godforsaken community center. 

Breaking out of his trance, Jason inhaled sharply, “You still coming over tomorrow?”

“Yes, and I’ll be bringing a surprise, I think you’ll like it.” She didn’t look at him as she spoke, just kept watching the soft rain pattering onto the ground. 

“I’m sure I will, Meemaw.”

Jason helped her to the bus stop, leaving with a kiss on his cheek and a dish of leftover mac and cheese he wasn’t sure where she was keeping. 

Something was wrong. When he had arrived home, the rain still making itself known, something had been off. None of his lights were on, so he couldn’t see in – but the welcome mat Barbra had gotten him was scuffed with mud he knew he hadn’t tracked in last night after his patrol. Checking the front door confirmed it was still locked. 

Opening the door slowly, he surveyed the room. His bottom floor was completely open plan, save for a cupboard acting as a divider between the kitchen and the living room. Nothing was amiss from what he could see, except for his missing dog. She always woke up before he actually got in, waiting to greet him at the door. But she was missing and he couldn’t even hear her soft snores. 

Then he heard it. A soft mumble. Something he couldn’t make out. But he had heard it. It had come from his living room area. When he made his way over, he couldn’t do anything except let out a deep, annoyed sigh. 

“I thought dogs were meant to deter unwanted guests.”

Damian Al-Ghul Wayne sat on Jason’s beaten up couch with a neutral expression as he ran his hand behind Dog’s ear. She looked up at Jason, her tongue flopping out. Damian seemed to either be in a deep comatose state, or he was completely ignoring Jason’s presence. 

“What? No snarky comment or backhanded compliment?” Jason asked as he moved to turn the lights on. When he turned back to the teenager, the bruises littering his neck catches his attention immediately. From what he could see they continued all the way round and disappeared under his shirt too. He would’ve been alarmed if it weren’t for the fact that Damian was a crime-fighting vigilante, had a kill count in the triple digits and oh yeah, was the son of Batman. So Jason just shook his head and walked to the kitchen. 

“So you gonna tell me why you’re here?” Jason called out, busying himself with shoving some of the mac and cheese in the microwave.

Dog had finally let up on her pure betrayal. She trotted over to Jason, purely unaware as she scratched at her food bowl. 

With no response coming from the couch’s occupant, Jason just rolled his eyes and bent down to pet Dog and fill her food bowl. Her slightly crossed eyes closed as she licked at his face before she started on her dinner. She was a certified therapy dog, another gift from that group therapy. She worked, though. She gave him something to get out of bed for. Whatever happened, he knew he had to get home and feed Dog. And she calmed him down during the occasional panic attack, so he didn’t mind the downside of walks and feeding too much. 

Later, after Jason and Damian had sat at the kitchen island in silence and each had eaten their own dinner, Damian got up without a word and began washing the few dishes left in the sink. Jason knew not to argue with him when he started doing something. He settled for watching him as he washed and rinsed, offering the occasional help when he noticed the boy would stop for a few seconds as he didn’t know where something was. At this point Jason was getting slightly concerned. Damian was never this quiet. He would show up without explanation sometimes, but he’d always offer some insult or sassy statement throughout the visit. This wasn’t normal. 

Checking his phone, no out of the ordinary messages peaked his interest, no one asking where Damian was or who had him. Then, the time caught his eye. If Damian went to sleep any later, he’d be a disaster to deal with in the morning and there weren’t enough therapy dogs in the world for that patience test. 

“C’mon, you can sleep in my bed. I’ll take the couch.” 

Just before Jason left his bedroom to let Damian get some sleep, he stopped. Damian was standing next to his bed, awkwardly wringing his hands together and shifting his weight from one leg to the other. 

His voice was small when he spoke, and it sounded too broken for it’s own good, “I presume Alfred has been told of my whereabouts.”

“Nope.” His reply was quick and matter-of-fact. 

“He would want to know where I am – and so would… so would father.” The last part was softer, almost like he didn’t want to say it in the first place. 

“Between you and me, I can tell when someone doesn’t wanna be found just yet.” 

The door made a soft click as Jason closed it behind him. Dog was all too happy when she got to smother him completely as he lay down on the couch.

The next morning, as the last part of yesterday’s rain still prattled on stubbornly against his windows, Jason stood in the kitchen with his favourite mug. His neighbour had gotten it for him, a house-warming gift. He hated the stupid camo decals but it was the first genuine gift he had gotten in years. So he kept it. Not hearing the sound of careful footsteps coming down the stairs, Jason blinked his thoughts away when Damian’s unkempt set of dark curls entered his peripheral vision. 

“Rough night?” Jason joked.

“What? I stayed in the room if that’s what-“

“It’s an expression dumbass, your hair looks like it’s going in five different directions.”

“…Oh.” That small glimpse of innocence and the look of a tiny epiphany in Damian made Jason smile, but it was wiped away quickly when Damian started listing off his breakfast needs like he was at a restaurant.

“-and with that you’ll pour the cream over. Oh and don’t forget the eggs. Not too crispy and not too soft.”

“You order Alfred around like that in the mornings?” Jason turned to his cabinets, pulling out a box of cereal that was probably two months too old. 

“I usually accept my breakfast in bed, and he already knows how I like everything.” He sat on one of the high-chairs, looking impossibly childish as his legs hung off too far from the ground.

“Oh, sorry your highness, but you’ll have to deal with cereal today.” They did this dance everytime he came over to visit.

As Damian ate, Jason started with washing the mug and spoon in his sink. This felt better. The younger boy was finally offering up full sentences one after the other and wouldn’t immediately look away when he tried to meet his eyes – even though he could tell he was still struggling.

But those bruises caught his eye again. Bile started to rise in his throat.

“Your neck-“

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He stopped eating for a moment before returning with more fervor. 

“So they aren’t ones from fighting?”

“Would that make them better? Acceptable?” Damian looked straight at his brother, piercing through him with his accusing stare. A challenge. 

“No, but I just wanna know if you’re safe, idiot.”

His gaze fell. He pushed his almost finished bowl of probably unsafe cereal away and stood.

“I want to leave now. The walk to my school from your house is longer than from the manor.”

After a long moment of Jason scrutinizing his every move, he sighed. “You can leave, but you’re not going to school today.”

His mouth snarled and his brow raised as he registered his words, “Excuse me?”

“If you think my questions about those marks are too personal, you’ll hate what the teachers are gonna ask.” He shrugged. 

He pondered for a moment before replying, “Maybe missing school is for the best, just today though.”

Jason put the mug and spoon onto the drying rack, wiping his hands on a dishcloth while he made his way to the front door. 

“Where are you going?”

“Oh, I thought you wanted to leave? Might as well take dog with us, she needs a walk anyways.” He held out a leash, offering it to Damian as Dog made her presence known with excited barks.

The skeptical look on Damian’s face as he walked over could have been framed. He questioned the idea of ‘us’ out-loud as he clipped the leash onto Dog’s collar.

Jason didn’t bother replying, opting to walk out the door, expecting the others to follow. The morning was still exceptionally dreary. The rain was even more misty than yesterday, but still annoying enough to warrant Jason bringing his umbrella from inside. 

The trio walked down the street without a word, with Dog being none the wiser as she sniffed at every passer-by. Jason waved to his neighbour as they passed his house, although the man just gave a blank expression and a nod in reply.

“What is wrong with him?” Damian asked as the blonde man quickly disappeared back into his house. 

“I know him from therapy, he’s ex-military or some shit. Got traumatized enough to be discharged early I guess.” He decided to leave out the part where his husband died in his arms from a gunshot to the head.

After a short while, both of them had fallen silent. Neither felt the need to fill the space between them with pointless chit-chat. That was until Damian piped up, “Your… therapy, does it actually work?”

“Most the time. Thinking of finally talking to someone?” Jason taunted him with a raised brow and smirk, wanting to get him back for this morning. 

“Definitely not. I can’t imagine anything worse than some stranger who only cares about their paycheck asking me about my life.”

“You know, it’s not always like that. Some therapists actually care. Sure, a lot of them only want the session over with so they can diagnose you and ask for the bill,” Jason sat on a park bench, expecting for the other to follow his lead, “but there are therapists that genuinely want to help people. And, you don’t have to be alone when you do it, by the way.”

Instead of replying immediately, Damian bent down to unclip Dog’s leash. She set off instantly in search of a nearby flock of pigeons with her tail pointed high and her nose to the ground. Damian chose to stay standing, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. It made Jason smile to himself.

“I don’t think the being alone is the issue to me.” He said it quietly, his gaze darting from one person to the next as they went about their business in the park. Even though most Gothamites were used to the near-constant downpour many still chose to stay indoors when the weather got like this. Autumn was Damian’s favourite season just for this – he could go just about anywhere and not be bothered by huge crowds or people willing to linger too long.  

“It helps, when you’re in a group. It hurts like hell and it gets embarrassing when you start crying in front of like, eight civilians and a doctor who just smiles the whole time-“

“That sounds awful.”

“But,” he says forcefully, immediately regretting it when Damian recoiled ever so slightly, “forcing yourself to be vulnerable around strangers actually gets you used to being human again. And when you realize those strangers are actually going through the same thing as you, they become way less scary.”

Gently, Jason placed a hand on Damian’s shoulder. Damian stiffened a little, but his expression remained blank as he kept staring off into the distance. 

The words sat on his tongue like acid, burning his throat from the inside out. He wanted to shake the boy and scream at him that it didn’t have to be like this. That he didn’t have to pretend to hide where those bruises came from. That he didn’t have to miss school like this. That he didn’t have to come running to his older brother’s house anymore. He wanted to scream the softest words he knew he’d never heard before. But he settled for letting his hand fall from his shoulder and placing it next to Damian’s clenched fist. Not an invitation, or a threat, just a reminder. 

They stayed like that for a while, sitting in silence. When they finally arrived back home, Jason noted that Damian seemed less dejected, but as if he was now just floating above his body. 

Jason took his place in the rocking chair Meemaw Vicky got him for knitting in. The whole thing had been her idea, she said knitting helps keep your hands and your mind off of other things – and god knew he needed that. The old, stolen, clock that sat on Jason’s, also stolen, shelf reminded him of something he had very much conveniently forgotten. 

Meemaw Vicky would be arriving in exactly ten minutes, maybe longer if she was late – Jason knew she wouldn’t be. His gaze turned to Damian who was sitting quietly on his couch, reading through one of the random books Jason kept on his shelves, next to that clock. Dog slept at his feet, her muffled snores indicating her tiredness after their walk. Damian’s glazed over eyes flew across the words, leaning back into the plush cushions as he flipped the pages. His nose crinkled every few sentences, trying to decipher whatever hidden message the author was trying to make him read between the lines for. He had two options, shove Damian out the house before Meemaw Vicky can get her hands on his chubby cheeks and then end up with a knife in her ribs, or lock him upstairs till she leaves. He decided on neither. 

“I have someone coming over soon.”

“Pennyworth?” he didn’t even look up as he answered him.

“For the last time, he probably knows where you are already and no I have not called him. A friend of mine is visiting.”

“You have friends?” that got an amused look from Damian. Friendly eye contact, progress.

That comment snapped his invisible patience though.

“Speak for yourself,” stop, “you’ve been at that school for what? Eight months?” what are you doing, “How many friends have you managed to make?” why am I saying this, “And how many of those kids actually know you past the fact that you’re a billionaires kid who can’t talk about his feelings?” God please just shut up.

Jason bit the inside of his cheek before he could continue fucking up. He tasted copper while he saw the emotions flit through Damian’s eyes. They were too short to recognize but he felt each one like a gut punch all the same. Damian just blinked and looked back down to his book, obviously not actually reading it. Progress erased. 

“I’m sorry, I-“

“Don’t. It’s fine.”

That feeling came back, the urge to grip him so tight and engrain what he was feeling into his bones. The feelings he couldn’t hope to find the words for. The apologies, the forgiveness, the reassurance, the anger. 

The ringing of the doorbell announcing Meemaw Vicky's arrival interrupted Jason thoughts.

Damian didn’t even pretend to be interested in getting up. He just kept looking at the book.

Dog got up and happily trotted over to greet her through the door. Jason sighed as he walked over to open the door, giving her cheeks a kiss each as to say hello.

“Oh Jason, I finally managed to grow those orchids we talked about! They were tough but they bloomed just this morning! I brought a few cuttings for you to keep around the house.” Her smile                     seemed to cleanse the soul, letting you know just how good her intentions always where. Not a bad bone resided in this woman’s body – maybe that’s why Jason loved having her over. He felt as if the goodness overflowing from her every word would stain him and his house so that nothing of his past would remain. And he also just enjoyed the company every once in a while.

Jason failed to notice just how quickly the elderly woman could still move. She had already gotten all the way to his living room while he was thinking, leaving the plastic bags surely filled with flower cuttings on his kitchen counter. He had to move.

But when he walked the distance and talked himself out of revisiting the locking Damian upstairs idea, all he found was Meemaw Vicky leaning dangerously close over Damian’s shoulder, asking him a list of questions about himself. 

She stood up and looked to Jason, shoving an accusatory finger in his space. “You never told me you had a little brother! I expected better from you, Jason Todd.”

Damian scoffed at that. Jason just rolled his eyes and mumbled an apology.

Meemaw Vicky sat a respectable distance on the couch from the boy, giving him ample space. She had calmed down considerably, but still asked Damian questions he answered through gritted teeth. 

“How old are you?”

“13.”

“Oh, same age as my granddaughter! You’d love her. I think I should bring her over one day to meet you.”

“Please don’t.”

“So what are you learning about in school? Ooh, what book have you got there? I need to catch up on my reading.”

“I- I am on a normal curriculum and I’m reading, uh, Pride and Prejudice.”

“I see,” she sat back for a moment, studying him, “you know that’s your brother’s favourite book.”

“…Really?”

Meanwhile, content that he wasn’t going to stab her, Jason had left the two alone to make some tea. While waiting for the kettle to boil, he decided to actually check his phone for the first time since last night. The usual app notifications were quickly deleted, with a few kept – if he doesn’t keep the instagram notifications he will never remember to watch all the reels Dick sends him, and then he’ll never hear the end of it. His finger stopped in it’s motion across the phone when it lit up with a call screen. The caller ID seemed to seep into Jason’s psyche and grip his lungs. 

