#EDIT: actually this is like the colleague I heard about

[clonerightsagenda]

While I judge his youthful naivete in going 'wait, the military killed people???' I support Edward Elric sapping government resources for years and then immediately leaving when he got what he wanted. Same energy as the guy who took a job at a software company, fixed one bug, and then quit.

[les4elliewilliams]

Happy together.

Officer!Ellieㄨ fem reader

a/n: i honestly don't know how to feel about this but it took me ages to write so i'm going to post it anyway. also enjoy the trashy lil pic i edited of my wife😌// @sapphichotmess is gonna get soapy boobies pics for proofreading this. i love you you're amazing.

cw/wc: 17k ! murders/violence, mention of blood (I don't think it's that bad but if you're sensitive to this type of stuff just scroll), officer!ellie x waitress!reader, (tw) Eminem, smut, breeding kink, handcuffs😔, strap-on sex (r!receiving), thigh riding (e!receiving), use of pet names like (mama, princess, babe etc), and uhhh that's it i believe?? lmk if i missed something.

daily click・palestine masterpost・neil druckmann is a zionist・more daily clicks.

The Police Station – Late Night – September 11th, 2018.

The auburnette released a heavy, exaggerated sigh, her weariness palpable as she delicately brushed the rough, calloused palms of her hands against her fatigued face, a few stray strands of hair cascading gently across her features, capturing the attention of her colleague. His eyes lifted towards his friend, a concerned furrow appearing on his face as he took in the haunting purple shadows under her eyes, a poignant reflection of her exhaustion.

"You look like shit, man," He suddenly exclaimed, the tips of his fingers dancing on the smooth plastic caps of his laptop.

"Awh, thanks, that's so sweet," She reclined in her office chair, the weight of the day's paperwork momentarily forgotten. It felt as though she had been sitting there for an eternity, each and every cell of her body yearning and longing for her wife. With her shift drawing to a close, she could hardly contain her anticipation of returning home to you, just so that she could feel the warmth of your embrace and perhaps resume the intimate and passionate encounters you had shared last night.

The boy leaned back in his chair, and a smug smirk spread across his face. "You look like you haven't slept," His gaze shifted back to his friend, who was sitting at her desk across the room, her eyes tired and her shoulders slumped.

"'Cause I haven't," she uttered, shaking her head. A light, airy puff of air escaped her chapped lips as her fingers danced through her locks, coaxing burnished stray strands away from her face.

"How are things going with your girl?" He gave her a questioning look, as if silently asking what was going on. It struck him that she hadn't complained about her marriage in a while.

Her response was a mere nod as she admitted, "Pretty good, actually." However, her gaze remained unfocused, her mind elsewhere as she replayed the previous night's memories in her head. Your moans echoed in her ears while the image of your ecstatic expressions played on repeat, like a broken video tape stuck on a single scene.

"Really?"

He was the one she trusted wholeheartedly. In the darkest hours of her marital struggles, she sought refuge in Jesse's ever-present presence. Hours would slip away as she poured out her heart to him until the early light of dawn or until their shift was over. Yet, he never seemed to mind 'cause his friends' problems were his problems.

After a great four years together, where you and she shared an uncanny kinship and complemented each other like two puzzle pieces, things took a gradual turn for the worse. Heated arguments began to erupt frequently, fueled by petty disagreements about insignificant matters such as the shoes left by the door, piles of unwashed dishes on the living room coffee table, or the kitchen table. Over time, both of you grew tired of this never-ending cycle of conflict. 

Dr. Diaz was remarkable in his ability to guide both of you in honing your communication skills and learning how to make each other feel truly heard. It felt like a fresh start with someone you already knew so well and had shared countless memories with. Initially, walking out of your first session was an uncomfortable experience, leaving you feeling almost overly exposed, as if you had revealed too much. The ride back home was filled with an awkward silence that was unfamiliar, never in your life you felt awkward around her, not even once. A few small sighs escaped occasionally, both of you remaining silent until you finally returned home.

"Yeah."

His warm smile spoke volumes as he offered reassuring words to her, "Told you it was just a matter of time. Dina and I have been through it, too, before."

She sat comfortably in her weathered chair, leaning back slightly as she pushed herself away from her sturdy wooden desk. "Speaking of Dina, how's she holdin’ up?" her mind suddenly shifted to a very pregnant Dina who was already eight months along and was about to explode at any second.

The raven-haired man imperceptibly shrugged his shoulders "Y'know, pregnancy hormones—what the doctor said."

She let out a soft snort, a half-smile gracing her lips. "Have you settled on the names?" she inquired.

He sighed, rubbing his forehead in frustration. "We keep fighting over it," he admitted, "She wants to name him-" before he could finish his sentence, an announcement echoing through the hallway of the department caught Ellie's and his attention simultaneously. They stood up abruptly, exchanging concerned glances and rushed out of the small room with a sense of urgency.

"A 140, where?" Ellie's voice quivered, her heart hoping against hope that she had misheard the news. Worry painted itself across her freckled face, etching lines of concern amidst the constellation of her pretty freckles.

It couldn't be. No, it couldn't.

Color drained from her face, and she grew paler than the moon, the realization hitting her like a sudden storm. It was the same diner where you worked, and worry consumed her like a relentless tide. 

They made their way towards Jesse's car with lightning speed, both fully aware that Ellie was in no condition to get behind the wheel. She urged Jesse to drive faster, her heart thudding like crazy in her ribcage. She tried to call you countless times, but you never answered. Her palms turned clammy, her hands trembling like fragile leaves in the wind.

"Fuckin' hurry up." The car swerved erratically, anxiety emanating from every pore of her skin. Her voice grew louder and more forceful as she shouted at Jesse, who held the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. 

"We’re gonna crash if we go any faster than this," he raised his voice back at her, feeling all the pressure and tension of the world on his shoulders, but at the same time, he couldn't blame her.

The Diner – Late Night – September 11th, 2018.

