#lapse in code

[canandroidsdream]

modern camera gearheads are insane if they think buying multiple lenses to "compliment" each other is a reason to buy a given lens for AT LEAST $500 used. i knew photography was an expensive hobby and compared to film cost+dev alone ive already far out paced my costs with my current (very budget) set up but god damn.

i have been running three manual lenses for a year (now four) and looking into a zoom lens or even just a prime with AF is crazy. not to mention that most of these lenses are full frame and im only shooting APS-C so I'm getting more glass than i need...

[cidnets]

You never know, you might just sprout a brain 🧠!

Aelita

[faith-forgxtten-land]

writing a heavily pride and prejudice inspired rise!donnie x reader fic that will probably never see the light of day but i just had to let the world know because i have the urge to scream into a pillow and kick my feet every time i think about it

[spadesuite]

(muffled screaming) IM DYING INSIDE IM DYING INSIDE IM DYING INSIDE IM ROTTING AND DECAYING AND IM NAUGHT BUT A PILE OF SINGED BONES AND LIQUEFIED FLESH

[kxsagi]

hello (≧▽≦), can i make a small request abt sae, rin or karasu where reader has big boobs and sometimes and they somehow ended up looking at her boobs? like, they could be talking abt a something random with reader and it just happens. ( srry if my request it’s not well written or understandable, english is not my native language ╥_╥ )

“𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐮𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐫”

a/n: i remember i helped babysit a preschool for community service and my boob size is like… normal ig? and this little boy pointed at my chest and said “boobies!” LIKE WHO ARE YOUR PARENTS AND WHAT ARE THEY TEACHING YOU???

and shidou would totally own that zumiez merch with their "i ❤️ boobies" design and wear it shamelessly 😭

ft. itoshi sae, itoshi rin, karasu tabito, isagi yoichi, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei

itoshi sae

the two of you were casually walking through the grocery store, chatting about what to cook for dinner. 

“i think we should do pasta,” you said. “with garlic bread. and salad. ooh, and those tiny mozzarella balls–” 

you turned to look at him and found him staring. not at your face. 

his eyes were so intensely focused on your chest you’d think there was a crossword puzzle written across your boobs. 

“sae.” 

nothing. 

“sae.” 

“hm?” he said, finally blinking like you pulled him out of a VR headset. 

“what the hell are you looking at?” 

“i thought i saw a stain on your shirt,” he muttered, expression flat like he wasn’t just mentally composing a sonnet to your cleavage. 

“a stain?” 

“yup.” 

“what kind of stain?” 

“existential.” 

you stood there flabbergasted while he just pushed the cart and kept walking like nothing happened. 

later, as you cooked, he came up behind you and whispered, “boobzilla strikes again.” 

you smacked him with a spatula. he dodged it. barely. 

itoshi rin

you were sitting on the floor with him in your living room, showing him a childhood photo album because you were bonding, okay? 

“this is me in kindergarten,” you said, flipping the page. “and this is me in third grade. i was obsessed with dolphins.” 

“huh,” he grunted, eyes scanning the photos… until they weren't. 

his gaze dipped for half a second, just a flicker. a brief, tragic lapse in self-control. and you saw it. 

“rin.” 

he looked up so fast his neck cracked. “yeah?” 

“you looked.” 

“i didn’t.” 

“you blinked directly at my boobs.” 

“i blinked past them.” 

“there’s no past them. they’re in front of me.” 

rin turned into a brick wall. stopped speaking. went so still you could’ve mistaken him for a wax statue. 

for the next ten minutes, he avoided looking below your chin like your boobs were medusa. 

you turned to him and said, “they’re not going to bite you.” 

“yet,” he whispered, completely serious. 

karasu tabito

you were having a serious convo about rent prices and gentrification. serious. 

“they turned that ramen shop into a vape store. a vape store, tabi. do you know what this means?” 

“yes,” he said slowly, clearly not listening. 

you leaned in, waiting for a deep, insightful comment. instead, his eyes drifted down like they were physically pulled by gravity. 

“karasu.” 

“y’know,” he said, blinking like he just woke up and ignoring how he used his last name instead. “i could fit a whole bowl of ramen on your boobs.” 

“i was talking about capitalism.” 

“and i’m talking about your assets, baby.” 

you smacked him with a throw pillow. 

“what?! don’t act like you didn’t bless me with the view. god gave you those like a cheat code.” 

he winked and then dramatically fake-fainted onto the couch like he was dying of thirst. 

every time you wear a low-cut top, he salutes you like you just did a public service. 

isagi yoichi

you were watching a documentary together, fully invested in the plot. meanwhile, isagi was trying his best to be a respectful man of society. 

you were explaining something on screen, leaning forward a little, and your top shifted just slightly. 

and his brain just… froze. like, buffering. 

you noticed immediately. “yoichi?” 

“huh?” 

“what did i just say?” 

“uhhh... the environment?” 

“we’re watching a documentary on japanese vending machines.” 

“right. yep. vending machines are... bad for the climate?” 

you narrowed your eyes, arms crossed (which only made things worse), and he panicked. 

��i wasn’t–! it was–! i didn’t mean to!!” 

now he’s waving his hands like he’s trying to swat guilt away. 

“my eyes were just following the light source!” 

“what light source?” 

“you. you’re the light of my life.” 

man really tried to romance his way out of being caught. 

it worked. barely. 

kaiser michael

you were arguing about something stupid, like which fast food fries were superior. 

“waffle fries are elite,” you insisted. 

“they’re pretentious,” he said. “pick a shape and commit.” 

and somewhere in the middle of your passionate defense of curly fries, his eyes trailed southward like his pupils had minds of their own. 

he didn’t even try to hide it. 

“stop looking at my boobs.” 

“i’m not,” he said, not even blinking. 

“you are.” 

“i’m admiring the passion in your voice,” he smirked. “it just happens to echo really well off your chest.” 

“kaiser.” 

“what? you’re giving boob TED talk energy right now. it’s inspiring.” 

you hit him with a fry. he caught it in his mouth and winked. 

“your arguments are strong,” he said. “but your boobs? stronger.” 

he would definitely make up fake awards like “best visual presentation” and hand them to you while bowing dramatically. 

shidou ryusei

you were showing him how to make pancakes. flour on your cheek, spatula in hand, adorable domestic energy. 

he was pretending to help, mostly eating the batter and poking your sides. 

“you’re not even paying attention,” you sighed. 

“i am,” he said, leaning against the counter and watching you flip a pancake. 

but then you leaned to grab a plate and… yeah. his brain went full caveman. 

“BOOBS,” he said out loud. just. said it. 

“excuse me?” 

“uh– BOOP. i said boop.” 

“you said boobs.” 

“boop-boobs. it’s a pancake term. very official.” 

you gave him a death glare. 

he grinned, grabbed a strawberry, and placed it gently on your cleavage like it was a shrine. 

“for the gods,” he whispered. 

you whacked him with the spatula. 

he licked the strawberry off. 

he lives with zero shame and zero fear of death. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[yanderedrabbles]

On the topic of 90s specific jobs, I'm thinking phone sex operator x clingy, antisocial yandere. A guy who only wants a nice voice in his ear telling him to come, but who finds himself calling you again and again just to ask about your day.

Who somehow figures out from your area code that you live close by. Who keeps telling himself to let it just be a fantasy, there's no way you're as hot as you sound, even as he drives over to your town and sets up camp in the record store.

You said you liked vinyls (cute, even if you do listen to too much Nirvana) and there's a new album coming out today, so you've got to show up eventually.

A guy who spends hours browsing the store, drifting closer to the register whenever a female customer shows up. Just to hear them say "thank you."

No luck though. The day is almost over and you still haven't pitched.

He's ready to give up. Go home and call you and pretend he didn't have such an embarrassing lapse in judgement.

But then he finally hears it.

Your voice. Clearer without the static of a shitty landline, just as sweet as it always is.

"Thank you!'

He starts getting hard from just those two words. A full Pavlovian response to hearing you.

But when he rushes to the door, you're already gone. Still no clue what you look like.

Shit. Fuck.

It's fine though. He's a smart guy. He can figure this out.

A little digging through the trash after hours and he finds your receipt. All the albums you told him you were interested in buying.

And would you look at that? It has your address on it.

Thinking of a yandere who's too shy to ever get a girl and too possessive to ever keep one. At the end of his tether. A man can only fuck his fist to your voice for so long before he starts wanting the real thing. Dumb of you to not realise that, doll.

Real fucking dumb. But don't worry. He'll teach you a lesson you won't forget.

[brucedefender4eva]

Here, a continuation for this post. I didn’t know y’all would hate it that much lol! Apologies, apologies m(._.)m

This was my explanation for it incase you wanted to read that

——

When Dick finally found Bruce, Bruce was silently lying on the floor of the cave. The lights were off, his eyes were closed, and Ace was resting his head on top of his Dad’s chest.

Dick padded over softly, feeling like he was nine years old again and didn’t know how to talk to Bruce.

“Dad…?” Dick whispered, it felt wrong to try and speak at a normal level. Bruce let out a soft hum and cracked his eyes open as Duck kneeled down beside him.

“Hi baby…” Bruce croaked, his voice sounding raw and broken. “How are you?”

Dick gave a crooked grin and laid down beside his Dad, melting as Bruce’s hand gently started to run through his hair. “Better than you, it seems… it was a crazy last week, huh?” Dick began, expecting Bruce to tense up and start deflecting.

“Yeah…” Bruce sighed, staring up unblinkingly at the cave ceiling. Ace let out a soft whine and wiggled his wet nose under Bruce’s chin, drawing him out of his thoughts. “I… I’m sorry… Sometimes… sometimes I can’t understand you or your siblings.”

Dick blinked as his heart started racing. “What? What does that mean?”

Bruce let out a huff of air, like he was trying to carefully pick out the words that he wanted to use. “You don’t like it when I coddle you or I’m overbearing, right?” Bruce felt Dick nod against his shoulder. “But… sometimes you do? I just don’t- I don’t understand when I’m supposed to.”

“Last week… I ignored your leg after we got back from patrol. I’m sorry that was wrong of me to do.” Bruce apologized, leaned over and pressing a soft kiss to Dick’s forehead. “Last month, you got mad at me for fussing over a stab wound… so I thought… I thought it was the same? I didn’t want you to yell at me. I didn’t want to have another argument.”

“I was scared that you were hurt and would be mad if I tried to help, so I went… cold. I know it ended up being a light sprain, but… I-I did want to help.” Bruce’s voice hitched, making the back of Dick’s eyes burn with tears. “But… but you were angrier? O-or sadder? I don’t know. I don’t understand, and I know you’re probably not making it difficult on purpose, but it’s so hard.”

If there’s one thing that could make Dick cry in a second, or even less than that, it’s seeing or hearing his Tati start to cry.

Dick turned his head and buried his face in Bruce’s shoulder, silently glad that his Dad decided to wear one of his softer sweaters that could absorb his tears.

“I’m sorry too, Tati. I… I came looking for a fight, and I took unnecessary risks on patrol just to get you riled up so I could let off some steam. I didn’t even have a real reason to be angry with you last week… I just-”

“Some days… I feel like I’m coming out of my skin. And it’s weird, I just, don’t wanna be perceived by others…” Bruce stayed silently, and once again Dick was glad his Dad let him take his time and try and sort out his thoughts. “Your gaze is heavy, it’s always been heavy.”

“…heavy?”

“Mhmm… like… I know you expect great things from me. And I love that you know that I can achieve them. But sometimes-“

“It’s too much, and you feel like your failures are magnified the moment you make one little mistake?”

“Yeah… how did you know that?”