‘Bruce Wayne’ in plain, black text in front of the white background laughed at him. It was taunting him. 

He declined the call. And the next one. And the next three. 

He only picked up the last call because this time it came from Alfred, and he was too scared to decline a call from that man.

“What’s up?”

“Master Jason, I assume Master Damian is with you?”

“Why?”

“He didn’t come home from school yesterday. He’d only ever stay the night at your or Master Dick’s house.”

“And how do you not know he’s not at Dick’s place?”

“Because he at least answers Bruce’s phone calls the first time. Master Dick has not seen Master Damian.”

Damn that man and his phone addiction, and his undying loyalty to their adoptive father.

“Listen, he’s here but I can tell he doesn’t wanna go home. Not yet.”

“That is not what I’m concerned with, what I don’t like is him getting to skip school. You know how important an education is to give that boy some semblance of a normal life.” Although Alfred’s words were curt and pinched, Jason felt the genuine care that lay beneath them. Alfred loved Damian just as much as any of them. 

“I… I know. But Alfred, did you see his neck? People would ask questions. And you know he hates that.” He spoke in a hushed voice, careful to not let Damian hear.

The silence that came from the other end of the call was filled with the kettles high-pitched whine. Quickly turning the stove off, Jason wracked his brain for what to say to Alfred about any of this. 

But, it was Alfred that spoke as Jason poured the cups of tea while holding the phone to his ear.

“I was not made aware of any injuries. How bad are they?”

“God, Alfred I- shit,” he winced as he spilled some boiling water on his hand, “I don’t know. He won’t even let me see but there are nasty bruises all over his neck. And I can tell they go further. He must’ve had a pretty bad fight, did something happen?”

“Master Damian has not been on patrol for a few days though, he has been on a strict sleeping schedule due to an upcoming school project.”

“… what?” Suddenly, those calls from Bruce started making sense.

It was hours later, Meemaw had left long ago and Jason disappeared into his room. When he descended the stairs, clad in his vigilante costume, he found Damian still sitting cross-legged in the living room. He was actually properly reading the book and Jason almost didn’t have the heart to interrupt him. 

“Did you bring your suit?”

“Of course.”

“Good. Get dressed. Meet me on the roof.” He knew he didn’t have to explain how to get up there, he'd find his way fine. 

By the time Damian finally joined Jason on the roof, Jason stood with his hands on his hips looking like an impatient mother. “Follow.” Was all the instruction Jason gave before he darted off in the direction of the next rooftop. 

When they stopped a few minutes later, Jason looked over to Damian, “Tired yet, kid?”

Damian shook his head, a neutral expression staining his face.

This continued for city block after city block. Mile after mile, they ran. Every few stops, Jason would look to Damian with a grin– a challenge of his own. And Damian would accept it every time.

Only when both of them were drenched in sweat and panting for breath did Jason finally speak again. 

“Tired?”

Damian stood hunched over, with his hands on his knees. Oxygen flooded his lungs as he breathed and sweat dripped off of his face. He didn’t even try and respond.

Jason just chuckled, huffing before setting off in a run again.

Only about five rooftops later did he think to look back. He didn’t think he would find Damian right behind him – on all-fours, his chest heaving. 

Jason silently came towards him, sitting on his haunches and placing a hand on his shoulder. His voice was gentler this time, “Tired?”

Damian’s eyes were screwed shut. Tears of exhaustion burned him. The stench of sweat invaded his nostrils. Every part of his suit clung to him in all the wrong ways. He wanted to tear every offending piece off of him. He wanted to scream but the exertion had stolen too much out of him.

Jason’s eyes narrowed. His hand rubbed soothing circles into Damian’s shoulder as he spoke, “Hey, it’s gonna be ok. You did good.”

No. No he didn’t. He had failed. He’d lost the challenge. He couldn’t have hoped to keep up if they had continued. He-

“Hey. Look at me.”

Slowly, Damian’s eyes opened. His ribs burned with embarrassment as his gaze lifted. 

“I’m sor-“ Damian tried.

“Stop.” His voice wasn’t too rough this time, he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He’d been trained better than that. And yet Damian still winced. 

“Look at how far we came. How far you came.” He nodded his head to the horizon behind them, and Damian followed his guide to glance back.

He couldn’t even see Jason’s house anymore. He could only see an unfamiliar landscape dotted with buildings and rooftops. They had gone so far he couldn’t even recognize where in Gotham they were. 

“Where are we?”

“One of the newer suburbs, Bruce hasn’t mapped this part of the city yet. That’s why I love coming here.” He stood, moving to the edge of the roof.

“Why did you bring me here, Jason?” the way he said his name made his heart hurt.

“Because,” he grunted as he swung his legs over the edge and took a seat, “I wanted to remind you that you’re human. You can’t do everything. You can fall over because you’re exhausted. You can fail.”

Tears pricked at his eyes for a different reason now. His limbs screeched at him as he stood.

“I am aware that I am only human. I am reminded of that every single day.”

“Yeah, but did anyone ever teach you that that’s a good thing? That it is allowed?”

Damian reluctantly sat next his brother. It was late by now, the final streaks of dusk laying in the sky.

“I can hardly see how constantly being told that you are human is a good thing.”

“Told?”

Damian’s breath hitched.

Jason smirked, “There it is.”

The younger boy’s shoulders dropped. 

“So, who is it? Who do I need bury?”

He refused to answer.

“Damian if someone is hurting you, you are allowed to defend yourself. You don’t need to keep up this civilian charade when it comes to-“

“I know that. My civilian persona doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

Jason quirked his brow at this. A deep orange glow disappeared over the buildings and the final stars began to show. The theory Jason feared the most was rearing it’s ugly head.

“It was Bruce wasn’t it.” It was less of a question, but he was getting tired of beating around the bush. 

As the navy sky blanketed the city and snuffed out any of the golden sunset, Damian finally allowed himself to let go. Jason didn’t need to look over to see the tears flowing down his brother’s face, he knew. How ever silent Damian thought he was being or had been last night in Jason’s room, he knew. He also knew the pain. The pain of acceptance that came with acknowledging what had happened, and who did it to you. 

“I wasn’t fast enough. I deserved it.” Jason just let him talk, “We were training, and I- I failed. I could’ve been faster, stronger – I could have…”

It took a few more moments before he continued, “I got too tired. He caught me too many times. I-“

His voice broke when Jason pulled him towards his chest. He wrapped his arms around the too-young boy. Damian let his heart sink. He let his exhausted mind melt. He let himself be human for a second. 

#batfam #batfamily #jason todd #damian wayne #damian al ghul #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #batman #batfam fic #batfam angst #batman mentioned!! #Simon riley cameo

[mewnekoice-mecha]

DP x DC

Part 2 of Idol!Danny

Quick summary: Danny is performing in Gotham, the bat boys & girls go see it. Que Simps Damian and Tim

Here’s Danny’s outfit as always

*knock**knock*

“Phantom ,your on in 5 ok”,said the manger for this event, “Please head to the stage, we’re ready”.

“Ok, I’m on my way,” came a light male voice with a soft undertone that didn’t seem human. The male in question was none other then teen idol and meta sensation PHANTOM or in his dimension Danny Fenton, a teen with glowing white hair that constantly shifts like it’s underwater, eyes that glow a bright neon green, small fangs that fill a faerie like face, his entire appearance screams supernatural. That’s not the only reason he’s so popular, but we’ll see why later.

At the moment he was about to do one of his biggest concerts to date in the city of crime itself Gotham City, Home of the Bat and His Birds. Doing one last check to make sure his outfit and makeup was perfect, Phantom left his room and headed to the main area in the arena that he will be singing in, in just a few minutes.

Taking a breath Danny shook himself and grabbed the headset that was handed to him, as the workers fitted around him doing last minute checks before he goes on. Eyes flashing brighter then ever, a smirk came across his face as he felt Lady Gotham’s Knights had decided to join his little concert, now he HAS to make this a performance worth remembering.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, YOU KNOW HIM YOU LOVE HIM, PLEASE WELCOME PHANTOM!!!!”

Time to knock ‘‘em dead Fenton

*Jason’s POV *

‘I can’t believe Cass and Steph, dragged us to a concert for some lame meta twink singer, I could be sleeping or shooting at assholes right now buutt nooo I gotta be here with demon brat, replacement and dickie as well’ I thought as we grabbed our seats. Steph and surprisingly Cass have been raving nonstop about some meta singer that popped up a year ago. Apparently he’s been taking the music scene by storm and he’s already won awards for his music despite his young age, I can’t help but Amit I’m a little curious about him as it’s almost unheard of for a meta to be so open about they’re powers like he is. As soon as I thought that, the announcement to welcome the kid who’s stage name is apparently Phantom came on, guess I’ll see what’s the fuss about ,when QUIETNESS and Darkness greeted me.

*Danny’s POV*

After my announcement came, i floated invisible and intangible to the center stage, then I grabbed on my core and PULLED all the light to me so there was only Darkness, that’s when the music started and I began to SING

🎶Better-Arc North, Rival🎶

I slowly became visible as I sung a bright spot in total darkness

“Like we’re underwater

Can’t hear nothing

You’ve been casting a spell

I’m all yours now

Yeah, you’ve been

Fillin the space upon my mind”

I floated slowly around the stage like I was looking or daydreaming about someone, a dazed/happy expression on my face

“And tell me everything

Both the good and bad

Cause whatever you tell me

I will still like everything that I see

Cause nothing feels better then us

I’m so high can’t get down

No nothing feels better than when I’m with you”

Moving closer to the edge of the stage I could see and hear the dazed, blushing faces of my fans screams and cries of I love you and Phantom filled the air, it was almost time to dazzle my little specters

“My future is buried in your eyes

I got so much to say and I won’t lie

Nothing feels better than you”

As soon as the bass started to drop Releasing my hold on my core, the entire arena became a NEBULA with me as its center, bright blues and purples filled the arena as shooting stars shot behind me

“Nothing feels better than this

No nothing feels better than this”

Looking at the faces of my fans I could spot some shocked faces in the front row, and low and behold it was Lady Gotham’s birds. Creeping closer I leaned close to one of them a male with shocking blue-gray eyes and smelling a bit like coffee I sang my next part

“Let me be your safe place

If the sky would open

I’m making sure that you stay dry

In the greatest of storms

I’ll be your light”

Leaving him slacked jawed with a pretty blush I moved on to the next bird closest to me which happened to be the one with pretty green eyes and gorgeous Arabic tan I’ve ever seen, he was scowling but had a light blush that was unnoticeable to untrained eyes, taking a clawed finger I lightly brushed against his face not quite touching but still noticeable

“And they can’t tell me nothing

That will make a difference

Since I got everything I need in you

I’m invincible I believe”

He was staring wide eyed at me like he couldn’t even believe I was talking er singing to him, moving back to the stage I started using my ecto-ice to make a light mist that cause the nebula around me to sparkle as I air danced

“Cause nothing feels better

Than us

I’m so high I can’t get down

No nothing feels better

Than when I’m with you

My future is buried in your eyes

I got so much to say and I won’t lie”

Bringing my hands in front of me I slammed them together creating a would be universe around me with a shadowy figure reaching a hand out toward me for me to take, reaching for the hand I grasped it and pulled it towards me as the shadows peeled away from the figure showing a gothic loli teen with a bat choker on and golden eyes

“Nothing feels better than you

Nothing feels better than this

Nothing feels better than this

My future is buried in your eyes

I got so much to say and I wont lie

Nothing feels better than you”

Ending the song on that note I hugged Gotham as a thanks for letting me use her as a stand in.

But as for her knight’s I had no way of knowing just how true my song would become for me and them

@skulld3mort-1fan @kawaiikenna @xye-chan

as always this is an open prompt so if u like the prompt you can borrow it or make a story out of it all I ask is just a mention of where it came from

#dc x dp prompt #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc au #dp x dc #idol!danny #ghost king danny #danny fenton #danny phantom #danny x tim #danny x damian #dead serious #brain dead

[airas-story]

Stay Anyways

Stephen clung to the blankets. Tension kept his body tight even as shivers wracked through him.

He heard the faint sound of someone slipping into the room. He recognized Tony’s footsteps immediately. Wong must have called him. Stephen felt some of his tension slip away.

The first time Stephen had gotten sick after he and Tony had started their relationship had been… rough. Stephen hadn’t been sure if he could let his barriers down and Tony hadn’t been sure how far he could push.

In the end, Tony’s gentle, pleading request of please, Stephen, let me help, had broken Stephen’s barriers.

As odd as it was, the experience had been good for them, as little as Stephen had enjoyed his dimensional flu.

At least this time it was just a normal earth-bound fever.

The bed shifted as Tony sat on the edge. “Hey,” Tony’s voice was soft, as though checking if Stephen was actually awake. “I need you to sit up for a minute, okay. Get some water into you.”

“Don’t wanna,” Stephen muttered. He buried his face back into the pillows. It was vaguely suffocating, but it was better than moving.

Tony let out a hum, even as he gently nudged at Stephen. “How about this,” he offered. “You sit up and drink this water I brought you, and I’ll play with your hair.”

Stephen frowned into the pillow. That wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to sit up or drink water. But he loved it when Tony played with his hair, the fingers brushing gently through his hair, the gentle scrape against his scalp, the sheer love in every touch.

He was a sucker for it.

Reluctantly he forced himself into a sitting position. Tony carefully supported him.

The cup had a straw in it—Stephen’s hands shook always, but with the additional shivers from the fever, there would be no way Stephen would hold a cup steady—and Tony held the cup steady as Stephen drank.

Stephen pulled away, but Tony nudged him into drinking a little more before he set the cup on the bedside table.

“All right, sweetheart,” Tony murmured. “Let’s get you lying down again.”

“Hair,” Stephen told him; he didn’t care if he sounded demanding. He’d done his side of the bargain; Tony had better deliver. “You promised.”

That earned him a laugh. “I’m well aware of what I promised,” Tony said.

Tony and Stephen shifted on the bed until Stephen was wrapped back in the blankets—Tony tried to convince him he didn’t need them, but Stephen was cold, he didn’t care about fever science—with his head resting on Tony’s lap. Tony’s fingers started their gentle brush through Stephen’s hair.