As they reached the crime scene, her eyes were immediately drawn to the stark sight of yellow tape cordoning off the area. The tape fluttered gently in the breeze, creating an almost surreal barrier. Beyond it, the solemn figures of police officers moved with purpose, their expressions a mix of determination and concern. 

A lone officer stood at the forefront, diligently jotting down notes, while another leaned in to share crucial details about the tragic event. Their hushed conversations hinted at the weight of the situation as they sought to unravel the enigma of the killer's intentions. "I've never seen anything like this 'round here before. The killer must have acted out of rage or passion. There must be a reason," The freckled girl strained to hear the officers' hushed conversation, her stomach sinking with each word. 

As she moved closer, they swiftly barred her way. The scene unfolded like a haunting painting—the diner's floor marked by crimson footsteps. She couldn't tell if it was the officer's grim descriptions or the frigid night air that sent shivers down her spine.

"Williams, they are already taking care of it, just wait here and-"

"No, no, no, listen—I have to go in there. My wife works here."  She desperately attempted to push through the two middle-aged men, but they held her back with ease. Her voice quivered with fear as she begged to reach you. Were you harmed? Were you in pain? Were you...alive?

Her face was like a canvas of worry, etched with lines of concern. With a graceful shrug, she brushed off the unwelcome hands on her shoulders, "Who's the victim?" she feared what the answer to her question would be, but she needed to know. Her brows were furrowed with worry as she waited for a response, her eyes brimming with fear. "Pleaseplease—Tell me it's not her." She pleaded with such desperation and worry on your behalf that the two men couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. They saw the depth of her love and concern for you, and what touched them the most was that they knew you.

Every day, you would lovingly pack a lunch, a sweet treat, or even a hearty dinner to bring to her at work. Your kindness shone through like a warm beam of sunlight, always in a cheerful mood with a genuine smile on your face as you chatted with her colleagues, asking them about their day and thanking them for their service before returning to your routine.

Ellie stood before the men, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. One of the men heaved a deep, mournful sigh that echoed in the stillness, and he shook his head gravely, his lips drawn into a tight, sorrowful frown. 

"Your wife is currently being interrogated as she was present when the murder occurred," Officer Johnson explained to the younger girl, his voice low and measured. She let out a long sigh of relief as his words reached her ears, finally being able to remove the image of you lying in a pool of blood from her mind.

While she felt guilty about it, she couldn't help but feel a sense of relief that it wasn't you the one who had been brutally murdered. It was a twisted and sick feeling, as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders even though a girl had been brutally murdered. She was grateful that you were still alive, safe, and healthy, at least as far as she knew. She longed to be there for her wife, to wrap her arms around you and hold you tight. She wanted to comfort you, to reassure you that everything would be okay, even though she wasn't entirely sure herself.

"Please, I need to see her." She kept pleading and pleading until her colleagues finally relented and let her slip past the bright plastic tape. She raced into the diner and quickly scanned the scene. Blood stained the floor, and the door to the back room was left wide open. Blood was pooled on the floor, with a corpse lying beneath a white sheet. Vanessa Harding was now a lifeless corpse. As Ellie surveyed the carnage, her heart ached at the sight of you sobbing on the retro sofa as an investigator tried to coax answers out of you. But you seemed completely lost in your own world, clearly shaken.

The sound of her voice calling out your name as she approached you with a mix of eagerness and concern seemed to blend with the rest of the background chatter as you found yourself unable to shake off your daze. Her trembling hands found their place on your shoulders, gently pushing the agent who was interrogating you aside. A glimpse of concern crossed her eyes as she took in the blood stains on your once-blue waitress uniform. Her heart ached at the sight of you. She hesitated, fighting the urge to pull you into a comforting hug, knowing that maintaining some distance was best in such moments. What mattered was that you were okay, healthy, at least.

The investigator began to speak, but Ellie quickly turned her head towards him, fixing him with a death glare. Her body stiffened as she shielded you from his view. "Can't you see she's having a full-on mental breakdown? We're not supposed to interrogate people in this state," she stated firmly, her voice cold and harsh. 

The officer took a step back, sighing in frustration. "I'll be back in a minute." He announced, and with that, he left the room, leaving the two of you alone beside a few medical examiners and other colleagues doing their job, the light chatting becoming a white noise for the both of you.

You sat there, absentmindedly consumed by your thoughts, when a melodic voice penetrated your haze. You lifted your gaze to find a concerned Ellie standing before you, her presence initially unnoticed. Despite her ongoing comforting words, you were too engrossed in your own thoughts to truly register her. It wasn't until she drew a chair and sat right in front of you that your focus shifted completely. When your vacant eyes now met hers, you broke down again.

Your voice quivered as you whispered, "E-ellie..." as tears streamed down your face and your bottom lip trembled. You felt a sudden wave of relief as her hands gently cupped your face, and her thumb caressed your cheekbone. 

Her comforting voice soothed your soul as she whispered, "I was so worried, baby. I'm here now, ‘m here." You cried harder, but this time, it was tears of gratitude and love. Her presence made you feel like nothing could hurt you anymore because she was there. You felt safe in her embrace like everything was going to be okay.

"I was getting off my- and she… she... I tried, I really tried-" Your words were tangled and muttered, barely above a whisper. You shook profusely, completely consumed by the traumatic event that had just unfolded. Ellie could sense the terror and dread in your voice, and she swiftly drew you closer, encircling you in a comforting embrace. She held you tight, her palm soothingly stroking your head, creating a soothing effect that gradually calmed your trembling. She whispered gentle words of reassurance in your ear, imploring you to calm down and promising safety. Her voice was a soothing balm, its effect helping to assuage your rattled nerves. It was all you needed, she was all you needed.