“Alfred… he’s the one who raised me. I guess I took a bit more of his parenting than I thought.” The two stayed silent for a while, Bruce still running his fingers through Dick’s hair while his son absentmindedly scratched Ace behind the ear.

“I’ve never noticed.”

“Good. I’ve never wanted you to. You needed someone in your life that you could turn to other than me, I’m glad it was Alfred.” They lapsed into silence once more.

“I, of all people, know how hard it is to ask for… affection. Maybe… we could have a code word?” Bruce suggested hesitantly. “Just so I know it’s okay to hover. Or maybe one, so I know you actually want to be left alone?”

Dick couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah… we can work it out. Later though, I’m feeling drained from all this… emotional talking.”

“Ha, yes. I completely understand, especially with the way you cried.” Bruce teased lightly, poking Dick on the cheek.

“Wha- you cried first!” Dick protested, a laugh bubbling up as he swatted at his Dad’s hand. “I love you, Tati.” Dick grinned, squeezing Bruce in a hug.

“I love you too Dickie, so much. My little boy has grown up to be so strong and smart.” Bruce smiled softly, pressing another kiss to Dick’s forehead and chuckling at the embarrassed blush on his son’s cheeks.

“You wanna go watch a movie with me? I’ll even let you have the good blanket.” Dick sprang up from the ground, grinning as Ace also stood up and circled around him happily.

“That’s a lie, but yes, any movie you want, Birdie,” Bruce grunted as he stood up, stretching and ignoring the horrified look on his son’s face as his back cracked loudly. “Alright, Ace, you’re relieved of your duty,” Bruce said, patting the German shepherd on the head once as he barked loudly.

“Why was Ace down here in the first place? And what did you mean by duty?” Dick asked as they started walking toward the elevator, both of them not in the mood to take the stairs.

Bruce raised an eyebrow at Dick. “Ace is my service dog? Like how Titus and Alfred the cat are Damian’s?”

Dick blinked. He did not know either of those things. “Wha-“

“We’ll talk about it later. Cmon.”

——

Jason blinked, staring listlessly at the words in his book. That’s how you could tell he’s really out of it; he doesn’t even remember what book he picked out, and he couldn't care less about it.

Jason was suddenly jolted out of his lethargic state by a familiar knock on the door in a pattern only Bruce did.

It was silent for a while, but Jason knew better. If Bruce had come here in person and knocked on his door, most likely as Bruce Wayne, then he wasn’t going to go away any time soon.

“What,” Jason growled as he threw open the door, silently thrown for a loop the moment he looked at his Dad. “… why do you look like that? And why is Ace here?”

Bruce chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling and showing off the crows feet Jason doesn’t remember him having before. Ew, his Dad looked older. That thought was promptly shoved away to be unpacked later in the very far future.

“I’m sorry for bothering you today… I was wondering if I could talk to you?” Bruce asked, ignoring the way Ace poked his thigh with his nose. “It’s alright if it’s a no. I just wanted to… talk.”

Jason shut down the urge to slam the door shut in his face (only for dramatics, he doesn’t wanna hurt his Dad) and nodded, stepping aside so he could let Bruce and Ace through.

As Bruce sat down, Ace let out a whine and pressed his nose against Bruce’s hand. Bruce rolled his eyes before looking at his son sheepishly. “I’m sorry to ask Jason, do you have a snack I could eat? It seems I have forgotten to eat this morning, and Ace is scolding me.”

Jason frowned, worry curling in his gut as he leisurely made his way to his kitchen, pulling out a box of white cheddar popcorn (the best kind) and tossing Bruce a bag. “You’re paying me back for this shit, I'm not made of money like you,” Jason mumbled, totally not worried because the only time Bruce forgets to eat and Alfred hasn’t reminded him is when something is truly wrong.

“So… what?” Jason questioned, refusing to sit down. He knew power plays; he wouldn’t let Bruce have the upper hand in whatever conversation they were about to have.

Bruce popped a few kernels into his mouth, chewed, and really looked at Jason before sighing. “I’m sorry about last week. Dropping you off like that without talking about it was wrong of me. I don’t want you to think that you can’t come home or to the cave anytime that you’d like, it's your home too.” Bruce apologized.

“Seriously? Is that it-“

“However, I’m not sorry for being upset that you used a gun against someone while I was around, knowing full well how I feel about unnecessary gun usage,” Bruce said, cutting Jason off.

“You are my son. I love you. These are facts and will never change, no matter what you do. I don’t like guns, but more importantly, I don’t like you using real bullets on people, you know this, but you did it anyway.” Bruce stressed, digging his nails into the palms of his hands till Ace’s soft bark stopped him from drawing blood.

“I’m sorry…” Jason whispered softly, shifting on his feet uncomfortably.

Bruce nodded. “I know… and I also know that you’re not going to stop using real bullets, no matter how I feel about it. You’re an adult man who no longer lives under my roof, no longer comes over, if I’m being honest.” Bruce relaxed more into the couch, like the tension in his body was cut as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back. “But…”

Jason bit his bottom lip before shuffling over, flopping down, and resting his head on Bruce’s shoulder, before he could make himself chicken out. “I’m sorry… I just…” Jason hummed, sorting through his thoughts.

“When you trained me to use guns all those years ago, I felt connected to them. I enjoyed how good I was, and how in control I could be. But it also made me feel guilty, using the weapon that had brought you so much pain. That had ruined your life and made you Batman.” Jason started, letting himself reminisce about the past. “And when I came back… it was like a ‘fuck you’ kinda thing, but overtime… I guess it’s how I stayed connected with you when you still didn’t know I was alive.”

Jason shrugged his shoulders as he absentmindedly played with Bruce’s hand and wrist, his fingers running over the multitude of scars, self-inflicted and otherwise. “I won’t stop using guns, but I am sorry that I shot that guy. I felt bad but wanted to act tough in front of you, I guess…”

Bruce hummed, watching Jason play with his fingers before speaking. “I wouldn’t say ‘ruined’ my life. After all, without my… unfortunate tragedy, I wouldn’t have gotten all my wonderful children. And I would never trade you or your siblings for the entire world.” Bruce said softly, pressing a kiss to Jason's forehead.

Jason let out a small cough and turned away, the tips of his ears and the base of his neck flushing a light red at how sappy Bruce was being. “… I don’t think we’ll ever truly agree on this topic,” Jason whispered softly.

“I know. I’m okay with that. I won’t love you any less.” Bruce gently knocked their heads together, something he hadn’t done since Jason was a little kid.

Jason gnawed on his bottom lip and shifted before hiding his face away in Bruce’s shoulder. “Yeah, I love you too, Dad. Just don’t be getting so sentimental all the time. It’s cringe.”

“What is it that Dick is always saying? ‘To be cringe is to be free’ or something?” Bruce quoted, making Jason scrunch up his nose in a way that was exactly the same as Bruce.

“Ew, please don’t go quoting Dickie. We both know he doesn’t need the ego boost.” Jason complained, grinning to himself as Bruce chuckled.

“Alright then, snack on my popcorn that I so graciously gifted to you. However, I’m gonna make you a real meal.” Jason stated, looking his Dad in the eyes with his hands on his hips. “I can’t believe Alfie let you out of the house without eating for… however long you decided to starve yourself!” Jason said in disbelief, Ace barking in agreement.

“Shush, I don’t need the two of you ganging up on me,” Bruce grumbled, fishing out a dog treat from his pocket and tossing it to Ace.

“Dad, can you open this bag of rice? It’s not opening, and Tim stole my scissors last week and hasn’t brought them back.” Jason whined, poking his head out from the kitchen.

It was an obvious lie; Jason could have easily opened the bag with his bare hands, and even then, Jason had a million knives lying around. But it warmed Bruce’s heart that Jason was asking him for help, just like when he was a child.

“Sure, only if I get to be a taste tester.” Bruce agreed with an easy smile, standing up and ambling his way to the kitchen.

“Duh, do you see anyone else here, old man?”

——

Tim felt himself slowly come to wakefulness, humming softly as he felt a large hand gently stroking his hair.

“Hi, sweetheart.” A deep voice rumbled. Very familiar, very safe.

“Bruce?” Tim groaned, forcing his eyes to stay open and focus on his Dad sitting on a chair he pulled up beside his bed. “What… what are you doing?”

Bruce hummed softly and pushed Tim’s bangs out of his face, taking a moment to gaze down at his son’s tired but relaxed expression. “I wanted to see you… I wanted to apologize.”

“For wha?” Tim sighed, melting into his pillow as Bruce lightly scratched his scalp just right. “Feel like a dog when you pet me, Dad…” Tim slurred, a lopsided grin forming on his face as Bruce chuckled.

“I think you’re more like a cat… or a ferret.” Bruce teased, stifling a laugh at Tim’s sleep but offended expression. “My bad. You’re just my son, who becomes very cute when he’s tired.”

“M’ not cute. I’m a grown man.” Tim complained, most definitely not pouting. “Didn’t answer my question… what are you doing here?”

“I was weird last week, wasn’t I? You and your siblings probably talked about it.” Bruce said, deciding not to beat around the bush anymore than he already had. “I’m sorry about that, Tim. I don’t really know what had gotten into me.”

Tim hummed and nodded, staring up at Bruce, looking decidedly less sleepy than a few seconds ago.

“But, I’m only apologizing for how I dismissed you. You’re an adult, Tim, and you and your siblings always remind me of that, so I’m putting this firmly in your hands. I love you, and I don’t want you to destroy yourself with a bad sleepy schedule.”

Tim opened his mouth, probably to call Bruce a hypocrite, but one look from Bruce just stopped him up.

“Yes, I know, I do the same things, which is why I’m telling you this. I suffered the consequences of sleep deprivation and a dependence on caffeine. I’m still dealing with the symptoms, and I don’t want you to be stuck in this cycle like I am.” Bruce gently cupped Tim’s cheek, his thumb brushing under Tim’s eyes as he looked at the eye bags his child had.

“You are so young and so bright. Doing this will put a strain on you and hurt you in the future. I can’t force you to do anything, and I know you barely take what I say into consideration.” Bruce let out a huff of laughter. “But take this into consideration: I love you, and your family loves you. We want the best for you and your health. Please take a break, my dear.”

Tim sniffled and looked up at Bruce sadly. “I know, I know it’s just… I feel like I have to prove myself, you know? I don’t mean to brush you off or anything, but it feels like I’m the only one who can get these cases done, and if I’m off sleeping or doing anything else, people could be getting hurt. It’ll be my fault.”

“If I’ve ever made you feel like I’m disappointed in you for taking care of yourself, you have my explicit permission to slap me or punch me or just do whatever you want,” Bruce said seriously, his mouth drawn in a thin line. “If you don’t want to, call Clark.”

“Even if a million cases never get solved, I’d be happy just knowing you’re safe, happy, and healthy,” Bruce said softly. “I mean, you could quit being Red Robin tomorrow and I’d be happy.”

“Dad.”

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself.” Bruce grinned, causing Tim to grin back at him. “I’m real sorry, Timmy, honest.”

“S’ okay, I forgive you. I’m sorry too, Dad.”

“That’s okay, I forgive you, too,” Bruce said softly, noticing how Tim had regained the sleepy look in his eyes. “Guess I’ve kept you up for too long, go to sleep, my dear.”

Tim gripped the sleeve of Bruce’s turtle neck as he tried to pull away, frowning in an exaggerated manner that he would deny to the ends of the earth, which looked like pouting.

“Hey, you disrupted me in the middle of my nap. The least you can do is join me, Dad.” Tim said, tugging Bruce back toward him.

“Tim, I’m not sure your bed is big enough for both of us,” Bruce said warily, still allowing his son to tug him closer without any resistance.

“That’s okay, I’m fine with lying on top of you, and I know you are too,” Tim said with a sleepy grin, content to let his Dad rearrange his body so the two were lying down comfortably.

