#Cell phone dock

[babybluebex]

needs and wants | eric aqpdo x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: in the direct aftermath of the apocalypse, you meet a man who's worse for wear in just about every regard. even though you can't do too much to heal his injuries, it's possible that you can heal his heart. wc 10.6k (she's a doozy) 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: eric (a quiet place: day one, 2024) x fem!reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: SPOILERS FOR AQPDO, DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU DON'T WANT THE FILM SPOILED!, mentions of death/general apocalypse things, panic attacks, mentions of suicidal thoughts/actions (if you know eric's backstory that ended up cut from the film, he talks ab it), far too much intimacy for what this is, smut (minors dni): p in v, tit sucking, condom use 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: umm... i have no excuse for this... other than i need eric on a carnal level lol. hope you enjoy!!

It was funny how your whole world could change in a single day. And it was supposed to be a good day too; you had racked up enough PTO to allow yourself a full day off of work, and you had plans. You were going to brunch with your girlies that you hadn’t seen since nursing school, you were going to rent a movie at home, watch rom-coms in your underwear— you looked forward to sleeping in, taking a bubble bath, going to sleep early. You only achieved one part of that: you hadn’t even received the mimosa pitcher you had ordered when you heard the noise outside, as loud as a rocket taking off on the street just outside the hip brunch place, and you had hardly turned to look out the window when your world fell apart. 

Silence became your norm. Fear overtook you at every turn, giving your hands a perpetual shake that you weren’t certain would ever wear off. You didn’t know too much psychological or neurological stuff— you were a trauma nurse, emergency room and ICU type stuff, you were more concerned with stopping the blood flow and stabilizing vitals than ever caring about the after-effects of shit— but you wondered if the shaking of your hands was forever part of you now. You were good under pressure, never scared, but whatever the fuck those creatures were out there had changed the makeup of your being in a single second. 

When the helicopters buzzed overhead, drawing the monsters toward them and away from the city, and they announced that boats were departing from a nearby dock, you knew you had to go. More than saving yourself, you knew some very hurt and very sick people would gather there. You were sure that FEMA people would be swarming the boats to take care of the sick and injured, but you didn’t know what else to do. Your brain went on a sort-of autopilot, and you did the only thing you could think to do: you followed the crowd out to the docks. 

You had never gone that long without talking. Your throat was so dry from debris and dust anyway that you weren’t even sure that you could talk. Your clothes were torn, various small injuries that weren’t anything some disinfectant and a Band-Aid couldn’t fix, along with a gash on your calf that you had determined would be fine for now but could definitely use some tending-to once on the boat, plus your shaky hands, but otherwise you were fine. When the windows shattered and the monsters invaded, your table had overturned from the force of the sonic blast, and your animal instincts kicked in, throwing yourself behind the table and barricading there. You were one of the lucky ones— you lived. Sure, glass cut up your knees and palms, and you couldn’t even breathe without worrying that your breaths would alert the monsters, but you had lived. That was more than some could say. 

You felt packed out like sardines on the boat. Standing room only, except for the few exceptions of the people who were hurt or passed out. You had meager belongings in your pockets, although you weren’t sure how helpful your dead cell phone or essentially-useless credit cards would be in a time like this, but at least you had your work badge in your purse when you went to brunch. You found someone who looked like they were in charge, dressed in all-grey, not a military uniform but not civilian clothes either, and you silently showed them your badge, declaring yourself as a trauma nurse at a hospital in Brooklyn, and you gestured around, trying to ask if there was anything you could do to help. The woman shook her head, but folded her hands in a sort of ‘thank-you’ gesture.

You managed to stand towards the back of the ship, against the railing, next to the ladder, and you flinched at the loud chug of the boat casting off from the dock. Surely the monsters heard that. Everybody around you seemed to hold a deep breath, anticipatory, awaiting the worst to come at your final moments of salvation, but thankfully the monsters weren’t concerned with you all— maybe you were too far out in the water and, if the announcements from the helicopters were to be believed, the monsters couldn’t swim, so they didn’t care too much about the boat. Or maybe, the sudden sound of glass shattering from the shore, followed by shrill car alarms, captured their attention better. 

You watched, horrified, as you spotted a woman racing down the street, hardly noticeable from the distance, but the sun glinted off of a silver metal pipe in her hand as she raised it in the air, and she smashed the window of the car next to her as she raced away. 

“Hell’s she doing…?” The man next to you mumbled, and you instinctively put your hand on his shoulder to silence him, even though there was no need. The world had changed in a day, habits had formed in 24 hours, and you wondered how long it would take to shake the new habits. You watched the woman flit between cars, trying to outpace the monsters as she smashed windows, but then something else caught your attention. On the dock, there was a man. Wearing a yellow sweater, carrying something that you couldn’t identify, running like his life depended on it towards the edge of the dock. And maybe it did; a few straggling monsters had started after him instead of the woman, and he had to have known as well as you did that the water was safe. 

Your heart rammed up into your throat as he ran, faster and faster, white sneakers hitting the metal dock, and he looked over his shoulder for a moment at the monster that was meters, feet, away from him, before he righted himself forward and hurtled himself off the edge of the dock. Everyone on the boat was watching now as he flew for a brief moment, suspended in the air as time stood still, and then plummeted into the water below. The monsters skidded to a halt at the edge of the dock, one curled claw extended out, a scrap of yellow cardigan stuck on its talon. 

By now, everyone had come to the same conclusion, and started to gather at the ladder onboarding right next to you— the man would need help coming aboard. You all watched anxiously as he surfaced from the water, frantically looking around and gulping air as he tried to keep his head above water and orient himself. Finally, he looked towards the boat, and you could have sworn that he looked at you instead of anybody else. He gained his senses quickly, starting to swim out towards the boat, and you caught sight of the little white whatever-it-was he was holding: a cat. The cat seemed safe and unharmed, definitely soggy but no worse for wear, and you crouched down, extending your arm down the ladder to meet him. 

You didn’t have the strength to help pull him aboard, but the man who had spoken next to you gently moved you, and he grasped the wet man’s arm and pulled him up the last few rungs of the ladder. He heaved breaths, his eyes all big and round as he took in his surroundings. Then, if you were unsure whether he was looking at you before or not, he extinguished any doubts you had this time around, because his eyeline landed on you. He was startled, hurt, traumatized— those wet eyes had seen some things, worse than you had seen. 

You helped him move away from the ladder and back towards a more secluded part of the boat, and the FEMA woman you had “talked” to before came to your side, a first aid kit in one hand and a heavy wool blanket in the other. 

“Sir?” you croaked. Jesus Christ, speaking really was a challenge. You cleared your throat, hoping that would improve things, and you said, “Sir, are you hurt?” 

He shook his head quickly, clutching the cat in his arms, and you spotted the gash on his shin. The leg of his pants was torn and shredded, and you could bet that the wound was pretty fresh. “You can speak,” you told him gently. “We’re safe here.” 

He looked at you, tears streaming down his face, and in a hushed voice, said, “How can you be so sure?” 

They said the boat ride would last through the day and you would arrive by nightfall, but FEMA assured you that the destination would be worth it. A little island, they said, off the northern coast of the state, that used to house a summer camp but was abandoned however long ago. The buildings there, houses, old camp cabins, would take some sprucing up, they told you, but it was safe, and it could turn into home. As night fell, factions were made, and people divided as best as possible— the vulnerable ones, the hurt ones, the kids, went to the inside part of the boat, and the healthy stayed outside, huddled under the wool blankets and trying to forget the cold November ocean air berating their faces. 

The yellow-cardiganed man was moved inside, and you moved through the small crowd in there, doing what you could to help. Passing out crackers and water bottles, winding gauze around bloody injuries, squeezing hands and offering small words of encouragement. It wasn’t a lot, but it felt good to help. 

Eventually, you couldn’t ignore your fatigue anymore, and you sat down on the floor against the back wall with a sigh. It was a low din inside there, so you felt relatively safe making a little bit of noise, and you sniffled and zipped open the inside pocket of your coat. The stuff you had stashed from your purse was in there, and you frowned down at your brick of a cell phone, the screen shattered. You cast it aside, then pulled out your wallet, rifling through it to see what went missing. Thankfully, your license was still there, so if anybody needed identification at any point, you had that covered; an old fast food gift card that you were sure still had money on it but was useless now; and an old paper movie ticket that you had saved with the intention of putting it in a scrapbook. Your heart panged with hurt, and you checked every other section of your wallet, but it was empty. 

Your house keys were certainly back on the floor of the restaurant, and you thought about the key to your mother’s house that lived on the ring. You hadn’t been able to contact her since the monsters came— the last thing you said to her was a text the morning of brunch, telling her to have a good day, and she had sent the classic mom :-) emoticon to you. Was she still alive? Had she managed to escape the monsters? Even though she didn’t live in the city, you wondered how far the monsters had traveled. Her neighbors were a family, with a high-school age son who played basketball and mowed your mother’s lawn; for your sanity, you chose to believe that they had taken her in (along with her prized African violets). 

A little noise came from in front of you, someone clearing their throat, and you looked up through your welling tears to see him. Damp yellow cardigan, wool blanket loose around his shoulders, curls wet and flat to his forehead. He stood still, watching you for a moment, before he spoke, a little louder than the first time but still a whisper. “Never caught your name,” he said. An accent. Not a native New Yorker. 

You told him with a shrug. Your eyes canvassed his frame, watching him shiver a little in what was probably an adrenaline rush, and your eyes landed on that nasty cut on his shin. It wasn’t actively bleeding, but still very red. It looked maybe a little inflamed, a tiny bit swollen, and you started to reach out for it, but stopped yourself. Your hands were filthy and, if infection was already setting in the way you suspected it was, whatever germs you had probably weren’t good for the wound. You withdrew your hand and settled in your lap, and you cleared your throat. “One of the FEMA people can help with that,” you told him, nodding towards his leg. “Bandages and anti-inflammatories and shit.” 

“Aren’t you a nurse?” the man asked, now his turn to nod at you. You had clipped your badge to the collar of your coat and, even though the plastic flower that had once surrounded the metal clip was shattered and long gone, the clip still served its purpose. 

“I am,” you said. “But I don’t have bandages.” You cracked a loose smile, and you winced at the bottle of water and pile of crackers next to you on the floor. “I’ve got crackers and water.” 

“I’m starving,” he told you, returning the small smile. “May I?” 

You nodded, and he worked himself down to the floor (he seemed to be favoring his left ankle a little, the same leg with the gash). He settled back against the wall, sighing heavily, and he took a pack of crackers into his hands and read the label for a moment. “‘Peanut butter’,” he read. “D’ya like these?” 

“They’re alright,” you said. “I used to buy the same ones, shove ‘em in my work bag to eat between patients. Kinda bland and gross, but they get the job done.” 

He nodded, and he tore the corner of the plastic sleeve and extracted a peanut butter cracker. “I used to like the ones with, erm, cream cheese and chives,” he said. “A quick snack at work. S’never what I wanted to eat, but sometimes I’d be at the office ‘til late, and at that point, take what you can get, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you agreed. “What did you do?” 

“Lawyer,” he said, popping one of the crackers into his mouth. 

“Oh, shit,” you chuckled. “Yeah, you had some long nights… My sister’s husband is a paralegal, he used to tell me all about it.” 

“Cool,” he told you. “And you, Miss Nurse?”

“And me what?” you asked.

“What’s your husband do?” he asked. 

You laughed. You couldn’t help it. “I’d have to have one of those for him to have a job,” you said. “No, being a nurse is very, like… If you’re not married by the time you leave nursing school, all hope is lost. You won’t ever have any free time to go on dates or even think about that sorta stuff.” 

“Same with law school,” he told you. “All my mates were engaged or married when we graduated, and everyone always told me, ‘Oh, Eric, you’ll find the right girl! She’s out there somewhere’, and it’s like… If she’s not in my office building or on the subway home at 2AM, I’m not meeting her.” 

“You went to school around here?” you asked, and he (you assumed his name was Eric, based on his anecdote) nodded, then shrugged. 

“Cornell,” he said. “Then got hired at a firm in the city, and just… Never left.” 

“Well, that’s cool,” you said lightly. “I’m assuming you’re not from around here?”

He shook his head. “Kent,” he said. “About an hour out from London.”

“Wow,” you said softly. “That change must’ve been… A lot.”

Eric shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. “It was alright, I suppose. At that time, I was sorta fighting with my dad all the time, really wanting to leave and go somewhere but he didn’t want that…” He trailed off, letting the conclusion form by itself. “Haven’t seen ‘em in-person since then. I always said I was busy, or it was too expensive, or… I was supposed to go back home at Christmas… My sister had a baby and I was supposed to meet him then…” He trailed off, obviously at a loss for what else to say, and you sighed.

“I’m sure they’re okay,” you told him, even though you yourself doubted it. “I mean, maybe the monsters are only here. They don’t like water; if they came from here, they can’t get over there.”

Eric nodded slowly. His eyes scanned the room, looking and listening, and he reached his hand out in front of him, making a small noise with his tongue against his teeth. You followed his gaze and found his cat, all furry with white and black spots, being adored and pet by a little boy sitting on a cot close by, and Eric tutted at the cat again. The cat turned their big dark eyes to their owner, and dutifully trotted over, snuggling in-between Eric’s criss-cross-applesauce legs.

“Who’s this?” you asked.

“Frodo,” Eric said, stroking the cat between his ears. Frodo began to purr, his eyes closing blissfully, and Eric said, “He was my friend’s, but she… She told me to take care of him.”

Your mind brought back the image of the woman running, distracting the monsters away from Eric. “Was that the one who…?” you started, and Eric nodded.

“He was her service animal,” he said. “She had cancer, he sort-of alerted her whenever her pain medication was going out… Also kept her company in hospice. He’s quiet, so you don’t have to worry.”

“Well, none of us have to worry about that,” you said, and Eric took in a breath. “Not anymore. Not with the island.”

“Right,” Eric sighed. “Almost forgot.”

“I’m worried I’ll never go back to normal,” you admitted. “Even just two days of thinking like this… Trauma’s so fucking weird.”

Eric nodded in agreement. You caught him staring at your hands, shaking and shivering as they laid in your lap, and he started to unwind the blanket from around himself to settle over you, but you shook your head. “M’not cold,” you told him. “Just… Nervous. Y’know?”

Eric watched you for a moment, making sure that you weren’t bullshitting him (you were a little; your coat was wet through, and you definitely could do with a dry coat, but you would live), and he said, “I think you need to pet my cat.”

“Do I?” you asked with a chuckle.

“You sure do,” Eric nodded. “He doesn’t bite or scratch— he might nibble your fingers a little, but only ‘cause he’s curious.”

You reached out for Frodo, letting him sniff your hand a little before he shoved his solid little head under your fingers, squinting his eyes as you started to scratch behind his ears. You couldn’t help the smile that overtook your face, and you said, “He’s very sweet.”

“He’s smart too,” Eric said. “He can do maths. Look’it: Frodo, what’s one minus one?”

Frodo, of course, responded in silence, and Eric smiled, cocking his head. “I think that’s impressive,” he said, and you huffed out a laugh.

“Silly,” you mumbled under your breath, moving to scratch Frodo on his chin. “When’s the last time he’s eaten? I can try to find something for him.”

“Last night,” Eric said, his smile faltering. “Sam might’ve given him something earlier this morning, but I didn’t wake up until later.”

That’s how you greeted the island, petting Frodo and sharing light stories about your past lives. Nothing too heavy or sad or emotional, even though it felt like any story about your past life held an air of sadness and mourning. You could try to go back to normal, but normal was long gone. As everyone departed the boat under the dusky stars, there was a large team of FEMA workers to greet you with big, heavy bags and send you to an empty cabin for the night. You and Eric (and Frodo) stuck together, and you received your bags and moved down to a cabin. To your surprise, the lights worked, as did a small space heater in the corner, but you can tell it had been running for some time, because the inside was already warm. Several beds were set up and made with thin, government-issued bedsheets, but it was far better than nothing.

You went about unpacking the bag as Eric moved to the small bathroom and shut the door. There was a change of clothes, sweatshirt and pants and underwear and socks, basic toiletries like a toothbrush and shampoo and a small bar of soap, two bottles of water, a plastic packaged MRE (you had Menu 3, “chicken, egg noodles, and vegetables in sauce”), and some things like Band-Aids and small packages of Advil like what you kept stocked in the ER, along with a sanitary napkin, and, the piece de resistance (courtesy of the American government, you’re very welcome), a condom. You frowned at the last thing and slid it into your toiletries bag underneath the bar of soap to hide it; to be frank, sex was the last thing you wanted or needed. Your brain was still in survival mode, and you didn’t even feel like you could settle down enough to sleep, let alone to fuck. Could anybody here?

You heard the shower squeak on in the bathroom, and the pipes creaked as water rushed through. You stripped off your clothes, exchanging them for the warmer and drier and less dirty option, and you sniffled as your fingers began to warm up, becoming less stiff but considerably more sweaty. The bed creaked under you as you sat down, the springs screaming at you, and you rubbed the paper-thin blanket between your fingers. It reminded you of the quality of the hospital, where you might as well be using copy paper instead of fabric. If you had known that your last night in your bed, with your memory foam pillow and weighted blanket, would truly be your last, you would have savored the experience far more. Would you even be warm enough under those blankets?

You couldn’t ponder it any longer, because Frodo suddenly caught a bee in his bonnet, and he skittered from atop the second bed, where Eric had settled his things before he went to the shower. He careened to the closed bathroom door, and he got up on his hind legs, pawing at the door handle. Wordlessly, he craned his tiny head to look at you, and he made the first cat noise you heard him make, a sort of “mrrow” chirping groan. As you got up and went to grab him (“Eric’s just taking a shower, Fro, he’ll be right back”), Frodo turned back to the door and began to bat at the handle, like he was attempting to turn it.

And then you remembered. Frodo was a service cat. He had been trained to alert for certain things, and Eric had mentioned rising pain levels, but what else could Frodo alert for? Suddenly, your heart jumped into your throat, and you knocked on the door. “Eric? You okay?” you asked, but you received no answer. “Eric? Hey, man, Frodo’s freaking out, are you alright in there?”

It was hard to hear too much over the sound of the running shower, but you heard the unmistakable shaking breath of a gasping sob, and, maybe against your better judgement, you turned the door handle. The door wasn’t locked, and the hinges squeaked as you opened the door. Eric had shed his blanket and cardigan and loosened his tie, but he was backed into the far corner of the bathroom, staring at the porcelain bathtub with eyes as big as dinner plates. The faucet was running, the tub filling up, but Eric was frozen. Quickly, you turned the tap and shut off the water, and you gave him his space as you asked “What’s wrong? Can you tell me what happened?”