It was as if she had an uncanny knack for dispelling your fears and nerves "Shhhshh" She quieted you gently, her words evoking a profound sense of gratitude within you for having someone so attuned to your emotions in your life. "You're safe, you're safe." As she drew back, she slipped off her jacket and gently draped it over your shoulders, ensuring you were warm and at ease, hoping to stop your turmoil. "S'okay…I gotchu." She continued to softly whisper reassurances in your ear, soothing your worries away with the knowledge that everything would turn out alright. In that instant, the entire world seemed to dissolve, leaving only the two of you in the present moment.

After a few moments had passed, you had noticeably calmed down, prompting Ellie to allow the officer who had been interrogating you earlier to resume his task. She stood closely beside him as he launched into a string of questions, his pen scrawling diligently on his notebook.

"So you got off your shift, you returned to retrieve your keys, and found her dead, is that correct?" The old man recapitulated your statement, his gaze shifting between your barely exposed uniform beneath your wife's jacket and the bloodstains marking your clothing. He further inquired, "And you slipped on the blood?" His eyes remained fixated on the bloodstains that adorned your uniform, while your gaze remained locked on the bloodied footprints on the floor, you responded with a small shake of your head.

"I was kneeling in the blood, trying to bring her back, but there was no heartbeat. I freaked out. I wanted to do something, anything, but she was already gone"

"Any additional details that you recall?" he questioned, his eyebrows arching inquisitively in your direction.

"There was a..." In a feeble voice, you began to reply, only for it to falter and crack. You cleared your throat, attempting to regain your composure before speaking in a firmer tone, "There was a man." You sniffed, looking up at him with a frown tugging at the corners of your lips "He had his hood up, so I couldn't see his face. He was wearing gray sweatpants and a black hoodie, and he looked to be about 5'7," You strained to extract every possible detail, and he diligently recorded them in quick succession. 

The only sound filling the crowded diner was the scratching of his pen against the paper, while the ambient chatter of the other patrons added a surreal yet comforting hum in the background. The scene felt utterly unreal, like some messed up vivid dream.

"Sir, there are no files from the security cameras' system. Whoever it was made sure to leave no traces," another officer interjected, halting the ongoing interrogation.

"Was anyone else there? besides you and well… Vanessa." He gazed at you with a furrowed brow, and you responded with a subtle shake of your head. Your lips formed a taut line as you revisited every fleeting moment preceding the end of your shift.

"I was about to finish my shift, and usually, no one shows up around that time. Before he arrived, there was a lady with a kid, but I don't think they saw each other." You explained, taking a moment to glance at your wife, hoping to find comfort in her eyes. A faint smile appeared on her face, accompanied by a small, supportive nod. She was there for you.

The officer hastily transcribed all the details, his pen scratching against the paper. "I'll give you a moment," he said, casting a furtive glance at Ellie before quietly exiting the room, making his departure alongside his steadfast colleague.

She stepped closer to you with a gentle grace, reaching out to lift your chin with the utmost care. Her touch was as light as a feather, almost as if she feared causing you any harm. "You're doing great, pretty. We're almost done, okay? Just hang on," She gazed down at you with a smile that could light up the darkest sky, her eyes filled with tenderness and warmth. Your gaze met hers, and in that moment, it felt like time stood still. Her delicate touch traced the contours of your face, evoking a sense of serenity that enveloped you. As you closed your eyes, a gentle sigh escaped your lips, and you leaned into her caress, feeling the weight of the world lift from your shoulders.

After a few moments, Jesse entered the crowded diner, his footsteps echoing softly on the floor. He exchanged a few words with the man who had been interrogating you the entire time. Ellie briefly glanced at him, and a faint smile graced her lips as they locked eyes, holding each other's gaze in that fleeting moment.

"So whatcha wanna do when we get back home?" she asked in an attempt to steer your thoughts away from the stress and chaos.

"I don't know... I wanna sleep," you pouted, your words soft and heavy with weariness. She looked down at you with tenderness, gently brushing a stray piece of hair out of the way and tucking it behind your ear. 

"Tempting. But I was thinking of your favorite movie and pizza?" she suggested, her hopeful gaze meeting yours, her voice carrying a whisper of warmth.

You forced a half smile at her suggestion, your eyes still looking more tired than ever. "What about tacos? You know that Mexican place down the street?" You recalled the Mexican restaurant that recently opened down the street. For about two weeks, you had been telling her you wanted to try it, yet you still hadn't gotten the chance to.

She brushed your hair with her fingers, each gentle stroke feeling like a soft caress. A gentle smile formed on her lips, making the apples of her cheeks more pronounced. "Good idea, babe," she praised, her voice as soothing as a summer breeze, as tender as her touch, and you couldn't help but smile back at her, feeling the warmth of her affection enveloping you like a soft blanket.

After what seemed like an eternity, they finally let you go, and Ellie refused to leave your side for even a moment. Jesse drove you both home in solemn silence, punctuated only by the occasional light banter between him and Ellie. The weight of the impending visit to the police station loomed over you, and you couldn't fathom the reason behind the barrage of questions that awaited you. Perhaps it was due to the absence of eyewitnesses, but you were ready to cooperate nonetheless. That night, she held you gently, wrapping you in a comforting hug until you fell asleep.

The Police Station – September 12th, 2018.

The very next day, your wife stood by your side as you both headed to the police station. Her hand gently rested on your thigh throughout the entire ride, silently expressing her unwavering love and support. The warm sunbeams that usually provided comfort through the car windows didn't have the same effect on your nerves. Your stomach felt heavy, as if a knot had formed within you. Anxiety and restlessness consumed you. Her green emerald eyes frequently flickered towards you as she attempted to soothe your nerves with soft whispers, promising to stay by your side the entire time. 

"It's going to be okay, honey." Her lips, delicate as rose petals, gently pressed against your forehead. She reluctantly let you go, watching you disappear into the interrogation room. Her colleagues' words echoed in the air, emphasizing the need for her to stay out so she would not interfere in any way.

"How did you sleep y/n?" the detective in front of you asked, turning on the recorder player before reaching for a pencil and starting scribbling on her papers.