“Good?” Bruce murmured softly, running his hands through Tim’s hair as his second youngest started to drift off once more.

“Yea… all… good,” Tim whispered, a small smile on his face as he felt Bruce press a kiss to his forehead before he drifted off once more, feeling a thousand times lighter.

——

Bruce listened to the phone ring impassively, not really expecting his youngest son to pick up. So, when he heard Damian’s stiff voice mail message that Dick had forced him to set up instead of the standard one, he sighed softly.

“Hello, Damian… I hope you’re having fun over at the Kent farm. I just wanted to call and say that I miss you.” Bruce paused, looking down at the note cards he had written just to map out what he wanted to say before pushing them away. “I can’t wait till you’re back home, but I know you love being surrounded by all the animals. Be safe, say hi to Lois for me, I love you, Habibi.”

Bruce set down his phone and frowned, already rethinking the message he left when his phone rang, Damian’s name flashing on the screen. Without a single second's thought, Bruce picked up his phone before it could ring twice.

“Baba…” Damian hiccuped the moment Bruce picked up, breaking his heart completely. “You…”

“Oh no, baby, take a deep breath for me. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Bruce tried to soothe, helping Damian work through his hiccups and calm down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you again. D-do you want me to hang up?”

Damian hiccuped again softly before sniffling. “No… can you come pick me up?”

Bruce’s eyebrows shot up in confusion, even if he was already standing up and making his way to the Batcave. Secret identity be damned, he was taking his fastest jet. “Me? You don’t want Jon or Clark to drop you off? It’d be faster.”

“No… I just really want to see you. Is that alright?”

“Of course, it is Hayati, I want to see you as well. I missed you so much.” Bruce took in a short breath and punched in the coordinates for the Kent farm, ignoring the lurch as the jet spread out of the cave and was at the farm in under ten minutes.

The moment Bruce jumped out of the jet, Damian was in his arms, hugging him tightly, which was really special because even after all these years, Damian rarely initiated physical affection.

“I’m sorry! I was being so horrible-“ Damian blubbered, soaking the front of Bruce’s turtle neck with his tears.

“Hey, no no no. What’s this? Who said my son was horrible? Where did you ever get such a silly idea?” Bruce immediately shut down Damian’s self-deprecating words, picking Damian up and kissing his forehead before glancing over at Clark with a concerned but confused expression.

“He’s been on his phone a lot, I think he might’ve read somethin’ online,” Clark whispered, gently patting Damian on the back before ushering a worried Jon inside to give them as much privacy as they could.

Bruce carried Damian inside the jet, activating the lead lining so the Kents wouldn’t be able to listen in. Bruce knew Damian would die of mortification if Jon heard him being more emotional than he already was.

Damian silently took the bottled water Bruce offered him but made no move to open it, instead swinging his legs over the edge of the chair where Bruce sat him.

“I know it’s dangerous outside… especially in Gotham… but…” Damian bit his lower lip, trying to fight off the onslaught of tears through sheer force of will. “I read online that a lot of parents don’t let their kids stay out all night, but it’s for a good cause. I’m a very mature person, I'm different than regular people.”

Bruce sighed and ran his fingers through his hair before kneeling in front of Damian, making sure to make eye contact with his youngest child. “It’s not that I don’t believe that you’re capable of taking care of yourself. In fact, I know you are. But your siblings can attest to the fact that I worry and I will always worry, no matter how ‘mature’ you see yourself.”

“An overnight charity event for animal rights is an admirable gesture to give your free time up for, but I can’t allow it, Damian.” Bruce reached for Damian’s hand and gently held it. “You’re still newly fourteen, and no matter what you think or how you feel, you are a child, and it is my duty as your father to protect you and keep you safe.”

Damian let out a sigh and leaned forward, resting his head against Bruce’s shoulder and frowning. “But… I really wanted to go.”

“I know, baby,” Bruce murmured, rubbing Damian’s back. “And if one of your siblings, or I, was free that night, we would’ve gone with you. But we’re not, and I’m not sending you there alone with people I haven’t met.”

Damian nodded. He knew it was reasonable, logically, but he was still only a kid. He wanted what he wanted.

“You have every right to feel upset, and I’m sorry it seemed like I just shipped you off without talking to you, sweetheart. It was rough last week, but that’s not an excuse. I should’ve calmly explained it to you.” Bruce apologized, pulling back from the hug so he could look Damian in the eyes.

“Damian,” Bruce started. “I’m not allowing you to go to that overnight charity event. I understand it’s for a cause you care about deeply, but I care about you more. I love you so much, and all I want is for you to be safe.”

Damian laughed softly, wiping away the tears on his face and hugging Bruce tightly. “Explanation received and understood, Baba. I… love you too.

Bruce pressed two quick kisses to Damian’s cheeks, silently reverent that Damian had grown so much and was happily receptive to his physical affection before pulling back and standing up.

“Let’s get home. I’ll let you pick out ten charities for wildlife and animal care to donate to, hm?”

Damian nodded and straightened in the seat, putting on an air of his usual elegance even if his face was still red and splotchy from his cry session.

“I would like that very much, Baba. I’m not going to get grounded, am I? This doesn’t technically count as ‘running away’. I read that online.”

Bruce sighed before chuckling. “I’m a little worried about what else you read online, but no, you’re not getting grounded. This was on me after all.”

Damian nodded. “Good. Now let’s go home. I want to sleep in my own bed.”

——

<Prev>. <Explanation>.

[paper-mario-wiki]

I'd like it to be known that I was going to use Tumblr as the platform of choice for creating a boilerplate landing page website for my job, as my boss tasked me with creating a basic address to represent the company. We've already got a domain that we've been using for an email address for almost a year, and I know tumblr theme HTML coding pretty well, so I set up an account, but was unable to forward my custom domain. That's when I learned that custom domains MUST NOW BE BOUGHT DIRECTLY FROM TUMBLR.

YOU CAN NO LONGER CONNECT YOUR OWN DOMAIN THAT YOU ALREADY OWN TO YOUR BLOG.

Additionally, if you HAVE a custom domain and it lapses for any amount of time, forcing you to turn it off, you will NOT BE ABLE TO RECONNECT IT.

I will be using a different website instead.

@staff this was a terrible decision. nobody likes this.

I personally advise every one of my 132k followers, as well as anyone who sees and reblogs this post, to NOT purchase a domain from tumblr, as they are more expensive than purchasing from any other registrar, and you are restricted to using it on a single platform.

Change it back.

[canandroidsdream]

taken during the solar eclipse

also posting my pics to twitter

[bluebutterflytattooed]

GAME ON

Rugby!Sevika x College Roommate Reader

CHAPTER THREE

You had just finished applying your nighttime moisturizer when you heard a low, annoyed sigh from behind yourself.

You glanced over your shoulder to find Sevika lying on her bed, metal arm draped across her forehead, legs stretched out, her phone resting on her stomach. Her damp hair was messy from a post-practice shower, strands sticking to her forehead, and she was wearing nothing but a white ribbed wife beater and loose blue boxers.

The sight of her like that—relaxed, undone—was unfairly attractive.

You quickly turned back to your vanity, pretending to be deeply invested in you skincare routine. "What’s with the dramatic sighing?"

Sevika let out another long exhale, more over dramatic than the last. "I need help."

You frowned slightly, dabbing a bit of lip balm on. "With…?"

"Homework," Sevika admitted begrudgingly. "Stats. It’s kicking my ass."

You bit back a smile. You had never heard Sevika admit to struggling with anything. "And you want my help?"

Your roommate rolled onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow. "Yeah, princess, I do."

Something about the way she said princess—all slow and teasing—made your stomach tighten in a way you did not appreciate.

You cleared your throat, shaking it off. "Alright," you said, standing up and stretching. "Let’s see what we’re working with."

Sevika scooted over, making space for you to sit on the edge of her bed. The dorm wasn’t huge, so the proximity was unavoidable. You could feel the warmth radiating off Sevika’s skin, smell the faint mix of clean laundry, soap, and something deeper—woodsy and warm.

You focused very, very hard on Sevika’s laptop screen. "Okay, show me where you’re stuck."

Sevika groaned, running a hand through her damp hair. "Literally all of it."

You bit back a laugh and pulled the laptop onto your lap, scanning the assignment. "It’s not that bad. You just have to break it down."

For the next twenty minutes, you walked Sevika through the basics, explaining things in a way that actually made sense. Sevika, to her credit, tried to keep up, even though she was clearly exhausted.

At some point, she flopped back onto her pillows, groaning dramatically. "I don’t know how you do this."

You smirked. "Because I actually pay attention in class?"

Sevika opened one eye. "Rude."

You shrugged. "Just saying."

She smirked, eyes flickering toward your desk, cluttered with makeup and textbooks. "You’re such a nerd, you know that?"

You scoffed. "I am not."

"You literally have color-coded notebooks and a planner with stickers," The woman next to you teased.

"And you have no organization at all," You shot back.

"That’s why I have you," Sevika said, voice low and easy.

Your breath hitched for a fraction of a second before you yourself to ignore whatever that meant.

Instead, you changed the subject. "What do you listen to when you study?"

Sevika stretched her arms above her head, considering. "Depends. If I actually need to focus, probably Frank Ocean... If I’m hyping myself up? Kendrick."

You raised an eyebrow. "You would listen to Kendrick."

She smirked. "What, you don’t?"

"I mean, I do sometimes," you admitted. "But I listen to a lot of Queen, Chappel Roan…"

Sevika tilted her head. "Okay, Queen is solid. I didn’t know you had taste."

You rolled your eyes. "Gee, thanks."

The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence. You leaned back slightly, stretching out your legs, your knee brushing against Sevika’s massive thigh. You pretended not to notice the slight touch.

Sevika’s gaze flickered toward your bed, and a slow smirk spread across her face. "You know," she said, "your bed looks like it belongs to a twelve-year-old."

You gasped. "Excuse me?"

She chuckled, nodding toward the pink fluffy comforter, the fairy lights strung up along the headboard, three extra fluffy blankets, the literal pile of stuffed animals.

"Do not come for my bed," you said, crossing your arms. "It’s cozy."

"It’s adorable. And childish," Sevika corrected, clearly amused.

You huffed. "Well, yours looks like a prison cot."

Your incredibly rude roommate shrugged. "What, you want me to throw a few teddy bears on it?"

You smirked. "I dare you."

Sevika chuckled, shaking her head. "Not happening, princess."

You rolled her eyes at her, standing up and stretching. "Your loss. Stuffed animals are great."

Sevika watched you for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. But then she just smirked. "Night, Y/N. Thanks for the homework help."

You nodded, slipping into bed and turning off the light. "Night, Sevika."

——————————————————————

That night, you had a dream.

A very inappropriate, very vivid dream.

You were back in the dorm, but something was different. The air was heavy, charged. You was standing in front of Sevika, close enough to feel her warmth, close enough to notice the way her eyes darkened as she looked at you.

Sevika reached out, her metal fingers brushing against your bare shoulder, trailing down your arm in a way that sent a shiver through your entire body.

"You drive me insane, you know that?" Sevika’s voice was low, rough. Almost scary.

You swallowed hard. "I—"

Before you could finish the thought, Sevika’s hands were on your waist, tugging you forward. Your bodies pressed together, and you could feel every hard line of muscle against your own soft curves.

Sevika leaned in, lips ghosting over your neck, breath warm against your skin. "I bet you taste as sweet as you smell."

Your knees nearly buckled.

You felt Sevika’s mouth trail lower down your neck, hot and teasing, and—

You woke up gasping for air.

Your heart was pounding, your skin burning, your entire body wired with heat.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the dream to disapear, willing yourself to forget.

But it was no use.