Eric shook his head, his mouth contorting into an ugly sob, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Tears leaked out, and he just kept shaking his head over and over. “No, no,” he mumbled. “No!”

“Hey, easy,” you told him gently. “What’s going on? How can I help?”

“Th-The water,” Eric gasped. “I—I—” His knees gave out, and he slumped against the wall with a sob. He began to claw at his shirt, at the topmost button; even though it was undone, he still seemed to want it looser.

You rushed to his aid, pushing his hands aside and starting at his shirt buttons. His eyes were still shut tight, but you needed to see his pupils— if he was in shock, or if something else was happening, the dilation of his pupils could help tell you. “Eric,” you said softly. “Open your eyes, please. Please? I need to see your eyes.”

Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, and you saw his pupils so big and dark, they almost overtook the brown of his iris. His face was pale, his chest heaving as you undid his buttons, and you pressed your fingers to the side of his neck to check his pulse. Fast, hard, heavy. You had been by his side all night, he hadn’t taken any medication that he could be having a reaction to, and he had been eating the same crackers and water that you had. There weren’t many other conclusions to come to— a panic attack. But at what?

Eric sank down to the floor, sobbing and shaking, and you followed him, putting a gentle but controlling grip on his wrists. You didn’t think he would, but you needed to control him if he started to get violent. “Eric, take a breath,” you told him. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Nothing’s going to hurt you, okay? Everything is alright.”

Eric sucked in a breath and doubled over on himself, and you kept your hands on his wrists as you shifted away— if he got sick, you didn’t want it on your clothes. Although, you were sure you could get different ones somehow. But he didn’t get sick, he just kept crying. You felt awful and tasted bitter in your mouth. Typically, at this point, you would be paging the mental health wing to come by and evaluate him, and you’d move on to the next person waiting in the ER. You didn’t know how to talk someone down from a panic attack. You didn’t even know how to do that for yourself, let alone for Eric.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Okay, it’s okay. What happened? Did something happen?”

Eric’s eyes glazed over you and settled behind your shoulder, and you looked back to see the bathtub. It was hardly half-full, but everything clicked into place. “The water,” you said. “You’re afraid of the water. Is that it?”

Eric sniffled and nodded weakly, and you blinked away tears. “That’s okay,” you whispered. “That’s totally okay. I mean, you had to jump into the water to get away from the monsters, I don’t blame you for being afraid—”

“I was down in the subway,” Eric blurted out. “When the monsters came. I was there, and I couldn’t stop thinking, I just kept thinking, and I… I didn’t have the guts to do it. I wanted to do it, I wanted to! But I was too scared that it would hurt. Was scared I’d looked too fucked up and they wouldn’t be able to tell who I was, and my-my mum, thinking about my mum being told, it would kill her, and I was just thinking… And the water came rushing in. Filled everything up, there was no air… I had to swim, and I can’t swim, I never learned really, but I was swimming and I just thought ‘I don’t actually want to die’. But I started feeling spotty, all lightheaded and fairy, and I think I was starting to drown, but I saw the light and came up…”

You were at a loss for words. If you were understanding him, he had been trying to kill himself before the monsters. It sounded like he was moments away from stepping in front of a train. His saving grace was the flood in the tunnels. You had trouble swallowing as your throat went thick, and you lowered your eyes for a minute before you loosened your grip on his wrists. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “You’re gonna be alright. Do you want to take a shower instead?”

Eric shook his head. “Doesn’t work,” he mumbled. “Only the tub does.”

You sighed heavily. “Do you want me to stay?” you asked. “Or I can wait outside the door?”

Eric seemed edging into a catatonic state, just shivering and blinking, and you frowned. You finished your abandoned job of undoing his shirt buttons, and you loosened his tie until it came off completely, and you gently pushed off his stained and ragged buttoned shirt. His undershirt wasn’t in much better shape, the underarms and neck stained with sweat, and you started to take it off, but paused. “Is this okay?” you asked. He didn’t react to your question, just staring at your neck, and you carefully angled his head up to look you in the face. “Eric. Is it okay if I undress you and put you in the bath? I’ll be right here the whole time, I won’t leave you alone.”

Eric weakly nodded, shifting his arms a little to better help you pull his undershirt over his head, and his hands went down to his pants to finish the job. You quickly considered what the next steps were as Eric fished his belt from his pants loops, and you pushed the sleeves of your sweatshirt up to your elbows to free up your hands. Eric, now only in his boxers, gave you a pathetic look, and you took him by the hand and helped him to his feet. You figured that he had forgone removing his boxers for a reason, so you didn’t push it, and you held him stable as he lifted a shaking foot over the edge of the bathtub. He was silent, but you watched tears run down his cheeks as he settled both feet in the water, his grip on your hand so tight that it almost hurt.

Slowly, he sat down in the tub, and the water splashed your hand. It was warm but not hot enough to hurt, and you sat by the edge of the bathtub, watching Eric as he sniffled. He certainly was dirty after two days in an apocalyptic city, and you were sure that you weren’t any better off, and you started to get up to retrieve the toiletry bag that he had brought in with him, settled by the sink, but his tight grip only became more vice-like as you tried to depart. “Don’t—” he choked out, and you shushed him gently.

“I’m not leaving,” you told him. “Just getting the shampoo and stuff, just by the sink.”

“Can you get in?” Eric asked softly, almost at a whisper. “When you come back?”

“I-In?” you repeated. “Like, in the bath?”

Eric nodded. He was watching you with his big, intense eyes, and a shiver ran down your back.

“Okay,” you told him. “Umm… I don’t know if I can. I don’t have any other clothes, and I can’t get these wet.”

“Please?” Eric whimpered. “Need… Just need help.”

Maybe it was because you felt bad for him, or maybe you were feeling something that you didn’t want to consider yet, but regardless of the reason, you nodded. You got up from the floor and retrieved the bag from the sink counter, and you came back to the tub. The sides of the tub were curved, not allowing for you to settle the stuff on the edge, and you quickly handed the shampoo and soap to him. He held them gingerly, and he averted his eyes down to the water as you put the bag down and started to pull off the sweatshirt. “Eric,” you said softly. “You can look. You’re gonna see everything in the next few minutes anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

Slowly, Eric raised his eyes up, but he still didn’t look staright at you. At least now it wasn’t obvious that he was avoiding looking at you like before, where it felt like he would be burned alive if he looked. You carefully pulled the sweatshirt over your head and set it by your feet, then you pulled down the sweatpants and stepped out of them. Your heart was beating quickly as you lowered yourself into the bathtub, sitting with your back to Eric, and he nudged his legs a little wider to allow you to sit comfortably. The water felt good on your aching muscles, especially your back, and you sighed lightly. You sat for a moment, trying to drum up enough courage to turn to him and start to help, but he beat you to it.

Eric’s hands were warm, his palm a little rough, as he touched your shoulder, sliding his hand down a little to reach your back. His fingers played with the ends of your hair, and he lowered his hand back to the water. He cupped his palm and let water flow in, then he brought it up to you and wet your hair. Was this his definition of help? To help himself, he had to help others? It made sense, but it still took you a little by surprise. You don’t think anybody had ever washed your hair for you, not since you were a kid. But this was different, in just about every way possible. It was intimate in a way that made your breath catch in your throat, and you swallowed thickly as Eric lifted a hand and tilted your head back to lightly pour water over the front of your hair. He was careful in his work, making sure not to get it on your face or in your ears, and you listened to his breathing even out as he diligently did his task.

The shampoo was some cheap, basic crap, didn’t smell like anything and was only good for getting the oil out of your hair, but the way that Eric worked it into your hair made it seem like it was made by the gods. You felt relaxed, the first time in a long time, and your eyes slipped close as his fingertips worked into your scalp. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt that good, especially by someone else’s hands— maybe years, it was hard to say. You knew that, no matter how good it felt, you couldn’t sink too hard into the feeling of it. Eric just needed to help you, and this was his help; nothing more, nothing less.

He gently poured water from his palms over your hair, rinsing it out as best as possible, and you felt that hot streak shoot up your nose. You wanted to cry. You hadn’t cried in… You had no idea. It certainly had been a long time, and you frowned and gulped as you held down the tears. Unluckily for you (or maybe luckily; it was nice to know Eric was so attentive), he noticed your catched breathing, and his hands gently settled on your shoulders. “Are you okay?” he asked gently.

“Are you?” you answered, almost a knee-jerk reaction. Don’t worry about yourself, worry about your patient, your friend, anybody else. You came last in your mind, everybody else was more important than you.

“That’s not what I asked you,” Eric said firmly. “Are you okay?”

“I…” you started. You wanted to tell him that you were fine, that nothing was wrong. He didn’t need to worry about you, you were tough, you could handle yourself. You watched as water filtered through your own fingers, pooling in your palm but escaping out of every little break and crevice possible, and you pursed your lips as you slowly rubbed your face, trying to wash away to grime and dirt. You shook your head lightly, trying to come up with any words to express yourself, and you wiped off your cheeks as you sniffled. “I don’t know.” You couldn’t come up with any better explanation; you just didn’t know if you were okay or not. Your hands slid down your face and flattened up against your neck, and you sighed. “Are you okay?” you tried again.

“I’ll be okay,” Eric told you. His hands smoothed down your shoulders to your arms, and he squeezed your upper arm for a moment before he went for the soap, starting up a lather between his palms.

“Well, sure, we’ll all be okay eventually,” you replied. “But are you okay right now?”

Eric waited until he was washing your back to answer. His sudsy hands slipped over your skin easily, but he dug his fingertips into your muscles, offering relief. “I’ll be okay,” he repeated. “I don’t know what I am right now, to be honest. Head’s just full of… I don’t know. A whole lot of noise, but not any one thing. It’s all quiet out here, but in there, it’s just…” He sighed, and his hands halted at your sides. He obviously had been on track to move to your front, doing his job on autopilot, and he only thought about what he was doing as he was about to do it.

Silently, you shifted your weight back just a hint, closer to him, trying to tell him that it was alright without saying the words. He quickly caught on to what you were telling him, and his hands slid around your body to your front. To your relief, he avoided where you had expected his hands to go, instead wrapping his arms around your shoulders and hugging himself to you, setting his chin on your shoulder. “You make it quiet up there,” Eric whispered, barely above a breath, like he was afraid of saying it out loud. “I don’t know how, I don’t know why… But you start talking, and it’s like everything else fades away.”

That was your breaking point. Tears started to fall from your eyes, and you sniffled as your hands reached up to your neck and clutched his wrists, looking for anything tangible to hold on to while you cried. And cried you did, your face contorted as you sobbed, your shoulders shaking and chest heaving, and you squeezed Eric’s wrists. He was quick to move impossibly closer, molding his front to your back, and his arms slipped down to your middle, squeezing you tightly as he buried his face in your neck and began to cry as well. He was much quieter than you, not having nearly as much that he held back and needed to get rid of, but it felt good to have someone commiserate with you.

You weren’t sure who moved first— maybe there wasn’t a first to move, maybe you both moved at the same time— but somehow your foreheads came to touch, and your crying pettered down to a sniffle and watery eyes. Your hand came up to touch his cheek, scruffy with a few days’ old beard trying to grow in, and your thumb stroked his cheekbone. He keened into your touch, his eyes fluttering open to look at you. His big brown eyes, so full of every emotion, hidden just so but easy to see if you knew where to look, locked on yours, and your lips fell open in anticipation of his mouth on yours.

Instantly, though, you shifted away and lightly cleared your throat. This wasn’t the time for that. You didn’t know if there would ever be a time for that again. Quietly, you splashed water on your face, and stood up, carefully getting out of the bathtub and going after the towel that sat on the countertop. You scooped your clothes up off the floor as well, and you escaped from the bathroom without a word. You were sure he was confused, maybe even wounded, but you didn’t care. On some level, you did want that— you wanted to feel wanted, to feel adored, cared about, and Eric was a great guy for that, but you didn’t want just that. You wanted a life, you wanted a partner, you wanted love— not just some trauma-borne fuck that you forgot about as soon as it happened.

You dried your body and slipped into your full outfit, pants and sweatshirt and underwear and socks, and you sat on your bed as you dried your hair. You listened as, inside the bathroom, the water sloshed against the side of the tub while Eric moved around, and you watched as Frodo calmly stalked the perimeter of the room, seeming to check every nook and cranny. You put your damp towel to the side and tutted out at the cat, and Frodo looked up at you for a moment before he scampered over to you, hopping up onto the bed and settling himself in your lap. “You’re a good boy, Fro,” you whispered, stroking his back. “Such a good boy.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Eric’s voice floated to you, and you turned to him. He was now all clean as well, his hair soggy and his face free of grime, wearing the sweatpants and sweatshirt. His hair was pushed away from his face, and you could see, even in the dim light, freckles dotting his forehead.

You sighed. “No,” you replied. “I’m just… I don’t know.”

“Did you not want me to…?” Eric began.

“No, no, it’s not that,” you told him quickly. “Not that at all, I did want you to, I just… I don’t know if I can do all that.”

“All what?” Eric asked. “What did you think was going to happen if I kissed you?”

“Well,” you shrugged. “I don’t know, I assumed more would come of it. And I just don’t know if I’m ready for more. Even before the world came crashing down, I wasn’t ready for more. That’s why I didn’t have anyone; not because I didn’t have time, although that was true. I’m just… Scared.”

Eric quietly moved towards you, bypassing his bed and settling at the extreme edge of yours, as far away as possible while still occupying the same space. Frodo looked at him with thin eyes and he slowly blinked at Eric, and his tail flopped in an indignant half-wag. “Scared of what?” Eric asked.

You sighed. “That I won’t be right for anyone,” you said. “Even back when I was on the market, people always… I don’t know. Wanted more, and for whatever reason, I could never give more to them. I was always so afraid of what would happen when I finally gave all of myself to someone that I never did, and by the time I figured out that someone did want all of me, it was too late and I’d already lost them. I can never win— I’m always never enough or I’m too much. I’m never just right.”

Eric thought on your words for a few moments, and he moved closer to you, just an inch. “Yeah,” he said. “But that was back then. Everything has changed. Everything is different now. You don’t need to be afraid of being what’s right, because what used to be right is just… All sorts of fucked up now. Nobody knows anything anymore. I certainly don’t. But I know what I want, more than I ever have before.”

“And let me guess,” you said. “You want me?”

You hoped that calling him out on his cheesy cliché would have him back down. You liked that he wanted you, and you wanted him too, you wanted him so badly that it hurt, but you didn’t want him to mistake wanting you for wanting a connection with someone.

“I want to be okay again,” Eric told you. “But I need you.”

That was the most magical word of all. Need. It punched a hole in your heart and took your breath away, and you watched him as he watched you, just seeing who would dare to break first. Frodo seemed to know something you didn’t, because he jumped up out of your lap and skittered across the room with an uncharacteristic yowl, and you frowned as he sped away, but your frown was quickly wiped off your face as Eric bridged the gap and kissed you.

You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back. He held your face as his lips moulded to yours, a perfect fit as you kissed back, and you wound your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. It felt good to kiss someone, to hold someone and be held by someone. You forgot how much you missed the feeling of another person, and you melted into his body as he claimed your hips in his strong hands. His knuckles were scuffed up, but he held you so gently, and you easily fell back onto the bed. He followed you, settling over you like he had done it a thousand times before, but the way his hands slowly slid up the sides of your shirt to touch your bare skin showed you how much it meant to him. Slow and gentle and sweet, he was everything you had wanted from a partner and a lover for as long as you could remember.

But you could tell, even though he was being sweet, how badly he wanted to have you. His kiss was greedy, shifting away from your mouth to kiss your chin and jaw and neck, almost feral with his need for you, but you welcomed it. Strong emotions like that were flattering, especially here and now, and you didn’t waste much time before sliding your hand past the elastic waistband of the sweatpants nestled around his hips. Your palm found his cock instantly, and you held in your gasp of surprise at his size— he definitely had something to be proud of. His skin was warm through the layer of his underwear, and you paused and widened your eyes at him, a quiet question of how far he wanted you to go.

“You don’t have to be quiet anymore,” Eric whispered. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You shivered underneath him at the sweet name he had bestowed on you, and you quietly asked, “Do you want me to…?”

“God, yes,” he moaned. “Haven’t done this in so long…”

You couldn’t help but crack a smile as you slipped under his briefs, and your fingers wrapped around his thick length. His skin was hot to the touch, his cock rock-hard, and he moaned softly into your neck at the contact. Whether he meant to or not, his hips rolled forward, pushing himself further into your grip, and he quickly whispered, “M’sorry, fuck—”

“Don’t apologize,” you told him. Your free hand went to cradle his cheek, and you shifted his face so that you could kiss his plush lips again. “It’s hot.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eric asked. “It’s hot how…” He paused to kiss you, nipping at your bottom lip with his front teeth, and he continued. “How desperate I am?”

“I am too,” you told him. “I just hide it better.”

Almost as if he was checking if you were lying, his hand skated down from your side and into your pants, letting his fingers mold to your cunt, and he chuckled lightly. “God, you’re wet,” he smiled. “That makes me feel better.”

“Were you worried I wasn’t?” you asked.

“Just a little,” Eric whispered, wrinkling his nose. “But I figured you’d tell me if something wasn’t working for you.”

“I’ll let you know,” you told him. You chased him into another kiss, and his tongue invaded your mouth. It had been so long since you had someone make you feel like that, and you whined softly into his mouth. “Eric, please.”

“What do you want?” he asked. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it.”

“Anything,” you whimpered. Your legs shifted, coming up to anchor around his waist, and you slowly started to stroke his cock, teasing his soft head, just to see his reaction.

Thankfully, his cheeks went red, and that pretty pink mouth of his opened in a moan, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he mumbled, “Fuck, sweetheart, I’m already too close for you to be doing that.”

“Already?” you asked. You sounded a little more surprised than you meant to, and you quickly added, “That’s really attractive, Eric, I hope you know that.”

“What is?” he chuckled. “That I’ve got a short fuse?”

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged sheepishly. “I think it is, anyway. How can I help you?”

“Umm,” Eric said, then swallowed thickly. “Can I… Tits?”

You smiled at him, and you laid a gentle kiss on his lips before he shifted away, letting you pull up your sweatshirt. Your little survival packs hadn’t provided you with a bra of any kind, and you watched Eric’s already-wide eyes flare out at the sight of your chest. He didn’t say a word before he moved down your body and started to kiss everywhere he could reach, taking time and care on your tits. Your hand fell out of his pants at the angle shift, and you settled your fingers to twist in his damp curls as his own hand replaced yours, jerking himself off as he gently licked at your hardening nipple.