"Awful," you exhaled, the weight of the word hanging heavy in the air. Your index finger delicately traced the arch of your brow as you gazed downwards, lost in a moment of profound contemplation.

"It must've been a traumatizing experience for you." 

You nodded barely, your tired eyes meeting hers, "It was." Your face was less radiant than usual. The detective had seen you countless times before in this exact station, searching for your wife to deliver her something. Sometimes, it was a carefully prepared meal, other times, it was a bouquet of her favorite flowers or simply a thoughtful gift. And then there were the times you were there just to check up on her, your unexpected visits filled with love and concern.

"Let's attempt to retrace your steps together. Shall we?"

"Okay"

"Let's start from the beginning," she said, giving you the chance to speak at your own pace, without any pressure, so that you could fully elaborate on your memories and feelings.

////////////////////

The Diner – Early Night  – September 11th, 2018.

You let out a heavy sigh, feeling utterly exhausted from the long hours of the shift. You had barely slept the day before, managing a measly 3 hours of restless sleep that did little to ease the heavy weariness on your tired shoulders. Every inch of you ached for the comforting embrace of your bed, and your eyes longed to shut for just a moment. 

As you wiped the counter clean, you glanced towards the door that seemed to swing open all too rarely during this late hour. The clock ticked closer to 4:04 am, and you knew it was unusual for people to come around this time of night. Just a few customers here and there was all you could expect, and you preferred it that way. 

The background noise of chatter in the late-night diner was enough to lull you to sleep, but you kept going on autopilot, moving to the sink to wash the few dishes that awaited you. Another heavy sigh escaped your lips as you thought about the hours that separated you from your pillow's comfort—the night seemed to stretch on infinitely.

"Ready to run back home to get laid?" the shorter girl teased you playfully, nudging you with her elbow as a small smile played on her red lips. She noticed the exhaustion written on your face, the fatigue in your heavy eyelids, and the dark circles under your eyes. You let out a dry chuckle, trying to hide the exhaustion that had settled deep within you. 

"Just wanna go to bed," you responded with a weak but playful smile

"Right. go to bed with your hot wife—wonder what y'all freaks will do." Vanessa continued to playfully tease you, her liking for your wife a little too evident in her words. Ever since Ellie stepped into this diner for the first time, the brunette set her eyes on her. However, Ellie had always made the fact that she wasn't interested obvious. Your friend was pretty unlucky in this sort of thing; the best she would get was a phone number scribbled on a piece of paper by a middle-aged, beer-bellied man, who was likely just looking for a quick hook-up. And despite her initial attempts to draw Ellie's attention, Vanessa could sense that her interest was unreciprocated, leaving her feelings unreturned for the time being.

You couldn't help but let out a small giggle at Vanessa's words, and you nudged her lightly with your hip as a playful gesture. She moved closer, taking over the task of drying the dishes you had just washed, her hands methodically working alongside yours to complete the chore "Oh, handcuff me, Ellie, I've been such a bad, bad girl." She imitated you in a high-pitched voice that was nothing like yours, and you responded with a dramatic gasp, feigning shock and surprise at her teasing. The exaggerated reaction only seemed to amuse her more, and she broke into a wide grin, her laughter echoing through the diner. 

"Oh my god, shut up!" 

She burst into a fit of laughter, her amusement so intense that it drew the attention of the few remaining customers in the retro-looking diner. Some of them shot her strange looks, narrowing their eyes disapprovingly at the disturbance, while others simply ignored her and continued with their conversations.

"I swear, you shouldn't even be allowed here. You're embarrassing.” You couldn't help but roll your eyes at her, secretly appreciating her exuberant spirit. Her laughter died down; her blue eyes shifted toward the table where an older woman and her child had just finished their meal. The brunette approached the table, wiping it clean and pocketing the generous tip the woman had left her. She shot a wide smile her way, thanking her before returning to your side behind the counters.

"Hey, not fair," you complained, turning off the faucet with a huff and drying your hands on a cloth before facing her. "Let's split." 

She grinned at you unapologetically, "Sorry, finders keepers." You sighed, turning towards her with one hand on your hip, with a playful disappointment on your face.

"Whatever—my shift is almost over anyways. Guess who's gonna be stuck here for a while longer? Hah! Not me." The lighthearted taunts cut short as a man suddenly entered the diner, his dark clothes and raised hood casting an eerie shadow over his features. You exchanged a glance with your coworker, silently agreeing that the stranger's appearance was suspicious, but decided to brush it off.

"Liz is gonna be here in a bit. Want me to wait here with you until she arrives?" you offered thoughtfully, your fingers skillfully untying the frilly white fabric that had been wrapped around your waist throughout the entire shift. Your eyes darted discreetly towards the man sitting at one of the tables, completely engrossed by his phone as he typed feverishly, his fingers dancing across the screen. The dim lighting of the diner cast shadows on his face, making it difficult to discern his expressions or intent.

“Naaah, I'll be fine.” she gave you a reassuring smile, and you nodded in acknowledgment, murmuring a quick "alright" before disappearing into the back room. The sound of the door creaking echoed softly in your ears as you entered the staff area, immediately shedding your frilly apron and gathering your personal belongings.

When you exited the small room, you saw Vanessa pouring steaming coffee into the mysterious man's cup. Navigating your way towards the exit, your shoulder bumped against hers, and she whispered playfully, “Eminem wannabe,” and you couldn't help but chuckle.

You had barely made it halfway down the road when the sickening realization hit you like a brick—you had left your keys at the diner. Ellie wouldn't be home anytime soon, so there was no way you could get in. You cursed under your breath before reluctantly turning your car around, determined to retrieve your keys. But when you returned to the diner, the scene that greeted you was surreal and terrifying. Vanessa's lifeless body lay on the floor, a gruesome tableau of violence that seemed to defy imagination, and there was no trace of the Eminem look-alike she had jested about only moments ago. 