Because now, when you looked over at Sevika’s sleeping figure—her broad shoulders, her steady breathing, the way her wife beater had ridden up just enough to reveal a sliver of brown skin—all you could think about was how it had felt to have Sevika’s hands on her.

Even if it had only been a dream.

————————————————————————-

The cafe was cozy, nestled between two bookstores on a quiet street just off campus. It smelled like espresso and sugar, warm with the hum of soft indie music playing overhead. Students occupied almost every table, laptops open, notebooks spread out, the occasional burst of laughter cutting through the steady murmur of conversation.

You sat across from Sevika in a booth near the window, your laptop open in front of you, a half-drunk strawberry iced matcha in your hand. You had thrown your hair up into an updo a few minutes ago, not thinking much of it—until she noticed Sevika watching you.

You weren’t sure why Sevika was watching you, but something about the weight of her gaze made your stomach tighten into knots and flood with butterflies.

You focused on your laptop, pretending that you weren’t suddenly very aware of Sevika’s eyes on you.

"So, where were we?" You asked, clearing your throat.

Your roommate blinked, as if she had been lost in thought. "Uh. Something about probability."

You bit back a smile. "Something about probability?"

Sevika smirked, sipping her incredibly boring espresso. "I don’t know, princess. That’s your job to figure out."

You rolled your eyes. "You’re impossible."

"And yet," Sevika said, leaning forward on her elbows, "you agreed to help me."

You sighed dramatically, clicking back onto the stats assignment. "Unfortunately."

Sevika chuckled but let you get back to explaining. For the next hour, you walked her through the material, breaking it down in a way that made sense, your fingers tapping against the table as you spoke.

Sevika wasn’t listening as much as she should have been.

She was too distracted by the way you absentmindedly chewed your bottom lip while you concentrated. The way your tank top hugged your figure perfectly, the soft golden glint of your necklaces, the smooth lines of your throat.

She definitely wasn’t thinking about the way you had lifted your arms to tie up your hair earlier, exposing the subtle curve of your waist, the sliver of tanned skin above the waistband of your jeans.

Nope. Not thinking about that at all.

You, on the other hand, were struggling for very different reasons.

Your mind had been a disaster all morning. Every time you looked at Sevika—really looked at her—flashes of last night’s dream hit you like a freight train. The heat of Sevika’s hands on your waist. The low rasp of her voice. The way her lips had felt, warm and teasing against your skin—

You clenched your jaw, pushing the thought far, far away. You were being ridiculous. It was just a dream.

Sevika caught you staring. "You good?"

Your face burned bright red. "Yes."

Sevika narrowed her eyes slightly, but let it go.

You wrapped up the study session about twenty minutes later, finishing off your drinks as students came and went around you two.

Sevika stretched her arms above her head, letting out a deep sigh. "Alright, nerd. I think my brain is officially fried."

You snorted. "I’m shocked you lasted this long."

Sevika smirked, leaning back into the booth. "You underestimate me."

You raised an eyebrow. "Do I?"

The woman chuckled but didn’t answer. Instead, she tilted her head slightly. "What are you up to now?"

You finished the last of your matcha. "Dance studio."

Sevika nodded. "Solo practice?"

"Yeah," you said, slipping your laptop into your tote bag. "I need to get in a few extra hours before I try out for the dance team next week."

Sevika hummed, considering. "Maybe I’ll stop by sometime. See if you’re actually good or if the school’s just desperate for dancers."

You gasped, scandalized. "I’ll have you know, I’m very good."

She smirked, amused by her indignation. "I guess I’ll just have to see for myself."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

———————————————————————

The dance studio was quiet, the kind of quiet that made you feel like you could breathe again.

You stood in front of the mirror, hands resting on your hips, your water bottle set on the floor nearby. The room smelled faintly of wood and sweat, of polished floors and effort. It was your second home, the place where you could let everything else fall away.

But today, your mind would not shut up.

You had spent the entire study session fighting off the most inconvenient thoughts about Sevika, and now, as you stretched, those thoughts slipped through the cracks again.

Sevika, lying in bed with damp hair. Sevika, watching you tie up your hair with that unreadable look in her eyes. Sevika, calling you princess in that low, teasing voice.

You groaned, pressing your palms against your face. "Get it together."

You turned on the music, hoping it would drown out everything else going on in your mind.

———————————————————————

You lounged on your bed, a box of Raising Cane’s resting on your lap as you dipped a crinkle fry into a little tub of Cane’s sauce. Jinx and Mel were sprawled out across your comforter, all three of you decked out in fluffy pajamas and matching face masks—Jinx’s was neon pink, Mel’s a smooth clay green, and yours a soft lavender shade.

"I swear to God, this is peak self-care," Jinx said through a mouthful of chicken tenders, licking sauce off her fingers.

"I’m telling you," Mel chimed in, stretching her legs out, "nothing beats a greasy fast food binge and skincare. Even though those things are not related, like, at all."

You hummed in agreement, taking a sip of your iced tea. It had been a long day, and a girls’ night was exactly what you needed—something normal, safe, and completely unrelated to…

You shoved the thought away before it could form.

Jinx, ever the instigator, tossed a napkin at your face. "So, Y/N," she said, wiggling her eyebrows. "Speaking of things that nothing beats, and no one beats this certain persons hotness-"

You groaned. "Nope. Not doing this."

Mel giggled, adjusting her headband. "Come on! You’ve been weird all day."

"I have not."

Jinx rolled onto her stomach, kicking her feet. "Babe. You so have.

You made the very unfortunate mistake of hesitating. It was a fraction of a second, but it was enough for both of them to pounce.

"Oh my God," Jinx gasped, sitting up. "You’re hiding something."

Mel gasped. "Did something happen?!"

"No!" You squeaked, your face already heating up and betraying you and your lies.

Jinx grinned. "Y/N."

"No."

"Y/N."

"I hate you."

Mel grabbed your shoulders. "Spill."

You groaned, tossing your head back against your pillows. "It was just a stupid dream, okay?! That’s all."

Mel and Jinx screamed.

"Oh, this is wild," Jinx said, bouncing excitedly. "What kind of dream? Did you have a sex dream?"

"I hate you both."

"Was it about—" Mel gasped dramatically. "Sevika?"

You shoved a pillow over your face. "Oh my God."

Jinx practically vibrated with excitement. "You had a sex dream about Sevika?" She squealed.

You groaned into the pillow. "Please kill me."

Mel giggled, grabbing your arm. "Tell us everything."

"I will not."

Jinx nudged you. "Y/N. You have to."

You peeked out from behind the pillow, your face turning a violent shade of red. "It was just—" You cleared your throat. "It was…her. And me. And she was…um."

Jinx and Mel leaned in, eager to hear more.

"She was, uh…" You swallowed. "Very…close."

They screamed.

Mel fanned herself. "Oh my God."

Jinx grabbed your wrist, shaking it. "Are you kidding?! That’s so hot."

"It was not," You insisted. "It was humiliating."

Mel waggled her eyebrows. "Or…was it revealing?"

You threw a fry at her. She scowled at you and ate it.

Jinx grinned. "Okay, okay, but like…objectively speaking, Sevika is hot. Even though she like, has this stupid rivalry thing with Vi."

You groaned. "Don’t."

Mel wiggled her fingers. "Doooon’t deny it."

You buried your face in your hands. "I hate this conversation."

Before they could tease you more, the dorm door swung open.

And in walked Sevika.

She was sweaty, her skin glowing from the gym, dressed in loose gray sweatpants and a very tight compression shirt that clung to every inch of muscle. She had her duffel bag slung over her shoulder, her hair damp from sweat, and she looked unfairly attractive.

You felt your soul leave your body.

Sevika glanced at you and your friends, amused. "Should I be concerned about the screaming?"

Mel, being the worst, smirked. "Oh, don’t worry, it’s nothing important."

Jinx giggled. "Nothing you’d be interested in."

You suddenly had the urge to die.

Sevika raised an eyebrow but shrugged it off, tossing her bag onto her bed. She stretched her arms behind her head, the motion making her shirt ride up just enough to show a flash of her abs.

You were not looking.

(Okay, you were absolutely looking.)

Sevika smirked, tilting her head. "What? You three gossiping about me?"

Jinx beamed. "Why? Would you want us to?"

Sevika let out a low chuckle, and oh no.

Her gaze flicked to you, slow and assessing. "Depends."

Your brain shut down. Sevika was flirting with you, which Jinx and Mel caught onto immediately.

"Oh my God," Mel whispered dramatically.

You could feel your face heating up once again. It’s like you had a permanent blush. You were still thinking about The Dream, and now Sevika was standing there, looking annoyingly attractive, all muscle and sweat and teasing smirks. You cleared your throat, gripping your drink a little too hard. "We were just…talking."

Sevika’s smirk widened. "Just talking?"

Jinx grinned. "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Sevika chuckled, grabbing a water bottle from her desk. "You’re all so weird."

Mel hummed. "And you’re so sweaty."

Sevika took a swig of water. "Thanks, princess."

You nearly choked on air.

Jinx and Mel had never looked so satisfied with themselves.

Sevika glanced at you, something amused in her gaze. Then, without another word, she grabbed her towel and headed toward the bathroom.

The second the door shut, all hell broke loose.

Jinx grabbed your shoulders, shaking you. "She so wants you."

Mel screamed into a pillow, overcome with giggles. "Did you see that?"

You buried your face in your hands. "I hate my life."

Jinx cackled. "Oh, babe. This is just the beginning."

The moment you all heard the shower turn on in the jack-and-Jill bathroom, your friends pounced.

You had barely taken a breath before Jinx grabbed you by the shoulders for a second time, eyes wild with mischeif. "Okay, listen up. We are going to make Sevika fall in love with you."

Your eyes widened in terror. "Excuse me?!"

Mel clapped her hands together, grinning. "No more playgirl Sevika. No more random girls in your dorm. No more flirting with you and pretending it means nothing. Nope. We are making her obsessed with you."

Your mouth gaped open. "You guys are insane, and so is this plan."

Jinx ignored you. "Step one: We use science. Psychological warfare, if you will."

You groaned. "Oh my God."

"Shut up, you love us."

"Not right now, I don’t."

Mel giggled. "Okay, okay, so here’s the plan."

Jinx leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "First, we use colors."

You blinked. "…Colors?" This is about the craziest thing you’ve ever heard.

Mel nodded sagely. "Sevika definitely has a favorite color, and also a favorite color that you wear sometimes. You need to wear it all the time."

Jinx grinned. "We already know she loves when you wear navy blue. You should also test out black and red. Vi says that Sevika likes those colors

You covered your face. "You guys are the worst."

Jinx poked your side. "Next: you have to start wearing things that’ll make her suffer."

"What?!"

"You know," Mel smirked, "tank tops, little shorts, crop tops. Walk around the dorm in tiny pajama sets. Maybe a towel every now and then."

You gasped, scandalized. "Mel!"

"What?" She sipped her iced tea innocently. "Just saying, if Sevika is already flirting with you when you’re not trying, imagine what happens when you do."

You groaned, dropping your head onto Jinx’s shoulder. "I hate this conversation."

Jinx patted your back. "No, babe, you love it."

Mel nudged you. "Next step: flirt with other people."

You shot up. "What?" You exclaimed again.

"Jealousy," Mel explained. "She needs to see other people wanting you. It’ll make her crazy."

You hesitated. "That feels kind of…mean."

Mel shrugged. "You don’t actually have to do anything. Just be you. We both saw her at the party. She noticed when you danced with Jinx’s sister. She noticed every guy who flirted with you. She notices everything about you, Y/N. You just need to turn up the heat."

Jinx grinned. "Oh, and you have to start going to her rugby games."