“S’that okay?” he whispered, casting his doe eyes up at you, and you nodded quickly. “’Cause if it’s not, I can stop—”

“I promise it’s okay,” you whispered. “I swear.”

Eric smiled. “She swears,” he whispered under his breath, and you giggled. “She swears she likes when I suck her tits. Aren’t I a lucky guy?”

You could hardly ignore the hot pressure between your legs, and you snaked your hand in-between your bodies and started to push down your sweatpants, but Eric noticed what you were up to, and he tugged his hand out of his own pants to capture the waistband of your sweatpants in his grasp. “Please,” he said. “Allow me.” You could tell that he intended to be funny, but his flushed face and fucked-out pupils made it seem a lot more pathetic than you’re sure he meant to be, but that just made a rush of heat strike your core, and your head fell back in bliss as you felt your hot skin slowly exposed to the air.

When you lifted your head back up to look at him, you watched as he shed his own clothes, finally matching you, and you bit your lip as his heavy cock rose to lay against his tummy. He had the thinnest trail of hair coming from down his belly button, smatterings of hair on his chest, a nicely-groomed bush of hair at the base of his cock; he clearly cared about the way he looked, and you loved that. You wondered if the Eric you knew was anything like the Eric before the monsters came, and you watched as he leaned back and began to gently place kisses down the length of your body. He was soft and gentle with you, although you were nearly certain he wanted to take you then and there, and you wiggled a little under his lips. “Can we…” you started. “Do that later?”

“Do what?” Eric asked.

“The whole ‘sweet and kissy’ thing,” you said. “Not to sound, like, sex-starved or anything, but I am, and I think my heart’s gonna explode if you’re not inside me soon.”

Eric chuckled, obviously not expecting that level of honesty out of you, and he pushed his damp curls off of his forehead. “Whatever you’d like, sweetheart,” he told you. “As long as you promise to let me eat your cunt eventually. I can only go so long seeing you like this and be expected to not put my mouth on you.”

“Sure,” you replied, secretly excited that he was expecting a second time.

Eric swiped a quick kiss on your mouth, and then he furrowed his eyebrows. “Umm…” he began. “I— Do you… Are you on any birth control or anything?”

You squeezed your eyes shut. “No,” you sighed. “I was, but all that’s back in my apartment in Brooklyn. Haven’t taken my pill since, like, three nights ago, so I’m basically fucked for the whole month.”

“Fuck,” Eric whispered, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. “I guess, are you alright with this, then? We can figure something else out—”

“There’s, umm,” you winced. “A condom, in the bag with the shampoo and everything. There’s one in mine, and I bet there’s a second one in yours too.”

“Oh, shit, really?” Eric laughed. “That’s… That’s pretty funny.”

“Apparently, FEMA knows what people do in times of crisis,” you smiled.

“So, what I’m hearing,” Eric started, moving himself off the bed and going to your toiletries bag on the floor. His back turned to you, and you felt your eyes widen in shock at the state of his ass. Jesus Christ, this guy had a great ass, smooth and plump and perfectly rounded; you almost wanted to reach out and bite it. “Is that we can fuck twice, and then we’ll need to figure something else out.”

“Is that so?” you asked, and Eric came back to the bed, deftly tearing open the condom wrapper. You leaned up on your elbows to watch as he got back up on his knees, caging you between his thick thighs, and he made quick work of rolling the condom down his thick length, making a quiet grunt as he got it situated the way he wanted. “What makes you think there’ll be a third time? Or a second, for that matter?”

“Won’t there?” Eric asked. “You seem pretty into it right now. Or least your cunt is; look at how wet she is for me.”

“Well, yeah, now,” you teased him, biting the tip of your tongue, trying to will your thundering heart to go back to normal. “But what if, when everything is said and done, you’re actually a terrible fuck and I don’t want anything else to do with you?”

He laughed deep in his chest, and he took your thighs in his strong hands and opened your legs, smoothly settling himself so he could rub his hard cock against your weeping cunt. You felt blood thrumming under your skin, making every inch of you pulse and surge, and you whined high in your throat when the head of his cock caught at your hole, threatening to slip in with ease. “I doubt that, sweetheart,” he told you. “I’ve been told I’m a fantastic fuck.”

“Are you sure they weren’t trying to keep your ego intact?” you asked, and Eric tilted his head curiously at you.

“Well, they weren’t telling me much of anything,” he said. “Usually, by the end, they’re so fucked-out and brainless that they can hardly string a sentence together.”

Then, without a word of warning, he gripped your hips and slid himself inside of you, and you gasped. It had been so long that you had almost forgotten what sex felt like, but this was something entirely new and different. You could feel every ridge and vein on his cock, even through the condom, and he gave a delicious throb as you tightened your thighs around his hips. “Fuck!” you yelped, and a shade of worry passed over his face for just a moment. “I-I’m okay,” you told him quickly. “Just… Fuck, Eric, you’re so big.”

“You flatter me,” he chuckled. Slowly, he began to rock his hips into you, moving shallowly at first, just letting you get used to his size, and his dull fingernails buried into the flesh of your hip. You couldn’t help all the little noises he caused you to make— you could feel every inch of him, burying deep within you, stretching you and filling you like he was made for you, and he leaned down and ghosted against your lips with his. “Feel good?” he whispered, and you nodded quickly.

“Do I?” you asked softly. Your arms went around him, holding him close to you, and you pressed your fingers into his shoulders. He felt like a lifeline, his warm skin keeping you grounded, and you didn’t even care if you sounded pathetic or insecure. He made you feel good and safe, and that’s all that you cared about.

“Fuck, so good,” he grunted out. He was picking up speed, gaining a good rhythm that made you wonder how prolific he had been before his career got in the way, and you listened to the bed squeak under you as he mumbled, “So warm… So wet… You feel like a dream… Remember that short fuse I talked about?”

“Really?” you smiled. “Already?”

“Listen, woman,” Eric started, and you dragged him into a messy kiss. You loved him talking like that, and it made you realize just how close you were as well. He tugged away from the kiss to take a deep breath, and he went in to kiss you again, hungry and wanting you. He was going fast now, pumping in and out of you, leaving pleasure and sparks in his wake, and your legs twitched and tightened as the knot in your belly twisted closer and closer to its end. “I haven’t had sex in years,” Eric continued, finally tearing himself away from your lips. “And my right hand can only do so much after a while. So excuse me for being a little quick to the draw tonight.”

“How many years?” you asked.

Eric sighed. “I dunno,” he said. “At least since I graduated law school, so… Five years, maybe?”

“God,” you chuckled. “That’s… A while.”

“No, wait,” Eric said. “Three years. My birthday a few years ago, my mates took me out to a bar, and I met a girl, I spent the night at her place… And she never answered my texts after that.”

“Ouch,” you hissed. “That must’ve hurt that ego of yours.”

“Not gonna lie, it did,” Eric laughed. “But it’s for the best. I didn’t have time for a girlfriend anyway, I would’ve been an awful boyfriend to her. Or to anyone, not just her… What about you?”

“Umm…” you started. “Sex… Yes, I know what that is. Definitely a thing I’ve had before now.”

“Don’t play with me like that,” Eric started, jokingly wide-eyed and startled, and you laughed.

“About the same, I guess,” you said. “Three-ish years… It was back a few years ago, I was feeling bad about getting older and having a career but no partner, so I… I went on a dating app, found a guy, and we talked for a little bit and hooked up, but I got a bad vibe from him, so I broke it off.”

“I’m sorry,” Eric said. “Did you like him?”

“Not really,” you sighed. “And he wasn’t even that great in bed.”

“So, I’ve got him beat in every category, right?” Eric asked.

You kissed him again, cupping your hand across the back of his neck, and he smoothed his hands up your body lovingly. “You’ve got everyone beat, baby,” you told him.

“I think you’re an angel, actually,” Eric told you, and you shyly shook your head. “No, no, I think so. I don’t care if you don’t agree, that’s what I think.”

“Whatever you say,” you told him. “Can you, umm… Maybe a little faster?”

Eric obliged, pistoning his hips quicker to fuck you to your liking, and his hand floated to your pussy, his thumb gently rubbing at your throbbing little clit. You whined and scratched at his back, tightening your legs and digging your heel into that ass he had, and the electric shocks that ran up your toes and into the rest of your body started to become too good, too much. “Eric!” you gasped. “Eric, fuck!”

“I’ve got you, angel,” Eric whispered in your ear. “I’ve got you. Let me see that pretty face when you cum, yeah? Wanna feel your cunt squeeze me, fuck, I need it.”

You looked down at yourself, watching as his hard cock plunged in and out of your hole, leaving a creamy ring at the base of his cock, and your whining and whimpering almost had the wet squelch of your bodies together beat. Then, almost against your will, your whole body relaxed, every muscle feeling like it went slack, and you sobbed out your final moan, your head falling back as your nails went hard into his freckled shoulders. You felt your wet cover your inner thighs, and you panted as Eric chased his own end. You didn’t have to wait too long before you heard him choke back a moan, and he spilled himself inside the condom. You felt the warmth of his spend inside you, and he slowly pulled out of you with a hiss at the sensation on his sensitive, softening cock.

He was quick to take care of the condom, and he came back to the bed and settled in the small, empty space beside you. His red chest was heaving, his cheeks flooded with pink color, and he wrapped his arm around you and tugged you close to him. You melted into his warmth, mashing your cheek against his hard chest, and he let out a breathy laugh. “Fuck,” he gasped. “I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t eaten real food all day or what, but I’m exhausted.”

“Me too,” you giggled. “I think you were just that good.”

“Once again, angel,” Eric whispered, settling a soft kiss on your head. “You flatter me.”

You fell into a comfortable silence then, listening to each other’s breathing even out, and Eric cleared his throat after a while. “Typically, at this point,” he started. “I’d be smoking a cigarette.”

“Oh my God, Eric, no,” you groaned. “Don’t you know how unhealthy that is?”

“Oh, right,” Eric chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Miss Nurse. So concerned for my health.”

“Right,” you told him. “I care about you, and I don’t want you to have breathing complications or worse early in life from smoking.”

“I think I’ll manage,” Eric told you. “I think I need another shower after that, though.”

“You do sorta stink,” you giggled, and Eric rolled his eyes. “If you shower, I can be making food.”

“Food?” Eric asked. “There’s food?”

“Yeah, an MRE,” you told him, and you grunted as you got out of bed, going in search of the plastic-packaged meal. “Chicken and noodles. I didn’t see what yours was.”

“Fuck,” he laughed. “I’ve got a sexy woman making dinner for me? I might keep you around after all.”

“You have to keep me around,” you told him. “Who else is supposed to help you raise your cat?”

Frodo seemed to know his cue, because he revealed himself from behind a bookshelf, batting a bit of cobweb on his nose, and Eric smiled. “I suppose you’re right,” Eric said. “Just don��t feed him too much; he’ll get fat. He’ll also try to attack your hand if you pet his belly, so don’t do that either.”

“Noted,” you told him. “Go shower, handsome, this should be done by then.”

Eric took a moment to wrap his arms around you and press a kiss to your temple, and he softly said, “I wish we could have met any other way. But, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here now.”

“Me too,” you told him, turning in his arms to give him a real, genuine kiss. “I’m so glad you found me.”

[mikkomacko]

begging for more johnny jack luke and reader just being chaotic or something please

“Mr. Hischier?”

Nico grunts into the phone, focus remaining on reviewing the product inventory in front of him. He marks off a box of goods from Switzerland sent by Luca, and then another. Timo and Lazar stack them on their specific pallet before returning to the drop off dock for more.

“This is the Hoboken police department calling,” Nico freezes, pen going slack in his hand and alarm bells are immediately going off in his head. Obviously something terrible has happened, you’ve gotten in an accident and are in a coma, someone broke into the house and hurt you and the dingbats Nico left with you, you fell on your run this morning and knocked yourself conscious, you choked on a bagel at breakfast and had to be resuscitated, you-

“I was calling to let you know that I’ve got three of your boys and your wife down here, and you’re listed as her emergency contact.”

“What happened?” Nico asks, motioning Jonas over and handing over his inventory list. He’s patting at his pockets for his keys and wallet, wondering where the fuck his phone is. “Is she ok?”

Oh right, he realizes, huffing to himself. “Yeah they’re fine sir. We picked them up in the abandoned lot off 32nd-“ the street the boys live on, right by the loft Nico bought them. “-they were running messing around and accidentally ran each other over.”

Unamused, Nico scoffs and shakes his head. “They ran each other over?” He says incredulously, then pauses. “Did those clowns run my girl over?”

The man-officer laughs. “No sir, she was in the vehicle. And no one is hurt, just a little banged up but ya know we had to bring em in, even if they’re yours.”

Nico and the police department have an agreement. They don’t fuck with his boys, Nico doesn’t fuck with them. And they get a heavy donation every month to the training department, and drinks at the bar whenever they want. Nico doesn’t tell them this, but he gives even more the fire department and hospital to make sure his guys are always prioritized. Lucky for him, the department hasn’t realized Nico skimps on them.

“Yeah, yeah,” he agrees, running a hand through his hair. It’s fine, he can leave the guys here to finish inventory while he goes to pick you and the three stooges up.

“Had a rookie take the car to the Rock instead of impound, but we can’t let these ones out without your signature.”