Stephen relaxed into the sensation. He hated being sick—hated might not be a strong enough word for the sheer abhorrence—but he did love when Tony’s whole attention was focused on him and making him feel better.

It didn’t take him long to drowse off, slipping into a state of not-quite-awake, but still partially aware.

Tony had started humming at some point—AC/DC was surprisingly peaceful in this form—lulling Stephen further.

“You’re a terrible sick person,” Tony said quietly, but he sounded more fond than anything. “You really are. Get stabbed by alien torture devices and you’re fine. Give you a fever and you’re suddenly a big baby.”

Stephen just hummed. The thing was, he was allowed to be sick; he couldn’t give in to threats or break down at the pain. But here? Safe in the sanctum with Tony taking care of him? Here, Stephen was allowed to give in.

He felt a brush of lips against his forehead. “But that’s okay,” Tony said. “I’ll take care of you every time, you know that, right?”

Stephen tilted his head further into Tony’s hand. He didn’t feel the need to say anything. That Tony was here was proof enough that he would always come; Stephen’s easy give to Tony’s gentle requests was proof that Stephen would let him stay.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart,” Tony said quietly. “You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

For a moment, Stephen thought about asking Tony to stay. It took his hazy moment to realize that he didn’t have to. Tony would stay anyways.

#fic #ironstrange #tony stark #stephen strange #sick fic

[ladylooch]

ur doing gods work! can you write about nico & the reader crossing paths again after not seeing each other for a long time? <3

Crossing Paths with Nico Hischier

A/N: Ya know, the fan fic won't write it's self ( I know I've tried to convince it), so I'm happy to do it!

Word count: 1.0k

Warnings: lil angsty, swearing

Breaking up with Nico Hischier was the single hardest and most devastating thing you’ve ever done. 

You didn’t want to. 

But you didn’t see how this was going to work.

You were being promoted to the DC office of your advertising firm. It came with a private office, a huge pay bump, and a whole portfolio of dream clients.

The only thing it wouldn’t come with was your boyfriend. 

When you told Nico, he was ecstatic for you. He urged you to take it. He refused to listen to any of the concerns you had because he assumed you would stay together. Every night the month before your move, you agonized in your bed next to Nico while he slept. The logistics were starting to feel too difficult. Nico was sure you would find ways to see each other, but you knew the reality of life in DC was going to monopolize your time. Nico was used to you giving because his jobs took so much.

So you gathered up the courage to sit him down the night before you left and told him your concerns.

“Babe, this distance is going to be nothing for us. It’s temporary too.” The corporate office for your firm is in Manhattan. Nico has latched onto the idea that DC is a stepping stone for you. A temporary fork in the road until yours both meet again.

“Neeks.” You quietly say, squeezing his hand. Nico freezes, sensing where this is going. “I love you, but-“

“No, don’t say it. Don’t do this. Let’s just try and see how it goes.”

“I can’t.” Your voice breaks as you watch the tears fill his eyes. He sucks in a deep, unsteady breath through his nose. His mouth crumples and you feel a piece of your soul die on that brand new leather couch he bought so you would have more room to cuddle together. “I’m so sorry.” You cry as he stands up, dashing his fingers through his hair in despair. He begins to pace before he whirls back towards you.

“You said forever.” Nico spits. “When did you turn into such a liar?”

If your heart had any intact pieces left, they shattered at those words.

Two years later, you’re snapped out of the memory from the building across the street by the barista calling out your name. You’ve moved back to Jersey and are at the local coffee shop in Hoboken you frequented when Nico lived in that building. It’s been so long, you don’t think it’s possible he still lives there anymore. You grab the latte, bringing it over to the station by the window to grab a straw and a lid. 

“You know, most people grow out of adding extra sugar into their lattes.” A voice murmurs to your right. You turn, choking on your breath when you see Nico.  “But I guess you’re not most people.” You snort out a laugh, eyes squinting excitedly at how good he looks. 

“I just can’t quit big sugar. Keeps me employed.” You joke, stepping forward into his stretched out arms and giving him a hug. You both linger together. “Wow, do you still live here?” You point to the building.

“No I moved up a few blocks, but still walk down here from time to time.”

“Best espresso in the city.” You quote him.

“Yeah, still not Switzerland though.”

“Maybe you should open your own shop.” 

“You gonna do the advertisement for me?”

“Sure, I’ll even give you the friends and family discount.” He chuckles. 

“You look… wow.” He finishes in a whisper, taking in your professional dress, tights and heels. You’re decked out in blacks and reds, like he used to love on you. “My colors.” He would grin before kissing your lips.

Nothing about Nico has changed. He’s still sweet as honey.

“You too. Looks like you put some muscle on. Maybe Luca has finally stopped teasing you about growing into your pro body.”

“No, he’s never going to give that joke up. Not when he can still lift more than me.”

“Well, the work never really ends.” Your phone dings in your hand. You look down, seeing the reminder that you have 15 minutes to get to your client’s office. “I, uh, have to go.” You show him your phone. You could stay here with him for hours, truthfully, even though it wouldn’t be good for your heart. The one that never quite stopped loving him.

“Yeah, me too. I’m on my way to practice.” 

“It was really good to see you, Neeks. I still watch Devils games all the time. The team is really turning into a premier contender.” You both walk together towards the door, then outside, pausing on the sidewalk.

“Yeah? You cheer for me?”

“Yeah, but sometimes I cheer more for Jack.”

“He misses you.” He confesses.

“I know; He calls.” Nico closes his eyes with regret, shoving his free hand deep into his jacket pocket. He adjusts his grip on his cup.

“Look… Ah.. I know you gotta go, but I want you to know I’m sorry about the way we left things.” 

“Me too. I should have stayed here with you.”

“No. But it would have been nice if you had wanted to try long distance.” He winces after he says it, like he’s worried he crossed some imaginary line on the sidewalk. I slowly nod, stepping backwards towards my destination. 

“I’m back in Jersey now.” You’re not sure why you tell him, except that you want him to know you’ll be around. His eyebrows raise in surprise.

“You’re a year ahead of the plan.”

“I had some extra motivation.”

“Money?” He tilts his head, coy smile on his face.

“Yeah. We’ll go with that. I’ll see ya.” You wave. He returns yours, staying rooted to the sidewalk. He’s still there watching you when you turn back around for one more moment.

“Hey Nico.” His brown eyes are curious. “My phone number still works. Ask Jack if you need it again.”

“You gonna answer if I call?”

“Yeah. On the first ring.”

#nico hischier #nico Fischer x reader #nico hischier blurb #New Jersey devils #hockey writing #my writing #nhl fan fiction #writing request

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Darkest Mind

Family is More Than Blood Masterlist 

Summary: Sometimes the world was to loud and the voices that called you a monster, and killer began to much. To silence everything, pain was something you were familiar with. All you’ve known is pain. But when your family starts to notice you falling, they are there to catch you. 

Warning: This story contains themes that can possible be triggering. Self harm, mention of suicide, guilt, not eating, mention of past sexual assault, reader needs help 

 Word Count: 3.1K

“Hey,” Yelena sat down next to you. “We are planning another trip to the city. Do you want to come?” 

“Sure,” you said, not looking at her. You were staring at the TV, a soccer game on, and you were mindlessly twirling a pen in your hand. The soccer game was barely registering to you. You weren’t sure who came up to talk to you before Yelena. Natasha might have been Maria. No, it had to be Tony because you had a drink on a table near you. 

“Okay,” Yelena said slowly. “I think Natasha is pregnant.” 

“Oh cool,” you said. You weren’t sure what she said. 

“I’m secretly married.” 

“Nice,” Gods, you were so tired. You weren’t sleeping well. Every night you close your eyes you are back in the Red Room or that dementated fun room. 

“Are you listening?” She asked. You tore your eyes away from the TV and looked at your sister. She seemed concerned. 

“Yeah, sorry, I was really into the game. I’m listening,” she didn’t believe you. Hell, you didn’t believe yourself. 

“Right, I’ll let you know the details about the trip,” you nodded as Yelena stood up. You put your arms on the back of the couch. “Carol is returning tonight. Are you excited to see her?”

“Yup,” you popped the ‘p’. Were you happy to see her? You didn’t deserve her. You didn’t deserve the happiness she gave you. You didn’t deserve the way she looked at you. 

“Okay, also the game is over. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, putting one leg over the other. The pen began to twirl again. You were so tired. You heard Yelena walk away. 

*

You avoided everyone by staying in your room. You were throwing a tennis ball in the air, throwing it with your right and catching it with your left. It was mind-numbing and you needed your mind to turn off. There were too many emotions running through your - anger, guilt, sadness. You just wanted it all to stop. The door opened and you looked up. “You know I expected a better homecoming,” Carol smirked, her arms crossed. 

“Hi,” you said but you didn’t move. She raised an eyebrow and walked into your room. She sat on your bed. “How is Monica?” You asked. 

“She’s good. How are you?” 

“I’m good,” you forced a smile on your face. “Just tired.” 

“Do you want to take a nap before dinner?” That sounded nice. You wanted nothing more than to curl up in her arms and fall asleep. She was so warm and safe. But you didn’t deserve it. You were silent for too long. “Hey, if you don’t want to, I can leave.” 

“No!” She was surprised by the outburst. “Sorry,” you rubbed your hands over your face. “Sorry, I haven’t been feeling well.” 

“Do you want me to go get you something? Helen can get something to help you sleep,” you shook your head. You didn’t want to be sedated. Too many times you were drugged in the Red Room and you woke up with someone on top of you. 

“Can you just lay with me?” You asked. 

“Of course,” you sat up and pulled down the covers. Carol lay down next to you. “Can I hold you?” You nodded, moving to your side. You felt her arm move around your waist and pulled you close so your back was flushed against her front. Her breath caused goosebumps on your neck. Something was wrong. Her touch normally felt comfortable and safe but now it made your skin hurt. Why did it hurt?

*

Wanda made a chicken alfredo with garlic bread and salad. There weren't many at the compound - Sam was in Wakanda and Rhodey and Vision were in DC. You were pushing the noodles around your bowl, half listening to the conversation taking place. You think Tony was making fun of Steve but that happened daily. You took a small bite of your chicken but it made your stomach flip. The smell was making you nauseous. What gave you the right to sit here and have a home-cooked meal? You were just as bad as Dreyokv. You watched him control so many young girls and you did nothing to stop him. You were a monster. Your hands were stained with blood and the piles of bodies you were responsible for were so high. “Y/n,” your name snapped you out of your spiral. Natasha was staring at you. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you said automatically. “Just tired,” you finished the glass of water. “Thank you, Wands for dinner. I’m gonna get some sleep. I have an early morning call with Melina.” You gathered your barely-eaten food and put it into the kitchen. After weakly saying goodnight to everyone, you made your way back to your room. You went right to the bathroom and turned on the shower. It would take a while for the water to heat up. You stripped out of your sweatpants and T-shirt and stared at your reflection in the mirror. Your skin was littered with scars from beatings and missions. You were disgusted with yourself. Shaking your head, you stepped into the water. You gasped and hissed as the hot water hit your skin. But you accepted the pain. The pain was good. You rested your head against the tile wall. 

Sometimes you could hear him, feel his hands on your skin, and his hot breath near his ear. You were always on high alert because you never knew where he was going to be waiting for you. You bite down on the knuckle of your thumb. The spark of pain brought you back to reality. “He’s dead,” you mumbled. “He’s dead.” But what if he wasn’t? Natasha and Yelena believed he was dead before or what if someone took his place. Bringing down the Red Room, pissed off a lot of people. Were you safe even with the Avengers or were you a target and endangering everyone around you? 

You stayed in the shower until your skin was red and the want went cold. You dried quickly and put the sweatpants back on and put on an old air force sweatshirt that belonged to Carol. You lay on your bed and stared up at the ceiling. There were times like this you wished you were back in the Red Room. In there, there was no time for feelings, no time to think because you were focused on surviving. You brought a pillow to your chest and curled around it. You squeezed your eyes shut and prayed for a peaceful night. 

*

Carol watched you walk away. Your shoulders slumped as if you were holding the weight of the world on them. “What’s wrong with Big Spider?” Tony asked, sipping on his drink. 

“I don’t know,” Yelena said. “She’s been like this all day.” That worried Carol. 

“Her mind has been all over the place,” Wanda added. Carol sighed. 

“I’m gonna go talk to her,” Carol stood up. “Maybe I can get her to tell me what’s wrong.” It was a hopeful wish but she had to try. 

“Let us know if you need anything,” Natasha smiled. Carol nodded and headed into the kitchen with her food. She saw that you didn’t eat much so she made you a protein shake. It would give you something easy to eat. She walked to her room and knocked on your door. But you didn’t answer. She knocked again. Still nothing. 

“FRIDAY, let me in,” the AI didn’t respond but she heard the door unlock. She carefully opened the door and saw you on your bed, hair wet from a shower, and you were wearing one of her sweatshirts. “Hey, I brought you a protein shake,” she sat down on the edge of the bed. “I noticed you didn’t eat a lot,” you sat up and stared blankly at her but followed her hand when she put the shake on the nightstand. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you whispered. “I’m fine.”

“No, you aren’t,” your eyes snapped to her. “And that’s okay. I just need you to talk to me.” 

*

‘Talk to me.’ ‘Talk to me.’ It was as if it was the easiest thing in the world. But the words were caught in your throat. How could you tell her about the guilt that was eating at you? How when you looked at your hands all you saw was blood? That a part of you wished you died in the Red Room. “Sweetheart,” she moved to touch your cheek but you grabbed onto her hand. You stared at each other. The room grew tense in silence. 

“I want to be alone,” you told her, letting go of her hand. ‘Good, push her away.’ A voice said inside your head. ‘You don’t deserve her. You're a monster. A killer.’  

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Leave me alone,” your voice sounded so cold, you barely recognized it. “Go away.” She stood up. 

“I’ll give you space but I’m here, okay? Just come find me,” you ignored her and watched her leave. She closed the door behind her. ‘You drove her away,’ The voice taunted. ‘She hates you. How could she ever want to be with someone like you?’ You groaned, placing your feet on the floor and covering your ears. You wanted the voices to stop. You knew you were a bad person but the constant voices telling you over and over again were killing you. 