You tilted her head. "But I already support her—"

"Not like that," Jinx interrupted. "You need to show up in something cute, act like her biggest fan, and make sure she knows it."

Mel nodded. "And you have to make sure she sees you caring about her. Ask about her games, check in when she’s tired, bring her coffee when she has a rough practice. Girls like her act all tough, but deep down? They melt when someone actually gives a shit."

Jinx snapped her fingers. "Oh! And you have to invite her to your dance performance."

Mel gasped. "Yes! Can you imagine? Watching you on stage? Looking perfect and stunning and untouchable?"

You bit your lip. "I mean…that would be kind of nice."

Mel grinned. "Oh, babe. It would ruin her."

You exhaled, shaking your head. "You two are pure evil."

"Thank you," Mel said sweetly.

Jinx sat back, stretching. "Okay, that’s the plan. If you follow all of this, Sevika will be wrapped around your finger by Christmas."

You chewed your bottom lip, mind spinning. Could this actually work? Did you even want it to work? Sevika was…Sevika. Complicated. Dangerous. Gorgeous. Annoying.

But also—warm. And funny. And thoughtful, when she wasn’t being a menace.

And lately, you had been thinking about her way more than you should.

You exhaled. "I hate you guys."

Jinx smirked. "No, babe. You love us."

Meanwhile…

Sevika stood just outside the bathroom door, towel slung over her shoulder, hair still damp. She had stepped out of the shower a few minutes ago, so she had heard Mel and Jinx planning

And she had heard everything.

She smirked to herself, leaning against the wall.

So.

You were about to start playing games?

Cute.

Sevika had been holding herself back for weeks. She wasn’t stupid—she knew there was something between them, something electric and alive whenever they were in the same room. She had flirted, teased, pushed just enough to get a reaction. But now?

Now you were going to start testing her limits?

Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea what you just started.

Sevika ran a hand through her hair, her smirk deepening.

If you wanted to make her fall?

Then it was only fair that Sevika did the same.

Game on.

—————————————————————————-

oh my gyatt guys this is a long chapter😭 ALSO it has a title yay! i didn’t think that so many people would love this story, thank you!!

also oh my god finals are kicking my ass. if i’m slow with updates then that’s why!

i love you, blue🦋

tag list: @vahnilla @elliesngirl @naniiiii12 @liztreez @eriiwaiii2 @elliesgffrfr @nymanas @yashirawr @leeidk87 @imvioletscupcake @caffeine-pup @too-x @vxtanne31 @sleepycrybbylaiah @rosebg @pipirka827363829

[rumplereids]

wonderstruck.

part one. tags: spencer reid x fem!reader. tech analyst!reader. early-s1!spencer. a/n: tech analyst!reader won’t leave my little brain. i hope u like this :) masterlist. requests are open !

You were 21 when you got recruited into the bureau. Barely a graduate, and already on a FBI watchlist. Honestly, the only reason you’re under their watchful eyes is because of a lapse in judgment.

To celebrate the semester ending, your roommate decided that you both needed to get drunk. Being a psychology major with a pre-med roommate leads to tequila shots in your own dorm room. It’s the convenience and comfort of your own space that got you so drunk. This situation led to this: you admitting to your roommate, with heavy eyes, that you can “hack, you know. I learned when I was 15.”

She sat up from her place on the floor.

“Really? I don’t believe you!” she giggles, and then hiccups.

“I so can!” there’s indignation and a want to prove yourself in the tone of your voice.

“Okay, show me!”

Shuffling on heavy feet, you plop down in front of your laptop. A few clicks and the comforting clacks of your keyboard, and then a window pops open. You look at the wide-gaped mouth of your roommate. “What are you hacking?”

You hum, “I don’t know.”

And then you remember the talk from a few days ago. Two agents from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit came over to your college to talk about criminal profiling to psychology majors and anyone else interested.

Completely inebriated, you manage to hack into their database. Your hazy mind doesn’t forget to compliment the beauty and intricacy of the codes and firewalls you broke down.

At Quantico, Virginia, Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia rushes into her unit chief’s office.

“Sir, somebody is attempting to get into my system. I think they’re trying to communicate?”

Hotch follows Garcia into her office, the quickness of their steps catching the attention of Dr. Spencer Reid who was seated at his desk, skimming over a case report.

When Hotch gets into Penelope’s ‘lair’, his eyes squint, adjusting to the dimmed lights and bright screens. On the main monitor, a window displaying the barebones of a text chat is open.

<ATHEN411> ????

<ATHEN411> hiiiiidfgsd

<YOU> Who is this?

<ATHEN411> ohymgofd i didnt think anyonewould alsnwer

<ATHEN411> wh o it sthis?

<YOU> BAU Section Chief Aaron Hotchner.

<ATHEN411> omfdg i know uuu !! jason mentoined u

<YOU> Jason?

<ATHEN411> yhuhh jason digeon or sumn omg i cant tpoye

<ATHEN411> sorry

<YOU> Jason Gideon? How do you know him?

<ATHEN411 disconnected.>

You’ve completely forgotten about the conversation. Until, a few days later. You’re turning the corner of the hallway to get into your dorm. Backpack slung on a shoulder, arms full of your laptop, binders and a soft-bound copy of your final paper. You stop in your tracks when you see two men stationed outside your room’s door.

One man was in a shirt, jeans, and combat boots. He also had sunglasses on. The other had a permanent furrow to his brows, dressed formally in a suit and tie.

“Hi, can I help you?” you ask, hand reaching into your hoodie pocket for your keys and pepper spray.

The one in sunglasses holds up a badge and ID.

“FBI. I’m Agent Morgan, this is Agent Hotchner. Are you Y/N L/N?”

You gulp, wondering why they knew your name.

“Um, yeah. Why?”

“Can we talk somewhere private?”

Your bring out your keys, and you notice how Agent Hotchner eyes the pepper spray keychained to it.

“Um, yeah. We can talk inside? My roommate’s still out.”

You unlock your door and walk in, the agents following in after you. Dropping your bag on your desk chair, you turn to ask the agents, “How can I help you?”

Agent Hotchner asks, “Are you familiar with the name athen-four-one-one?”

You look up at them guilty.

“It’s athena-eleven.”

“So, it’s you?” Agent Morgan clarifies.

“Yes. How did you find me?”

The two men share a glance. A silent conversation passing with you unknowing.

“Two nights ago, you hacked into the BAU’s database.”

You look at them in suprise, “I did?”

“Yes,” Agent Hotchner says, passing a folder to you. Inside are images and a transcript of messages shared between a ‘P.GARCIA’ and ‘ATHEN411’.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, realizing what’s happening.

“I was drunk off my ass two nights ago! I’m so sorry,” that catches Agent Morgan’s attention.

“You were drunk?”

“Yeah, my roommate and I were celebrating our exams. I didn’t… Am I in trouble?”

Agent Hotchner raises a hand in a placating gesture, “You were drunk when you hacked into the bureau’s database?” Confusion and slight amusement evident in the tone of his voice.

“Yeah,” you confess, “It was just a dare! I don’t even remember much of it.”

Agent Morgan looks as if he doesn’t know what to think about the situation. You feel the same. Agent Hotchner extends a hand to get the file back from you, and you give it to him easily.

“Would you go with us back to the station?”

“What? For what? Am I being sued?”

“The opposite. I would like to conduct a proper interview.” Agent Hotchner explains.

“An interview? For what?”

“A job as a technical analyst at Quantico.”

You look at them, eyes furrowing in confusion and disbelief, “What? I can’t!”

“Why not?”

You gesture toward your desk, “I still have a paper to pass!”

Meeting Penelope Garcia was like a dream come true.

“I should have realized! The triple-stacked firewall should’ve been so obvious! The Black Queen signature!”

The blonde’s eyes sparkle, happy to meet a match.

“Athena-Eleven! I didn’t even notice you were in my systems until you sent your first message.”

You feel your chest puff up at the indirect praise.

“You were one of my idols,” you admit, “Your exposé on Griffith Industries was just… stunning! Absolutely flawless. You had a section in your code that I used to build my private server—” Agent Hotchner interrupts your spiel.

He gestures to the rest of the room, where agents were seated at a round table.

“This is Y/N L/N, the unit’s newest technical analyst. ” he says, and you give a shy wave. You get a wave back from the agent wearing glasses. He’s cute. Have you seen him before?

“This is Jennifer Jareau, our communications liaison,” you shake her outstretched hand. She’s so pretty, you start to think, gorgeous blue eyes too.

“You’ve met Derek Morgan,” Agent Hotchner says, and Agent Morgan gives a two finger salute, his hands wrapped around a coffee cup.

“Agent Jason Gideon,” you return his handshake, mumbling a shy; “Hello, sir. Nice to see you again.”

And then, “This is Dr. Spencer Reid—”

“Oh! You were with Agent Gideon at the seminar! You talked a bit about geoprofiling, and how an unsub’s subconscious can’t help but stick close to home, which helps you triangulate the—” Agent Hotchner lets out another soft cough.

“Um, yeah. I did. Nice to meet you,” he gives another small wave, smile close-lipped and awkward. Endearing. He’s really cute. “I don’t really shake hands.”

You nod, “I get that, germs and stuff. It’s actually, weirdly, safer to kiss.”

You don’t see the way JJ and Derek look at each other, nor do you notice when Penelope whispered, “Oh my God, there’s two of them.”

“Your code name, it’s for the Athena, right? The Greek goddess of wisdom, warfare, and handicraft?” Dr. Reid asks you, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Yeah. I love greek mythology.”

He gives you a smile, “I do, as well. I’m wondering about the eleven though. Does it mean anything?”

You tsk’d through your teeth, “The angel number 1111’s often seen as a spiritual wake-up call and awakening. I thought it was fitting, and I was 15 when I chose the name, okay? Excuse little old me.”

“That’s cool,” Dr. Reid admits. If he remembers your file right, you were barely 17 when you became a trademark and known name in underground hacking circles. He can’t properly meet your eyes, struck in awe. Athena. It’s perfect for you.

“Y/N formally starts her job with us in three days,” Hotch informs the team, “Be kind.”

With a final word, Gideon and Hotch start to return to their offices.

Derek straightens from his position on the office chair. “I am very kind!”

“He didn’t say anything about you,” Penelope teases.

“Ooh, that says a lot, Morgan. It says so much,” JJ teases back.

You smile at them, your new co-workers, taking the seat JJ was gesturing at for you. The three continue bickering, you start to tune them out as you make eye contact with Dr. Reid. The apple of his cheeks blush red, and you can’t stop the grin on your lips from getting wider. He’s downright enchanting.

[cosmicpuzzle]

2nd Lord in Houses

2nd lord in 1st House

This indicates that your have an expressive personality with an interest of accumulating knowledge and educating yourself. You earn money in your own way, with your own style, with your own effort. You have a good imagination and you express it creatively.

2nd lord in 2nd House

You are a knowledgeable person with a good sense of how to accumulate your personal resources. You are therefore likely to become relatively wealthy and stay that way. You have a good mind and your career might be linked to teaching or public speaking.

2nd lord in 3rd House

Your style of accumulating resources is likely to be linked to your skillfulness, and definitely your own initiative. You may be very motivated by the prospects of income, and you like to express yourself through your dexterity or art-form of some kind.

2nd lord in 4th House

Your style of accumulating wealth may be strongly influenced by your mother or someone close to you. You get comfort from self-expression and financial security. There is a good likelihood of gaining a good academic degree.

2nd lord in 5th House

This is an excellent indication of wealth, both to yourself and your children. Your way of income may in some way depend on education or teaching, but certainly on your intelligence. Your mind is strong and versatile, and you express yourself in a playful and creative ways.