“Yeah,” he says again. “I’ll be right there.”

~~~~

“Atta boy Luke, it looks really good.”

“I think my ass is bruised,” the scuffle of shoes sounds down the brick hall. “Will you check y/n?”

“I don’t really want to see your ass Luke.”

Nico rounds the corner, unimpressed hands on his hips when he sees the scene in front of him. You, Luke, Jack, and Johnny are all locked in the holding cell, not that it’s stopping you from looking like idiots.

You’re huddled in a ball on the metal bench, hands held out in defense and eyes squeezed shut in disgust as Luke sticks his ass out at you, fingers on the button of his jeans. He’s covered in dirt and there’s a rip on his shoulder, a bruise on the left side of his face.

He must’ve been the one you guys ran over.

Marino has his phone out, a wicked smile on his face as he films you shoving Luke away. “Make Jack do it!” You whine, kicking at Luke’s knee until it wobbles.

“Eww that’s very taboo of you, I don’t want to see my brother’s ass.” Jack cries, then he’s narrowing his gaze at you. “Does Nico know the dirty thoughts in that head? Because I always thought he was the nasty one-“

“Hey!” Nico barks, and you all go rigid and silent. In unison, every head turns to look at him, a series of timid and apologetic eyes peering through the bars. Not yours though, that are instead looking at him like he’s a single ray of sunshine coming through the clouds on a rainy day.

He waits for someone to speak, but no one does. Finally the officer that called him retrieves his keys, metal jingling as he sticks them in the lock. All four of you rise to your feet.

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head, pointing to you. “Just her.” The boys all groan, sitting back on the bench while you clamber to your feet. The door gets unlocked, you step up to Nico with a shy smile, fluttering your pretty eyes at him. It takes all his will power to just stare down at you, expression neutral.

Nico juts his head to side, motioning you down the hallway. He sends the boys one last warning look before gripping the back of your neck, not harsh or painfully, but firm enough that he feels all the muscles in your body relax.

He’s not really sure how he’s supposed to show authority like this in front of the boys when you seem to enjoy it far too much, but what else can he do?

The officer passes them, returning to the front desk and Nico directs you through a door, into an interrogation room. The door slams shut behind him, heavy and loud. Nico guides you to the chair, urging you to sit. You do so politely, hands folded in your lap and eyes following him as he sits across from you.

All he has to do is raise a prodding eyebrow.

“Jack wasn’t supposed to hit him that hard,” you say, not much of an explanation. You must be able to tell, cringing before starting over. “We were trying to make a TikTok since my last one kinda blew up, and it was that scene from The Office, where Michael hits Meredith.

“Except Jack gots a heavy foot and he didn’t give Luke enough time to jump on the hood so he just kinda hit him and I guess someone saw and called 9-1-1 and then Mercer ran away-“

“So Dawson was a part of this too?”

You shrink in on yourself, frowning apologetically. “He was filming Luke outside the car, and then we heard sirens and he just took off back to the loft.”

Nico sighs, running a hand down his face and you tilt your head, eyes big and beautiful, and everything about you so pretty and sweet. He wonders how they managed to put you in a cell without feeling guilty.

“‘Three of my boys and my wife’,” he repeats the officer’s words, trying not to smile when you blush. “What a sentence to hear from a police station.”

Bashful, you flutter your eyelashes at him again. “I thought maybe they’d let us go if I said I was a Hischier.”

That damned smile breaks through, dimpling at his cheeks and crinkling by his eyes. “You are a Hischier,” he murmurs, “just be careful who you’re running over under that name, yeah?”

You smile back, so proud and happy looking that it makes his chest ache and he has to remind himself that he’s here because you in all your sweet innocence, ran over one of the boys.

A sharp shrill rings out in the cold and sterile room, the signature apple ringtone coming from your lap, and you dig your phone out, laughter glinting in your eyes as you answer.

“Hello,” you answer, introducing yourself and Nico watches you, curiously. “What a coincidence, I’m already here!”

Nico chuckles in realization. He was your emergency contact, and he can already picture you heading in here with his name on your tongue, demanding they call him or they’ll be sorry.

And by the look on your face, you’re the emergency contact of the other three idiots here. At least Mercer was smart enough to pump his legs if he’s going to be stupid. Although Nico would prefer that he doesn’t ditch you again in a crisis, especially because it’s his job to protect you.

You hang up, giggling. “Time to bail out my boys,” you cheer. “At least Luke. Poor baby needs to get some ice on his butt.”

“And his face,” Nico snorts. “I get to see that video right?”

“Oh yeah. I’m already asking for the security cam footage in the parking lot too.”

[starlightshadowsworld]

The Sheep King and his Demon AU

Aka Bsd except Chuuya doesn't join the Port Mafia.

Dazai: yawns Fine I'll do the torturing today, who's on the chopping blo-.... What are you idiots doing here?!

Shirase: in a holding cell Heyy Dazai, what's up?

Dazai: unimpressed look

Yuan: Also in a holding cell We got busted at the docks.

Dazai: Does Chuuya know you're here?

Shirase: No, and maybe... Maybe he doesn't need to know?

Dazai: Ha, nice try pulls out his phone Oh Chuuya~! Some of your little sheep have found their way to the wolves.

Yuan: And we're fucked.

Dazai: Yeah I'll send em back without so much a hair out of place, okay byyyeee~ puts phone away Oh relax he's such a softy, he wouldn't hurt any of you.

Shirase: He won't, but he'll be disappointed.

Dazai: That's what you're worried about? You're in the Port Mafia's torture chamber.

Yuan: Bones can heal but once Chuuya gives you the disappointed face.... That shit stays with you.

Dazai: I think you guys are being a weee bit dramatic.

Later on

Chuuya: I'm not mad at you idiots but I'm disappointed.

Dazai: witnesses said disappointment face.... Okay note to self, never have that face directed at me... Fuck.

[lukesandromeda]

౨ৎ kiss me on the mouth and love me like a sailor

l. castellan

content : fluff, a little teeeeeensy bit of angst but you’d have to squint, cussing, canon plot line luke

pairing : luke castellan x fem!reader

She took my fingers to her mouth / The kind of thing that makes you proud / That nothing else had ever / Worked out, worked out / And lately I've tried other things / But nothing can capture the sting / Of the venom she’s gonna spit out right now

Kiss me on the mouth / And love me like a sailor / And when you get a taste / Can you tell me what’s my flavor? / I don’t believe in God / But I believe that you're my savior

I know that you’ve been worried / But the truth is in my favor / And when we're getting dirty I forget all that is wrong / I sleep so I can see you cause I hate to wait so long / I sleep so I can see you and I hate to wait so long

luke had a way of finding you, no matter where you were. it’s 1:07 a.m.—or, so says your watch that’s already wet with lake water, which, by the way, isn’t digital because chiron insisted you’d be found and mauled if you did in fact get a digital one—and luke has somehow found you out at the lake. 

you don’t realize at first, obviously, because you’re completely submerged in water. but when you finally feel the last bit of composure slipping out from your closed mouth in the crystal water, you swim as fast as you could to the top and breathed out. your head is dizzy from the panting that follows closely after, and you squeeze your eyes shut and relish in the feeling of the breathlessness you get when you have your time alone. the time you spend to swim, to clear your mind. 

“yo, is that a mermaid?” you hear from behind you. the voice is dramatic and sarcastic, and familiar and homelike. you turn around, biting back your grin as you swim to the edge of the dock. 

luke’s sitting with his feet in the water, his sweatpants rolled up around his knees so he can do this without getting them wet in a way that makes you giggle as you wade into his presence. 

“something funny?” he asks, tilting his head. 

you shake your head, looking up at him. he  stands, holding out his hand for you to take as he helps you out of the water. he holds up a finger, as if to say, ‘one second,’ walks away to where he has his bag and shoes, and comes back with a towel. you go to take it from him, but he tsks. you put your arms down and smile sheepishly as he wraps it around you carefully, pulling it snug over your shoulders and pulling away when he’s done. 

“you know it’s 1:30 a.m, right?” luke prompts. 

you look down at your watch. “1:10.”

he smiles, pulling his phone out of his pocket and tapping on the lock screen to show that it was, in fact, 1:30. luke wasn’t necessarily allowed to have a cell phone, just like every other demigod wasn’t, but even though he’s camp halfblood’s golden boy, he’s still a child of hermes. it’s in his blood to break the rules, even if only a little bit. 

you look down at your watch, frowning. “huh. stupid piece of shit.”

“it’s damaged by the water, probably,” luke points out, hands gently pulling you toward him. you stumble until you’re standing in front of him, watching his face as he grabs your hand and removes the watch from your wrist. his fingers rub in the red marks and dents the watch leaves, and he takes the watch in his hand. “i’ll take this to the hephaestus cabin for you tomorrow, okay?”

you nod, smiling as he finally looks back at you. you bathe in the feeling his eye contact gives you, and after a few seconds, your smile mirrors onto his face, too.

“shouldn’t be out here so late,” luke said as his forehead creased. he watched you in concentration, looking down at you as if he was trying to memorize everything about you. “come back with me?”

immediately you nod, eyes widening at the thought of him letting you sneak into his cabin. usually, as much as he wanted you to, he didn’t let you because he was too worried about getting caught and “wouldn’t forgive himself” if you were on clean up duty for the next two weeks. 

“come on, then, you prune,” he jokes in a silky voice, fingers moving against the wrinkled skin on your fingers that have become that way from the swimming you’ve been doing. 

he wraps his hand in yours and squeezes it, grabbing his bag and slipping on his shoes. you follow him to his cabin where the two of you sneakily get past his sleeping siblings to the counselor’s bedroom, (his), and he shuts the door softly once you make it there. 

he hangs his backpack on the door and slips off his shoes, running his hand through his tussled curls. he turns to face you, looking down at you for a moment, smiling when you shiver at the water running down your body. 

his hand trails to your shoulder, lifting it to your face where he presses the back of his pointer finger to your face. he crinkles his nose and smiles when he feels the droplets of lake water drip onto his skin. “you need a shower?”

“you saying i stink, castellan?” you questioned in sarcasm, earning a scoff that soothes out into a chuckle. 

“yup. terrible.”

you put on a faux offended look as he urges you to go to his dresser and grab what you need. 

luke has a drawer dedicated to your clothes in his room, mostly things you’ve left behind in there from your time being together. however, you only grab everything but a sweatshirt, turning to him and smirking when he realizes what you’re up to. 

“yeah, yeah,” he muttered, walking to his closet. “grabbin’ you my hoodie, don’t worry.”

you grin when he places it in your hands. luke guides you by the small of your back in the direction of the bathroom and you enter, closing the door, not bothering got lock it.

looking down at the hoodie, you blush when you realize it smells like him. you put your clothes down and get in the shower. you use his tropical shampoo and conditioner that you’re always praising when you run your hands through his hair, and you use the complimentary body wash that you inhale dramatically when you’re resting your head in his neck. 

you dry yourself off with a fresh towel that smells like his laundry detergent, similar to the smell of his hoodie. after changing into the clothes, you open the door to find luke laying face first on the bed, sprawled out. grinning, you tip toe to the side and tap on his shoulder. 

he only grunts out a response. 

“move over, you boulder,” you scold as you give his shoulder a half hearted shove. 

he groans, rolling over onto his back as he moves to his side of the bed. you climb into the covers and squeal when he wraps his muscular arm around you, pulling you close to him. he turns so he can face you. “hi.”

“hi,” you echo, bringing your hand to the back of his neck where you let your fingernails scratch gently. 

he lets out a hum of approval, looking down at you. “missed you.”

“yeah?”

luke nods. “yeah. s’much.”

he leans in and plasters a kiss on the crown of your head. he pulls away, giving you the opportunity to look up at him in adoration. he reaches his hand up and traces your lips with his fingertip, smiling when you flex them to kiss it. 

“c’mere,” he groans, grabbing the back of your head and guiding it to his. he captures your lips in a soft and gentle kiss. you close your eyes and savor the feeling of him smiling against your lips when you dig your hands deep into his hair. 

when he finally pulls away, he looks down at you with so much adoration written over his features it makes your heart jump. “y’taste like the ocean.”

“i was swimming in the sound,” you defend, and he shrugs. 

“i wasn’t complaining.”

and then he tugs you back in for another kiss. 

you pull away from the kiss and look up at him through your tears. you try at a smile because luke looks like the boy he was when you were in this position countless times before, except when it was in his bed of his cabin instead of the princess andromeda state room. 

your skin is rosy and a little bit dry from bathing in the cruise ship life luke has provided you with when you agreed to help him take down the gods. since then, it’s been the two of you and no one else. 

however, he’s constantly overworking himself. he did it before even at camp, but now it’s constant training and sometimes fighting other demigods when they’d stumble upon the ship. 

today, particularly, luke had got into a fight with a brother of ethan nakamura’s when he’d come to save ethan. the fight was ugly and bloody, resulting in the brother ending up over the ship. luckily, he wasn’t dead and had swum back to the boat he’d brought out there, but you couldn’t help but feel a sense of fear when you looked at your boyfriend’s bloody hands when he’d returned to the stateroom. 

“i—i’m sorry,” he’d said as you looked at him with fear. “he was tryin’ to kill me. he’s okay.”

you let him lead you to his bed where he sat down at the edge and pulled you in between his legs, watching you with guilt as you patched his wounds, occasionally wincing when antiseptic broke through his pain tolerance. 

“i know you worry about me, angel,” he whispered, his sweet brown eyes looking up at yours with patience, “believe me, i do. gods, you’re so perfect.”

you shook your head, blinking the tears that threatened to spill over your waterline away. “you hurt yourself so much, luke, it scares me.”

“i know,” he responded firmly, grabbing your hands and stopping them for a moment. he held them in his, looking up at you desperately. “i promise you, i wouldn’t ever think of doing anything reckless enough to take me away from you. i don’t wanna lose you either, sweetheart.”

you watched him for a few moments before he continued, “ ‘m always gonna come back to you. no matter what.” 

you smiled for a moment more before going back to cleaning his wounds. he watched as your brows furrowed, whispering, “i promise, i’m with you.”

you watched him, bringing your hand up to his cheek and dragging your thumb across it. you nodded. 

“yeah?” he asked, a boyish smile appearing on his face. 

“yeah.” you echoed. 

now, he looks down at your lips again. “y’taste like the ocean.”

you shake your head. “that’s pool water.”

“same thing?” he asks, silently asking for you to agree to disagree before your argument skills come out. 

“yeah, sure,” you agree, letting him guide you by the back of your head to kiss you softly again.

[al-911]

The interrogator slid open the left hatch, and began his questioning. These budget cuts had him literally working three times harder, having to run three interrogations at once for "efficiency savings". Sigh.

Predictably, the first prisoner claimed not to know anything about any codes. He closed her hatch, and administered another dose of sensitivity gas into the box her head was in, hearing the muffled laughter change in pitch as it kicked in, the tickle bot continuing its tireless work.

He opened the middle hatch, and began his questioning. Another tough girl, she claimed she didn't know anything about the location of the guerilla hideout. He closed the hatch, administered her a dose of the sensitivity gas. The prisoner's bare feet really strained in the stocks, she was a screamer. Ugh, this was going to be a long day.

Hatch number three opened. The prisoner within must have been insanely sensitive, she immediately started babbling a stream of numbers, which was a strange response as the paperwork said she was supposed to be in for a confession of tax evasion...

He closed the hatch, and gave her a dose of the gas for good measure. Shuffling paperwork, he debated going to admin for clarity... but the bosses would dock his pay for wasted time. No, he had to sort this. But there was the possibility they were in cahoots, trying to throw him off with inaccurate information...

He opened all three hatches, and was greeted by a cacophony of tormented laughter and muddled coordinates, codes, and confessions as the three women begged for the machines to stop tickling the soles of their artificially sensitised feet.

"Ladies, there seems to have been some kind of mixup. It is possible I am asking the wrong questions to each of you. However, I have to exercise due diligence and determine which of you is meant to give up what information. So, bear with me. We'll get this sorted out, then we can all go home- well, to your cells. It's Friday, so let's get this done..."

He closed the middle and right hatches, and dosed them up again.

"So, number one, let's get started. What is the code, where is the base, and/or, confess!"

Number one cackled hysterically, but managed to squeeze out between the laughs "I'll... I'll nehehever talk!".

Oh for God's sake... I'm going to be here forever. He closed the hatch, dosed her up, and reached for his phone to tell his wife he'd be late for dinner.

[lunememes]

🌙 * ― 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 ( a collection of various settings for drabbles or prompts, or both! )

001. a tattoo parlour, buzzing with machinery and walls lined with artwork . 002. a shopping mall, crowded and loud . 003. a cabin in the mountains, taking shelter from the snow storm. 004. an abandoned tea party, occupied with broken dolls . 005. the shooting range, empty casings clinking on the floor and sulphur in the air . 006. a music room, filled with melodies of an instrument . 007. an empty auto shop, hood of a car left open and quiet music coming through speakers . 008. a bright arcade, coins falling from machines and claws grabbing at soft toys . 009. the kennels, filled with barking dogs and excited companions . 010. a restaurant, where everyone is eerily quiet and staff are overly friendly . 011. a riding arena, with trained riders atop proud horses . 012. a mini golf course, sails of a windmill obscuring the path ahead . 013. a zoo, filled with an array of unique animals . 014. the docks of a bay, boats lining the decks . 015. a pond with ducks, seeking food . 016. a museum, displaying ancient bones and pottery of a history long ago . 017. a closed down prison, ghosts of violent history echoing in empty cells . 018. a quiet train station, lights overhead flickering and announcement board displaying errors . 019. the vast desert, scorching heat baring down at high noon . 020. the dark woods, filled with strange hanging symbols made of sticks . 021. a deep hole in the ground, covered by leaves and sticks . 022. a wishing fountain, base lined with copper coins of past wishes . 023. an abandoned picnic in an empty field, flask still warm with coffee . 024. a barn filled with hay and tools, old wood creaking in the wind . 025. a graveyard in the dead of night, wind howling through the trees . 026. a crumbling bridge above a raging river . 027. the refreshing waters of a lake, away from prying eyes . 028. the crossroads, in the middle of nowhere . 029. a cosy bonfire at summer camp, marshmallows roasting on the fire . 030. the top of a radio tower, with the perfect view of the surrounding area . 031. a lone phone box on a street corner . 032. a large elaborate temple dedicated to a deity, offerings still intact . 033. a drive-in movie theatre, cars empty and projector casting only light onto the screen . 034. a strange trail of breadcrumbs on a woodland path . 035. a haunted mansion, ancient paintings watching every footstep . 036. a decrepit mine located out in the hills, believed by locals to have a powerful curse cast upon it . 037. the edge of a cliff, overlooking the rough waves and distant sounds of approaching danger . 038. a road trip across country, music blaring through speakers . 039. a flower shop, filled with bouquets and a sweet aroma . 040. an airport in the early hours of the morning, deprived of sleep . 041. a train on its way to its destination, a sleeping passenger resting on a shoulder . 042. an abandoned shack filled with strange books of the occult and something mysterious bubbling on the stove . 043. an empty throne room, moonlight glimmering through tall windows . 044. an underwater tunnel in an aquarium, fish swimming overhead and sharks looming in the distance . 045. deep within unmarked cave located in the side of a mountain, lit only by a flare . 046. the dusty streets of a western town, watched by wary residents . 047. the back of a vast library, surrounded by books, when a black book falls from the highest shelf . 048. a room of an asylum, an abandoned camcorder left in the middle of the room . 049. the shores of an unknown beach, washed up from the ocean . 050. the deck of an unsteady ship, waves crashing against the haul and rain lashing down from dark clouds .