“Please,” you whimpered. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” ‘You are pathetic. Weak,’ it continued. ‘No one cares about you. How did you ever keep them safe?’ You fell to the ground. “Stop, please. I’m sorry. You're right.” 

*

“Why are you sitting on the floor?” Yelena asked. Carol looked up. 

“She wanted to be left alone but I wanted to be close,” Truth be told, Carol was worried. You scared her. She’s never heard your voice sound so void of emotion. Yelena sat down next to her. “I’m worried about her but I don’t know what to do.” 

“Black Widows are trained to bottle their feelings. She won’t ask for help until it becomes bad.” Great. That was what Carol was afraid of. She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. She remembered Yelena and Natasha telling her to be patient, that you needed time to be your own person. She would give you all the time in the world because she loved you. 

“Captain Danvers, Miss. Y/n is in distress.” Carol stood up and threw your door open. She saw you standing up on the wall punching over and over again. She sprung into action and ran over to you. She grabbed onto your arms and pulled you into her chest. You didn’t relax but fought against her as Carol brought you down to the ground. 

“Sh, baby, you're safe. You're safe,” Carol held you tighter. You were struggling less but you still kept hitting Carol’s chest. “It’s me, baby girl. It’s me. Whatever is in your head isn’t real,” you stopped fighting but you kept lightly hitting your chest. It didn’t hurt. “It’s me and Yelena. We got you.” Yelena walked over to you and knelt beside you. 

“It’s okay,” Yelena said. “You're safe.” Your eyes were wide and frantic. “We got you,” it was as if the dame broke and you held onto Carol and cried into her shirt. 

*

You weren’t sure how long you cried but Carol picked you up and sat you down on your bed. Yelena ran to go get a first aid kit. Carol sat down next to you in silence but kept your non-injured hand in hers, squeezing it. It kept you grounded. Soon Yelena came back with the first aid kit. “Let me see your hand,” you gave it to her. It was already starting to heal but you knew she needed to make sure you were okay. So, she whipped the blood on your knuckles. 

“You don’t have to talk to us right now,” Carol said. “But we are here for you. All of us -Wanda, Natasha, and Maria.” 

“Why?” You asked softly. Yelena paused what she was doing to look at you. “Why? You know what I’ve done.” 

“You were forced to do those things,” Yelena said, returning to her task. 

“I should have stopped him.” 

“How?” Your sister asked. “Tell me how you would have stopped him without him killing you,” you couldn’t give her a good answer because there was none. “You are a victim forced to do horrible things. It wasn’t your fault.” 

“Why does it hurt so much?” You whispered, your head falling onto Carol’s shoulder. 

“Grief is a powerful emotion,” Carol kissed the top of your head. “It comes and goes in waves.”

“It fucking sucks,” you mumbled. It caused them to laugh. 

“What do you need?” Yelena asked. You weren’t sure what you needed. You wanted the noise to stop. 

“Food and sleep,” you told them. 

“We can help with that.” But you didn’t want them to help, you didn’t deserve their help. 

*

Your talk with Yelena and Carol didn’t change your behavior but it got worse. You isolated yourself in your room and barely ate. The only time you came out of your room was to train until your body gave out. It was the only way to stop the nightmares. It went on for 5 more days until Natasha burst through your door while you were changing. “Most people knock,” you said. “I could have been naked.” 

“Here is what’s going to happen, you are going to go to the kitchen and sit your ass down to eat,” she crossed her arms. “Or I’m going to drag you to Helen and she’s going to put a feeding tube down your throat.” Your blood ran cold. That was the last thing you wanted. But you rolled your eyes. 

“I like to see you try,” even in your weakened state you were a better fighter than Natasha. 

“Do you want to die?” She asked. 

“Maybe,” you admitted. Natasha uncrossed her arms and stared at you. 

“Time out,” she said. “Are you serious?” You shrugged, sitting on the ground, your back against your bed. Natasha sat down in front of you. “Can you please talk to me?” You brought one of your knees to your chest. 

“It became too much,” you whispered. “The anger, the guilt, the jealousy. It got too loud. I just wanted it to be quiet, you know?” Natasha nodded. 

“So you started to hurt yourself to silence it?” She questioned. 

“Pain made everything quiet. It’s all I know,” you shrugged. “There aren’t gentle touches or hugs in the Red Room, all there is pain.” 

“Do you think you deserve that pain? Like a punishment,” you nodded. “Do you think I deserve pain?” Your eyes shut up to look at hers. 

“What? No, of course not!” She smiled. 

“Then why do you think you do?” She questioned. “I had a hand in keeping the Red Room active for as long as it was,” you opened your mouth to argue but Natasha held up your hand to stop you. “I could have come back to find you and I didn’t but if I did we would have known about the Red Room sooner. Do you blame me?” You shook your head. You didn’t. The whole situation was so complicated and messy. “Then why do you blame yourself?” You sighed. “I get it,” she continued. “That guilt is demobilizing. But that blame for what happened to us is in the hand of a man who is dead,” Natasha took your hand in hers. 

“You're worrying us, sestra. Yelena and I need you” squeezed your hand. “I know you don’t think you deserve this but you do. You deserve love, happiness, and to live. Because by living, you are winning and beating everyone that tried to keep you down,” you whipped the tears away with your free hand. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I didn’t mean to worry everyone. I’ll get help.” 

“It’s not easy,” Natasha admitted. “But you have us.” You nodded. 

“I know. Thank you.” 

*

When Carol returned to the compound, you were there to greet her. “Well hello stranger,” you smiled and held out your hand. She took it and you brought her into a hug. She dropped her duffle bag to the floor and wrapped her arms around your waist. Your hands found a place on the back of her neck. Her touch didn’t hurt. She felt like home again. “What was that for?” She asked, pulling away so she could look at you. 

“Just missed you,” you played with the baby hairs on the back of her neck. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” you bite your lip, suddenly feeling nervous. You felt her rub small circles on your hips to ease your nerves. 

“Can I kiss you?” She smiled. 

“Yes,” she nodded. You felt your heart beating as you closed the distance and your lips touched hers. Her lips were soft against your lips. She didn’t control the kiss or try to dominate it like other people you’ve kissed. She let you set the pace. You ended it, pulling away slightly so that you could still feel her breath against your lips. 

“Thank you,” you whispered against her lips. 

“Why are you thanking me?” She asked. 

“For being patient with me.”

“Oh baby girl,” you liked when she called you that. She placed a piece of your hair behind your ear. “I’ll wait for you because honestly, I don’t want anyone else.” You smiled, reconnecting your lips with hers. This time you felt her hands tighten on your hips but still didn’t force you. This woman was going to be the death of you. 

“You told me that you just wanted me to talk to you,” you said. “I wasn’t ready then but I am now.”

“Okay,” she kissed your cheek. “Whatever you feel comfortable telling me. I won’t force you,” you laughed, shaking your head. “What’s so funny?” She had a confused look on her face. 

“I just don’t know what I did in life to deserve you,” she chuckled. 

“That’s funny. I was thinking the same thing,” you grabbed her hand and led her back into the compound. It was hard for your brain to let you believe that you deserve anything good, beautiful, and light because of how much darkness you endured. But even after the darkest nights and the strongest rain storms - the sun will shine again.     

#yelena belova x natasha romanoff x reader #yelena belova x reader #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x y/n #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #Natasha romanoff x y/n #black widow sisters #black widow fanfiction #black widow one shot #carol danvers x reader #carol danvers x you #carol danvers x y/n #yelena belova #natasha romanoff #Carol Danvers #Marvel AU #marvel fanfiction #marvel oneshot #natasha romanov #natasha romanov x reader

[wardenparker]

The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Dating Your Ex - Epilogue

Marcus Pike x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

When Marcus unexpectedly runs into his ex-wife he is plunged into a world of complications where rekindled attraction and deep-seated insecurities reign. Unfortunately for him, it is also a world where his ex-wife is not the only ‘ex’ around, as a new case crosses his desk that will require all hands on deck. ✨💖Inspired by and based upon absurdthirst’s Tequila. 💖✨    

Rating: General audiences for pure fluff, but this blog is always18+ Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: **Blanket warnings for this series include: divorce, break ups, collegiate Greek life, underage drinking, food/alcohol consumption.** Pure fluff with just a passing mention of pregnancy kink. It *is* Marcus, after all. Pregnant reader with mentioned cravings. Summary: Glimpsing a few years into the future, the life of the renewed Pike family is rocked by a new adventures at every turn. Notes: This little story has brought us so much joy, and hopefully it has brought you some as well, dear readers 🧡🧡 Thank you for coming with us, and check out the writing schedule that went up a little while ago to see what’s coming next!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9

French court has been distinctly different from the one time you ever served on jury duty in a US court, and if you weren't uncomfortable from the hard benches, needing to pee constantly, and the very tiny foot currently lodged in your ribs, you might be more inclined to pay attention to the differences to chat to Angie about it when you get back the DC again.

You and Marcus have been giving witness testimony for over a week in Henri Aubel's criminal trial. It's been a long time coming, since you went undercover for that auction two years ago, but justice apparently takes time. This time you're staying in a moderately priced hotel in Montmartre and enjoying your down time at a more leisurely pace, while Marcus fusses over every step you take to make sure that you and his little boy always have everything you need. He's sitting beside you holding your hand as you listen to the lawyers give their final statements, smoothing his thumb over your hand and wishing just as hard as you are that this afternoon could be over so that you can go back to the hotel and order some room service to just have a little quiet time to yourself.

“Are you doing okay, sweetheart?” Marcus notices you squirming slightly, knowing the baby is more active right now. He doesn’t seem to like you sitting for too long before he starts beating you up from the inside.

“He’s bored,” you whisper back, nodding that yes, you’re okay, it’s just the baby moving around. Gently, you move his hand to the side of your belly so he can feel where his son’s other foot is pushing insistently. “I’m okay, I promise.”

Just like every time he feels his son kick in your stomach, Marcus softens. His eyes turning warmer and even more loving as his hand brushes over your bumping flesh. It feels like he’s trying to play soccer or have a party. “Calm down buddy and I’ll take you and mama out for ice cream after this.” He promises softly.

To your absolute lack of surprise, that seems to soothe the baby more than anything, and you always tease that he’s going to own an ice cream shop one day due to the way it has been your number one, never ending craving for the last seven months. Of course the baby is just responding to Marcus’s soothing voice, but you like to imagine that childhood years full of ice cream truck adventures and inventing new flavours at home are in store for all of you. “Works every time,” you hum under your breath, trying not to grin in the middle of the court room.

“Mhmmm.” He smirks slightly, curling around you. “I know what my wife and son want.” He’s been so proud of where you are during this trip to France. Enjoying when Aubel’s lawyer had tried to discredit you by calling you ‘Madame’ Pike to insinuate that you held a personal grudge over his client. The entire courtroom had tittered when you had very sternly corrected him with ‘Doctor Pike’ and an introduction into your qualifications to speak on this case beyond your own undercover involvement. Marcus had been a peacock during the next break, so proud of you.

When the courtroom is dismissed nearly an hour later, you stand to stretch your legs and give Marcus an apologetic pout. Before you run off to find ice cream, you need to use the bathroom. Again. “I’ll be right back, my love.”

Marcus stands and moves over towards the agents who were crowded around the prosecutor. "We are going to slip away." Marcus tells Ducasse, aware that you and he could be called back for more questions, but it wouldn't be today. He holds his hand out to the agent. "Baby needs a walk and some ice cream."

“We will see you again Monday morning.” Ducasse gratefully shakes Marcus’s hand and glances behind him, smiling knowingly when you’ve already disappeared. His wife was the same way during all three of her pregnancies. “You have plans for the weekend?”

"I think we are going to do whatever my wife wants." Marcus grins. "This is sort of being used as our 'baby moon' since in a few weeks she won't be able to fly anymore."

“We would love to have you over once more before you leave.” Ducasse’s wife had been very fond of you when you visited last time, and he and Marcus have always gotten along well. The four of you had played cards for hours after their boys went to bed. “Chloe has asked if I would invite you, so please. Anytime.”

He nods. “I’ll talk to her and let you know.” He promises, knowing that you would say yes. Either tonight or Sunday night. “Hopefully you have a good rest of the day.”

“We are near the end.” He nods, shaking Marcus’s hand once more. “It will be good to put this behind us. Although I hope it will not keep you from coming to Paris again?”

"No, never." Marcus chuckles at the mere thought of never coming back. "My wife honestly wishes we could move to Paris. If only the FBI operated outside the US beyond special cases." He muses. "She would have our house packed up tomorrow."

He can see it, knowing how you love France, and chuckles softly at the image. “La Louvre would be lucky to have her.”

“What about the Louvre?” You sneak up behind Marcus, slipping your arm into his as he stands with René. That bathroom trip was very necessary, but you feel rejuvenated.

“How much you would be an asset to work there.” Marcus answers easily, shifting his shoulder so he can throw his arm around you. “And if INTERPOL would hire me, you would be packing us up to move to Paris in a heartbeat.

“It would certainly be a conversation to have.” Just because you would love it doesn’t mean Marcus would, and your lines of communication have smoothed out considerably over the years. “I wouldn’t mind, but our families might riot if we cross an ocean with this little boy being so new in everybody’s lives.”

The Frenchman laughs and nods. “I can imagine. It is your first. So it is especially sweet.” Marcus nods and Ducasse steps back. “Enjoy your afternoon, I am getting a coffee before we have to go back in.”

“Ready for ice cream?” It’s summer in Paris, so when you step outside the streets are packed with locals and endless amounts of tourists alike.

“Of course I am.” Indulgently smiling, he casually leads you away from the government building. While he wasn’t as confident in his ability to move around the city like you, he was becoming more acclimated. “You know, that could be something we look at down the road.” He offers, slipping his hand into yours. “Moving here.”

“Would you really want to leave the US?” He’s happy here, you know. He likes Paris and his French has improved measurably with every trip. But you’ve never talked about living here - it’s just your favorite vacation spot. “We’ve never discussed it, so I’m honestly asking.”

“It could be interesting.” Marcus admits, shrugging slightly. “Obviously not something we do now, but it could be something to talk about if the right opportunity came along.”