2nd lord in 6th House

The way you express yourself may not be very acceptable to some people. There are good indications of a good income, although hard work and a lapse of time may be needed. Income may be through problem solving or service of some kind. You may also have a talent of gaining through your opponents or enemies.

2nd lord in 7th House

You like company and you like to express yourself, particularly in a one-to-one situation. You may be attracted to affluent people and quite possibly married to a wealthy person. Your spouse, will at least, be in some way strongly connected to the way money comes to you. In any event the style in which you accumulate resources will be through interaction of some kind and possibly traveling.

2nd lord in 8th House

You may be quite secretive and earn through unusual and secretive ways. There is a possibility of a speech impairment or shyness of speaking publicly. Using your exploring mind, you might get resources through research of some kind, which uncovers something previously hidden. You may also deal with other peoples' money by working in a bank. In any case wealth and property of land are likely to take place in your life. You may have suffered loss of comfort or happiness due to your older sibling.

2nd lord in 9th House

Your style of accumulating resources may be through conveying knowledge, through teaching or lecturing. There may also be an income from higher and educational institution, since you are likely to have acquired a high degree of education. There is good fortune in your life, especially what concerns self-expression, money and acquiring knowledge. You have high moral values and try to observe the behavioral codes of your religion. As a child you may have suffered from sickness, although gaining full health later.

2nd lord in 10th House

This is a signification that there will be good amount of income and fortune in your life. The income will, most likely, be connected to a clever management of the flow and accumulation of money. There is also social prestige, learning and honor in your life. Expressing yourself in a public setting gives you fulfillment.

2nd lord in 11th House

This is a great combination for financial security and if other factors support it, you will get wealthy. You don't need to be on a constant lookout for new resources, the opportunities will seek you out and be presented to you by others. If you maintain an optimistic attitude and manage your resources your wealth will always increase steadily.

2nd lord in 12th House

It might be difficult for you to control the balance between income and expense and consequently you might often find yourself in debt. It seems like the resources disperse instead of accumulating. It might be hard for you to express yourself openly and you might harbor the fear of being misunderstood if you do. Be careful when you express yourself to be truthful at all times.

For Readings DM

[bleedingoptimism]

part one -> 📱💞🚙

The first video goes viral. They get a lot of new traffic on their page, and half of it gets curious about their music, and half of the curious ones even become fans. So the series is already a success with only one video out. 

In the second video, Eddie, still blushing but smiling cheekily introduces Steve, who is all smiles and sunshine wrapped up in muscle and tan skin and people eat it up.

Then the actual process begins, and it's genuinely informative and quite good, Steve really knows what he's doing and he seems to have a passion for it that makes his eyes shine whenever he's explaining to Eddie what they are doing and what for.

It’s also fairly comedic, the series. Eddie keeps tripping all over his own feet making funny remarks to make Steve laugh. They both work on the van, because Eddie wants to get his hands dirty too, so Steve stays close behind, whispering instructions and murmuring praises while he works that have Eddie sweating and blushing from things that are completely unrelated to the manual labor and looking at the camera like he’s in the office.

It becomes kind of a thing because Eddie knows Steve doesn't watch the videos and everyone already knows from the first video that Eddie has a little crush on him. So he thinks it is just innocent fun that when Steve is working and Eddie has the phone in his hands instead of the tripod, he sometimes zooms on his back, his arms, the sweat on his neck, and then back to his face, sighing and shaking his head slowly.

TikTokers even start shipping them, saying Eddie has very clear cat energy and Steve is the most golden retriever boyfriend-coded man on the planet.

But something shifts as the videos go on, Eddie’s quips are less jokey and more just pure admiration for Steve’s work. When they film a time-lapse the audience can see them working together, bumping shoulders, Steve looking at Eddie and looking away when Eddie looks at him. And when Eddie is filming there are no more jokes about him pining on camera. It is just scenes of Steve laughing, or just smiling, working while he whistles. Zooms of his eyes, his nose, the highlights on his hair, the way the moles on his cheek move when he smiles crookedly at something dumb Eddie says.

The whole series becomes a documentary about how Eddie fell in love with Steve and then… it's complete. It's done. The van is finished. Eddie films one last video thanking Steve for everything, and making one last flirty joke about taking him for a ride. Steve laughs and runs a hand through his hair, telling Eddie he’s welcome. And that is it. The series is done. 

It drives everyone insane because they love it of course, but also. Because it seems… unfinished. It's kind of a mess, Corroded fans are fighting the shippers and the shippers are accusing Eddie of queer bating, which he thinks it's fuckin hilarious and sad because it's his literal life they are talking about. 

But the truth is, there’s nothing more to tell. They had a real conversation after Eddie stopped filming, a proper thanks and hug goodbye. And then Steve just left. He never made a move. And Eddie tried, he really tried. He insinuated, flirted, complimented. But Steve was either not interested or completely clueless (probably because of how uninterested he was).

And now Eddie has a beautiful van, completely equipped for two people to travel in style. And no one to share it with. So he stays at home, wrapped up in a blanket and watching the comments on his tiktoks, laughing and then crying with the way people describe how palpable their chemistry is. And he misses Steve. He keens, he pins, he craves.

part three ->📱💞🚙

☕🥐💕 coffee? by the side of the road?

[dipperpepper77]

LADS as romance movies

Dipper's Delusions

Tags: Angst, death, romance, sappy shit. Spoilers for the movies

Xavier: The Time Traveler's Wife. I can see you falling in love with him. Both marrying and having a whole life. But, he keeps vanishing. Continuously in a lapse of going through time. Always having one end goal... come back to you. He travels to times where you were just a child, to the day of his funeral, your funeral, relived your wedding, saw your first heartbreak from a far. Everything. Every time he crashes his head on your lap. You always had your familiar gentle touch. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to tell you what awaits in your future together. He just wants to love you over and over again.

Rafayel: The Notebook. HEAR ME OUT. He is definitely one of the LADS men who will make themselves look stupid to impress you (literally the hospital visit). He would definitely jump up and dangle on a Ferris wheel to get you to say yes to a date. That being said... he IS sassy BUT he is also reliable and loving. He would write to you everyday. He WOULD build you a home with his two hands. Do not be fooled by the mask he wears. He would go to the ends of the earth for you. That's how he finds himself at the same retirement home as you (his choice. no one can tell him to leave). He reads your love story to you everyday until you remember him.

Zayne: Pride and Prejudice. (I was going to say Breakfast at Tiffany's but I see so much edits of him as Darcy) This man does scream Mr. Darcy though. He stays in shadows. Keeps himself busy. A man of honor and integrity. But, in times of him confessing his love... it comes out as a burst of emotion. He's always concealing (Elsa core) how he feels that when it's in the light... it's in the light. His usual stoicism is replaced by a tender husband once you marry. You WOULD have random nicknames he gets to call you for different occasions. He would only call you by the nickname he calls you when he's completely, perfectly, and incandescently happy. Because you are his joy.

(Before I start with Sylus... I'm sorry. You may shoot me if you'd like)

Sylus: Me Before You. Hear me out. In his lore he needed to die by your hands. What if in this life time... he was just meant to die? He's left bedridden after an accident. He was now a recluse (for obvious reasons). He didn't have a plan to live long. Not in his state. So when he met this witty person who wears funky outfits? He didn't expect to love you. To find these outfits endearing, to keep thinking 'one more day' every single morning in order to see you, to find himself having many good days. He's so in love with you. You were light. You were the air he wanted to keep breathing. Like a sunshine after the storm. His will to go 'one more day'. Of course, he's rich. So he spends that remainder on you. Buying things he heard you liked. His heart leapt every single time you squealed at his gifts. But... in the end. He still didn't want to live. He just wanted you to be able to live happily after him. Because... he was so fortunate to meet the love of his life.

Caleb: Big Fish (my fav movie). But, Edward Bloom is so Caleb coded. Imagine this... your child is SO frustrated with the "tale-tales" of his life. Like yeah dad.. you TOTALLY flew into a storm and saw god. But, he retells the way he met you. The love of his life... He see's you at the circus... he's awestruck. Who are you? Where are you from? He can NOT let it go. He's a dog with a bone. You ARE his wife, this was love at first sight. He settles a deal with the circus owner. Working hard labor and nearly dying. He doesn't even get paid... just paid in information about you. He goes to your college... you're so sweet... but, engaged. He does GRAND gestures of love. Your name in a heart written on the sky by a plane, a field of your favorite flowers, the works. So you marry him instead. He goes to war... but escapes. No way that man will EVER be ripped away from you once he's had you.

Dip Talk: HI I MISSED YOU ALL. I'M BACK

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Man over Machine

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

Alien: You must understand our line of thinking.

Human: I understand it is stupid beyond measure.

Alien: *Sighs

Alien: It is only logical to use mechanical soldiers in modern warfare.

Alien: Anything less is purely barbaric.

Human: You reduce war to little more than 1’s and 0’s.

Alien: What we do is remove needless bloodshed.

Alien: No longer are brave soldiers dying on forgotten worlds, no longer will families grieve for loved ones who will never return; no longer would we need monuments to the fallen.

Alien: Disagreements could be settled without a drop of blood being shed.

Human: You turn it into a game.

Alien: Exactly.

Human: No; you’d be turning war into a game, and that’s never a good thing.

Human: You can’t reduce war to a simple equation.

Alien: It sounds more like you just wish to continue your carnal desire for violence.

Human: Do you think so little of us?

Alien: Yes.

Human: ……

Human: *Sighs

Human: We’ve tried using machines in war before.

Human: On the surface yes, it did appear better.

Human: Military causalities were but a fraction of what they would have normally been had we used real soldiers, but there were other problems that soon cropped up.

Alien: Such as?

Human: Lack of morality was a large factor in the programs discontinuation.

Alien: Morality?

Alien: What use does a machine have of that?

Human: Because not everything is always black and white; there are shades of grey that only a living breathing person can recognize and handle.

Alien: Absurdity

Human: We used the robot CS95 battle machines during our initial conflicts. When it was deployed it was programmed to treat anyone holding a weapon as an enemy combatant and terminate them immediately.

Human: They cleared out an entire city in a single day before issuing the all clear signal.

Human: When living soldiers arrived to provide relief efforts they were horrified to discover that the entire city’s population had been massacred.

Alien: While tragic it sounds like a faulty programming error.

Human: I would say a big fucking program error.

Human: The programmer had not thought it necessary to properly define the scope of the term “weapon”, and so the machines began their own search on what classified as a weapon.

Human: There isn’t an item in human creation that hasn’t been used to murder another human, and so the machines deemed everyone they encounter a valid target.

Human: Men, women, children, soldier, civilian; it didn’t matter.

Alien: A lapse in programming quality still does not outweigh the benefits of bloodless wars.

Human: That’s what we thought and so we added additional layers of programming to better define combatants. So the next time they were deployed they would not make the same mistake.

Human: Unbeknownst to anyone an additional line of code was slipped in deep within the programming that designated anyone with a specific skin pigment as an active combatant, regardless if they had a weapon or not.

Alien: Why would they do that?

Human: They were what we call a “Nazi”, and thought people of a select orientation only deserved to live.

Alien: That’s horrible.

Human: Yeah.

Human: They kept spouting that shit from their court-martial all the way to the hangman’s gallows.

Human: The point being still that because the machines lacked any sense of morality they followed orders without question, causing untold damage and destruction on innocents.

Alien: Refinements in programming and further oversight can still correct such problems.

Human: So can a living soldier with a conscious.

Alien: Come now; a soldier can just as easily follow orders as the machines did and have the same result.

Human: The difference being that not all of them would.

Human: Some of them would realize what they are doing is wrong and question it, and if needed refuse said orders.

Human: We have even been aware of our short comings and made it the law of the land that if they feel an order is unlawful they can refuse it entirely.