[neysaadept]

Prometheus Chapter 3

Emily Prentiss x Female CIA Reader

Tags: Limited use of y/n but established last name. Swearing, mentions of the pandemic and human and sex trafficking. Canon typical violence. Sexual innuendos. Minors DNI.

Summary: You are an old acquaintance of Rebecca Wilson. She calls in a favor to help the BAU out of a financial debacle. This also means that the current CIA employed Reader has to consult with the BAU to make this work, and not just on paper. This has to be official, which means working with a disgruntled Section Chief Emily Prentiss. A lot.

First time writing like this, so any feedback is appreciated!

AO3

Word Count: 3k

GIF by aaronhotchstuff-archive

Chapter 3 - Welcome to the BAU

You roll over on the twin mattress at the sound of the chime notification on your phone. You force your eyes open, blinking them to focus on the digital clock and saw it is barely pass 5 AM.

“Wha’ th’ fuc’ …” you grumble, flailing a hand around for your cell. On the third pat, you slide it off the nightstand and flip it over. Seeing that the text was from Brian, it wakes you up enough to lean on an elbow to read the message.

Dad sent 0504 – Langley 0900

You rub the sleep out of your eyes and yawn before responding.

Whitlock sent 0511 – k

Brian must have everything ready for you to begin working with the BAU and wants to personally see you off. Or lecture you about the whole ordeal once again.

Probably both.

You set your alarm for 0700 and roll back over to get some more sleep. It was too early to worry about all of that now.

Brian was running late so you were shown to his office to wait. This happens often when you’re here since he is the director of the CIA and being pulled in countless directions.

You casually stroll around the room taking note of anything new. It was well over a year after all and there had to be something noteworthy to check out. You saw the same framed weathered American Flag hanging on the wall behind his desk, a staple of the position of CIA Director.  As you move around his desk the three monitors were locked, the screen shifting from TOP SECRET to the CIA and the DOJ seals. All so sterile per usual.

You push some files out of the way to get a better look at the pictures on his desk. One was Brian and his wife Carolyn on a recent fishing trip holding a catfish together on the dock. It had been raining, their jackets and hats streaked with raindrops. The weather didn’t stop the bright smiles they shared from dampening. An immortalized look of pure love despite the gloomy weather. You fight against a long-buried need that rarely blossoms and convince yourself it’s only because you miss your mother figure. It had been much longer since you shared any real space with her.

Going on over two years now, you think, but it was hard to pinpoint the exact time. It could have been even longer.

You tear your eyes away and swallow down the yearning, wanting to distance yourself from darker memories that were surfacing, but you were drawn to a partially covered picture of a younger Brian. Pushing aside the file on top of it, your eyes widen with surprise to see it was you and the four other trainees that were personally recruited by him. You gently stroke the younger faces of your brothers and sister before tapping against your own barely teen face. While everyone was looking to the camera, you had decided to be an ass and look off to the side at the lead doctor in the program. Your mouth was wide open as if you were going to take a bite out of Dr. G-.  

“Already snooping, huh?”

You look up and see Brian lingering in the doorway to his own office, watching as you were rifling through his desk. The CIA Director’s desk. If you were anyone else, he would have security throw you out immediately.

“It’s not what it looks like,” you quickly say.

“Then what does it look like?” he challenges, you now noticing how raspy his voice was.

Thinking back on this morning, Brian was probably in a meeting when he texted you. Only someone who knew him well enough, like yourself, could tell he was tired. His tailored black suit was wrinkled making it day two of wearing it, and his tie was crooked. It had been awhile since Brian put a comb through his salt and pepper hair. His usually well-groomed tapered look was flat and messy.

Definitely a national security situation going on … course, when isn’t there?

You slip the picture free and show him as answer to his question. “Was checking out the new memories but found an old one.”

He hums with understanding and closes the door for privacy. “Heard anything from them?”

“A text here and there. The usual.”

“Good,” he says with a nod, liking that answer. He holds his hand out and you reach over the desk to give him the picture. “Perhaps after this little detour with the BAU I can arrange a get together.”

Your grin comes fast, heart pounding with the excitement of a reunion. “Really?”

“Really. But first…” He joins you behind the desk and pulls out the top right drawer taking out a lanyard and wallet that had your FBI credentials. “… you have work to do. Prentiss is meeting you at Quantico at 11.”

You take the badge by the lanyard and dangle it in front of you. It was strange seeing your picture and signature with a different agency after all these years. You start feeling like you’re cheating on the CIA.

“Sounds good.” You take the wallet and tuck it inside the inner pocket of your suede jacket. “But to be honest? She so doesn’t like me.”

“And how is this news? Now, scoot.” Brian waves you away so he can sit down and carefully puts the picture back on his desk. “Look, you bring a lot of experience to the BAU, and under normal circumstances, you’d easily be scooped up with a proper transfer. This is anything but. Just,” he leans back and gestures with a curled hand trying to find the words, “… keep your head down, listen to orders and for the love of God, don’t be a smartass.”

You shuffle out of the way, slipping the lanyard over your head to join the CIA one already resting against your chest. “Way too late for that. I was an exceptional smartass when we first met. Just, not entirely on purpose.”

“Of course you were,” he sighs with an exhaustion from your years of antics. “Just … please don’t start a war between the CIA and FBI, huh?”

“Wow!” Aghast, you hold a hand against your chest. “And you think I’m dramatic?”

But you quickly drop your frivolous act to lean against Brian’s desk, tone growing serious while you cross your arms. “Hey, I know how important this is. Not just for the BAU but for you, too.”

You gently push at his knee with one of your own and his expression softens with the truth of your words. “I won’t let you down.”

Emily stands in front of the round table with the assembled team. She had just informed everyone of their new consultant.

“So, we have a new member of the BAU.” JJ nods while digesting this new information. “From … the CIA.”

“Doesn’t sound familiar at all,” laughs Luke, eying Prentiss.

She squints and purses her lips to hide how apprehensive the situation was truly making her. “This is only temporary until we find Sicarius,” Emily reminds them.

“What do we really know about her?” Rossi asks, looking towards Garcia. “You really haven’t given us much.”

“That’s because there isn’t much,” Garcia answers with an overexaggerated pronunciation of the last word. She scowls, pointing at the screen with the details you had given Emily. “And that is like less than much. I should have all the deets but this woman’s file is buried so deep we’d probably find Jimmy Hoffa’s body first.”

Clearly Garcia was still bothered by the situation.

“That’s a little extreme, Penelope,” Emily interjects with a tolerant voice, but her eyes narrowed pointedly at the tech guru to tread carefully.

“It’s still weird,” she sniped.

“Look, Rebecca vouches for her,” Tara said in her girlfriend’s defense. “She wouldn’t pair us up with someone she thought would hurt the BAU. Her reputation’s on the line with the DOJ if this goes sideways.”

Rossi hums in agreement. “There’s little gain in helping us. Be easier to stand on the sidelines.”

“But she’s not. And she was so quick to help us, let alone finding help.” JJ looks at Tara coyly. “Just how tight are you two with this relationship of yours? You must owe her big time.”

Luke grins and leans closer with rapt attention, while Penelope perks up straight on her chair with greedy eyes, both wanting the gossip.

Emily holds up her hands in frustration, needing to bring this back on topic before it unravels into Tara’s sex life. “Guys! Focus. We have a serial killer network out there that’s coordinating their effects to not only commit murder, but to help each other do it better. And if we don’t take Sicarius down before Bailey’s domestic terrorist unit does, the BAU’s disbanded.”

Her direct and gravelly tone silenced the group. She was relieved when they had the decency to look ashamed as the weight of her words brought a reality check.

Rossi agrees with Prentiss and looks expectant. “What’s the plan?”

“Whitlock will be working with me.” She checks her watch. “And she’ll be here soon.” As Emily looks back up, she gently shakes her head to slide the loose hair off her shoulder and catches Bailey walking into the bullpen.

Just fucking great…

“Rossi, I need you to coordinate with Garcia informing local law enforcement to retrieve these foot lockers quietly. I don’t want the network getting a hint of our operations for as long as possible.”

Thankfully Penelope’s quick work in deciphering the anonymous information sent to her was able to determine where all the foot lockers were hidden. It was time to collect.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Penelope salutes which makes Prentiss sigh.

“Luke and JJ, you’ll head to one of the sites and look for anything that might gives a better understanding of who we’re looking for. Rossi, you get to choose which one.”

“Understood.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” her eyes lock with Bailey’s, who finally found where his section chief was hiding out and looks livid. “I see our deputy director wants to speak with me.”

Luke winces as he dares to see what mood Bailey was in, “Have fun.”

JJ and Tara offer up sad waves while Penelope puts on a sickening smile with two thumbs up. Dave was kind enough to say nothing, but that smirk of his said it all.

Emily leaves the team, hearing them strategizing before the door closes and strides confidently up to her boss, feigning ignorance. “Deputy Director Bailey. What can I help you with?”

“I’ve been informed by the Attorney General that you’ve brought on a consultant.” His eyes were so belittling that Prentiss wishes she could punch him.

“That’s correct.”

“And you didn’t think to inform me of this decision?”

“Things had to move fast. Wilson spoke to Davis on my behalf, presented a reasonable case for Whitlock signing on –“

“You can drop the act, Prentiss. I’ve already seen the paperwork from the CIA’s office regarding the stipend.”

The corners of her mouth turn downward, waiting for him to continue. His expectant look made her realize he was waiting for her to explain herself. She unfolds her fingers from where they rest in front of her to gesture vaguely. “And?”

He took a step back and blinks with confusion. Bailey wasn’t ready for that response. “This should have gone through me first. Wilson was way out of line going right to Davis.”

“I’m confused Deputy Director.” Emily leans closer and lowers her voice. “The decision for Whitlock to use her stipend like this was her call. I approved it. As did the CIA. The only issue was making it legal on paper. The AG figured out a way and Wilson wrote it up. How would telling you sooner change the process?”

She pauses for dramatic effect. “Unless…”

Emily squints her eyes and shakes her head condescendingly. “… unless you’d put a stop to the process, it never reaching Davis’s desk in the first place.”

Bailey’s eyes waver from the intensity of Emily’s brown ones and swallows hard at being read so easily. But what did he expect from a high ranking profiler?

Okay, fuck it. Catching him off guard like this is actually nice.

Not that she’d admit that to you.

“I know it’ll take a few days for the BAU’s budget to reflect this, but please make sure that there’s enough money set aside to expedite the forensics on the bodies. We have a lot of people needing closure.” With a sure smile, she brushes past the still silent Bailey.

But then she stops and turns around with a confident swagger. “And if I’m not mistaken, there’s enough money left over to authorize the use of our jet again.”

Without waiting for Bailey’s response, she turns on her heels and heads straight for the elevators. She could feel the animosity radiating from him but there was nothing Bailey could do about it. The deal was done.

And now it was time to make good on the other part of the deal. Meeting up with you.

After your goodbye with Brian, you drove to a bakeshop on the way to Quantico to pick up a box of mixed donuts and macarons to feed your new teammates. And use as a possible bribe for Prentiss to maybe tolerate your presence just a teeny bit.

You flash your new FBI badge at the check-in desk, and your information was immediately verified in the system. Next you have your Glock checked as you passed through security, the officer confirming your credentials in carrying. You slip the gun back in your hip holster while balancing the box of goodies with your non-dominant hand and start walking down the hall to the elevators.

You offer a hello and polite nod in return when other personnel acknowledge you. Many didn’t even notice you were there, too busy with their heads down looking at their phones or chattering away endlessly on projects that could be talked about freely in this area.

It was starting to feel real and overwhelming being in a new area that knew nothing about you. Yeah, most of the CIA weren’t entirely aware of you and what you did but Langley was home. Familiar. Comforting. Hell, it was your actual home. Every time you were in between work and stateside your living space was a safehouse. All your personal effects were locked up in storage as you never stayed long enough to unpack. The SUV you drove wasn’t even yours. It was on loan from the CIA.

Your steps slow as thoughts begin to spiral: Should you get a place? If so, how long would the lease need to be for? You’re signed on for six months, but that is on a contingent basis in case the BAU needs you longer or when you catch Sicarius.

Sure Prentiss’ll be happy to kick me to the curb then … you muse. You wonder if she can tolerate you more than the few hours you’ve had the pleasure of conversing.

So, do you get a six month lease? Furnished or unfurnished unit? Stay at the sterile safehouse? What if the group wants to know you? See your place? Do things outside of work? Be … social. You’re good in the short term with a performance of being the you the government has taught you to be, but anything more than that has been reserved for Brian and the other trainees that were siblings to you. Even Rebecca didn’t know the real you; just a small scratch under the surface of the carefully constructed control to keep yourself buried.

Fuck. Get it together. This is just day one. Pay homage to the team with goodies and see what Prentiss wants you working on. Just be the amazing smartass agent that everyone knows you are. One step at a time.

At some point during your runaway thoughts, you pressed the button for the elevator. Your curious eyes kept getting a lay of the area while waiting – emergency exits, conference rooms for visitors that didn’t have clearance to go up any higher, security cameras, armed guards, who was coming and going.

Then the elevator chimes that it arrives. You face forward as the doors open and as fates would have it, there was Section Chief Emily Prentiss, who was just as shocked as you were that you ran into each other like this.

“Hey! Fancy meeting you here.” You flash a cheeky smile, finding this funny.

“Uh, yeah.’ Emily recovers quickly and holds the door open for you, so it doesn’t close. She looks you up and down, stopping briefly at the box you held before meeting your eyes without cracking a smile. “I was coming down to meet you. You got through security quick.”

“Thanks.” You take a moment to sweep her features and admit to yourself that the section chief cuts a flattering look in a black blouse and slacks. She’s elegantly professional.

You step inside to join her and hit number six for your floor. As you were going over what to say to break the deafening silence between you, you were surprised that Prentiss spoke up first.

“Trying to make nice with bringing food?” she questions.

You chuckle. “Damn. Totally called out.”

“It’s a safe go to.”

“Not necessarily.” Your eyes shift to look at Prentiss. “Je ne dirais pas que les macarons jouent la sécurité.”

Emily turns her head, brow raising at the response.

You turn to meet her head on. “Quoi? Je pensais que tu parlais français.”

Your new boss took time to smooth out her features while coming to a decision on how to answer. “Je fais. Mais pourquoi es-tu?”

At that, you smile as the doors to the sixth floor open. “Parce que je ne suis pas la seule à faire ses devoirs sur les personnes avec qui elle travaille.”

With a wink, you exit leaving Prentiss behind to digest the knowledge that you were well aware that the BAU had tried to dig up information on you.

Yeah, one step at a time …

I don't speak French so here is Google translate for you!

“I wouldn’t say macarons are playing it safe.”

“What? I thought you spoke French.”

“I do. But why are you?”

“Because I’m not the only one who does their homework on the people she’s working with.”

Chapter 4

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 53 (Detective Gordon's New Precinct)

While work kept Heather busy, Conrad spent his days learning the ropes at his new precinct in Brindleton Bay, where crime was less organized and the cells full of mostly petty criminals. Smuggling could be a problem at the docks from time to time, but they never stayed in port long to avoid getting caught, and never added much intrigue or danger to the town.

Gord couldn't join him when he spent his days on patrol, but this only motivated ambitious Conrad to prove himself even more.

He liked the sleepier lifestyle, the less dangerous crime scenes, and the supply of NesbeetsLT faux meat sandwiches in the break room vending machine. But he didn’t love leaving his beloved partner at home with the cats. None of his human partners could sniff out a suspect the way Gord could!

Conrad had better instincts than most of the detectives at his new precinct, and they invited him along to learn the ropes after a local barfight ended in a robbery. But rather than learn the ropes, Conrad solved the case. As a reward they let him process the booking - and all the paperwork, too!

He didn't mind. He was happy to show them how good he was. The guilty sim asked how he knew it was her while he took her fingerprints, and Conrad smiled.

"I followed the clues. You just left more behind than you thought."

He quickly proved himself worthy of several promotions until he was back to being a detective again, just like he’d been in San Myshuno. He was thrilled to have proven himself in less than six months. And now he could bring Gord on the job with him again.

And Gord was thrilled to be back inside a police station, ready to sniff out the next bad guy just like he used to do in the city.

"Okay, Gord, like we talked about, just be cool," Conrad pressed. "Stay calm."

Gord turned up his chin and gave an affirmative ruff.

Inside, the other detectives were happy to meet their new "deputy" Gord. Brindleton Bay was a pet-loving town, and it seemed silly there'd been no canines on the local force until now!

Gord leapt into the arms of Josephine, Conrad's human partner.

"I'm so sorry. He does this a lot more than he should." Gord barked as Conrad shot him a sideways glance.

"It's fine!" said Josephine with a laugh. "I think I'll like having him around."

After Conrad grabbed some lunch and put in a workout in the gym upstairs, he came back down to find Gord at Josephine's feet in the chief's office. "Gordon, you've got a great dog. If I'd have been in charge then, I'd have let you take him out with you when you first got here," said the chief.

Josephine smiled. "I'm supposed to retire in a year, but I could stick around for Gord alone. Where did you find this one?"

"We busted the puppy mill where was born back in the city. But honestly, Gord found me. My first partner named him when he followed me back to the cruiser. He passed K-9 training with flying colours, and he's been my partner against crime ever since."

Gord barked happily, rubbing his head against Conrad's pressed pant leg. Josephine pulled out her phone. "Can I take a picture to send my grandson? He just loves dogs!"

One evening, Conrad and Gord returned from work to find the cats playfully stalking the chickens in the yard. Heather hadn't asked him to pick up Ash on his way home, but for that he'd expected to see them both when he walked in.

"Heather?"

He set down his keys, but only the cats came running.

The house was eerily quiet. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