“We definitely wouldn’t consider it without the right work.” It does make you smile, though, and you lean into his side as you stroll down the sidewalk together. He wouldn’t continue to pose the question if it wasn’t something he was considering. “Is it…maybe worth enough thought that we give an extra thought to how the babies’ names would sound with a French accent?”

Marcus laughs and he knows that you are intrigued by the idea. “We can do that.” He promises. “Although let’s not name the baby Henri.” He teases with a wink.

“Oh god no.” You cringe at the very idea. “I’m not saying give them French names. I’m just saying…if it’s difficult to pronounce or unattractive with a French accent…maybe it gets bumped a little further down on the list?” Considering you haven’t had any luck whatsoever in narrowing down your son’s name, it might actually be helpful. That’s what you tell yourself, at least, so that you don’t get too excited.

“I can agree with that.” In a perfect world, he would try to find a way to move over here now, but his father’s health is failing and he wants to be stateside for the time being. “I still like Archer.”

“And I still say that Archer Pike sounds like a position on a medieval battlefield.” It’s never escalated to so much as a disagreement in your entire pregnancy, but your and Marcus’s very different taste in baby names has made for some interesting conversations. “This week I think I like Jonas or Elias best.”

“Jonas.” Marcus winces. “That sounds like our son is going to be in a boy band.”

“Alright, maybe not Jonas.” Both of you laugh as you turn down the bustling street. “Adrian is good. Or Elliott.” Trying to stay away from what you’ve termed the ‘normal’ names like Charles, Daniel, William, Thomas, Alexander, Jonathan, or anything like that has made naming more of a conversation. And more of a challenge. But that’s the good kind of challenge.

“Maxime?” Marcus suggests. “We can call him Max? Max Pike.” He rolls the name around and looks over at you to see what you think.

“Is that a French name I hear from you?” Pretending to be shocked, you gasp audibly and clasp one hand to your chest in mock shock. But something in the back of your mind makes you pause, and your laughter turns to a soft sigh just a moment later. “You know what Maxime sounds good with?” You tilt your head back to look at him and bite your lip, unsure how he’ll feel about the suggestion. “Theodore.”

“Really?” Marcus swallows, aware that his hand tightens around yours. He’s aware that his father doesn’t have many more years left and he hates that he won’t see his grandchild grow up so this is something to honor the man who had taught Marcus how to be a man. “I— baby, I would love that.” He had been careful not to voice that before because he doesn’t want you to agree for him alone.

“Do you like the names together?” He looks like he’s going to cry, which wouldn’t be a surprise from Marcus. As his father’s health declines, he’s been more open with how the impending loss is affecting him. “Theodore is a great name, even if you don’t like Maxime with it. Maybe…” you hold his hand tightly in support. “If you like it for a first name, we could call him Theo?” His father has always gone by Ted, and it’s a way to pay homage to the man without forcing an identity on your son or putting pressure on him the way family names so often can.

“I think –” Marcus exhales roughly and blinks, trying to get ahold of his emotions. “If you like it, I think that we have found our son’s name.”

“Then I think we have it.” After so much debating and searching and consideration, to actually have agreed on a name makes your heart feel like it’s grown three sizes all at once. “Because I actually love it.”

“I love it too.” Marcus smiles dreaming, imagining calling to his son when he comes home from work. “It’s fitting.”

“We can spend the next two months working on a middle name.” The look of immense joy on his face is all you need to see to be sure that you made the right decision. “We should call your parents this weekend to let them know that we finally decided on the first name.”

“Why don’t we do that in person?” Marcus suggests, knowing how proud his father might be to learn that his grandson is named after him. “Maybe have a little onesie made? And a shirt for him?”

“We can do that.” The wheels in your mind are already spinning about how to get it done before you have to stop flying. “What if we order them tonight and have them shipped to your parents, and we can change our flight when we’re done here to be to Florida instead of DC? Take a couple of extra days to see your folks before we go home?”

“Yeah?” He lights up at the idea and nods. “The case should be done by the time the shirts get there and I can tell mom not to open the package.”

“It would be nice to tell them in person.” You agree, reaching up to touch his cheek as you both pause on the sidewalk outside the patisserie that you know makes the best ice cream in this part of the city.

“It would be.” Your mother has been a little better since the wedding last winter, and excited when you announced you were expecting. Marcus rubs the back of your hand. “Maybe we can invite your mom out? See the baby’s room?”

“We can have my folks come to us once I’m grounded.” That’s how you had been referring to it, at least a little bit. “My sister said she’d wait to bring her crew out to visit us until after the baby is born.” With your free hand, you caress the side of your belly and nearly tear up. “Until Theo is born.”

He will defer to you on this, nodding in agreement. “Whatever you want baby, I want this to be as easy as possible and a good experience for you.” He grins and presses his lips to your temple. “I kinda like you pregnant.”

“Oh yeah?” Although you raise your eyebrows at him, you’re not surprised by it. Marcus hasn’t exactly been subtle in the way he’s heaped affection and indulgence on you since the day you came home from the doctor with the news. “Thinking you might want the second pretty quickly, or maybe a third?”

“Doesn’t matter how many you have.” Marcus promises. “I do love you just like this.” His hand slides across your burgeoning belly. “But if you don’t want any more, I will be happy with you and Theo.”

“And Cat Benetar.” The highly opinionated Siamese kitten you had adopted after returning stateside from your first joint trip to Paris has turned into an even more opinionated grown up cat, who also happens to love her namesake’s music. “No, baby. The only reason Theo won’t be a big brother is if the doctor advises against it for something medical. I…actually kind of like being pregnant. Which is something I never thought I would say.”

He snorts and moves closer, pressing his lips to your jaw line. The past two years have been the best of his life and the idea of having even more happiness makes his heart soar. “You like being treated like a Princess.” He scoffs playfully. “Foot rubs every night. Ice cream whenever you want. Doting husband ready to make you cum whenever you need.”

“And in exchange I have said goodbye to my ankles, given up my entire body to the growth of a tiny human, and gladly sacrificed increasing amounts of my own independence for that same tiny human.” The first day you had had to have Marcus help you out of bed was a very rude awakening, but right now you just sigh in contentment at the feeling of his lips on your skin. “I think that’s a fair trade.”

“You will get your ankles back, I insist on at least one ‘me day’ for you a month, where I take care of the kids and you go pamper yourself, and your body is even sexier.” Marcus insists.

With your arms around his neck and his hands gently cradling your sides, the two of you are the perfect picture of a couple very much in love. These last seven months of being married again have been such a blessing and you wouldn’t trade them for the world. “I think you might have a little bit of a pregnancy kink, babe. Not that I’m complaining.”

Pursing his lips thoughtfully, he finally shoots you a smirk. “Maybe a little bit of one, but you can’t blame me.” Marcus huffs. “The woman I love, carrying my baby that I planted inside her?” He groans quietly and knows you are aware of what does for him. “Good shit.”

“Suddenly feeling a little less like ice cream and a little more like you want to be back at the hotel?” You know you are, but that’s mostly a side effect of the way his voice has dipped down so low it sounds like it’s coming from his toes.

"I always want to be back at the hotel with you." Marcus chuckles. "But I promised our Theo ice cream and I'm not going to start breaking promises now." He hums playfully, leaning in and kissing your nose. "Besides." He moves his mouth over to your ear. "I can always eat your pussy while you eat your ice cream." He whispers softly, aware that it will make you drip with need.

“How do you expect me to act normal when you say things like that?” You pout at him fiercely, but only because you’re too big now to just climb him like a tree anywhere you want. “Inside. Right now. Before I decide to drag you into a cab and order ice cream from room service.”

His laugh trails behind you as you both enter the shop, groaning when the smells hit him. Nothing smells as good as fresh pastries and ice cream. "We can have it to go." He poses, his hand on your back sliding down to rest innocently on your ass.

"Yes. Yes we absolutely can." It's possible that Marcus has grown to love real Parisian patisseries as much as you do. There's nothing quite like it in the world. "Do you want to bring some things back to the room for our breakfast tomorrow since we're here?"

“Unless you want me to run back here while you are asleep?” Marcus offers, knowing how amazing everything is fresh. You have taken to lying in just a bit longer because of the baby.

"If you're willing, I'm never going to say no." Not that you would ever ask him to, but Marcus does like to make a fuss. And it's not just for you - he loves fresh bread and pastry with a fiery burning passion. "Pan au raisin right from the oven is almost as sexy as some of the dreams I have about you."

“You have dreams about bread that are sexier than me?” He pouts playfully and huffs at you.

"I said almost as sexy." You promise him, stepping up in line with him so that the two of you are next. "I know you eye the curves on those croissants, Monsieur Pike. No shame in loving carbohydrates in our family."

“It’s because they match your curves.” Marcus teases, sliding his hands lovingly along your sides.

"Mmhmmm." Your expression is dubious and fully amused. "And it has nothing at all to do with all those flaky, buttery, beautifully light layers in the croissants you love?"

“Mmmmh.” He ducks his head and kisses your neck. “You have buttery beautiful light layers.”

"I'm going to totally bypass how silly that sounds and go straight to sighing lovingly." Not that it's much of a stretch. Marcus putting his lips on any part of your body always makes you sigh. "But we should probably order," you nudge him away reluctantly, not trusting yourself to behave with the way pregnancy has you craving him even more than usual.

Snickering slightly, Marcus moves up to the counter and orders your ice cream and one of the pan au chocolates that he knows you will want, along with his own order. He’ll come back tomorrow for your breakfast and some tea.

The creamy, dreamy caramel ice cream is worth every single second you spend fighting the hot summer sun to lap it up before it melts on the walk back to your hotel. Marcus's free hand tangles with yours as you walk and even though your feet are going to be killing you by the time you get there, you're enjoying just being able to soak up the beautiful weather with him.

“What do you want to do when we get back to the room?” Marcus asks, knowing that despite your need for him at times, the baby sometimes makes the need for a nap greater.

"Dream scenario?" You bite back a grin and lick some ice cream off your finger. "Exhaust ourselves, take a nap, and have room service in our pjs later tonight."

“Reality?” Marcus asks with a grin.

A small laugh of admission passes your lips, and you shrug. "Reality is that I'll get exhausted a lot faster than you will, but it still sounds like a fun night."

“Doesn’t matter. Although, I told Ducasse that I would let you know that Chloe wants use to come over sometime this weekend.” He hums. “You let me know when you are feeling up to it.”

"How about I call her in the morning and set up dinner for Sunday night?" The last time you had had dinner with René and Chloe Ducasse and their kids, you had spent leisurely hours upon hours at the house enjoying their company. Somehow that seems like a perfect Sunday night to you.

“I thought you would choose Sunday.” It sounded like a perfect way to end the weekend and Saturdays have been reserved for just the two of you if work doesn’t interfere.

“As long as that’s okay with you.” Of course you would never pressure him, but if he didn’t want to have dinner with his colleague - your friend - and his family, then he would have said so.

“It sounds like a great way to end the weekend.” He assures you, happy to see the hotel in sight. He knows you love walking around Paris but you get so tired now and he doesn’t want you hurting yourself.

“Perfect.” Both dinner and the hotel on the horizon qualify as perfect, in your mind, and you hum contentedly. “I can’t wait to get out of these shoes.”

“I’ll give you a massage.” Marcus promises. The room has a small sitting area and he likes to sit on the love seat with you and rub your feet while you watch tv.

“What kind of massage?” You throw him an exaggerated, salacious grin and raise your eyebrows like a Marx brother.

“Well….” His own gaze turns lecherous, and he licks his lips in anticipation. “I was going to say foot massage, but I think your pussy looks really sore. Sitting down all day.”

“Oh yeah?” If you could, you’d practically be skipping up to the hotel in eagerness. “Is that more up your alley? Giving my poor little pussy some attention?”

“If you want.” Marcus leans in to nibble on your shoulder lightly. “Spread you out on the soft pillows and see how long I can slowly lick you until you cum. Soft and sweet.”

“And maybe more?” It’s less frequent than it used to be, with you more often being uncomfortable as the baby - and therefore your belly - gets bigger. But tonight, you know you wouldn’t be satisfied with just his tongue.

“Oh baby, I want to lay you on your side and put your leg over my hip.” Marcus promises you. “Let you feel how much I always want you.”

"Then why are we still two blocks away and not in our room?" The grin splitting your face is incorrigible, and you tug on his hand. "You know, exercise is very important for pregnant women."

His laugh is light and easy, happy that this is still palpable between you. He had heard that some women hated being touched during their pregnancy and he would have respected it, even if he hated not being able to touch you. Your pace speeds up, but he makes sure you aren’t trying to run back to the hotel. “Have to make room for dinner tonight.”

"Yes, exactly." You nod wisely, giggling as you shorten the distance between the two of you and your hotel with every long stride.

He can’t believe his luck. Here in the city where you had proposed to him, where you had conceived Theo on your honeymoon, you are now rushing back to your hotel room to spend another evening in each other’s arms. He grins at the street performer playing for tips and wonders why he ever thought it wouldn’t be Paris where you end up. He should have followed you then, but you could be damned sure he would follow you now.

******

It's supper time by the time you pull your car into the garage, tired from an extra day at work that wasn't supposed to happen. Since leaving the photography department of the Smithsonian to a director position that dealt with preservation of paintings, there have been significantly more 'emergency' days just because of the increased size of the collection that you oversee. But it doesn't matter that your back is screaming from bending over a worktable. It doesn't matter, because as soon as you get inside you'll have dinner with your husband and your kids and hop into your Halloween costume to take Theo and Amelia trick-or-treating. The fact that your kids' favourite holiday is on a Saturday this year means that the family is going all out, and even Marcus is getting dressed up to come out with you.

“I hear Mommy.” Marcus whispers to the kids, watching them giggle and their eyes widen happily, knowing you would be surprised. Even if Marcus knew that you knew the kids would be in their costumes, the kids felt like it was a surprise. Especially since Daddy had decided to dress up like Prince Charming to their Mommy’s princess costume.

Coming in through the front door, you sigh as you drop your purse on the table in the entryway and pull off your coat to hang on the rack. "Anybody home?" You call without turning around, never even seeing the house full of decorations. The only thing that's caught your attention is the smell of Marcus's homemade beef stew and possibly fresh bread - unless your nose is lying to you, which it never does when it comes to baked goods.