With a sense of dread and disbelief, you cautiously approached her body, the pool of blood surrounding her seeming to glow a disturbingly bright shade of red in the low light of the back room. You succumbed to the weight of the situation, the strength leaving your body as you sank to your knees. After calling out her name and shaking her in vain, the cold reality of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks. No pulse, no breathing, no nothing. The sticky, warm liquid of her blood staining your bare knees was a chilling reminder of the horror that had played out in the dark corners of the diner. The room was filled with an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of your labored breathing as you sat there in shock and the broken sobs that escaped your wobbly lips, echoing in the now-empty diner. It was a moment that you would never forget, a nightmare that would haunt you for the rest of the days.

“911, what's your emergency?”

////////////////////

The Police Station – September 12th, 2018.

Your face is stained with grief and regret. “I wish I waited with her, I had a gut feeling and-” You hiccupped, your voice choked with emotion, “I regret not listening to it.” The blonde woman before you nodded in understanding, her gaze filled with a mixture of empathy and professional detachment. After a moment, she reached out to turn off the recorder, the soft click cutting off the audio of your emotional confession.

The detective stood up, her words a mere formality in the face of your emotional turmoil. "That is it, y/n. Thank you for your cooperation." With a final nod, she turned and left the room, leaving you with your emotions and thoughts. 

In a flash of movement, Ellie entered the room, her steps quick and purposeful as she slid in just as the detective stepped out. Her eyes softened as she took in your tear-stained face. 

"Hey," she whispered softly, her words reaching your ears and bringing a brief moment of comfort. You mustered a weak "Hey" in response. The weight of the situation was heavy on your shoulders, and you felt a deep sense of vulnerability in her presence, the trauma of the past few hours still lingering in your mind.

“You did pretty good, ma.” She stood right behind you, her touch gentle and reassuring as she rubbed your shoulders. Her presence was strong and supportive, even though you couldn't bring yourself to meet her gaze. But she was there by your side as always, and it was the only guarantee you needed in that moment.

"Just wanna go home." You murmured, your voice barely audible, earning a nod from her; her silent response conveying her understanding of your unspoken need for comfort.

"I'll take you," she offered softly, her voice a gentle reassurance. You tried to protest, not wanting to add to her burden. She was working, after all, and the last thing you wanted was to keep your hot wife from fulfilling her responsibilities. 

"No, it's fine," you said hurriedly. "You're working anyways." But Ellie's insistence was unwavering, her tone firm yet compassionate.

"It's fine, I promise," she assured you, her words leaving no room for argument. All she wanted to do was linger by your side and stay home with you, but duty called, and right after dropping you home, she returned to her workplace.

Police Station – September 15th, 2018.

The raven-haired man approached Ellie, his voice serious as he announced, "Things don't look too good, El." He quickly locked the door behind him before continuing to spill some private matters everyone had kept from her.

The atmosphere in the room turned tense as Jesse placed his hands on the edge of Ellie's desk and leaned closer to her. His serious expression left no doubt that he wasn't joking around. "Are you on ‘shrooms again?" she asked sarcastically, but when he didn't break into a smile, she set down her pen and looked up at him, her expression turning serious. "I'm gonna take that as a no," she said cautiously, her voice still laced with a hint of sarcasm.

Ellie's tentative words broke the silence again, "So? You gonna tell me what's up, or you just gonna stand there and look stupid?" But her playful remark was again met with the man's serious and troubled expression. He shook his head slowly, sighing as if he was carefully considering the right words to use. He leaned closer to her, his voice now a low, hushed tone.

"They think your girl has something to do with it." The seriousness in his voice left no doubt that it was a situation that could not be taken lightly.

Ellie's defensive and aggravated tone filled the room as she stood up from her worn-out office chair, abruptly raising her voice. "What?! That's fuckin’ absurd!" she snapped, "They can't accuse her of that—she didn't do it!" Jesse raised his hand to beckon her to keep it quiet, his expression serious as he tried to keep the conversation from escalating. 

"Listen, don't let them know that you know,” he explained, his voice hushed. "They weren't going to tell you because they think you'll get involved and mess up the investigation,” he explained. The freckled girl's face contorted with a mix of disbelief, anger, and fear as her friend described the situation to her. Her fists clenched as she took in the news, her mind racing with a hundred thoughts at once. 

"What do the police think they have on her?" she interrogated, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Jesse sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to figure out how to answer her question. "Nothing. They said they won't say anything until they find evidence.” The more she pondered the situation, the faster her heart raced, and her palms grew damp with perspiration. It almost felt like a betrayal of trust. These were people who had known you for years, yet they didn't hesitate to place you at the top of their list of suspects despite lacking any evidence.

Ellie's agitation was palpable as she paced back and forth, "So what if they don't find anything, hm?" she demanded, her frustration clear in her voice. "That's complete bullshit, Jesse—My wife… Why would they even think that?" Her voice was low and harsh, filled with a mix of outrage and defensiveness, Jesse visibly tensed at the harshness of her tone. “Just because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time? Well, guess what! It's nothing she can control. She simply happens to work at the diner, for fuck’s sake!" Her outburst reverberated off the walls of the small office, the frustration and anger practically tangible in the air as she forcefully slammed her hand down on the polished wooden desk.

Jesse gently but firmly placed his hands on Ellie's shoulders, his gaze locking with hers "Keep it quiet, dude. You tryna get both of us in trouble? I wasn't even supposed to tell you, but I thought you deserved to know," He hushed her, slightly shaking her to emphasize his point. He understood the sensitive nature of the situation, after all, they were not talking about any other girl. They were talking about Ellie's wife. Jesse's years as a police officer had taught him that stress management was key to handling these situations effectively, something Ellie seemed to lack sometimes. 

Her green emeralds bored into his as she shook her head slowly, attempting to regain her composure. "Sorry," she sighed.

"Listen, there's nothing to worry about unless they find evidence." He reassured her in a soothing tone, releasing her shoulders.