I hadn't figured out how to get Gord to the precinct and @deardiaryts4 just casually said "I guess you'll have to pose him there without a mod" and it melted my brain. Like I had never heard of or done this before in my life, but it opened up a whole new world of sim storytelling and poses for me and I'm so excited!! Thank you so much for the advice so I could at least pose Gord at work!

[joelswritingmistress]

Camp Crystal Lake: Chapter 11

Requested by @yellowjacketsbuzzbuzz

Joel Miller x f!reader (romance/horror)

Setting: Camp Crystal Lake

The reader is taking on the position of a camp counselor at the infamous Camp Crystal Lake. While she begins to enjoy her summer, even crushing on the camp director Joel, a killer lurks in the woods unbeknownst to anyone.

I couldn't remain in the cabin with all the commotion going on outside. I already heard Joel addressing the situation as I got myself together and hurried out the door, reaching for a paint brush as a prop for good measure.

Ralph stood there in the same clothes I'd seen him in the other day, gripping the rusted handles of his bicycle as he glared at Joel.

“I told the others!” The old man said, “They didn't believe me. Don't you care about your people here?” Ralph’s glare doubled down, “You're doomed! You're all doomed!”

“You can't keep doing this,” Joel said to him. “I'm going to have to call the sheriff the next time-”

“There won't be a next time!” He motioned with a crooked, boney finger. “Not if you stay!”

“Alright.” Joel removed the cell phone from his pocket and began to dial, though Ralph quickly hopped on his bike and struggled to take off into the woods - again.

“What's with this guy?” I grumbled, looking at Joel first and then to Sandra who leaned an arm on Jeff’s shoulder.

“He's a real prophet of doom,” Jeff said, smirking as he shook his head.

“And the cops hauled us in.” Sandra rolled her eyes. “But not that creep.”

“I'll call up the local department and let them know he's been hanging around,” Joel assured all of us. He wiggled his iPhone and nodded, “Let's get back to work.”

My eyes met Joel's and we shared a subtle smile before returning to the cabin. When I went to dive back in, his lips met mine but he pulled back and rested his hands on my waist. A lazy grin lingered on his face.

“Why don't we agree to meet back here after dinner tonight?” Joel suggested, “We can have a little privacy. I should probably be keeping a closer eye on things, anyway.”

“That's fair.” I nodded closed my eyes when he pressed his lips against mine again. I giggled when he playfully kissed down my neck and then back to my lips.

“I'm giving people one last night on the town, so maybe we can have a few drinks, I'll come back and make my rounds and then we could agree to ten o'clock?”

“I'll be here at 9:45.”

Joel chuckled and pecked my lips again. “Alright. I'm going to chase down Ralph and call it in, then I'll be back to help you paint.”

When three o'clock rolled around I felt the muscles aching in my sunburned arms. “No wonder Mr. Myagi had the Karate Kid painting all the time,” I said when I met up with Sandra down by the lake. We both stripped off our t-shirts, sporting bathing suits beneath them. “That was an arm workout.”

Sandra tossed her shirt and did some arm circles, shrugging her shoulders each time she did. “You're telling me. I'm wiped out.” She hurried onto the dock ahead of me and began a tiptoed jog down the length of it before diving into the cool water.

I trailed my new friend, following her lead as I, too, didn't waste time jumping into the lake. Mine was more of a pencil dive.

“I'm joining you!” I heard Teri call out when I resurfaced. She ditched her shorts and tank top on the beach sand to reveal her tye-dye bikini and came sprinting down the dock. Her petite body managed a giant cannon ball, causing Sandra and I to laugh when water splashed over us.

“Perfect 10!” Sandra shouted.

The boys joined in soon after, leaving Vicki and Mark at the edge of the lake where she doused his broad shoulders with lake water. He didn't seem to mind as their flirtation continued.

My heart ached for Joel, even though I was having plenty of fun splashing around in the water with everyone. When he finally appeared through the trees, a heat rose in my chest.

“Coming in?” Scott asked when Joel made his way down the dock.

“Not right now.” Joel grinned and put his hands on his hips.

“Forget your Speedo?” Ted asked.

“I have my pink one on under these,” Joel teased back, toying with the fabric on his cargo shorts. I giggled along with the rest of them.

“No, I'm actually here to let you know that if you'd like one more night on the town, tonight's the night; at least until mid summer when we have a week break to prepare for the second session.”

“A night out, I'm in!” Sandra said right away.

Jeff slicked back his hair, “I'm in, too. What kind of nightlife does this town have?”

“A couple dive bars,” I told him with a laugh.

“There is that place on the water on the opposite side of the lake.”

“The Casino Bar?” I asked.

“You have a casino here?” Sandra asked.

“Not quite,” I said with a laugh, “That's just the name of it.”

“It's a semi dive,” Joel said with a laugh. “Good views though.”

“I'm in,” Sandra repeated.

Teri scrunched her nose, “As much as I might regret it, I'm exhausted. I think I'm going to stay back and get to bed early.”

Scott pretended to yawn, “I'm sorta tired myself.” He smiled at the still-uninterested Teri, “Think I'll stick around, too.”

“I'm going,” Ted raised his hand.

“You driving?” Joel joked.

“Ehhhh…” He made a face.

“Mark?” Vicki turned to him and smiled, “Do you want to go?”

He made a face. “Nothing spoils a party faster than a drunk in a wheelchair.”

“That's crap.” She shook her head, “I'll take care of you. We can go together.”

“I think I'd rather stay in.”

She wore a little grin, “Would you mind my company?”

Mark smiled back. “I wouldn't mind at all.”

“(Y/N)?” Joel looked right at me.

“Yeah, sounds like fun.”

“Okay, then it's settled.”

Ted cleared his throat, “I think our wanderers should drive us.” He motioned to Jeff and Sandra, “They caused the uproar over here with the cops, and-”

Jeff swam a few feet over and dunked him under the water. When Ted came back up for air he never opened his eyes but continued trying to make his point about Jeff driving. Jeff dunked him again.

I couldn't help but laugh. This group felt like they were my people. I had only been around them for a short time but we all seemed to click.

“What time, boss?” Jeff asked, finally letting go of Ted.

“You want to leave here around seven?”

“Early bird special,” Ted continued to tease him, “The old man gets tired around nine.”

“Seven is fine!” Sandra shouted over him.

“Don't make me change my mind,” Joel shot back with a lopsided grin, pointing at Ted.

“Teddy!” Sandra shouted and Jeff dunked him again.

I looked up at Joel and he gave a wink, mouthing the words, “Ten o'clock,” and holding up all ten fingers.

I smirked and nodded before he bid everyone a temporary farewell and headed back through the trees towards the main cabin.

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@gissellec1 @cattt777 @mellymbee @armybts20137 @bbiophiliaa @littleblackcatinwonderland @mermaidgirl30 @brittmb115 @yellowjacketsbuzzbuzz @beltzboys2015-blog blog @lwfics @pedropascal111 @mellymbee @itscatrodriguez-thepearl

[oldfashionedbutlervibes]

Oilver Swift Headcanons Because Im Horridly Forgetful<3

Relationship;

—Okay, too start off he is the most supportive dork you will ever meet

—loves you more than anything-

—He actually has like four brain cells are three of them are specifically for remembering your anniversary

—He takes you to the damn cinema so excitedly like he doesn’t work there-

— gets you a discount on drinks whenever you go

— he also flirts..well, attempts too-

—HE. FUCKING. GIGGLES. AND. TUCKS. IMAGINARY. HAIR. BEHIND. HIS. EAR WHENEVER YOU FLIRT BACK

— god hes chaotic as fuck too-

—if y’all even consider marriage Gingi has to be best man-

Overall a 900/10 relationship<3 :DD

Friendship;

—y’all are getting up to absolute NONSENSE together-

—hes so fun, he just bounces around commits arson and gets high all in one day with you trailing behind him either encouraging his chimp-like behavior or desperately trying to calm him down-

—PLEASE PRAISE HIM FOR DOING BASIC TASKS- he has a very bruise-able ego!!

—So you know how dogman told us how exactly phones kiss? Like, gentle face mashing? He practiced with you-. 10000% yes he did-

—start a book club with him he’ll be your biggest fan and you two can read Dostoyevsky together or sum-

—HE TEXTS IN ALL CAPS WITH ABSOLUTELY NO PUNCTUATION OR GRAMMAR

9/10 friendship in general! (One point docked if you don’t match fez’s with him, then he’ll ghost you and cry in Randy’s dumpster for half an hour)

General;

—…here me out, man’s got pec’s to feed a village. (I’m a good person I promise.)

—Hes a veeeeeery physical touch oriented guy, literally has his arm around someone 24/7

—addicted to Mountain Dew, it’s chronic at this point

—hes a very talented painter, probably only paints the lewdest things imaginable but still, it’s something!

— he makes his bed a very specific way and actually beams whenever someone compliments it

—he has a collection of classic literature and poetry that he will rant about upon asking

—Jerry’s adhd son- Oliver has Jerry on speed dial incase he tries doing something strenuous and or stupid- (yes I realize how odd that speed dial part sounds upon reading it over)

— Owns over eight flannels for different ocassions-

—…….hes very experienced in the lewd activities some of you’d like to partake him don’t ask me how I know-

Overall, If you can’t tell I loveeee this silly little moron- (apologies once again for this taking so long once again, I appreciate all of your support so very much- please, send me a request if you’d like more-) (it also wouldn’t let me add the photo at the top AAA tumblr how darent you-)

(Update: OH. MY. GOD??? THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT I LOVE EVERYONE OF YOU-)

[honey-crypt]

KEEPER OF THE GLISTENING SEA - a merman!elliott x plus-sized!reader love story

01. LIGHT IN THE NIGHT

word count: 2.6k

warnings: mentions of shady capitalistic schemes (joja, duh!), one-off mention of psychedelics/hallucinogens

summary: it’s time for you to learn the ways of the lighthouse from willy, the expert of all things sea-related. you befriend a few residents of pelican town and find yourself easing into the groove of the valley. but what’s that flash of red you keep seeing at night?

author’s note: i wrote this like an hour after the prologue so enjoy <3

The incessant gawking of seagulls startled you awake before the crack of dawn. You grumbled a curse to yourself at their volume and tried to fall back asleep. Of course, that was a waste, as the seagulls continued to shriek at one another. Defeated, you kicked the covers off your body and pulled yourself out of bed, the woody floor creaking loudly under your bare feet. You soon dragged your exhausted body into the tiny bathroom and began your morning routine.

Halfway through brushing your teeth after your shower, you heard rapid knocking on your door. You exited the bathroom and opened the front door, revealing an older man with a greying beard and a brown cap, “Ahoy,” he greeted you, “Name’s Willy. Benny informed me that you arrived yesterday.”

“Willy!” you mumbled aloud, pulling the toothbrush out your mouth, “It’s, uh,” you realized that you were still in your pajamas and with terrible bedhead, “Wish we could’ve met when I was more… dressed.”

“No need to fret,” he reassured you, “I’ve seen worse, such as the time I caught the mayor in his lucky purple shorts,” the fisherman jested. He then held out a white box to you, “I just wanted to deliver you yer uniform, I got dear Emily making a few spares in the meantime.”

You took the box from his hands, surprised by its weight. Willy tipped his cap to you, “I’ll see you in an hour,” and walked off towards the nearby docks, where you noticed a small shop perched on it. You waved him off and shut the door behind you, eager to see your uniform. Gently, you unboxed the package, pulled out each part of your uniform, and fully assembled it on the dining table. Your face grew hot at the design of the uniform, a cross between traditional lighthouse keeper's attire and the kind of seafarer outfit someone would purchase for a Spirit’s Eve party.

The top half of your uniform was pretty fine, consisting of a white button shirt with a navy blue suit vest and matching suit jacket. Yet, it was the bottom half that made your palms sweaty. The pants, while appropriate for the warmer seasons, were high-waisted black shorts, adorn with three metallic buttons on each side. At least, the pants were the only real issue you had, the provided knee high socks and sturdy docker shoes not being much of an issue. You looked back at the pants and let out a frustrated huff before returning to your morning routine.

You stood before the wall hung mirror on your bathroom door in your new uniform, trying to break it in a bit before work. It caught you off guard how good it fit you, especially the pants. You adjusted your hat, navy blue with the symbol of the valley’s pride and joy- the Stardrop- in the center. Almost like the keeper’s uniform from hundreds years ago, you fiddled with your uniform, Except mine’s… more twink-ish.

You checked the time on your phone, thankfully able to get service from the one cell tower in the valley, Oh! It’s time.

After double-checking that you had everything you needed for your big day, you made your way out of the cabin and towards the lighthouse, only a few feet away. Outside its entrance, Willy was nursing a cigar, he quickly sniffed its flame upon your arrival, “Ahoy, again,” the fisherman pulled out a large ring of keys and selected the shiniest one, “Thank you for being timely, laddie, I do appreciate it,” he unlocked the door to the lighthouse, “Follow me and do be listening to all my blabbering.”

You followed Willy into the lighthouse, the door slowly closing behind you. A soft whistle escaped your lips at the interior, just as sleek as Benny described it in his letter. Yet, you couldn’t admire its shininess for long, as Willy began reviewing the basics of lighthouse keeping while walking up the spiral staircase, “Usually, it be up to a member of the Ferngill Republic Coast Guard or Navy to man a lighthouse such as this beaut, but given the ongoing war, not many are available to take this job.”

“How come I got it?” you asked, “In all honesty, I have very little experience with this kinda thing.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” chuckled the fisherman, “The mayor wanted me to do it since I’m a retired member of the Navy,” his footsteps thumped against the stairs, “But I already have my hands full at my shop. That’s when yer cousin told us that you had the guts to take it on,” the older man stopped upon making it to the main mechanical floor of the lighthouse, “And the fact that you be the strongest swimmer he knows.”

You raised your eyebrows, “What does good swimming have to do with maintaining a lighthouse?”

Willy cracked a small smile, “You be surprised. When out on these waters, yer ability to swim be the divide between making it home for supper or sinking to the bottom.”

You pressed your lips together, still not comprehending his words. Nonetheless, Willy moved onto explaining the basic functions of the lighthouse and your duties. To your joy, your main responsibilities were cleaning the light and troubleshooting its automated systems when necessary, “Thankfully, ‘is not like the old days where a keeper had to maintain the wicks of the lighthouse,” stated Willy, “The system is set up to do most of the work for you.”

He showcased the various dashboards of equipment, detailing each of their purposes. You made sure to take notes while he explained, not wanting to break any of the obviously expensive equipment. By the time you finished your tour with Willy, you were utterly drained, lighthouse terminology bouncing around your head like ping pong balls. Willy flashed you a toothy grin, “You’re doing well, laddie. This won’t be too hard for you and I’ll be here to train you for the next week and so.”

“Oh, that’s good to hear,” you relaxed your posture, relieved to hear that you weren’t being thrown to the wolves- or sharks, in this case- already.

“Report here tomorrow by dawn, laddie. We got a lot of work on our hands! Other than, you be free to enjoy the rest of your day,” Willy laughed, giving you a gingerly pat on the back before making his way to the bottom of the lighthouse. You copied his move and headed outside, grateful that you could change out of your uniform. Back in the cabin, you swapped your uniform for a comfy muscle tee and some shorts, collapsing on your bed. You checked the time again, that took FIVE hours? you gawked at the change in time. A groan fell from your lips, “It’s not even noon and I’ll already tired.”

Not wanting to succumb to your exhaustion, you switched your focus on unpacking your belongings. It only took an hour or so to fully unpack, you didn’t bring that much with you. For the final touch, you placed your photo frames on the dresser; one of you and Benny as kids at the beach and another of your mother holding your toddler self. You weren’t sure why you kept those photos for all those years, but you were now grateful that you did.

A knock on your door suddenly caught your attention, “Willy?” you questioned when you opened the door.

“Nope, it’s me,” your cousin greeted you, “I take it you wrapped up your tour with dear old William, huh?” they were covered in dirt and reeked of something tangy but ultimately nasty.

“Yeah,” you pinched your noise, “Why do you smell so… so putrid?”

Benny sniffled his shirt, “Sorry, I’ve gotten nose blind to the smells of the farm. You might be smelling my homemade fertilizer.”

“Yeah, that’s,” you tried not to gag at the smell, “That’s probably why I’m smelling.”

“You’ll get used to it,” snorted Benny, “The whole town has,” he gestured to the pathway to the community you came to know as Pelican Town, “Speaking of the town, I thought I’d swing by and get you acquainted with the residents!”

You grimaced, “Are you sure that I have to talk to them?” They didn’t seem so welcoming.

Benny crossed their arms, “Yes, yes you do,” before offering you a hand. Hesitantly, you grasped it and allowed your cousin to drag you off to Pelican Town. It appeared to be a busy day, as groups of people wandered about the main area of town. Benny, the extrovert of you two, waved at the group closest to you, an elderly couple, “Hi Evelyn! Hi George!”

The woman, Evelyn, wore her smile like it was made of pearls, absolutely radiating positive joy, “Oh, hello, dear! It’s so nice to see you!”

The man, George, on the other hand? He seemed to be the exact opposite of his counterpart, sporting a bitter frown, “Mmpf! Ben, it’s too early for your hollering!”

“Sorry, George,” your cousin placated the grump with a bowing nod, “I want to introduce you two to my cousin, (Y/N).”

“Oh, goodness!” proclaimed Evelyn, “I remember you! You were just a munchkin the last time I saw you, oh how big you’ve gotten, my dear.”

You winced a bit at the word big, but promptly shook it off, knowing that she wasn’t referring to you by your weight but rather your overall growth. Evelyn resumed her chatter, “I used to bring homemade cookies and lemonade to you both when you would stay with Charlie for the summer. I’m so glad you’re well, sweetie.”

“Thank you, Evelyn,” you gave her a small nod and an awkward smile. Meanwhile, George huffed and commented, “I remember you, too. You were quite the troublemaker, you nearly destroyed my TV set!”

Benny concealed a snort of laughter and you did the same, thinking back to the time you visited the Mullners’ house and nearly ran straight into the TV while being chased by Benny and the Mullners’ grandson, Alex. I wonder if Alex’s alright, you thought to yourself; you’ve seen him in years, surely he was off in a city somewhere doing something.

“It’s nice to meet you, uh,” you held back a playful snicker, “Again, George.”

“Well, we should be off!” your cousin diffused the situation and whisked you off to another group of townies before George could run you down with his wheelchair.

Throughout the afternoon, Benny introduced you to the various residents of Pelican Town, from the carpenter Robin and her family to the general owner Pierre and his family. Everyone in town had such a bizarre energy about them, but you found yourself most comfortable with Robin’s son Sebastian and Pierre’s daughter Abigail. They were the closest to you in age and you could relate to them as a fellow “weird” person, as you were quite a fan of the occult like Abigail and of Solarian Chronicles: The Game like Sebastian. Soon, you were introduced to Sam, another member of the “weird kids” clubs in Pelican Town, who fancied himself a musician. You spent the remainder of the day getting to know the three of them, as you all longued about the rec room of The Stardrop Saloon, owned by a kind moustached man named Gus.

“It’s really cool that you moved here, (Y/N),” mused the purple-haired girl to you, “Don’t get me wrong, your cousin is cool and all but they’re too focused on their farm work to really hang out like this with us.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” you acknowledged, “Kinda glad I didn’t inherit the farm then.”

“Oh yeah, what’s with that?” Sam piped up, “Is it like an age thing that determined it?”

You unknowingly shifted your body away from the trio, “Yeah, something like that.”

“You don’t seem like the farm type, anyway,” stated Sebastian. You tensed up, “You think so?”

“Yeah,” he sunk deeper into the couch, “You seem like you don’t give a rat’s ass about the boring logistics of it all, I know from Benny that being a farmer requires you to wear too many professional hats.”