“In here!” Marcus holds up a finger to his lips to quell the torrent of giggles coming from the three- and two-year-old. “In the kitchen!”

His voice is coming from the opposite direction that you are facing, and you happily trudge a few steps in that direction before finally realizing what you're looking at. There are cardboard pumpkins decorating the archways, construction paper ghosts hanging from the ceiling fan, orange and black electric candles everywhere, and fake spiderwebs on the stairwell banner as well as dotted around the doorways with little plaster spiders inhabiting them like beacons of the holiday. When you turn the corner into the living room, Marcus is dressed head-to-toe in a full Prince Charming costume, little Theo is dressed as a bonafide medieval knight, and Amelia is wearing her sparkly red and orange dragon costume that will have a matching fire-themed trick or treating bag when you go out after dinner. Everyone is dressed to the nines and giggling with excitement when they shout "Surprise!", and you nearly fall over with delight at the sight of your beautiful little family. Even Cat Benetar is wearing a little cat-sized witch hat, though she is currently lazing in her bed in the corner.

"Ohhhh, look at all of you!" Your little girl is the first to leap forward, arms up and begging for a hug before you even get all the way into the room. "You all look amazing!"

“I a dragon – RAWR!” Amelia growls in your face, her little expression twisted up to be menacing but she just manages to be adorable. Marcus laughs and judiciously grabs the sword Theo is waving around so he doesn’t knock the flowers off the table.

"You're my favourite dragon in the whole world, baby girl." You promise her, laying a kiss on her cheek since her costume's head dress is covering the customary spot on her forehead. "And your brother! Such a valiant looking knight, Sir Theo."

The little boy beams at you despite temporarily losing his sword, seemingly unbothered by it at the moment. "Daddy matches you, Mommy!" He informs you excitedly, in case you haven't noticed.

"I can see that." When you turn your smile on your husband it's nearly blinding. "Prince Daddy looks very handsome in his costume."

“Hey sweetheart.” Leaning in, he gives you a kiss that has Theo huffing territorially and Amelia squealing in your arms. “Kiss me, daddy! Kiss me!”

“Kid swap.” You grin, pecking Marcus’s lips again before letting your wriggling daughter climb into her father’s arms and leaning down to pick up your pouting son to smack a kiss on his forehead. The sound of it always makes him giggle, and your children’s’ laughter is undoubtedly the best sound in the whole world. “The house looks amazing, guys! Did you have fun helping Daddy decorate?”

The chorus of “yeahs” are enthusiastic and loud enough to make your ears ring but Marcus had grown used to it. Not upset with his kids for being kids, loud and excited. “Now, we have to eat dinner before we go trick or treating.” That inspires pouts but Marcus winks at Theo and kisses Amelia’s cheek again. “Good thing too because I heard Mrs. Johnson is giving out fudgesicles.”

“Weawwy?” Amelia squeals in delight, as the toddler seems to forget that she was ever upset in the first place.

“Thank you for this, honey.” The dining room is barely seven steps away but you all take them slowly, both kids hanging on to their parents as you and Marcus move. “A museum visitor poked a painting with their glasses before the guard could stop them and a flake of paint came off. The staff panicked and went straight to calling me instead of any of the other staff.”

“Baby, how many times have you had to shoulder doing things because I got called in on a case?” Marcus scoffs, and sends you a reassuring smile. You are a team and sometimes it means he picks up the slack, sometimes it’s you, “all that matters is that you’re here for dinner and the candy haul.” Theo cheers at that, having been assured he can pick out a few pieces to eat tonight. Candy anytime is a celebration to a three-year-old.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t say thank you. This is exactly what I didn’t know I needed to come home to.” You lean over to kiss him before telling both kids that it’s time to wash up. All three of you wash your hands together in the big kitchen sink and you carry the tray of dishes and silverware into the dining room. It’s a long-practiced dance now, and within five minutes you’re all sitting down to Marcus’s amazing meal.

“After dinner, Mommy’s going to change into her Princess outfit while you guys and I get the wagon ready.” He tells the kids. They had insisted they didn’t want to look like babies with a stroller, but he knew that they would be tired within a few blocks. So the solution was the wagon.

“We’re going to go all around the neighborhood tonight, and then tomorrow we’re going to Auntie Angie and Uncle Harry’s house to watch movies and have dinner.” Your best friend said she didn’t want to do anything major for her birthday, but sitting the kids down in front of a Disney movie and making a stack of grilled cheeses with a vat of tomato soup for dinner was good in everybody’s books.

“Kick off for soup season.” Marcus grins at you, eager to tell you his news, but he wants to wait until the kids are distracted. Get your honest opinion.

"And birfday cake?" Theo's eyes widen at his father, not because of the small portion of beef stew that is being ladled into a bowl for him but because of the promise of cake tomorrow.

“I’m sure that Auntie Angie will have the most delicious cake for you to have a slice of.” Angie and Harry had been amazing friends to have close by and it was going to be sad to have to say goodbye.

"Yaaaaayyyy!" Both two little cheers make both you and Marcus laugh, and you tear a fresh roll in half for the kids to share before putting one in front of Marcus and taking one for yourself.

"So you guys had a good day?" Once your children start eating they are hyper focused, so it's a short chance for you and Marcus to talk.

The kids grunt, too busy eating to answer so Marcus decides to broach the subject. “I got a call today.” He tells you quietly “From Ducasse.”

"Oh?" Sometimes it's work and sometimes it's pleasure when you hear from René or Chloe, but either way it's nice to hear from friends. "Business or pleasure?"

“Business.” Marcus squirms slightly, adopting a slightly guilty look.

"Do they need you for a case?" It would be a shame for him to be away from home for a little while, but it isn't the first time he's had to travel for a case since the kids were born. He had brought back a Paddington bear stuffed animal for Theo from London while you were pregnant with Amelia, and goodies for the kids from Rome just six months ago. He was working more and more with INTERPOL and seemed to really enjoy it, so you fully encouraged it every time. Even if it meant missing him for a little while.

“More than a case.” Marcus draws out slowly, wishing that he had more time, but the kids will be done with their food soon. “René has been promoted.” He reveals softly. “And he wants me to join INTERPOL to help him.”

"Oh my..." You can barely keep yourself from cursing or shouting or even exclaiming, knowing that if you do the kids will immediately start asking questions. "Are you serious? Is it...is it a good position?" Breathless, you feel absolutely breathless. "Do you want to take it?"

“I would be the assistant director of the Paris INTERPOL division.” Marcus nods. “I’m never going to advance past my position here and it’s good, but the position is a twenty percent increase and we can live in Paris.”

"It's how much?" Practically hissing to keep your voice down, you can feel your eyes widen and the excitement start to build, and a quick glance at the kids shows that they couldn't care less about paying attention to you. "Baby, th—that...that's amazing." You place your hand on this thigh under the table and give it a gentle squeeze. "But do you want to take it?" If he says no then it's the end of the discussion. Even if you had spent plenty of time dreaming about living in Paris together over the last few years, the reality of anything is always different from the dream.

“I do.” Marcus has given it a lot of thought since the call, especially since the kids are still young enough to soak up a second language quickly. The idea of being able to travel across Europe on the weekends and let the kids live in historic places is a heady thought. “If you still want to go. I know you have your own career to think about.”

"There is a lot of work for conservationists in the area." It's not as though Paris doesn't have its fair share of museums and galleries, and private collectors to boot. But you bite your lip a little and squeeze his leg again, excitement starting to leak through. "But I've been thinking about going back to teaching." He knows that you loved the classes that you taught at GWU a few years ago, but you hadn't really brought it up recently. "The munchkins will be school age soon and I could have summers off with them. Even if the Sorbonne is a pipe dream for a professorship, American University of Paris has a wonderful art history program."

“I do think that professorships pay more in Europe.” He jokes. “Plus we will be able to travel around the continent on the weekends.”

"Look at you." He is lit up, giddy happiness written all over his face just like both times you told him you were pregnant. He's beaming with barely contained excitement. And although your voice is quiet, you know you're smiling a lot harder than you were just two minutes ago. "You've already been looking at real estate, haven't you?"

“No.” He huffs defensively, giving a small shrug. “René already said there is an apartment that’s about to go on the market in his building. I just asked how much it was going for.”

"René is trying to sweeten the deal." The building that the Ducasse family lives in is a converted mansion that has been split into three family-sized 'apartments' that are basically good-sized condos. They're stunning. "And he knows how much I love that building."

“He really wants me.” Marcus admits with a grin. “Even hinted that if I pushed, a housing allowance would be thrown in to sweeten the deal.”

"Holy...sugar." You swallow thickly and lean over to press a kiss to your husband's cheek. The gears are turning in your head, and you know what a move of this magnitude will take a lot of organization. "How soon does René need you? It will take a little while to get everything squared away here."

“Honestly?” Marcus grins. “I was thinking about us ringing in the new year in our new home?”

The smile that spreads across your face is gleaming, and when you glance at the kids you get just a snippet of their very involved discussion of whether or not knights ever ride dragons into battle or if dragons are strictly fellow soldiers. "Then I guess I better update my resume," you murmur, feeling the pull of undeniable excitement. "And we should start teaching these monkeys some French."

“Yeah?” Marcus’s matching grin gets even brighter. “It’s a good thing my own French has improved. As well as my Spanish.” He knew it wouldn’t take much to convince you, but he’s still excited about the prospect of starting a new adventure with you.

"It means the holidays will be a blow out this year." The last American holiday season will be one that both of your families will want to make a big deal out of. Especially if you're going to be moving before New Years. "It's going to be an amazing new chapter."

“I am thinking we invite mom and your parents here?” Marcus’s dad had passed away while you were carrying Amelia, but he was happy that his father got to meet his namesake.

"Definitely." In your seat it's easy to lean against him, breathing in the promise of something new. An adventure you'll take as a family. The family you were always meant to be. "I love you so much, Marc. And I'm so proud of you. Being headhunted by INTERPOL is a huge deal."

“It’s a notch in my professional belt for sure.” He won’t deny that. His time at the FBI has been very fulfilling, but he wants to balance work and life a bit more than the Bureau allows and INTERPOL allows for that. “But nothing is as important as the three of you.”

"The three of us are with you." You promise him. "Always."

He reaches for your hand, a habit that he has no interest in ever breaking. “Just one question.” He poses, staring at you seriously. “Do they have tequila in France? Or are we going to have to smuggle it in?”

"No, my love. We won't have to smuggle it in." It takes everything you have not to burst out laughing at the table, and you barely stifle it long enough to lean over and press a kiss to your husband's lips. "They definitely have tequila in France."

“Good.” Marcus winks at you. “Because you know I’m supposed to stop smuggling, not participate in it.” For a long time, he hadn’t been able to touch it, too much of a reminder of you. Since you’ve stormed back into his life like you had the first time he met you, Marcus loves the taste of tequila again. Almost as much as he loves you.

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle    

tCIGtDYE: @missmarmaladeth  @afro-hispwriter  @rosmarinus @mythrielofsolitude @jxvipike @avaleineandafryingpan @hnt-escape @supernaturalgirl20 @scorpio-marionette @bobafvcker @midnightevermore @dinoflower   @pearl-aqua-tears @itsbaehyungbitch   @pepperminticedcoffee @anticipayosbot @girlofchaos @speedynana @loveslide @noisynaia @just-here-for-the-moment @goodgriefitsawildworld @curiouskeyboard @iarellanouus @mymistery09-blog @seasonschange-butpeopledont @thenightdreamsballad @pondsofravenclaw  @sherlock221b114679797 @pimmyxyone @theredwritingwitch @ghostinhours @timpletance @strawberryjamcheesecake @amb11 @a-little-shade-of-kiki @wildemaven @tuquoquebrute @supernaturalgirl @ellenmunn @iceclaw101 @toxicfrankenstein @catsandgeekyandnerd @missmarmaladeth   @theincredibleinkspitter @agiroflee98 @lyonessofnarnia @we-could-have-been @totostits @scorpio-marionette @kikis-writing-world @trappistmonksofthefuture @danichz  @88dragon06  @scorpionerd @myrealmofchaos @movievillainess721 @firekissed13 @qseomik @acollectionofcells1 @captain-of-my-game1992 @alician87 @lovesbiggerthanpride @justgonewild @hiyorinatsuki   @pinkrosethorne @apocalypticwafflekitten @groovycass @rebel-fanfare    @d0cthunder @gooddaykate @purplerain04 @astridflowers @frasmotic @dornish-queen​

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Marcus Pike #Marcus Pike x reader #Marcus Pike x you #Marcus Pike x female reader #Agent Marcus Pike #The Mentalist #Mentalist fanfic #ex wife reader #CURRENT WIFE reader! #we love paris

[thezombieprostitute]

Sparks Fly - Epilogue

Summary: After working as an engineer for Wilford & Gilliam Trust for several years you find evidence of seedy dealings and burned books. After turning in the evidence you find yourself in danger and seek help. You're taken into the protection of a mob family where you run into your high school best friend, Mace.

Word Count: ~800

Warnings: Puns, Smut, Workplace stress

Part 6

Series Masterlist

The next couple of weeks are a complete blur. You and Mace end up moving into an apartment close to the free clinic where you’ll be working. It’s more of a drive for him but he insists it’s worth it for the days he can’t drive you to or from work. You don’t mind the extra time together and it is a lot safer considering the intel on Franco the Elder’s latest work for Wilford & Gilliam. Mace doesn’t tell you much other than “it’s bad” and you’re pretty sure you don’t want to know more.

Work at the free clinic is just as stressful as your last job but in different ways. Plus, it’s a lot more rewarding. A lot of the equipment needs serious upgrades and you find yourself helping with the grant requests by providing specs for what they need. Every penny at this place has to be accounted for and you’re having to adjust to a lack of near unlimited budgeting. You’re gonna have to talk to Mace, maybe Teach, about getting more funding from the Family for this place. It’s clearly needed in the community. 

You’re so focused on working on an ultrasound machine you don’t notice Mace is there until he taps your shoulder. You jump, surprised and he’s quick to apologize. “It’s time to clock out,” he comments. You stand up and stretch, not realizing how long you’d been hunkered over this machine. Mace caresses your cheek and you lean into his touch. 

“You gonna be okay, DC?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you assure him. “There’s just been so much changing so quickly. I was never as good at adapting as you. But I’ll find my rhythm again.”

