Sunlight     creeps     through     the    window     (     there     is     warmth     within     the   room,     and     usually,     it     would     bother     her     that     his     shitty     blinds     don’t     prevent     it     ).    this     time,     however,     it     doesn’t,     and     she     cannot     tell     if     it’s     because     she’s     exhausted     and     worn     out,     or   simply     the     fact     that     he’s     there.     Amber     likes     to     think     she     has     no     heart     (     a     plastic,     blood     –     pumping     machine    !     Nothing     more     ),     and     because   she     has     no     heart,     it     doesn’t     matter     who     leaves     and     comes     and     goes     and     what   they     will     say.     Because     she’s     used     to     people     leaving     (     her     mother     leaves     and     comes     back     when     it’s     convenient     for     her,   when     she’s     out     of     that     fucking     shithole   Rotti     places     her     whenever     she’s     not     as     good     as     he     needs     her     needs     to     be     );     she’s     used     to     people    leaving     and     never     coming     back     and     them   not     giving     a     shit     if     she     cares.

                  He    comes     back,     though.     He     comes     back     each     fucking     time,     and     maybe     that’s     just   as     bad,     because     it     means     she     has     learned    to     expect     him     to     return     –     expect     him     to     let     her     creep     into     his     bed     and     wake     her     up     like     this,     with     a    kiss     to     her     temple.

                  His    heartbeat     is     soft     (     her     head     rests     on     his     bare     chest,     she     can     feel     it     still,     beating     feeble     yet     constant,     unlike     her     own     designer     organ     that     just     pumps     blood     madly     most     of     the     time     ),     and    when     he     presses     another     kiss     to     the     top    of     her     hair,     Amber     flutters     her     eyes     open,     and     the     light     of     the     morning     sun   blinds     her     –     it’s     like     Icarus     getting    too     close,     too     close     to     anything     good     and     warm     and     happy     –     and     as     she     raises     her     gaze     and     meets     his     eyes,     blue   and     weathered     by     endless     working     nights     without     sleep,     she     smiles     at     him,     “     good     morning.     I’m     glad     you’re     not     dead,    ‘cause     i’m     gonna     want     round     six     in     the     shower     in     about     five     minutes.”

@sixfound​ said: “ i’m not leaving you. ”

HE CARRIES A TREMENDOUS promise on the arch of his tongue. Loki’s digits offer solace to the tears falling in mascara laced rivers down her cheeks. Sweet words are whispered, followed by a splattering of kisses on her ear. Still, Diana remains cautious, her expression almost tepid despite the soft glint of a smile on her lips. His fingers linger on her cheek, and she cranes her neck to kiss the skin of his thumb, tongue flattening against the bone. She wants to taste him, to feel him. What she does not want, however, is for them to make anymore promises that they will almost certainly break. Because she knows that he is who he is and she is who she is, and they cannot promise to never leave, just like they cannot promise to always return home. Loving each other, though, is enough. It has to be. 

@sixfound​ said: ❛ i really should get a sense of humor ❜

DIANA AND LOKI ARE two star-crossed dancers who long ago retired their dancing shoes, yet their bodies remember the steps. It’s a tango that entwines them, even after ages apart. A hand of his curled on her hip, a hand of hers grazing his knuckles. Although they ache to press tightly into each other, there’s a hesitance that lingers between them, for both are reluctant to pop the balloon of this dream. Surely, it’s a dream? Them being here, together. In her apartment. Him in his black detective jacket, and her in a little white dress. Their touches, though slight, perhaps even awkward, light a flame of desire inside Diana’s. One that’s quickly growing into an inferno. 

         sun rays MUTED by dark tinted windows weren’t obscured enough to keep hotch from squinting at the tablet in his hand. the sonoran desert was vast, yet somehow he felt like it was all closing in on him. it had been too long since he’d slept and his nerves were shot, but nothing showed on his STONE-CARVED features. a lifetime-old mask ensured the line of his lips stayed unyielding, eyes scrutinizing, posture stiff. 

        the air conditioning provided the illusion of comfort, an illusion that would melt the moment they stepped out onto the hot asphalt. aaron spared a glance toward the driver’s seat, nothing had been said since they’d left the FIELD OFFICE. he was comfortable with silence, but he didn’t care much for unanswered questions.