“You’re totally right about that,” you laughed, letting go out of the tension in your body, At least he didn’t call me too fat for manual labor. Trust me, I’m more than capable of doing it. you kept your thoughts to yourself.

“I’m gonna grab us some drinks!” the blond next to you exclaimed, “What does everyone want?”

“Joja Cola,” was Abigail’s order.

“Beer,” replied Sebastian.

Sam looked at you curiously, “And you?”

“Oh, uh,” you squeezed the loose ends of your tee, “Just water will be fine.”

“Okie dokie, be right back!” the musician skipped off to the bar to grab the drinks. Sam returned shortly after and passed out the drinks, having gotten himself a Joja Cola. With drink in hand, he raised it to the ceiling, “I propose a toast!”

“A toast?” you adjusted you grip on your glass of ice cold water.

“Yeah! To you moving to the valley,” elaborated Sam. Abigail smiled and held her drink up, followed by Sebastian. You did the same, all four drinks pointing at the ceiling.

“To (Y/N), may they find success in the valley!” Sam toasted.

“To (Y/N)!” Abigail followed.

“To (Y/N),” Sebastian add on.

“To me!” you exclaimed.

The four of you clinked glasses and cans together; feelings of joy and peace bubbled in your stomach, as dusk passed and the night went on. You didn’t have many friends back in your hometown and you most definitely didn’t have any in ZuZu City so this was a nice change of pace.

A new beginning, your cousin’s words crossed your mind. You smiled to yourself, A new beginning.

You found yourself back on the shore outside your cabin, nursing another cup of melatonin. Your new friends unfortunately had to depart for home sooner than expected, Sebastian and Sam having work in the morning and Abigail having to study for a class of hers. Nonetheless, you were beyond grateful to have befriended them, happy to have a chance to socialize with like minded peers. Like your first night in the valley, the ocean waves were almost hypnotic in their movement, you felt yourself grow sleepy just from watching them.

Then it happened, you noticed a flash of red, just like the night before. You rose from the ground and walked closer to the shoreline, squinting out into the distance to see if you could locate the possible buoy responsible for the flash of red. Yet, much to your confusion, there was no buoy in sight. You looked down at your cup of tea, “Do I need to switch brands?” you muttered aloud. It was Joja Doz-ja Melatonin Tea and Joja was known for their shady shortcuts, it wouldn’t be that much of a shocker if their tea contained psychedelic or hallucinogenic ingredients.

Another flash of red darted across your eyes, earning an exasperated grunt from you. You downed the rest of your tea and stomped to bed, not wanting to entertain the potential hallucination you were having. Thankfully, with the magic of Joja Doz-ja Melatonin Tea, you were out like a light and sleeping the night away.

In the midst of twilight, your supposed halluncation was perched upon a nearby rock. Long ginger hair clung its form like seaweed, as it flapped its tail against the rock.

“Come back soon,” the creature whispered into the darkness, its deep seafoam eyes twinkling like stars in the sky.

[violetmuses]

Shattered - A. Aretas 🖤❤️‍🩹

Title: Shattered - A. Aretas 🖤❤️‍🩹

Fandom: “Bad Boys” Film Universe 

Character: Armando Aretas 

Pairing: Armando Aretas + Female Reader

Main Storyline: When Isabel Aretas seeks revenge, you cross paths with her son, Armando. @nelo0wesker @yassbishimvintage @peaxhygirl

====

2020

Three shadows moved past burning flames as this outdoor space crackled from every direction. Nightfall casted right over this pitch-black skyline. 

Standing in one bloodied prison uniform, Isabel Aretas leads the dark moment without ever speaking. 

You've met Isabel's son, Armando, and watch as this separate vehicle pulls up to help everyone depart the large and horrific scene. 

Onward. 

_____

Still lurking in Mexico, Isabel would plot vengeance all around.

Several members of the Miami Police Department jailed her late husband, cartel leader Benito Aretas.

No matter what happens next in South Beach, loyalty stood as this main rule. Wavering from that mission reeled Isabel's plan near wrong spaces. 

Even before reaching Miami with Armando, neither of you have spoken to each other. 

An invisible air rendered your voices silent in the otherwise gorgeous compound. Though Isabel hasn't expressed herself, you've known better. 

As of late, your communication with Armando lies between cell phones: 

Armando: Ready? ✈️ 

It's time to go. You thought. 

*****

The Miami Harbor reeked of brackish yet putrid air during one summer night. Gangsters nearly huddled around this dock in search of veiled cash. 

“I knew treasure stayed in the ocean, but somebody lied to us. Coño!” Zway Rodriguez shook his capped head while facing Armando. 

“Should cover the cost of materials we've discussed. And then some.” Armando revealed slightly accented English while holding money. 

“Who's this? Hola Mami.” Zway Rodriguez ignored Armando and pointed near you, stepping closer to flirt.

“None of your business.” Armando defended you here. 

“My bad. Thought you could share, man.” Zway lifts his hands. 

Weirdo. Armando thinks. 

“Let's renegotiate, especially when you have her with you. I know plenty of ballers who'd like to see that pretty face.” Another idiot wearing terrible sunglasses moved  forward and noticed Armando, but propped you up in this disgusting manner. 

 “ What you say? We had a deal.” Stepping even closer, Armando slowly reaches his breaking point. 

“Oops.” This idiot draws his firearm and points the weapon directly toward Armando. Other goons surrounded the men, lurking. 

Smirking in the dark, you cornered yourself once Armando finally reveals this Karambit knife to stab the idiot wearing shades. 

Aretas even shoots various bullets from his own gun. Both weapons quietly tucked sleeves found near leather pants. 

“C'mere, look at me. Last warning: I don't renegotiate.” Countless body drops later, Armando defended everything and lifted the choking man's face, taking this final bullet to kill him. 

Silently gesturing for you to come back, Armando takes charge.  Zway and other survivors watch this dangerous man speak once more.

As you've learned, the Aretas Cartel drifted through shadows like ghosts, horrific in many ways. 

“My family's taking back management of this town and we'll need some loyal employees. Who wants a job?” Armando grounded leadership. 

“Dental?” Zway then dared to be stupid all over again. 

“Say that again?” Armando pointed the barrel of his gun toward Zway's chin and you only lifted your brow, just waiting for that trigger to go off. 

“Easy, Papi.” Zway just kept taunting this moment, but Armando set the firearm down and tapped Zway's gold jewelry. 

“You'll work for me now.” Armando offered Zway rules without even yelling. “If you get people to fall in line and stay out of my fucking way, I won't kill you.” 

No longer talking, Armando stepped back, leaving Zway quietly anxious and scared. 

“All right, fellas. Listen up. Listen up. Let's get this money now. Vamos!” Zway shouted toward the others and people scrambled to gather remaining cash, alive. 

Standing on the dock, you watch as Armando dialed this number to contact his mother Isabel. 

When the phone call ended, Armando turned around and looked at you. 

“Yeah?” You whispered and leaned in to hear Aretas possibly speak. 

“May I?” His accented English pulled through when Armando glanced down, politely reaching for your hand. 

“Yes.” You gently take his palm in return and exit the dock, gaining actual trust. 

*****

“I'll be back. This one is on me.”  Armando stands in his motorcycle gear and interrupts you. 

“Who's the target?” You ask. 

“Mike Lowrey. I'm tired of waiting. Tag me.” Aretas gathered essentials and left this hotel room. You would still trace the operation. 

Here we go. You thought. 

______

Jackpot! 

Not long after Armando pulled his trigger, Detective Mike Lowrey stood down. 

“Got ‘em. Are you still waiting?” Aretas questioned your location by phone. 

“Yeah, why?” You glanced around while sitting near your laptop just in case. 

“Mind if we order room service or something?” His slightly accented English returned. 

“Celebrating?” You almost laughed in response to Armando. 

“Technically. The boogeyman is gone.” Aretas grounded this phone call. 

“All right. Let's do it.” You hung up and nearly smiled.  

______

Once you offered space for Armando's privacy, both meals and dessert lined up for enjoyment. 

“What's your name again?” Sitting across this table, Aretas dares to flirt, but you don't feel uncomfortable. 

“Very funny.” You clipped back. 

“All jokes aside, I'm serious.” Armando locked eye contact. “My mother hardly introduced us after the prison break.

Realization slammed thoughts down. Isabel's escape hit the ground running with vengeance and you couldn't process time altogether. 

You barely knew the man who stayed in this hotel room, her son. 

“Where should I start?” You offered the question, genuinely puzzled. 

“Doesn't matter.” Armando shrugged for a moment and still watched you. 

Even while music played from this Bluetooth speaker, Armando couldn't glance elsewhere. 

You're beautiful. And despite sharing this mutual understanding for violence, Aretas would still take bullets for you. 

“Want my file?” You would definitely send highlights of your own battles. 

“No.” Aretas understands how lethal you are when given signals. “My mother doesn't choose amateurs.” 

“What's on your mind?” You gestured near your temple. 

You. Armando thinks. 

******

Within months of the large-scale assassination taking place, news changes everything: 

By some unexpected chance, Detective Mike Lowrey survived! 

“How'd it go?” Briefly staying in Mexico this time, you whispered to Armando once Isabel chided this situation. Her son didn't follow the hit list in order. 

“Heading right back to Miami.” Armando wouldn't make eye contact with you as this team left the compound once more. 

Dammit! Square one. 

*****

Returning to the Miami Harbor, you set out this propped laptop while scrolling names from law enforcement databases and Armando watches. 

“Do it right. No more chances.” You warned him, reasonably irritable now. 

“Be careful…” Armando walked behind you and his sleeved arms over your space. 

“Am I wrong?” Even as you speak, his calloused palms gently smooth your knuckles. 

“Never.” Armando whispered through ongoing trust and welcomed distance to let you work. 

_______

The second time around, every single pierced bullet moved  closer and closer toward gaining true revenge. 

Even Miami Police Department Captain Conrad Howard stood responsible for locking down Armando's late father, Benito Aretas years back. 

When Captain fell this time, Armando really showed out. 

“Cheers.” Aretas clinked glasses with you, still fair enough to dodge taking out Mike Lowrey near innocent civilians. 

“Now what?” You've set your own drink down tonight. 

“Home stretch.” Armando clipped that response once more. 

“All right.” You lifted the glass of champagne and handed this beverage to Armando before walking away, turning off music. 

Your faint lipstick smudged this glass, catching Armando's interest. 

Updating one private list set on his phone, Aretas counted another trait of yours: 

You've rarely worn makeup, unlike his mother Isabel. 

____

The following day, you woke to see text messages lighting up your phone: 

Armando: Meet me in ten minutes! ⏰️ 🛩 

Given no other choice right now, you scrambled out of bed without hesitation and didn't even try fixing covers, hopping the shower. 

Something went wrong. 

****

“What the hell happened?!” You run back into the Mexico City compound and find Armando pacing by this mirror. 

“Would you lie to me?” Furrowing his brow, Aretas rasped the important question to you. 

“No.” Vowing once more, you would pull every trigger at the first chance. “What's going on?” 

Vulnerable for the first time, Armando reached out and you nodded as his dangerous fingers somehow warmed your arms. 

“He's out for blood.” Armando revealed Detective Lowrey's plan to kill him. “If anything happens to me, run.” 

“I'll never step without you. What about our loyalty?” You recalled the earlier promise. 

By that very moment, Armando nearly turned speechless. 

“C'mon.” Taking your hand in private, Aretas led you out of this room, ready for war. 

******

As you battle near Armando through your own defense, this big-time compound standoff erupted with the Miami Police Department AMMO squad. 

“Armando, you're my son.” Detective Mike Lowrey stood among fire and rubble as his words revealed near embers. 

What?! Absolutely not. Your own thoughts panicked. There's no way in hell that Lowrey is telling the truth. 

Isabel would've lied about everything. 

“Shut up.” You offer venom too, staying just as enraged with Armando in bewilderment. 

“I didn't know about him. If I had known…” Lowrey still makes an attempt while looking at you.

Armando then uses force to kick Mike backwards and destroys even more of this space. 

Every other second, his fists pulled more and more strength, but the main question lingered. 

“Who are you?” Aretas still injured Lowrey without fail and brought out the detective's weakness. 

“Ask your mother…” Mike continued responding even when Armando pulled his collar. 

Isabel Aretas emerged while dampened from outdoor rain. 

“¿Es cierto lo que dice?” Speaking his native language of Spanish, Armando asked Isabel if Mike really told the truth. 

"No importa. Él no significa nada para ti.” Isabel refused to answer clearly and this response doesn't even matter. 

“Hey, do ya'll see this fuego? Can we take this shit outside?” Detective Marcus Burnett is scared of the fire and damage engulfing all corners. 

“Cállate!” Armando shuts Burnett down once more, yet faces Isabel with sadness. “¿Quién es, mamá?”

“Tell ‘em!” Mike nearly shouts to Isabel despite everything. 

“Es mi papá?” Armando's heart continues to break. 

“Is he my father?!” Reaching this final resort about Mike Lowrey, Armando Aretas yelled to his mother in English. 

“Yes.” Isabel confirms the truth to Armando at last. No doubt whatsoever. “Kill him…”

Just when Mike and Armando stand while facing each other, Isabel clicks the barrel of her own gun directly behind your head. 

“No…”Armando realizes what is happening with you and more grief snatches air right from his lungs. “You took so much away from me. Don't pull the trigger.”

Ignoring her son, Isabel wanted to kill you here, but Lieutenant Rita Secada stepped up and locked immediate bullets to end Aretas.  

When you grab Armando's hand once more, the AMMO  squad hurries to escape tragedy and this outright mansion collapses forever. 

******

“How you doing?” Following the death of Isabel Aretas, Detective Mike Lowrey stepped forward to check on his estranged son, Armando, in prison. 

“I've paid my debt. It's a big one.” Armando tells the truth, sighing in this orange uniform. 

“An opportunity might help cut down some of your debt.” Mike continued. “Interested?” 

“Yeah, man.” Armando nodded toward his biological father, prepared. 

“And don't think I forgot…” Mike lifted his brow and stepped back to reveal your presence. 

“Hi.” You smiled toward Armando while standing in this darkened space. 

“Hey.” Armando greets you with his slightly accented English once more

“Uh-oh! Are you blushing over her?” Mike chuckled near Aretas. 

“No.” Aretas fibs and pulls himself together  knowing that visitation will run out. 

“Yeah, right. You're sprung as hell, but I'll see you soon.” Mike started to walk away, but still noticed when Armando winked toward you from his spot. 

He's just like me. Lowrey confirmed one final time. 

Who knows what the future brings? 

[ssruis]

(Wrt last post) If only to emphasize how my brain likes to give me insane pronunciations of things I 100% did the Persephone as “purse a phone”, I did Aphrodite as “a pro three dight” (not even the right order of letters???), suddenly had my brain decide yacht was yackt way after I’d learned how to say it, said the word crimson as “crime son”, and pronounced Bordeaux as “bore docks” after taking enough French to know that’s not how it’s said. I cannot highlight enough that I’m not dyslexic, I’ve always scored in the 90-99th percentile for english and reading standardized testing, I read unfamiliar words phonetically automatically, and was always reading both constantly and above my age group as a kid. It just so happens that I’m also dumb as all hell and if you show me a new word I will still find a bizarre and completely wrong way to say it at least 30% of the time. I’m simply stupid and bereft of brain cells or intelligent thought in most arenas of life.

[elementoftheeye]

Dock diving dogs on film... not unhappy with this shot of a Giant Schnauzer... this is a cell phone shot of the 35mm negative... 1/1000th is as fast as I can go.

[theboywithburninghands]

Morning guys, or afternoon/evening depending on where you are. So, I know I said the @rottentricks story was only gonna be three chapters, but chapter two has gotten so big I wouldn’t feel right slapping a giant wall of text onto your timeline. So, it’s being split into two parts. Here you are, hope you like it!

T/W: Blood, discussions of suicide/murder, fantasy racism

Animals Ch. 2: Sheep, Part 1

What do you get for pretending the danger’s not real?

—

Pomni fell out of bed with a jolt at the sound of her telephone ringing. She hurriedly detangled her quilt from around her foot as the phone rang again, followed by the caller ID loudly and robotically blurting out:

“CALL FROM- PRIVATE CALLER.”

“Gee, thanks…” Pomni mumbled. She had no idea why her parents got her a phone with caller ID. It almost never worked unless the person had a private cell, and the only people she knew who could afford one of those were her parents… Hm, she might have just answered her own question.

She grabbed the phone off the charging dock and hit talk before it could ring again.

“Hello…?” she said sleepily.

“Hey Pomni, it’s Ragatha! Did I wake you up?”

Pomni cleared her throat. She checked her watch. 12:47 PM… sweet Jesus. How embarrassing.

“Uh- n-no, you didn’t… what’s up? You okay?”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine, hun, but have you seen what’s going on downtown?” Ragatha asked, her tone hushed. A faint susurrus could be heard in the background of the phone call.

“Uh… no. I’ve been at my apartment since I got steak from Kingston’s Charcuterie yesterday morning… Working on stuff for school, you know? What’s happening?”

“You were at Kingston’s yesterday…? You know Jax then?” Ragatha’s tone turned much more serious.

“Uh, yeah..?”

“Honey, he was arrested.”

Pomni covered up the mouthpiece of the phone and loudly swore. She uncovered it and kept talking.

“Are you serious..? Why?” she asked. Her concern was quite genuine, but her surprise was not. She knew why.

“They’re saying that it looks like someone killed Kaufmo with a knife and hung him up a tree to make it look like a suicide… oh god, it’s horrible. But they found a knife from Jax’s store in the woods nearby, and they said that was good enough evidence to arrest him. They took him in last night around 6 PM…”

Pomni sighed. She knew it would happen… Those stupid cops already had him pegged for the murderer. There was some evidence sure, but-

Well… maybe she was wrong. Maybe they did find some evidence incriminating him that came up, fingerprints (like she demanded they look for), a piece of purple fur or something… Maybe she really was just letting her biases get in the way.

“…all over Main Street. …Pomni, baby, you there?”

Pomni blinked back into her apartment, and realized that Ragatha had been talking the entire time she’d been arguing with herself.

“Uh- s-sorry you broke up for a minute, what did you say?”

“I said that someone must have said something, because there’s a huge protest going on outside the station, saying it was an unfair arrest! There’s out-of-towners, some locals, they’re all over Main Street! I think I see a news van out there..! You can probably hear ‘em right now!”

“Oh god, is that what that background noise is? Holy shit. Are… you okay, Ragatha?” Pomni asked.

“Me? I’m a little shaken up. Jax has been providing supplies for the café for years! He gives us our steak, our burgers, our bacon, our sausages… and he’s my friend. He can be a bit rude and he’s scary looking, but… I don’t think he’s capable of…killing people.” Ragatha whispered the last two words.

“I don’t think he is either,” Pomni said. “And-And I only met him for a few minutes yesterday. Sure, it’s suspicious about the knife, but he sells knives! Someone could have used one they already bought or stole one. And-And I was there when those cops showed up, and I saw how they acted! They looked ready to shoot him and one of them said something really nasty…”

Ragatha sighed. “You wanna know the sad part, honey? That doesn’t surprise me even a little. Autumnvale is a nice place, but some people around here like things in their place, and if you fall outta that place… It can be hard for you. But I hope you don’t think our whole town is like that.”

“Oh- No- No, not at all! I love the friends I’ve made here. You’ve been amazing…” Pomni said. She meant it. Ragatha had basically taken on the role of her big sister here.

“Aww… That’s so sweet of you, Pomni. You’ve got enough to eat, right? I’m sorry I closed the café yesterday…”

“No, Ragatha, don’t worry. I was fine, and you needed the day off. But I can come see you now if you want? I haven’t had breakfast yet and I ate my whole steak yesterday…”

She could practically feel Ragatha’s luminous smile through the phone. “Well sure, hun, come and visit! I’ll make you something special. Just be careful, okay? These protesters are making me nervous…”

“I will. See you in a bit, okay?” Pomni said with a smile.

“Bye.~” Ragatha said, and there was a click at the other end.