Alien: Yet another contradiction.

Alien: Soldiers are meant to follow orders.  

Human: Wrong.

Human: Machines are meant to follow orders blindly.

Human: Soldiers are meant to follow orders with integrity.

[d-dantes]

⋆｡°·☁︎ ─── • 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲

Pairing: Vergil x F!reader

Warnings: Reader is a demon but there are no specific traits listed, established relationship / childhood friends -> strangers -> lovers, clawing, missionary, slight nipple play, creampie. Takes place before the events of DMC3 / coincides with the mangas code 1 and 2.

Wordcount: 5k

Notes: Of course I wrote him before Dante lmao. For my beloved @katsukikitten

It had been years since you two had last seen Vergil, life proving to be inherently cruel to have you pine for a soul whose progenitor separated the mortal realm and hell from one another. Erecting a barrier that sealed the worst type of creatures together with a tyrant, issuing peace to fragile humans while leaving them ignorant to the suffering their savior wrought for his own kind. 

Power struggles worsening already unloving homes much like the one you hailed from, conditioned to fight and fend for yourself at a young age. Beaten and battered, starved and poisoned with the reasoning to build you stronger to topple the rankings of those still loyal to the temporarily vanquished king Mundus. 

Only freed of your torment by a stroke of pure luck, slipping through a tear in the barrier between your world and his. Landing at his feet in a heap, weakened yet feral and ferocious in your defensive caution as you lunged at the young boy with a knife nearly too big for your hand at that age. You blame his overpowering of you on your lack of sleep and malnutrition, you pin your surrender on a lapse in judgment from the poison in your veins. 

If only your tyrannical father could see you in the weeks to months that followed, essentially in the lap of luxury of Makai’s traitorous lineage as you tentatively shared a space with that family, willingly and (your best kept secret) happily after some time. Nurtured, housed and fed thanks to the benevolence of Vergil’s dearly departed mother Eva despite her son bringing home the most unconventional of strays.

Even in adolescence you figured she always wanted a daughter that Sparda obviously hadn’t provided her with, but you were never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

And like all children, you assume you’re indestructible (the twins only proved to exacerbate this notion), that you’ve all the time in the world. Puppy love cultivating in your time together only to bicker and fight like cats and dogs whenever Vergil’s younger brother playfully gagged and mockingly sang a childish song in regard to the overt affinity between one another. 

You were both young and ignorant to the atrocities that would cleave you two from one another’s arms; but, much like flesh and bone, what is meant to be one will return as such. 

You won’t gift fate all the glory to the reunion either, not with how tirelessly you searched for Vergil that fateful night. You could smell blood on the wind amidst the flames and ash, both demon and his own. You never lost hope because you never found his body, only the skeletal remains of the same creatures that attacked Eva and set the home ablaze. 

Spending your teenage years hunting down any creature that even mumbled a ghosting mention of the twin sons of Sparda. Most of the leads only ending short with nothing to show for it besides guiding you to the next pathetic sod that sullied the legacy of Sparda in the form of his two sons. 

Only gleaning some good news from some of the lower level swill that Dante was alive and relatively well. You looked into his business and, despite the dilapidated building and the lack of clientele, he was doing as fine as he could be. 

At least he found the girl he’d lost that same night, his own soft spot to fight for instead of solely for the disdain he held for half of his genetic makeup. 

But with Dante’s very existence breeds an unrest that he’s founded a business model upon. A stirring in the underworld mercenaries doubling as devil hunters whisper trade secrets your keen ears pick up on. Often nothing notable, typical happenings of demons kicking up a fuss for hired hands to fight over silencing. 

Dante didn’t chase boring cases and as you linger on the fringes of his awareness to ascertain definitively that he was doing fine on his own, you realize the infamy of his name brings jobs to his doorstep in the form of a portly man. Something of a shifty sort for certain but you’d be hard pressed to find a soul that didn’t fit that bill in society's underbelly. 

You expend little effort to tail the man, keen ears perked to eavesdrop on the conversation you can tell the young mercenary isn’t entirely interested in hearing but you glean plenty from the exchange. 

Dante denies at first, scoffs at the details of the job but something about it engenders a familiar foreboding feeling in the pit of your stomach, an instinctual reaction that foments your involvement. 

You don’t understand how Dante could choose to turn down a job with a promise of hefty payment simply because he deemed it boring but you don’t entirely share the same sentiment. He only agrees himself because of the soft voice that makes mention of looming payments with empty pockets but you’re already kicking away from the dingy brick wall for a jumpstart on the case. 

You know in your heart the scent of a setup but you find Vergil in the midst of it by chance alone, fate will never earn your thanks when it’s what tore you asunder. Only pouncing on him in the first place because you didn’t recognize him and the details of Dante’s job said nothing about a man’s presence. You’ve plenty of rage to spare and expend as you topple the figure from the momentum with your engraved dagger he’d gifted you as a child held closely to his adams apple. He only blinks, the ghost of a smirk quirking one side of his lip towards before he exhales a breathless chuckle.

“I see the way you make your presence known hasn’t changed even after all these years,” but there’s a tenderness to his gaze, a sense of relief as he drinks in the sight of you as you lower the dagger that fits well in your hand now, no longer oversized and awkward. 

The voice is more mature now, still soft but smooth in only a way his could ever be and he still styles the starlit locks gifted from his father the same way he did as a child; hell bent on distancing his similarities to his younger twin in any way he can. 

Your heart pounds in your chest, hastening its pace as you lean up slightly to really take him in. Same icy hues and serious expression but he still bore a boyish look about him, especially as he wears that ghost of a smirk on full lips.  

“V?” gasped as you sit up completely now, back arched as you hold your position but you lessen the pressure on the blade at his throat though you don’t completely remove it. Not yet, shapeshifters have tried to fool you with your beloved's face once before and though you saw through the farcical figure you’ve never been one to let your guard down so easily. 

His lids flutter slightly at the affectionate nickname you’d assigned to him, having haven’t heard it for a decade, it sounds like music to his ears. Vergil hums a response before snatching your wrist in his broad palm to disarm you but he makes no threatening move following the action. 

If you weren’t certain before of the man beneath you being your lost beloved, you were now. There were only two beings in existence that have been fast enough to disarm or react to your attacks and both of them were related to one another. 

Dante and Vergil. 

Whether you meant to or not, tension bleeds from your body as you subtly lean into him as Vergil sit’s upright. Neither of you detangle from one another and you familiarize yourself with his scent as you tilt your face towards his coyly, “don’t tell me you’re playing an elaborate game of hide and seek with Dante.” 

“Unlikely,” Vergil scoffs but says little more, his mother was no longer living in order to chastise him about his relationship with his younger brother. He has plans that include his brother but his involvement was not yet required. 

He pivots the conversation away from the subject of his brother as easily as he always has, silently and through physical redirection. Vergil skillfully spins your dagger in his hand and holds the hilt to you with his fingers pinching the blade. As you snatch it from him in a huff and your signature bratty pout, Vergil’s arms position behind the backs of your knees and around your up back to hoist you into a princess carry as he stands. 

Your nails dig into his chest, just above his diaphragm from the sudden movement but he does little more than grunt in annoyance more than pain, “this isn’t my first time carrying you.” 

“And this isn’t my first time clawing you for it,” you nearly hissed but relax in his hold nonetheless, resting your temple on his collarbone, “warn a girl first and maybe I wouldn’t have.” 

“Lies still favor that tongue of yours? You’d fight me regardless, there’s less fuss this way.” 

It’s comforting how familiar and easy interacting with him feels already, choosing to respond to him with a simple yet playfully petulant, ‘hmph.’ 

Vergil carries you from the streets and the steadiness of his gait, the rhythmic thump of his heart in his chest and the even draw of his breath threatens to lull you into an impromptu catnap. Familiarity fighting at the fringes of your reality as you recall him carrying you just like this whenever you first met. The memory of it paints your features in serenity as your fist the lapel of the vibrant velour blue coat, curiously glancing around at your surroundings as Vergil shoulders through a pair of intricately designed despite deteriorating with age double doors. 

You ascertain quickly this building is something of an archaic hotel, the vacant space obviously a lobby but you don’t ever realize how truly vast the spaces are until it’s devoid of decoration. 

There’s a crescent shaped desk towards the rearmost point of the room where dual staircases adorn either edge and lead to the second floor. You trail it with your eyes first as Vergil nears the mouth of the left set, glancing about to see rows seating and tables draped in sheets dingy from decades old dust. 

Running your fingertip along the banister as Vergil ascends the steps that lead to two sets of stainless steel doors in dire need of polishing. The only lighting in the space comes from the moon hanging high in the sky bleeding through the clerestory and aisle windows alike, casting elongated shadows from the mutins that divide the panes. 

“Auxiliary power,” Vergil answers the question you’ve yet to pose, glancing at you while he presses the button to his desired floor as the doors slip shut and the cabin shifts subtly as it rises. 

“Then why are none of the other lights on? Don’t tell me it’s for the haunted ambiance,” Vergil having always been an enjoyer of different types of literature, poetry being his main preference but he did indulge in gothic horror from what you could remember. He chuckles at your tease, earning a smile of your own because the sound has always been music to your ears though it was much more boyish and carefree the last you’d heard it.

“Auxiliary power prioritizes basic functions, though I’ve tampered with it enough to suit my needs,” plus, even though the building is abandoned doesn’t mean ambient lighting wouldn’t raise a few eyebrows. The last thing Vergil cared to deal with was human interference, the man he works with currently is less than tolerable as is. 

The elevator opens soon after and Vergil traverses the hall until he stops short at the second to last door before the hallways end. You take the liberty yourself of grabbing the crystal cut knob to push the door open yourself, tittering cutely as you sweep your arm in a motion for him to continue as if he weren’t the one carrying you. 

The room is sparsely decorated with a window covered by thick drapes to conceal the illumination of the bedside lamp from the outside world. Only the essentials remain in the room, a queen sized mattress with the bed neatly made but it doesn’t appear untouched by time. 

“You’ve been staying here?” You muse as you’re situated at the edge of the mattress, smoothing out the wrinkles your body causes. 

“For an interim,” he responds as he shrugs off his coat, footfalls muted by the carpet as he approaches the only other door in the room to place it on the hook that decorates it. You beam a wide grin, leaping to your feet as you coo about how divine a shower sounds after you’ve swung the door open to reveal a gorgeous porcelain clawfoot tub with a shower attachment overhead, “necessity dictated proper accommodation. I venture to assume you’re inclined to agree?” 

“Hmm,” you hum coyly, tapping your chin as your other arm folds under your breasts, displaying them more prominently as you spin on your heel. You bend slightly at the waist to tilt closer to him, gently jabbing your finger into Vergil’s sternum but miss how his gaze wander’s lower then back up to meet your gaze, “I suppose. As long as that water is warm, perhaps I may.”

“Ascertain at your leisure,” Vergil’s voice bears a playful lilt so subtle only you could ever pick up on it. 

You shimmy your shoulder alluringly, practically purring a coquettish, “care to verify my findings?” 

He clears his throat at that, faint simper on his lips but his expression appears overly relaxed in your presence; though only for a moment. There’s a notable shift in his demeanor, his gaze flirting to his peripheral as a minute amount of rigidity steals the moment as his fingers tighten around the hilt of yamato. 

“Another time,” he says and you try not to deflate, pouting slightly before he continues, “excuse me for a moment, there’s an irritant for me to handle.” 

You want to follow, to keep him within your sight to subjugate the fear of losing him again that gnaws at the floor of your heart. He stops you short, however, tilting his head slightly and the intention imbued in his words puts you at ease, “I will return, you’ll have to enlighten me of your findings when I do.” 