“So long as you tell me what I can do to help you,” he soothes. 

“Of course, AC. And thank you. I know we haven’t been able to spend much time together lately but once I find my routine it’ll be better.”

“Just promise me you’re not stressing about it,” Mace pulls you closer. “The past month has been a lot, especially for you. Please don’t feel like you have to rush into a routine. Anytime you need a break, you ask, okay?”

“I promise,” you confirm as you kiss him. “How about some food and rest?”

“It’s my turn to cook, right?”

“Yes! And I’m really looking forward to tasting what you’ve got to offer,” you give him a suggestive wink, making him blush.

“Oh shit, DC,” Mace rasps as you ride him. “Feels so good.” His hands are fondling your breasts and he brings you in for a kiss. You wrap your arms around his neck and lean into his lips. You keep rolling your hips, helping his dick reach all the right places. 

“I needed this so bad, AC,” you whisper before kissing down his jaw line. You need to make sure he knows you appreciate everything he’s done, still doing, for you. Even small things like letting you take control in the bedroom, giving you something you have total say over in your life. “Squeeze my ass,” you moan, kissing appreciatively when he moves his hands where you want them. 

“Feels so good,” he groans. “Taste so good. Smell so good.” You grin and increase your pace, making him squeeze you harder. “Gonna come soon if you don’t stop.”

You move one of your hands to your clit, playing with it how you like. “Go ahead, AC. I’m almost there.” Mace starts fucking up into you and you gasp at the change in pace, but don’t stop your hips. He sucks on one of your nipples and you’re finally able to let go with a small yell, letting out a moan as you feel him coming inside you. 

He holds you as you both catch your breath, gently rubbing your back. You whisper “thank you” several times between gentle kisses. You chuckle and he gives you a curious look.

“My life has been so chaotic these past couple of months,” you tell him. “You’ve been the one steady, reliable thing. For an Alternating Current, you’re pretty grounding.” He blushes and chuckles with you. 

“I’m sure once you get you back to your Direct Current I’ll be back to my ways. Just with a rectifier to keep me focused while I rectify the mistake I made in high school.”

“You’re so damn sexy when you talk engineering,” you coo. 

He smiles at the sincerity in your eyes. “There’s more where that came from,” he promises. “You’re my amplidyne, keeping me on task.” He moves you so you’re on your back and he starts kissing you. 

You laugh, “just never refer to sex as a diode bridge, please.”

“No promises,” he smirks. 

Part 6

Series Masterlist

Tagging:

@alicedopey

@chibijusstuff

@icefrozendeadlyqueen

@jamneuromain

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

@rebekahdawkins

@texmexdarling

#mafia!james mace #mob!james mace #james mace x reader #mace x reader #mafia au #mafia!mace #mob!mace

[ncis-yp]

Saint Tony (Tony DiNozzo x reader) part 1; fluff

You’d been working at NCIS for a few months. Gibbs saw you working for the police department. You were a detective that wasn’t taken seriously. You made observations and figured out things that the other cops didn’t, but you were so young, you were a girl. Nonetheless, Gibbs asked you to come work for him. And that’s how you met Tony.

You: I’m going drinking tonight with the girls.

You respond to his text. You hadn’t been talking to Tony for a long time, had only been friends since you started at NCIS.

Tony: Oh fun! What bar?

He replies he wasn’t gonna show up. He just wants to make sure you’re safe

You: Stevie’s

You say, a dc famous western themed bar/club known for its really good drinks and music but terrible violence. You had been fine in your past experiences, so you didn’t think much of it.

Tony: Taking a gun?

You: Mmm I thought about it but not tonight

Tony: Have a DD?

You: No we’re taking an Uber.

Tony: Well call me when you get home, or if you need anything

You: Okay thanks dad 😂. You joke.

Tony: Wow I care about you and all I get is sarcasm? Not even a promise of a kiss

You: Aww poor Tony… baby needs some attention.

Tony: I mean, I wouldn’t mind having you to myself tonight

You: Ooo maybe maybe.

Being with Tony seemed like such an amazing idea. As much as you wanted to play around before giving in, you were wanting to dive head first into him.

Tony: Well go have fun with those girls! Call me. Be safe (y/n).

The disappointment settled in as he changed into some pj pants and his hoodie. He heated up some leftovers and turned on a movie.

Time skip~

Tony was asleep in bed. Meanwhile a night at the bar turned to be you starving, drunk, and desperately searching for your phone. When you finally found it, you called Tony.

“DiNozzo” he says sleepily into the receiver end.

“Hey Tony. Would you mind picking me up?” You ask. Your words slurring into each other.

“Yea, I’m on my way” Tony sat up and swung his legs out of bed. Grabbing his keys and wallet he left the house. 15 minutes later Tony’s Mustang was running idle in front of the bar. You walked to the entrance where Tony was standing. You laid in his arms as he leaned against the door of his car, laughing.

“Tony Tony Tony” you say.

“(Y/n)” he laughed. “Let’s get you in the car”

“Okay okay” you were giggling. Body shaking against Tony’s as you did. Tony was smiling. You looked so beautiful. A black satin dress, your hair was messy now, a little mascara under your eyes, but that lipstick was unmoved. He helped you into the car, running to the other side to get in.

You had your head on his shoulder. He could feel your light breathing on his neck. While waiting at a red light he tried to look down at you, he found your eyes looking at him. You moved your body, a drunk hand lazily moving around his neck. He moved his face to looking at you completely as you laid your lips on his.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” You whispered between kisses.

“Yes” he responds as he began driving to his apartment. Your hands all over his body. “(Y/n)” he moaned. He slowly started losing his composure. Dick hardening as he speedily drove to his apartment.

Tony was willing to admit that he wanted to have sex with you. But not drunk. He wanted you when you were sober. In his mind, if you love him sober, you’ll love him drunk. Not the other way around.

“Tony” you whispered in his ear.

“(Y/n)” he responded. Your hands still traveling around his body when he pulled up into the driveway. He parked the car and turned it off.

Once the two of you were inside, Tony took you to his bedroom. You drunkly got undressed. Tony had his back turned while you were pulling down your pants. He tossed one of his shirts on the bed.

“I’ll be back” he said and left the room retuning a few minutes later to see you sitting on the edge of the bed. “Brought baby wipes for your makeup” he shrugged crouching down to help you wipe it off.

You were smiling. You played with his hoodie strings while he cleaned off your face. Slowing down around your lips. You leaned down and kissed him. He kissed you back. Tony moved between your legs and you scooted back on the bed. The blankets already in disarray seeing as he was sleeping earlier.

“Tony…” you whisper palming him through his pajama pants. He shook his head, kissing you deeply.

He held your hips. Close to his.

“Fuck” he groaned as you moved against him.

He pressed his lips to yours one more time. You passionately kissed him back. He covered you with the blanket, as he noticed you were getting sleepier and sleepier.

“Goodnight gorgeous” he kissed you before cuddling next to you. You hummed in response.

#ducky mallard #jethro gibbs #tony dinozzo #x reader #ncis fandom #ncis fanfiction #ncis x reader #ncis x readers #tony dinozzo x reader #ncis #ncis reader insert #ncis imagine #ncis smut #ncisverse #ncis hawaii #ncis sydney #ncis la #ncis los angeles #ncis new orleans #tony #timothy x reader #anthony dinozzo x reader #reader insert #male reader #reader requests #gn reader #fem reader #gender neutral reader #anthony dinozzo #leroy jethro gibbs

[mxtantrights]

the off the clock kiss

this is a snippet from the famous dc!au that started with The Greatest Hits [read here]  you don’t have to read it but a lot of things would make sense if you do.

You’ve kissed Jason Todd before so you’re not sure why you’re freaking out. It’s the same pair of lips. It’s the same guy. But it is different. 

Before, when you two kissed, it was in front of everyone. Dressed up in costumes and caked in some brutal amount of mascara and concealer and foundation. In front of expensive cameras and microphones. In front of Harvey Dent, renowned director of American rom-coms. 

That was work. 

This? Right now? 

Jason Todd with his back against your front door and you pressed up against him with your tongue in his mouth? Yeah this wasn’t work. Or, it didn’t feel like work. 

He tastes like he looks. Which is a bit dangerous and something ginger or cinnamon dashed. You can’t tell which and honestly you don’t care in this very moment. 

Kissing him feels like time is slowing down in the most peculiar way. You can feel time passing and you don’t want it to end. Not when you have Jason Todd pressed up against you like this. His hands on your waist, giving you soft squeezes.

You pull away first. When you do you notice he’s slow to open his eyes. And he’s got the most dumbstruck look on his face. You’ve never seen him like this before, which is why you like it so much.

You’ve proven to him wrong.

“I think I just proved my point that I can kiss with passion.” you say.

He opens his eyes filly now. Like he’s taking you in- he is actually. It’s hard to miss. He gives your a full once over. And then that signature smirk in on his face like any other time he’s about to reply with something witty.

“So you’ve been holding back on set because you want to defend my honor?” he asks in return.

You hit him over the shoulder and take a step back from him so you’re not chest to chest anymore. Though that doesn’t stop your heart from beating any more wildly than before. He’s still got his hands on you.

“I’m new to acting. I wasn’t just gonna French you in front of the camera!” 

He clears his throat, “Well I wouldn’t have not liked it. But also, you should think about bringing that energy back to set.” 

“Are you- is that a complaint?” you retort. 

He grabs your shoulders, something you didn’t know you wanted to feel until he did it and now that he has you wanna feel it again. You try to pull yourself together for the sake of the conversation.

“Listen, hun, that was definitely not a complaint. I’m just saying maybe we dial it up when the cameras are rolling. This is the sequel after all.” he answers.

You nod you head. And then he’s letting go of you. What you’re thankful for is the sound of the music you had playing earlier in the living room that fills the background or he would’ve picked up the when you let out at the loss of his touch. 

“Have you read page 79?” you ask.

Jason scoffs, “Of course. What do you take me for, a slacker?”

You do. And since you think he really hasn’t read up to that part int he script yet because it’s still early days of filming, you want to have to some fun with him. About a year ago you thought he was going to be a pain in your ass, and you were right for the most part. Now you think you’ll return the favor.

So you smile even though you lips are bit tingly from kissing him. And he smiles back at you innocently. You think to yourself he hasn’t got a clue what page 79 entails at all.

“Great then I guess you won’t mind if I ask Dent to move filming that part Monday?” you ask him.

And he’s nodding his head. Checkmate. 

Jason peels himself off your door and opens it a crack. Then he turns to you “I’ve gotta head out, I’ll see you on Monday.” he says.

You nod too, “Yup. Page 79.” 

“Oscar winning performance incoming I think.” he jokes.

You laugh at that as he walks himself out your door. With a quick reminder you tell him to text you when he gets home and he agrees. When you close it behind him you smile. Not at the joke. Not at you pranking him. No. At the kiss. You can’t believe you kissed him off the clock like that! And with tongue! He basically asked you to show him what passion you could bring to a make-out scene and you did, but damn. 

Now you’re waiting for Monday to prove to Jason Todd once again that you can bring passion to kissing while in camera. And you are absolutely positive he doesn’t know that page 79 is a make-out scene because Jason is in the middle of a Jane Austen binge. He comes to set two hours earlier to read up to twenty pages of the script to get ready for the day and last time you checked he was around page 50. 

This was going to be fun.

#dc imagine #dc fic #dc x reader #Jason todd x reader #Jason todd imagine #Jason todd fic #famous dc!au #dc #Jason todd

[infernalodie]

𝐈𝐬 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐄𝐥𝐬𝐞 || 𝐋𝐞𝐱𝐢 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝

“𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘮𝘦 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘉𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵“

Pairing: Lexi Howard x Male!reader

ilomilo series

Summary: Did I ever say that you’re unpredictable?

(gif used is not mine)

Warnings: Angst

Words: 969

I wasn’t much of an optimist before. Really, I was just in the background of some rather sleazy drama flic that was beyond human comprehension or believability. And realistically, I preferred being the side character or extra. Helped me blend in and just be another face no one would ever think about again.

And that was a helpful trait with keeping “updated” on your life. Before work, you would go to the coffee shop down the street. Talk to the waitress, someone you must know from the daily schedule you’ve made before walking back and taking over for one of your coworkers. From there, on breaks, you just take a small walk two blocks and visit a comic book store whilst the old lady who owns the store covers for you.

From what I could tell, you preferred DC over Marvel. But just a quick Instagram search and I’m available to all the little bits about you. A music enthusiast, a comic geek, and a movie critic. None of the posts have a caption to capture what you were feeling when uploading them. But I can quickly tell that most kids in East Highland don’t have the same likings as you. Comments on these posts come from followers that do though, and they must be enough for you to say ‘fuck you’ to the rest of the world and post what you want.

And I know we have a date at 8 PM, but I just needed to see you. Can you blame me though? It’s important that I learn these things so we can talk and naturally get to know one another. This is fine. I’m taking things slower than I had in the past. I want this to be special compared to what it was like with Fez. You are special. You are different. And you are beautifully sweet with Maddy-

Wait. What the fuck?

What the hell is she doing at your work?

I know for damn sure that she is heavy into music like you or I, so why is she here, Y/n? From what I can see, you don’t seem all too impressed with her being our space as well. Brows furrowed and eyes narrowed in a glare as she spoke sweet nothings. It was despicable honestly. If I didn’t know any better, I would think that she’s just being friendly. But I know my friend and I know that in the time of her dating your brother, you two got to know one another. Now, on and off you two would talk, but she never went out of her way to show up at your work. So, what’s the change of heart?

Maddy moved around the counter, lips twisted in a smile that rivalled your unimpressed deadpan that looked incredibly attractive. “C’mon, Y/n. How long have we been at this?” Maddy inquired, stopping when she stood by your side. “We can just sneak into the office. Get a quick fuck in.” She closed the space, lips pressing to the edge of your jaw. “You are so much bigger than your brother.”

Listen, I have no problems with Maddy. Did she pull some stupid shit sometimes? Abso-fucking-lutely. Has she had a rough go when it came to your brother? Yes. But she is delusional. The whole argument she had with your brother in the hot tub is a testament to that and I think you know that as well.

So, what the fuck is her play here?”