Pomni hopped off her bed and got herself dressed. Fresh underwear, then shirt, then pants, then fleece, then puffer, then purse. She looked out her window, saw it was snowing, and added a pair of black gloves and a white scarf, topped with her gray university beanie. It didn’t match her outfit, but maybe with this on, the protestors wouldn’t yell at her. She was on their side, after all, she thought something was fishy about the whole thing too…

She stepped outside, looking around at the falling snow. Big, fat flakes that looked like wisps of cotton. She held out a black-gloved hand and caught one. The flake remained on her palm for a moment before the heat from her hand caused the fluff to recede into water on her glove. She smiled.

She put her glove back on the strap of her purse, then turned to look at the stairs. They were dusted with snow, and no doubt slippery.

She huffed and gripped the railing tight. One step at a time, never let go. Repeat for all thirteen steps.

An excruciating minute later and she was at the bottom, panting and sending up plumes of steam. She appreciated being on the second floor to avoid the rats and bugs, but having to climb up and especially down these icy stairs was brutal… One of these days she was going to slip and fall and it was gonna suck.

“You okay, Miss?”

Pomni looked up at the unfamiliar voice. An abstract person sat atop a horse. They had a triangular head, bright pink, with no visible mouth and a shiny metal hook for a left hand. They wore a heavy poncho, colored dark green with yellow diamonds, and a brown cowboy hat. They sat atop a horse with an unusual coat, a nearly perfect split between black and white stripes and plain white fur.

“Um… hi. Yeah, I’m fine, just… uh… stairs.” Pomni pointed to the offending structure, still out of breath.

“Mmm. You headed into town?” the person on the horse asked.

“Yeah. You heading there too? Have you heard about the protests..?” Pomni asked.

“Yeah. I’m close friends with the guy that got arrested. I’m gonna see if I can post his bail.” they said.

Pomni perked up a bit. “Oh, great! Uh, I’m a friend of his as well! I saw the way the cops treated him…”

“Really? Tell me about it, I’ll give you a lift into town.”

The person on the horse turned their mount around the opposite direction, offering their non-hook hand. Pomni took it, carefully sliding her feet into the stirrups and climbing up onto the horse, sitting herself a bit clumsily behind the rider. The horse shook their head and snorted in annoyance.

“I’m Zooble. This is ZigZag.”

Zooble patted the side of their horse, gently tugging on their reins so they turned back towards town, then flicked the reins with a soft “giddyup.” ZigZag chuffed and trotted forward, leaving horseshoe prints in the new fallen snow.

“Hi, I’m Pomni. I’m here on an art scholarship.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot Mayor Mason started doing that. You’re here a full year, then?” Zooble asked without turning around.

“Yeah. Until I get my Master’s in May… I really love it here though… Well I love most of here. Winter has been pretty rough.” Pomni admitted.

Zooble chuckled. “Yeah, we have harsh winters. Our nights are especially bad. You’ve been staying inside after dark, right?”

“Mhm, always. If I die, my parents will have wasted money. Worse still, the college will have to liquidate my loans.” Pomni replied, putting her gloves to her cheeks in mock horror.

Zooble chuckled once again. “I’m not surprised you fit in here, you came pre-fit with small-town snark.”

“Thanks. Oh, so, yeah, I saw Jax yesterday. The cops were already gung-ho about arresting him… You’re his friend, right? You don't think he would do something like that, right…?”

Zooble was silent for a moment. “To someone like Kaufmo? No.”

“Wait- what do you mean?” Pomni asked, leaning a ways off of ZigZag to get a better look at the rider’s face.

“What I mean is that… He would never hurt anyone that didn’t really have it coming. I don’t know if you know, but the other kids made his life hell growing up. They called him a freak and said his parents abandoned him ‘cause he was so ugly and a half-breed. But… he fought back one day. It was bad. And ever since then, he hasn’t taken shit from anybody. I bet the only reason he even went with the cops is because if he put out one of their eyes or snapped one of their arms, he’d get his brains blown out or thrown away to rot. He’s got a temper, and he’s capable of a lot when you push the right buttons… but no. He wouldn’t hurt Kaufmo. Or me, or Gangle, or Rags.”

“…Or me?” Pomni asked.

“…I dunno. Are you a good person?” Zooble retorted.

“I’d like to think so…” Pomni replied meekly. “He seems to like me okay. He let me have a steak yesterday.”

“Really? He almost never gives anyone free food. He mumbles and grumbles about just giving me enough beef chuck to make stew.”

“Is that right..?” Pomni felt her face warm up again.

As they approached the town, they faintly heard the chanting of a good-sized crowd.

“AUTUMNVALE ISN’T FAIR! RACIST PEOPLE EVERYWHERE! AUTUMNVALE ISN’T FAIR! RACIST PEOPLE EVERYWHERE!”

Zooble tugged gently on ZigZag’s reins, slowing her to a stop. ZigZag nickered uneasily at the commotion up ahead, Zooble putting a hand out to pet her neck.

“Yeah, I know it’s loud, princess. Don’t worry, we’ll tie you off right here, okay?” they soothed.

Zooble then hopped down off the horse, landing firmly on both feet. They looked up at Pomni.

“Need help, city girl?”

Pomni bristled a tiny bit at that comment. Sure, it wasn’t a lie or anything, but it always made her feel… inexperienced. Sheltered.

“I got it,” Pomni replied. She looked down at the snowy ground. It was a drop for sure, especially for someone her size. Well, what did she have to lose other than the use of her ankles?

She slid off the horse, hitting the snow with both feet a bit too hard and fast, buckling and being forced to catch herself with her hands. She stood up immediately and dusted the snow off her gloves.

“You go on ahead. I gotta tie her off and put on her blanket.” Zooble said.

“Okay, thanks for the ride… Do you really think you can cover Jax’s bail?” Pomni asked, looking down at the snow.

Zooble sighed. Their breath steamed.

“Hope so. I’m just one person, and the bail for suspicion of murder is gonna be a small fortune. But I got a lot in savings. You didn’t hear it from me though.”

“I… don’t have much money, but I can try and help.” Pomni said. She desperately needed that money for groceries and art supplies, truth be told… She wasn’t sure why she even offered.

“Nah. Thanks, but nah.” Zooble said, tying ZigZag’s halter to a wooden perimeter fence nearby. “Do have a quick question, though.”

“Yeah?”

Zooble opened one of the saddle bags and looked at Pomni. Even though they had no visible mouth, looking at their eyes made it clear that they were smiling.

“You said you only met Jax yesterday, and you’re dead-set on helping him out. Why’s that?” Zooble asked, removing a green and yellow horse blanket.

“Because…” Pomni swallowed and felt her already rosy cheeks darken. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“Yup, that is true…” Zooble replied expectantly, shaking out the blanket.

“Y-Yeah. I’m… I’ll see you up ahead. Thanks again.”

“Be seeing you.” Zooble said, a laugh on the edge of their voice.

Pomni put her hands in her jacket pockets and crunched her way towards town. The roar of emotions in her belly distracted her long enough for her to reach the hubbub on Main Street.

A crowd of around four dozen people had gathered outside the Autumnvale police station, some familiar faces from around town, some people Pomni didn’t recognize that must have come from neighboring towns, maybe even her city. A few people held signs written on bright yellow or green poster paper, a few having opted for foam boards instead. They read things such as:

“DIFFERENT MAKES NO DIFFERENCE”

“YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO REMAIN BLACK AND BLUE”

“AUTUMN-FAIL”

“WHERE’S THE EVIDENCE?”

“JUSTICE FOR JAX!”

An older chickadee birdman in an orangish-brown leather jacket and black toque stood at the head of the crowd. Pomni recognized him as the town doctor. She’d seen him a few times. He seemed to be the leader of the group, but that could be because he was the only one that had a bullhorn. He turned it on and spoke into it.

“We aren’t going to lay down and let the police continue to treat crossbreeds like second-class citizens! Not here, not in any other city!”

He then led the crowd in another chant of “AUTUMNVALE ISN’T FAIR, RACIST PEOPLE EVERYWHERE!”

Nearby, a news anchor and her cameraman interviewed a chess piece shaped fellow in a red flannel jacket and a fishing hat, who wrung his hands nervously.

“And you raised him, Mr. Kingston?” the anchor asked into her mic before offering it to the man.

“Y-Yes my wife and I raised Jax, the mayor found him abandoned in a cabin in the woods and brought him to us when he was just bite-sized.”

Pomni tried to walk a little closer inconspicuously.

“And you believe he’s innocent?” The anchor asked.

“Of course. Jax is a good boy. People around town have treated him so rotten.” Mr. Kingston said adamantly.

“You think that there’s bias in the arrest?” The reporter asked.

“Definitely, definitely. Some people around here still call him a cannibal, can you believe that? Just because he’s part wolf and needs meat in his diet, they call him a cannibal.” Mr. Kingston said, wounded.

“And what do you have to say about the knife that was found near the crime scene, Mr. Kingston?” The anchor asked.

“I say ‘malarkey.’ Jax sells those knives in his shop, anyone could have taken one and put it there. They probably picked him on purpose!”

Pomni listened a while longer before looking out amongst the crowd again. A few of the same cops from the crime scene the previous day stood in front of the station behind sawhorses, along with some new ones. Autumnvale must have brought in other precincts to keep the situation under control. One particular officer, a human with a gold badge and in a wide brimmed white cowboy hat and aviator shades, stood along with them, hands on his hips. Probably the sheriff.

The protest leader spoke into his bullhorn again.

“The detectives who made the arrest are nowhere to be seen! Isn’t that intriguing, everyone?”

The crowd booed.

“It seems that they feel perfectly comfortable bullying a man when they outnumber him, but once we show up, they go missing! Isn’t that intriguing?!”

Another round of booing and hissing from the crowd, one person shouting “Fuckin’ cowards!”

“Yes, these enforcers of justice seem to only bother enforcing said justice if it’s against people they don’t like!”

He continued on as Pomni slipped behind the crowd. The café was located just beyond the protest. No doubt, they were all going to head there after the demonstrations finished. Although from the amount of fervor in the crowd, it didn’t seem to be losing momentum anytime soon.

As she crossed to the other side of the road to the café, she spotted Trevor leaning against the post office next door. He locked eyes with her, a cigarette smoldering in his teeth, and grinned spitefully. Pomni hurried into the café.

“Hey! Good afternoon hun!” Ragatha waved. Pomni couldn’t help but smile and wave back. That sunny smile could cure sickness if someone could figure out how to bottle it.

“Good afternoon to you, miss.” another voice chimed in. A woman composed of a white mask and red ribbons sat at the counter, a black beret on her head and a cup of coffee in her hands. Er… ribbons.

“Come and sit, Pomni! You’ve met Gangle, right?” Ragatha poured another cup of coffee for the art student.

She stomped the snow off of her boots before going to sit at the counter, taking off her puffer jacket and hanging it over the back of her usual chair before climbing up into it.

“Um, I don’t think in person, but I saw your production of A Streetcar Named Desire. You were an amazing Stella!” Pomni said.

Gangle gave a worried smile. “Oh no, you weren’t there the night I forgot my lines, were you?”

“I don’t think so, I don’t remember any mistakes. Um, the guy who played Stanley was amazing too, so intense… Thank you.” Pomni accepted her mug from Ragatha.

“Ahh, yeah, Gummigoo. You know he’s actually a complete sweetheart in real life? We had to practice the scene where his character hits mine over and over with the stunt coordinator since he didn’t even want to pretend to hit me.”

Pomni added sugar and cream to her coffee, two blue packets and one little plastic cup, and stirred it.

“So how are you holding up this morning, baby? You said you saw those detectives get onto Jax, right?” Ragatha asked, leaning both her hands on the counter.

“Oh. Yeah, I did. I hid for a bit because I didn’t want to get in trouble just for being there… but then one of them said something really horrible and I yelled at them.” Pomni sipped her coffee. Bitter stuff, but it had a pleasant chocolatey taste on the edge of the flavor.

“What did they say? They didn’t call him a… you know…” Gangle whispered.

“No. They weren’t that blatant, but one guy, I think his name was Wexley, basically said Jax lived by himself ‘cause he’s a crossbreed. Said it was ‘understandable.’”

Ragatha made a disgusted noise as she went over to the griddle, pouring batter onto it. “I don’t understand how people that pea-brained are allowed to carry badges. Well it’s no wonder they’re not showing their faces right now. Probably got sent back to the big city with their tails between their legs. Buncha bullies…”

“Yeah… I’ve been meaning to ask, how did they find out so quickly..? The-The demonstrators, I mean. I thought Jax only got arrested last night…” Pomni inquired.

“It was probably Dr. Wren that found out,” Gangle replied, pointing out the window. Her ribbon pointed towards the older bird fellow with the megaphone. “Our town doctor. He’s always been about issues like this. You know, institutional racism and stuff? My guess is he jumped at the chance to get a crowd together. And look at the turnout!”

Pomni hummed. “Well, I’m glad he did.”

“Hm, I dunno,” Ragatha replied from over at the griddle. “Personally, I wish he’d have just waited a day or two so we could at least lay Kaufmo to rest. So many people here in town are still processing the fact that he might have been murdered, and he’s out there hollering his lungs out, disturbing everyone’s grieving.”

“B-But what about Jax? Doesn’t he deserve justice?” Pomni replied.

“Well of course he does, baby, but if he’s really done nothing wrong, he’ll be out of the jailhouse in 72 hours..” Ragatha flipped a pancake.

“He’ll- huh?” Pomni tilted her head.

“She’s right, I almost forgot…” Gangle chimed in. “This town has a Speedy Trial law. Since we’re such a small community, there’s not many trials. So there’s a 72-hour limit in place for someone being held in custody without substantial evidence… If Jax really didn’t do anything, and I don’t think he did, they’ll have to let him go in a couple days.

“And I’ll betcha the only people that are itching to find evidence on him are those detectives, and who knows where they went? With that protest out there, all our cops are busy keeping that under control. No time to be sniffing around for clues.” Ragatha added, testing the firmness of her pancakes with her spatula.

Pomni felt herself relax. That was… good news.. There was a pretty decent chance that they’d let Jax go tonight. Maybe she’d wait for him if the crowd had died down by then…

“W-Wait, so that means that the knife..?”

“Unless it had his DNA or prints on it, it’s not good enough. It’s like people have been saying, anyone could have bought it and hid it out there.” Gangle explained.

Ragatha gave a surprised smile over her shoulder at Gangle as she stacked the pancakes on a plate. “Well, look at you, Nancy Drew! Who taught you all this detective stuff?”

Gangle gained red blush marks under her eyes and looked down at the counter. “Oh, you know… I do a lot of research for my roles. We did an Agatha Christie play once…”

Ragatha brought over a short stack of pancakes, dusted with powdered sugar and topped with whipped cream and some fresh strawberry slices. She set the plate down in front of Pomni, along with a boat of maple syrup.

“Eat it while it’s warm, honey.” Ragatha cooed, pecking the art student on the cheek.

“Thank you Ragatha…” Pomni sighed. How this absolute peach of a woman remained single was a mystery to her. Wasn’t any of her business, anyway. She dug into the food. It was delicious, fluffy and moist cake mixed in with rich, hand churned cream and the bright flavor of strawberry. She could eat this every day for the rest of her life and never get tired of it.

The door to the café swung open, and a person in a yellow and green poncho stepped inside, stomping off their boots chasing snowflakes from their hat.

“Zooble! I was wondering when you’d show up! You want the regular… Zooble?”

Ragatha’s sunny voice darkened with worry as she saw a stain of red on their hand, which they were currently wiping off on their poncho.

“Zooble, are you bleeding?!” Pomni cried out.

“No, it’s not my blood. I punched Trevor in the nose. Might’ve busted it.” Zooble’s voice sounded hollow and distant. Their hand reasonably clean, they sank down into a chair by the window, resting their arms on top of the table.

“Trevor? The wolf?” Pomni asked. No, Trevor the marmoset, stupid.

“Yeah. He laughed at me when the sheriff turned me away. ‘Tough luck, pizza-head.’ I heard a crunch.” Zooble looked at their hand and clenched it a few times. “Anyway. Couldn’t post his bail. The Sheriff told me it was 500 thousand. ‘Possible homicide.’ I don’t even have half of that.”

“Oh, Zooble…” Ragatha opened the counter hatch and went around to see them. “Honey, I’m so sorry… But, we were just talking about the speedy trial law. If all they have is a knife that came from his store-”

“Horseshit…” Zooble mumbled.

“If there’s no DNA on the knife, then-”

“HORSESHIT!” Zooble bellowed, banging on the table with their fist. The sound rattled the glass salt and pepper shakers. Everyone jumped.

“Zooble, I’m sorry-” Ragatha began, but Zooble cut her off.

“You know how the system is! It doesn’t matter how many angry people wave signs around out there, or if the doctor gives some nice speeches on a megaphone! Jax is a crossbreed, and they’re gonna find some ‘new evidence’ or dig up some old law that makes it so he gets put away for good! Don’t you get it?! Those sheep big city detectives they hired took one look at Jax and saw he was a freak, so he must’ve done it! And our redneck-ass, no-brain FUCK of a sheriff agrees with them! They’ve been waiting to do this- they…”

Tears beaded in Zooble’s eyes, and they collapsed into their chair, shoulders shaking.

“They’ve been waiting…” they moaned.

For a while, there were no sounds other than the faint din outside and Zooble’s soft sobbing. Pomni couldn’t blame them… if her best friend was being put away on flimsy evidence based on prejudice alone, she’d have cried like a baby. Hell, she felt a little bit like crying now…

She pushed her half-eaten plate of food away and shyly walked over to Zooble. The cowboy looked at her through red, puffy eyes.

“What?” they spat.

“…I… I want to help.” Pomni said.

“I just told you there’s nothing we can do, kid… unless your mommy and daddy have $500,000 sitting around the house, this is the end of the line…” Zooble wiped their eyes on the non-bloodied parts of their poncho.

“Don’t say that. We can look for more evidence.”

“How? They’ve got the crime scene cordoned off… we’ll get in huge trouble if we go there…” Gangle said.

“What about Jax’s sales log? That’s like a list of suspects!” Pomni proposed.

“Cops already took it. I saw ‘em carrying it out of the shop when they hauled him away in cuffs…”

“Dammit…” Pomni chewed on her thumbnail. “Okay. Okay, what about this? Does anyone know where Kaufmo lived?”

“He lived not far from here,” Ragatha said. “His house was over near Gangle’s theater.”

“Do you think we could get a look inside it?”

“What? Pomni, what for?” Gangle asked.

“I dunno… anything! Clues about who might have it out for him!”

“Look, city girl. I appreciate your enthusiasm… I do. But the cops-” Zooble began.

“Are all busy, dealing with that.” Pomni pointed out the window at the crowd. “All we have to do is see if those three asshole detectives aren’t sniffing around the place, and we can look inside, right?”

“Pomni…”

“Look, Zooble’s right. Unless a miracle happens, the system is gonna do what it can to get Jax put behind bars for good. We need to at least try. Right?”

“I… But… Pomni, what about you? Aren’t you worried about losing your scholarship?” Gangle asked.

“Yeah. But… I think I… I want to make a difference in this town more than I want to just use it to further myself. You guys… this place has done so much for me, and I… I want to give something back.”

Zooble used a napkin to wipe their eyes. “It helps she also has a crush on Jax.”

Pomni turned bright red. “Hey! That’s not-”

“Aw, Pomni… that’s so romantic. A lover, wrongly imprisoned... It’s like a Carolinian play!” Gangle said, looping her ribbons together as though she was clasping her hands.

“Wh- He’s not my lover! We only met for like five minutes!” Pomni grabbed her beanie and tugged it down over her face.

“And yet you’re willing to risk your higher education to save him. Yup, you’ve totally got it bad, honey.” Ragatha added, crossing her arms and smiling.

“Sh-Shut uuuuuuuup!” Pomni whined.

“Well… I wouldn’t be much of a best friend if I didn’t do something incredibly stupid for him. Alright, let’s go, kid.” Zooble got to their feet, drying their eyes one more time.

“I’m twenty-fiiiiiiive!”

“You’re twenty-five? Jeez, you coulda fooled me. What are you, four foot two?”

“Four foot NINE!” Pomni snapped, shuffling out the door as Zooble held it open for her. Zooble said their goodbyes to Ragatha and Gangle before following after Pomni.

“Do you think they’ll find anything?” Gangle asked.

“Honey, I hope so. I… doubt it. But I hope so.” Ragatha replied.