"Well, I can assure you they won't find anything." She stated confidently, her tone still stern as her brows furrowed, and he nodded. 

"I know. I know she has nothing to do with it." He truly couldn't wrap his head around it. How could they ever think someone like you had something to do with it? You were probably one of the kindest people he knew.

St. John's Health | Hospital – September 27th, 2018.

Eventually, the investigators turned their attention away from you, their focus shifting to the mysterious man you had described as the killer. There was no evidence whatsoever linking you to the brutal murder of Vanessa; why would you even harm someone you considered a friend? The text messages between you and your coworker revealed a purely friendly relationship, and there was no apparent motive for the crime. With no evidence to incriminate you, they dropped all suspects within three days. They all witnessed your evident grief when you discovered your friend’s lifeless body, shock and devastation overwhelming you, making them feel… off-track.

You stopped going to work, and even if you had the choice, there was no use; the diner remained shut, never to be reopened after the tragic accident, and the entire town of once quiet and peaceful community seemed unsettled and frightened by the series of murders that followed the diner accident. The once lively eatery now lay abandoned, a somber reminder of the tragedy that had befallen the town. 

They had been trying everything, but the police found themselves chasing shadows. The one consistent detail from witnesses was the description of a man wearing a hood that covered his face, yet no one managed to catch a glimpse of his identity. So the authorities tried diligently interrogating individuals with a history of violence or abusive behavior, but each suspect appeared innocent, their alibis providing a strong defense, and none of them really fit the description. 

Residents began locking themselves in at night, their evenings filled with unease and terror. Pretty soon, the killer and his murders became the main topic of conversation everywhere. It seemed like everyone was completely shaken up and fixated on the news surrounding the mysterious figure. Even the media jumped on the bandwagon, naming him the 'Shadow Killer,' a name that perfectly captured the eerie and unsettling nature of his attacks.

The baby's shrill cries and soft coos filled the hospital room as Jesse turned off the TV, muttering, "This shit’s crazy" under his breath. Ellie nodded in agreement, her gaze momentarily lingering on the news report before returning her focus to you, holding Dina's bundle of joy with love and care. The thought of having kids had never really crossed her mind, but something about seeing you with the baby, making silly faces to coax laughter out of him while rocking him gently, filled her with a desire to try and another type of desire. 

She felt like building a family with you would complete her, despite having said that she considered you her everything and that she needed nothing else. While it was partially true, seeing your maternal instincts kicking in made her feel like everything clicked, like that was the final piece to your marriage and relationship—one she didn’t even know was missing.

A warm smile graced Ellie's face as she observed you interacting with JJ, gushing over the baby boy with a soft voice, claiming he was the most adorable thing you've ever set your eyes on.

“He's perfect, Dee,” you stated for the millionth time. 

The brunette chuckled in response, jokingly telling you, “He's all yours.”

Jesse chimed in with a jest, bumping the shorter girl's shoulder “You're next,” earning a puzzled look from her. He cleared his throat and clarified, “First–they’re holding someone’s kid and next thing you know, they're asking for one.” Raising her scarred brows, Ellie scoffed at the teasing comment, but when her crystalline emeralds returned to you, she realized he wasn’t wrong. The sparkle in your eyes as you held the baby, a look that spoke volumes to your wife, who had known you for years. She could see the unmistakable signs of love and adoration on your face and she knew that sooner or later, you were going to bring it up.

She approached you, her heart melting under the warmth of your soft smile, peering over your shoulder to look at the pretty boy in your arms, “El, look at him,” you whispered, gently cradling JJ in your arms.

“He's got Jesse's eyes,” she remarked, studying the little one's features. 

Jesse couldn't help but burst into laughter, correcting her playfully, “He looks Asian, you mean.” eliciting a burst of laughter from Ellie. 

“Totally what I meant.” she retorted sarcastically. 

"Dunno, looks like the baby from the Ice Age movie t'me"

Your Apartment – October 2nd, 2018.

Ever since that “fateful” night at the hospital, you became the only thought that occupied her mind. Sure, she was your wife, and it was supposed to be that way, but there was one specific thought that consumed every cell of her brain. You, pregnant. Pregnant with her baby, your tummy swelling with the precious life growing inside you and your skin radiating a warm, ethereal glow. It was something that played in her mind nonstop, especially during sex. Especially when she was rutting against your pussy. 

The thought of your juices mingling together, the thought of filling you up with her essence, was something that didn't seem to want to leave her mind anytime soon. And she couldn't seem to keep her hands off of you, always finding excuses to touch you, caress you, grope you, or even grind against the push of your butt when you were most distracted with chores. 

You noticed something inside her had shifted, and on the other hand, she felt like a middle schooler all over again, sex occupying her mind all night, all day like a horny teenager in their puberty. Almost as if she felt the need to claim you and make you entirely hers in every possible way. But you didn't mind. No, of course, you didn't. How could you when she was fucking you so good and hard? How could you mind it when she pounded into you until the early hours of the morning? 

"So good with kids...so, so good," velvety murmurs caressed your sensitive skin, leaving a trail of intimate kisses along the length of your neck. You tilted your head, granting her even greater access to explore you. Her fiery, vibrant locks, reminiscent of autumn leaves, intertwined effortlessly with your fingers as you gently pulled her closer.

"Hmmm." A soft, muffled sound escaped your lips in response "Does that turn you on?" Your voice dropped to a hushed whisper, accompanied by a dreamy giggle that found its way to her ears, prompting a smile to grace her lips against your skin. 

"Does that turn me on?" She echoed your words with a sultry tone; her voice saturated with desire as she intentionally ground against your thigh. Your hands swiftly drew her nearer, firmly grasping her by the waist, the tips of your fingers danced suggestively along the hem of her Calvin Klein boxers. 