A heat floods your system, smile painting pretty features as your fingers wrap around the curtain of the fixture, “prepare for a dissertation if it isn’t to my standards, V.” 

He hums as he gives you his back, dull thuds of his boots singling his departures as he leaves you with no further parting words. 

You’re sure to have plenty to say upon his return but you won’t make mention of how alike the siblings truly were and how in sync they acted without intention. You can hardly stifle your giggle though as you turn the ornate knobs on the shower and test the temperature before shedding your clothes to enjoy a well earned, scalding hot shower. 

What were the odds that both siblings would find lodging in buildings forgotten even by the city? 

You don’t dwell on the thought long after stepping into the shower, near moaning at the divine heat that delightfully stings the surface of your skin. Standing under the spray just to bask in the warmth before passing your palms over your body as if to store the warmth in your muscles. 

Thoroughly relishing the moment before reaching for the gently used, eggshell white brick of soap. You lather it between your hands first, turning it over a number of times for a generous amount to coat your palms before starting at the slopes of your shoulders and working your way down. Losing yourself in the comfortable embrace of the steam and Vergil’s fragrance.  

You almost wish to have taken a bath instead but you weren’t sure how long Vergil would be gone. The tub seemed big enough for two, it would be such a waste not to test the hypothesis another time. You weren’t sure how long the two of you would linger in this building but you knew one thing definitively; you weren’t leaving alone. Not again. 

Nipping the train of thought in the bud before it could even hope to sour your mood, closing the faucet with a bereft sigh. You would live under the stream if you could but the temperature would run tepid before long. 

You rip open the curtain to snatch quickly for the towel on the wall adjacent to fight a possible chill. Wrapping the still plush fabric around you securely as you exit the room, steam rolling out as you survey your surroundings. 

Vergil’s yet to return but it hasn’t been long enough to worry you. Padding towards the single bed at the center of the space and scooping up his abandoned coat. Holding it to your face to breathe him in as a salacious thought crosses your mind. Cheshire grin contorting your features mischievously as you let your towel drop and pool at your feet. 

Donning his signature coat next and nothing else, toying with the lapels and situating it to your form for an artfully scantily clad look before positioning yourself onto the mattress. You crawl to the center and posture yourself into a seductive yet leisurely lounge for him to stumble upon. Glancing at the nightstand to find a book you recognize well, inscribed with an ornate initial ‘V’ full of fanciful swirls. 

The pages are still well loved, the spine yet unbroken and you can still pick out his favorite poems by the wrinkling of the edges. 

You don’t have to wait long for his return, however, only getting a few pages deep in the composition of poems before the door opens quietly. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance, an exasperated sigh still in the midst of leaving his lips as the door clicks closed. Vergil rolls his shoulders and you swear your mouth could water at the way his back flexes without his coat to hide the scene away. 

“Feeling tense?” You coo to call his attention, letting your palm splay over the space beside you and pat enticingly. Vergil rolls his neck next, slowly turning to glance over his shoulder at you before pivoting in his heel. His brow raises subtly at your state of undress before he lets his shoulders sag, chin tilted upwards as if to mask his subtle ogling. 

But you’ve seen a hungry man’s gaze time and again, though none have ever felt as exhilarating as his own. 

“Want me to help you unwind?” You beckon him closer as you wag your finger in a come hither motion, slowly turning to lay in your back and with the new position more skin is exposed for Vergil to drink in. Your legs still crossed to cover your slit but even then you tease him, shifting until only your ankles cross and he can see your bare mound. 

He joins you with ease, naturally, weight dipping the mattress and pressing into you as he settles down. Arms thick with corded muscle slip beneath your body in a half embrace as you cup his cheek affectionately. 

Vergil turns slightly, brushing his lips over the heel of your palm, once, twice before cupping over the back of your hand to lay another chaste peck to the pulse point on your wrist. Trailing lower with another placed to your forearm before he leans to kiss your shoulder only to be stopped short in his journey before he can dip to your throat.  

Watching glacial hues flick towards your lips, dip lower to tease himself with the gratuitous cleavage on display that you apparently don’t want him to appreciate quite yet as the pads of your fingers press into the hollows of his cheeks. You hold fast when he pulls back the slightest bit, no real pressure to truly hold him in place and the moment reminds Vergil of how you both used to train and dance as children. In tune with one another then and now, nearly making his lids flutter at the feeling.

“Temptress,” Vergil husks as he gently pries himself from your grasp, leaning to close the gap and seal his lips over yours. A fleeting yet firm contact and his lips are soft, plush and perfect against your own before it’s over as quickly as it began. 

“You’ll learn to love it,” a sultry purr as you tip his chin with the claw of your index finger while the other rests on his chest, points of your freshly manicured nails pressing minuscule divots into the taut flesh of his bare chest. 

He’s tired of being denied already, obviously so with the roll of his eyes before he takes both of your hands with only one of his own. Vergil’s fingers lock firms around both of your wrists, crossing them as he lifts them above your head. The new position exposes you, placing your bosom on full display, nipples pebbling from the brush of the fabric and the cool air of the room.

Vergil basks in the sight of you, crystalline hues committing the rise and fall of your chest and the thinly veiled, flustered expression on your pretty face to memory. Stealing another kiss before crawling lower, adorning you in the affections. Your throat, as previously desired, your clavicle, your sternum, then to the tops of each of your breasts as he soughs against your skin, “I’m not that patient boy you once knew.”

You’re writhing beneath him, thighs clenching together as arousal warms your blood at every action. Still, as you always had, you work for an upper hand, arching into him with a sensual sigh, “you were patient before?”

It’s a gentle tease, one that births a lighthearted scoff as he sets to do as he pleases. First pressing a kiss to the bottom of your sternum as he inhales slowly, breathing in the aroma of fresh soap and what still lingers of your own body wash. It’s an intoxicating mix, the respective scents of one another and it makes his blood thrum in his veins. Placing another kiss along the valley of your breasts as he palms a greedy handful of the pliant flesh and settle more comfortably between your thighs. 

You can feel the rigidity of his cock through the thin material of his trousers as he gently kneads you as his thumb brushes over a pebbling nipple, making you arch into his touch with a sigh. Dampening his crotch with each upwards jerk of your hips at the stimulation, the friction to your clit maddening, leaving you near ravenous.

Singing in soft suspires the moment Vergil releases his hold on you to give equal attention to your chest. His lips wrap around the bud he toyed with cruelly while the other mimics his earlier ministrations.

“V, V, more V baby, please,” as your nails comb through the soft spikes of his hair and rake gently at his scalp. Tugging more insistently when he ignores your plea, growling slightly as he releases your nipple with a lewd pop.

Vergil's lips hungrily seal over yours, brushing your tongue along the seam of his lips and you moan appreciatively when he grants you entry. Wet muscle sliding over his as Vergil reaches between your bodies to undo his pants. Unclasping the button with ease as you hastily yank at the material of his shirt, buttons snapping free and landing with deft thuds against the thick comforter. 

“Who’s the one lacking in patience now,” he mutters into your mouth, shrugging the sleeves from his arms as your hands slide along his skin beneath his shirt to rid him of it faster. 

“You tease too much,” you all but whine as you toss away his shirt with a sneer like the garment offended you. Chasing his lips as Vergil shoves his pants and boxers down his thighs, allowing them to slip lower with his movements. 

“Forgive me then,” Vergil sighs between chasing kisses. He fits the web of his palm around the base of his erection, jumping in his hold as he head glides through your folds, coating himself in your wetness. Cockhead kissing your clit, leaving you keening salaciously with his name on your lips before his tip catches on your entrance. 

His hips roll into you slowly, giving you a taste of every inch that sinks into you as Vergil placidly groans with every convulsion of your cunt that envelops him until he’s buried to the hilt. You both feel like you’re engulfed in an inferno but you’ve no desire to separate. 

Indulging in one another as you adjust to the size of Vergil, canting your hips beneath him and the action has his tip nudge into a patch that rips a moan from your lips too sinful to selfishly swallow. 

He wants the sound of your pleasure to haunt the halls for the years to come like they’ll plague his every waking and dreaming hour henceforth. Vergil’s hips jerk into yours to earn another and a gasp to follow it as he drags his hips slowly backwards, sinking into you at nearly the same pace as the first. 

You writhe and you whine beneath him, nails digging into Vergil’s back before raking angry red lines into alabaster flesh. His pace is rhythmic and steady, slowly dragging his hips back until only his tip is still sheathed before sinking into you with a shuddered groan. The grind of his pelvis into your clit leaves you twitching, gradually working you closer to release but hardly fast enough. 

You lift your legs, bringing your knees close to the bottom of his ribcage as you lock your ankles at the small of his back. Your thighs clench as he continues as he has, digging your heel gently yet insistently into the base of his spine. 

“Greedy,” Vergil growls but he responds with a hastened pace, his own demise steadily approaching. Teeth tugging delicately at your bottom lip as he pulls away, decorating you with a smattering of kisses beginning at the corner of your lip, over your cheek and ending with a press to the hinge of your jaw. He smirks at how you crane your throat to grant him any access he covets, rewarding you with a hastened pace and his lips gracing the skin over your thrumming pulse. Your nails bite into his skin, a delightful sword of pain added to the plethora of pleasure he continues to cultivate, laying another kiss before nipping at your earlobe, “don't whine, craving more?” 

You whimper at the tease, squirming as you sigh out breathy exhales in affirmation. He couldn’t deny you if he wanted to now, knees digging into the mattress as he slams into you with a bit more force. Jostling your body and knocking the headboard against the drywall it rests against. 

The steady crawl hastens to a hurdle into euphoria then, arching into Vergil but you can do little else but take him at this pace. Mewling the syllables of his name with broken gasps as your head presses back into the superfluous amount of pillows beneath you. Claws biting into the flesh of his back and your heels dig into his lower lumbar with a bruising force.  

Then the coil in your lower belly snaps, moaning prettily as euphoria washes over you in waves and Vergil works you through the high. Keeping his pace as he sits up and grips at the fat of your hips, pulling you into his ruts, satisfied smirk gracing his features as you babble his name. 

Prolonging your high for a few moments longer when the vice grip of your velvet walls sends him careening from the precipice of pleasure he’d been teetering on for so long. Filling you full, continuing to rock his hips into yours in slower ruts that the rhythmic slap of wood against plaster is replaced by pitiful whines and the lewd squelch of your cunt. 

He takes a moment to revel in the afterglow of your coupling, drinking in the sight of your heaving chest as he leans down to press another kiss to your sternum. Thumbs massaging soothing circles into the space where your hips and pelvis meet before unsheathing his spent cock. You twitch and whine at the loss but little else, Vergil shushing you softly as he sinks to lay beside you in the mattress. 

Arranging your bodies to lay on your side and curl slightly around you, unbothered by the tacky feeling from the sheen of sweat painting both of your skin. You settle comfortably against him, wiggling your ass against Vergil playfully as you glance over your shoulder at him. 

His eyes are closed, a serene expression on his features that makes your heart swell. How many years had it been since you last saw him look so peaceful? Carefree instead of burdened by a history you’ve yet to learn but now long to in this small sanctuary. 

You reach back to cradle his jaw in your loving hands once again and he cracks a lid open curiously at you. 

“Falling asleep?” You murmur as you bring your lips to his, casually and unhurried before you part long enough to finally ask, “V, baby, where have you been?”

He’s silent for a long moment after that, exhaling slowly as he contemplates how to truly answer that question. Posed innocently but the answer bears a substantial weight. He knows you mean more, to be enlightened of a history already laden with grief and strife alike you weren’t there to bear witness to and weather alongside him. 

Where would he even begin? Vergil couldn’t be sure, but there was one thing he knew without a shadow of a doubt. 

“Certainly too far from where I’ve longed to be.”