“Maddy, it’s not a good idea,” you protested. “I’m not afraid to say that I am scared of Nate. I know what he’s done to you and Jules. Have you ever thought of what he might do to me if he found out we’ve been fucking?”

A groan fell from the girl’s lips. “He’s not going to find out, Y/n. I have no reason to tell him shit,” Maddy sighed, lips twisting in a grin. “C’mon. It’ll be fun. I’ll let you be rough.” With her hands finding yours, she began to pull and guide you, and you allowed it.

God, seeing her this dick whipped over you was insulting. Well, maybe not for you but you aren’t a guy to just throw yourself around. You were quiet, reserved, charismatic, and goddamn adorable when you didn’t mean to be.

This isn’t you. You aren’t the type to just give up on your job just to go get laid. This didn’t make any fucking sense. And even if I move down the sidewalk and try to get a better angle, I can’t see jackshit inside that office. Not to mention the sun glare coming right back at me.

I’m too exposed out here. If I can’t see you, that means I don’t know if you’ve noticed me or not. But this just means I have reasoning for Maddy’s clinginess to you. A manipulative, selfish, stupid bitch. I won’t let her do this to us. I won’t let her get between us right when I finally enter your life. I just have to figure out what I am going to do next, and I don’t yet have the faintest clue as to what that may be.

But what I do know is that this sharing shit isn’t going to work. If it be with someone more competent and maybe shared the same love I have for you, then this would be different. Because maybe I could love someone just as much as I love you. Except, this is reality and I won’t be doing any 60/40 bullshit. You are meant for me. We are meant for one another and Maddy is forcing herself into the perfect frame we are making together.

And somehow, I’m going to need to get her the fuck out of it.

#lexi howard #lexi howard euphoria #lexi howard x reader #lexi howard x y/n #lexi howard x male!reader #lexi howard x male reader #lexi howard imagine #lexi howard fanfiction #x male reader #euphoria x male!reader #euphoria #euphoria hbo #euphoria imagine #lexi howard angst #maddy perez #fuck nate jacobs

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight, Chapter 14/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

Six weeks later

“I’ll be home late,” Diana tells him, rushing around as she scrambles to get out the door. “Don’t forget to put the garbage out tonight.”

He nods, sipping from his coffee mug. Frenchie rests her head on his thigh and he gives her a pat, an unspoken promise that they will go for a walk soon. 

“Did you call the cable company?” Diana asks, halting in the doorway of the laundry room. 

“No, but I will,” he says. 

“Okay, thank you,” she continues, collecting shoes, briefcase, purse, travel coffee mug. “Please remember to take your medication. See you tonight.”

She gets as far as the door into the garage, then turns back and hurries over to him, her heels clacking against the tiled floor. She kisses him briefly on the cheek, and then is out the door in a flash, leaving him and Frenchie alone in the house. 

“All right, French Face, let’s go,” he says, and the dog woofs, her tail wagging excitedly. 

The heat of early summer is already warming the pavement, sending the metallic, earthy smell of concrete and dandelions up into his nose. Frenchie trots happily beside him, stopping to inspect bushes and street signs for messages left behind by other dogs. The Children’s House is noisy and chaotic, the older children waiting at the corner for the bus and the younger ones puttering around the driveway as their mother supervises the whole lot from the front porch. She waves and he waves back, then crosses the street so he doesn’t distract the children with his appealing furry friend. 

He’s beginning to sweat by the time they make it back to the house, which exacerbates his already buzzing nerves. From the back of the closet he pulls out his nicest suit, black Armani, and pairs it with a blue dress shirt and black tie. When his wingtips are on his feet and his hair is styled just so, he lets Frenchie outside one last time, then leaves her with a bone that should entertain her for the several hours she’ll be confined to the house. He climbs into his car and navigates out of the neighborhood and then onto the turnpike, his stomach already in knots. 

It’s the lie that bothers him the most, followed closely by the possible outcome if this goes to plan. Sneaking around, lying, obfuscating: these are things he swore he would never do again, promises he made on his knees as his whole life flashed before his eyes. And here he is, letting Diana believe that he will spend the day at work and then helping Fred put together his new entertainment center when he will be nowhere near his office, nor Fred’s house. 

He tried to talk to her about it. Several times, several ways. He made frequent mention of feeling unfulfilled by his work, demonstrated a renewed interest in exploring the unexplained. When his subtlety went unnoticed, he directly told her that he had thought about re-engaging with the FBI and moving back to the DC area. 

“Absolutely not,” she’d said emphatically, setting her fork down and turning more fully toward him in her seat at the kitchen island. “We’re established here, Jeff. I have a career here, we have friends and a mortgage. I’m not interested in starting over again.” 

Just start again.

He attempted to compromise and suggested that he could work out of the Philadelphia field office instead of Quantico or the Hoover if the Bureau would have him back, perhaps even consult as a behavioral specialist. The answer across the board was no. No to relocating, and absolutely no to re-joining the FBI. The level of anger in her response left him feeling hurt and confused, wondering why she was more focused on the quality of his ideas for improving his own happiness than the fact that he’s unhappy in the first place. 

Had she asked, he would have told her that he feels stuck. Stuck in a job that’s no longer fulfilling, stuck in a daily routine that’s become predictable and boring, stuck in a life that he isn’t sure he ever wanted to lead in the first place. Diana herself spends enormous amounts of time at work in Philly, and when she’s home she holes up in the office, on phone call after phone call well into the evening hours. He empathizes with the stressful nature of her job, but he sometimes feels like he doesn’t have a wife at all.

This job posting fell into his lap, literally. Diana brought in the mail and tossed his favorite newspaper unceremoniously in his direction, and he caught it by the folded edge before it fell to the floor. It opened itself to the classifieds, and a particular advertisement caught his eye. 

Seeking Trained and Experienced/Licensed Therapists for Clinical Research

John Hopkins Bayview Medical Center

Department of Psychiatry Administration

It felt like fate. A new city, a new job, one that seeks to find answers to as yet unasked questions. And so he applied, and got a call the very next day. If he’s offered the position, he will have to make a choice: decline and continue slogging through each day of this unfulfilling life, or accept and tell Diana that he’s going, with or without her. At this moment in time, flying down the freeway at seventy miles per hour with Green Day filling his ears, both options are too terrifying to even consider. 

The interchange comes up and he is faced with the first choice that will lead him to a series of others: stay on the turnpike and drive into Philly, or get on 476 and head south. One way to more of the same, the other to the great unknown. 

He exits, taking 476 south, calculating about two hours to Baltimore. 

-

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Spender. I can’t make any promises, but I can tell you that we’re very impressed with your work history and your intended research methodology.”

He stands, accepting the proffered hand and focusing on a firm, confident handshake. 

“Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Bering. If there are any questions that come to mind, anything I may not have answered, please feel free to reach out by phone or email. Based on what you’ve shared about the work you do here, I’m very interested.”

He’s escorted back to the lobby, though he and Mr. Bering continue talking for upwards of fifteen minutes. By the time he walks back through the doors into the late afternoon sun, he feels buoyant and hopeful for the first time that he can remember in years. 

The nature of the research, the opportunity to be a part of a dedicated team and impact the course of treatment for test subjects, his own office, a salary that exceeds his current earnings: it’s all too good to be true. He has the reflexive thought that he can’t wait to tell Diana, but then remembers that she will be anything but happy for him. He’ll have to wait and find out if he gets an offer before he broaches the subject with her—no use overturning the whole apple cart for nothing. 

He returns to his car, too optimistic to be bothered by the parking ticket pinned under one of his windshield wipers, and heads back toward the highway. Just before he gets to the on-ramp, he sees a small coffee shop and decides to stop. This day is already going so well, a cup of decent coffee would only serve to make it even better. 

He waits in line, debating getting a cookie but ultimately deciding not to risk getting crumbs all over his good suit. 

“Hi, welcome in. What can I get for you?” the barista coos with a genuine smile. 

“Just a large black coffee, please. No room.”

“You got it,” she says, throwing him a flirtatious wink that makes him think he should wear this suit more often. 

He pays and makes his way over to the coffee bar to wait. He starts to think about how he might break the news to Diana, but quickly decides to focus on the positive and imagines himself living here, driving into work each day to do something different, maybe even stopping for coffee at this very shop. 

“Latte for Dana,” the barista calls out, sliding a lidded paper cup across the countertop. 

He realizes that the life he’s imagining: his morning routine, his evenings in a one bedroom apartment—ground floor for easy dog walking—don’t include Diana at all. And perhaps that’s because he already knows what her answer will be. 

Just start again. 

He becomes aware of someone standing very near to him, too close to be another patron waiting for their coffee. He looks over to find a very petite woman with red hair and a fair complexion staring at him, an oddly intense expression on her face. She’s quite pretty, but she also looks distraught. 

“Mulder?” she says, her voice husky, and his eyebrows furrow, confused. “Mulder, it’s me,” she says insistently, and it’s clear that she thinks she knows him. 

“Black coffee for Jeff.”

“I’m sorry, I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” he says gently, and the way her face falls feels like a punch to the gut. 

“Your name isn’t Mulder?” she asks, her voice growing tight as her eyes well with tears. 

“No, I’m Jeff,” he says, offering his hand reflexively. “Jeff Spender.”

“Oh,” she says, a tiny ghost of a sound, as she places her hand limply in his and allows him to pump it up and down twice. She shakes her head gently, remembering her manners, and then says, “Dana. I’m Dana.”

“I think these are our coffees, Dana,” he says with an attempt at a smile, stepping forward to pick up both cups before handing one to her. 

“Thank you,” she says in a near whisper, wrapping both hands around her cup and staring down at the lid. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, feeling worried for this stranger who is clearly not quite in her right mind. 

She looks up at him, and he’s momentarily taken aback by the icy blue of her eyes. Like ocean water. Like glaciers. Like the sky on a cloudless day. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” she says, much more confidently. 

They both head for the doors of the coffee shop, and he takes two long strides to get ahead of her, holding the door open as she walks through. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs, squinting against the sun. 

They stand awkwardly on the sidewalk, and he has an odd feeling of responsibility for her, like he shouldn’t leave her here in the state that she’s in. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, searching her face. “Is there someone you can call?”

She clears her throat and looks at the ground. 

“Yes, my husband. But I’m fine, really. I just have a short drive home,” she insists, though not all that convincingly. 

“Are you local?” he asks, continuing to make conversation for reasons he doesn’t understand. “I might be moving here soon, actually. From Philly.”

“No,” she answers blandly. “Ellicott City.”

“Ah,” he says, bobbing his head. 

Awkwardness descends over them, and though he still feels compelled to see to her safe return home, he accepts that this is where his interaction with her will end. 

“It was nice to meet you, Dana. Take care,” he says, and she looks up at him with some mix of alarm and melancholy. 

“You too…Jeff,” she replies, dazed 

He returns to his car, then sits and watches as she stands on the sidewalk for several minutes looking devastated, then finally climbs into a slate gray BMW. For several more minutes her car sits, unmoving, and eventually she pulls out of the lot and drives away. 

He heads back north, arriving home to an empty house, save for Frenchie. He stashes his suit, changes into running shorts and a T-shirt, and they go on an evening run together, burning off her energy and his excitement. He keeps thinking about the woman at the coffee shop, and how disappointed she seemed that he was not whoever she was looking for. He has the urge to help her somehow, to find this Mulder who must bear some resemblance to him. 

When he gets home, he feeds Frenchie and takes his blood pressure medication, then grabs a pen from the junk drawer and scrawls “Mulder” on a post-it note. Maybe he’ll do some internet sleuthing, just as a project. Maybe he’ll find his doppelganger and tell him that Dana in Ellicott City is trying to find him. 

He eats dinner, showers, and is reading in bed when he hears Diana come in through the front door. There is the thunk of her discarding her heels, the opening and closing of cupboards, the tinkle of ice cubes as she makes herself a drink. He considers pretending to be asleep so he won’t have to lie about his day, and is just closing his book when her voice booms up the stairs. 

“Jeff?!” she says in an alarmingly serious tone that has him scrambling out of bed and down the stairs to see what’s wrong. 

“What is it?” he says, his heart racing and his feet fumbling over the steps. 

He arrives in the kitchen to find her holding the post-it note like it’s a pair of unfamiliar panties, and she looks up at him with a horrified expression. 

“What is this?” she asks, turning it so he can see his own handwriting. 

“I think it’s a name?” he answers, confused by her demeanor. 

“Where did you get it?” she asks sharply. 

He steps forward, taking it from her hand. 

“I was at a coffee shop today and this woman came up to me and called me ‘Mulder.’ She thought I was someone else. I was thinking about maybe looking into it,” he says lightly, downplaying the situation and leaving out the detail about what city he was in when the exchange took place. 

“Looking into what?” she asks, her tone still suspicious and hard. 

“I don’t know,” he says with a shrug, tossing the post-it onto the kitchen counter. “Nothing, I guess. It was just odd. She really seemed sure I was this other person. Forget about it, Diana, it’s not a big deal.”

“What did she look like?” Diana asks, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“Who?”

“The woman in the coffee shop.”

He recognizes the true concern here. She’s taking this as a red flag, a bread crumb. The fact that he is hiding something from her only makes the stakes higher. He could tell her about the job interview, or he could let her think that he’s sneaking around again, meeting up with strange women. He decides to go with another lie. 

“Fifties, brown hair, heavy set,” he says convincingly. “She didn’t look familiar to me at all, which is what made it so weird. But honestly, Diana, it’s nothing. You can just throw that out.” He begins to walk away, showing complete disinterest in the post-it and the name written there. “You coming to bed?” he asks, one foot already on the bottom step. 

“In a bit,” she says flatly. “I need to make a phone call.”

He listens as she walks to the office, Frenchie’s claws clicking across the tile as she follows. When the office door closes, Frenchie whines at having been locked out. He hears the murmur of Diana’s voice as she makes a phone call, the pitch of it increasing and then decreasing sharply over and over. 

He makes his way back into bed, turns off the light, and tries to get tired. He thinks about the job, the potential offer, the eventual move. He wonders if Frank and the guys will drive down to visit. He thinks about the woman, Dana, and whether she got home okay. He wonders where he’ll be one year from now. If he’ll be happy. If he’ll be free. 

Just start again. 

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic #x files #the x-files