"I'll take that as a yes." A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you gently led her to grind against you once more, eliciting a gasp from her as your fingertips tightened on her buttocks. A delicate sigh fell from her lips, caressing you like a gentle breeze, her parched lips ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a tantalizing shiver down your spine. 

"You'd be such a good mama" the words seemed to slip out of her mouth without conscious thought, tangled up in the web of her own fantasies that had been tormenting her for quite some time. 

"You really think so?" Your voice was as silky as cotton, a stark contrast to the firm yet gentle grip of your hands on her hips as you guided her increasingly urgent motions against your thighs. Soft, languid moans poured against your neck, planting a trail of heated kisses along the length of your neck, her mouth working with a voracious appetite as she suckled on your sensitive skin like a starving bloodsucker, marking you. A low, sultry hum was all you received from her in response. Your nude skin pressed against her, her clad breasts grazing yours, her hardened nipples stimulating yours through the thin fabric of her black bralette.

"You should put a baby in me." 

The words seemed to halt her in her tracks. She leaned back slightly, studying your expression intently, her gaze locking with yours. A playful twinkle danced in her eyes, and a mischievous smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Amusement and surprise mixed in her freckled-dusted features. "Strip." with a soft but unyieldingly firm tone, her features utterly devoid of emotion except for the subtle arch of her brows, making you break into a fit of giggles.

"Oh? just like that?" 

With fervent anticipation, you stripped off the remaining garments still clinging to your body, your eyes intensely fixated on the sight before you. The vision of her adorned in the black strap, one of the numerous items you and your wife possessed, never failed to make your pussy clench, leaving your stomach in knots. Such a luscious spectacle. And you were the lucky girl who got to witness all this. Your body sank into the plush embrace of the mattress as you watched her gracefully position herself between your legs, straddling them. With a tender squeeze of your knee, her other hand gently pressed the tip of the silicone toy against your sensitive nub, sending an electric jolt of pressure through you. The unexpected sensation, even in its softness, coaxed a squirming response from you, your hips instinctively trying to pull away.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” she murmured, the tip of her cock rubbing through your folds, her slender fingers coating and preparing her silicone dick with your slickness. She groaned softly, lost in the alluring haze of her own touch, almost as if the toy were an extension of herself  “It’s so pathetic how much of a slut you are for me.” Her actions prompted a whimper to escape your lips. 

“Fuck you, stop teasing,” you retorted, tinged with a mix of annoyance and desperation, betraying the aching desire that consumed you. The sight of your drenched and soaked pussy made Ellie almost salivate, feeling eager to destroy it and make a mess of you. She loved knowing that even after years of being together your desire for her was burning as fierce as ever. You had never once failed to make her feel wanted, and how could you when she was simply this fine?

A dry, mirthless chuckle slipped out from between her lips as a self-satisfied smirk adorned her features. The soft moonlight delicately highlighted her cheekbones, enhancing her already stunning appearance and making her seem as if she were personally blessed by the moon herself “What, can’t handle a little teasing?” she responded with a playful taunt, she felt her own arousal growing, the back of her strap dampened with her own slickness, feeling a desperate need of friction. 

“This is not teasing, you’re just being a little bitch” you pouted, your body arching eagerly as your pussy sought the sensation of her cock stretching you so amazingly. As she abruptly thrust forward, a high-pitched squeal was wrenched from your lips, and your breath caught in your throat. Her expression was a mask of amusement, witnessing your visceral reaction to her every touch, a reminder of the power she held over you.

“What were you saying? Didn't quite catch the last part,” With a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, she taunted you, her hands gently claiming your hips as she leaned down, her gaze taking in every angle of your contorted face.

“I said-” You attempted to speak once more, but another plunging thrust stole the breath from your lungs, leaving you speechless.

“Yeah, said what?”

“Hmmpphh.” You could feel her going deeper into you, your eyes shut close and your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, arching into her, she looked down at you with half-lidded eyes, licking her lips before pressing damp kisses on your jawline and your throat, savoring all the pretty moans and whimpers you gave her. 

"So pretty," she murmured, a note of possessiveness lacing her words, "And mine. All mine." She captured your lips in a passionate and messy kiss, her tongue tangling with yours as she continued to slide in and out of you, each movement causing you to moan into the kiss, and she gladly swallowed each one of them. You had taken such meticulous care of her, preparing her meals, doing the laundry, and handling the household chores with diligence that she just felt the need to reciprocate and fuck you as you deserved. 

Such a good fucking housewife, she couldn't ask for better.

“Babe, fuuuck,” You cried out, your brows drawing together as her pace intensified. Your breath caught in your throat, and your body writhed in response. 

“Want me to get you pregnant you said, yeah?” With a strained, breathy voice, she whispered, each movement meticulously targeted to hit the exact spot inside you that made sparks fly behind your eyelids and your toes curl. You nodded eagerly, a chorus of whimpers and whines escaping your lips “Then you’ll have to take my cock as deep as you can–want you to feel it all the way up in your womb.” she grunted, pushing the strap in as deep as it could go, feeling your walls clench around it. “But you’ll be a good girl and take it, won’t you?” she purred, her lips leaving a trail of gentle kisses along your collarbone and down the valley between your breasts. Unable to form a coherent sentence, all you could manage was an enthusiastic nod in response, which was clearly not enough for her. A slap was delivered to the sensitive flesh of your thigh, causing you to squeak in surprise “Words, mama.” She demanded, completely captivated by your heavenly expressions and the bouncing of your tits. 

“Y-yes… ’ll be good,” you babbled out incoherently; the sinful sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room. Each movement, each touch perfectly calculated, your body writhing with each thrust. 

“Mmm, fucking love how you take it.” She whispered, her breath coming in shallow huffs as her tongue and teeth worked their magic on one of your sensitive nubs, drawing out strained whimpers from you. Your fingers coiled in her hair, craving the closeness and seeking an anchor in the sea of pleasure that swelled between your legs. Your cunt wrapped around her so perfectly, and she had your legs shaking like crazy—that’s how she knew you were close. 

“Gonna fill you up so good, baby.” whispering filthy promises into your ear, leaning back and burying all her length inside your womb, the tip of her fake cock rubbing your g-spot deliciously, making your eyes roll in the back of your head as she ground against the base of the strap, desperately chasing her own pleasure. 

“Need your babies, pleaseplease…cum inside me,” you whined, the words catching in your throat as you gasped for breath, wrapping your legs around her waist with an urgent need to keep her close, both of your throbbing clits grinding against the base of her strap. 

“Fuckfuck..’m coming.” Ellie’s grunts grew louder, a guttural melody that echoed in your ears. Her head arched back, the muscles in her body trembling and tensing as she slammed her dick inside you, urging you to cum with her 

“Ellie, fuuuck.” Your body rocked wildly against hers, the movement becoming erratic as the heel of your foot pressed firmly into her glutes, trapping her between your soft thighs as waves of pleasure coursed through you. Sweet and breathy mewls escaped your swollen lips, your back arching into her almost painfully.

Dr. Diaz was right after all, you just needed to try new things with your wife, explore your fantasies with her. 

Typically, she made you feel so good, and you gladly reciprocated the pleasure she gave you, but tonight, the tables had turned. She was solely fixated on making you feel loved and worshiped, determined to pull a fifth orgasm from your worn-out body. Your legs shook uncontrollably, and your core ached from the relentless onslaught of overstimulation, and she showed no signs of slowing down or stopping anytime soon. Your arms were pinned firmly behind your back, the cold, hard steel of the handcuffs digging into the delicate skin of your wrists with a biting force. You twitched and writhed involuntarily, the restrictive hold making you feel helpless and vulnerable; it was driving you insane. It was Ellie's idea, and you cursed yourself for agreeing to try something new.

“Babe, please…let me touch you.” A pathetic whine escaped your lips, quickly followed by a guttural whimper as her calloused hands skillfully controlled your every move. You were growing more desperate each second, yearning to play with those perky tits just lying there, right beneath you. They looked so lonely and neglected, it was such a shame. Rough palms find purchase on the softness of your hips, adjusting and re-adjusting your position to her liking. You struggled vainly against the cuffs, trying to squirm free, but the tight binds held strong, leaving you utterly at her mercy. You couldn’t move, and if you could, you know she wouldn’t let you. You were hers, hers to fuck and destroy like a doll. 

A mischievous grin spread across her features, a mixture of pride and amusement, knowing she was the cause of your current state, leaving you deliciously wrecked, her darkened eyes fixed on the milky white ring encircling the base of the black strap, your wetness coating her.  “Thought you said you wanted me to fuck a baby into you?” Her voice was husky and strained, the words escaping her lips in a gravelly purr that seemed to vibrate through your very core, your walls squeezing her cock almost to trap her inside.

“I do,” you choked out. “Ellie, please,” you were so fucking desperate. Ridiculously desperate to play with her nipples, touch her, perhaps wrap your hand around her neck, something that she seemed to enjoy, but what she was enjoying the most was the helpless expressions on your face as you looked down at her, pouting. You were always needy and she could easily put you in your place, but this needy? She was sure she had never seen you this desperate. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t touch her, and she was forcing you to ride her because you needed to earn ‘it.’ You needed to earn her babies, needed to earn her cum inside you. In all honesty, it was just a fucking excuse, and who could blame her? the sight of you riding her strap like a fucking pornstar with your hands handcuffed behind your back was everything, it was all she needed.

“C’mon ma, ride me like you always do. Don’t you want me to fill that pretty pussy of yours, hm?” As your hips started to move, taking her in inch by inch, a dry chuckle escaped her throat, her gaze flicking up to meet your pretty tits as they bounced in her face “Just like that…good giiirl,” the praise dripping with saccharine sweetness mingling with the slick, wet sounds of your pussy, the echoes of your moans and breathless gasps filling the room like a lewd harmony. “Needa work for it, princess,” Ellie says, her hands leaving your hips and finding a new home on your boobs; her thumbs danced across your hardened nubs, teasing and flicking them with a ruthless skill that caused you to writhe and squirm in her hands.

“Please, p-please,” you managed to croak out, begging and pleading for her to fill you up with her babies as if she could. You gasped and whined when the black tip of her strap kissed your cervix, going deeper into your womb. 

“Take every inch of it, baby,” her words flowed like liquid heat against the delicate shell of your ear as you collapsed into her embrace, completely consumed by her slow yet harsh thrusts, your eyes fluttering shut in blissful surrender. 

“Ahhhh-” you gasped helplessly.

“Gonna be such a perfect mama,” She growled, her palms eagerly squeezing your ass before delivering a sharp smack that drew a startled yelp from you. 

“Cum inside me,” you quaked into the crook of her shoulder, warm puffs of your breath caressing her freckled skin. 

“You dirty little slut, you like that, don’t you?” She let out a husky chuckle, her hand delivering another sharp spank before her firm grip found purchase on your hips, running up and down your soft skin as she guided your movements. 

“Mmmhhmmm” you adjusted your position and began to slowly bounce on her cock, ensuring her clit rubbed against the base of the toy, your movements deliberately aimed at eliciting a response from her. Your gaze locked onto the contours of her stomach, entranced by the way each muscle contracted with each painful roll of your hips, causing her breath to hitch in her throat, her chest rising and falling in sharp pants. The soft freckles scattered across her cheeks standing out vividly against the rosy hue, sweat trickled down her scarred brow, mingling with strands of baby hair that clung to her damp skin. 

“Look at your fucking—god… your fucking cunt, taking every inch of…hmmm… me” And oh, how absolutely mesmerizing she was when she was right where you wanted her. The epitome of perfection, a fantasy that surely haunted the dreams of many.

“Please, El… wanna cum with you.” You couldn't help the plaintive and slutty whine that slipped past your lips, her breath stuttered and grew ragged, and her hands, firm and sure, set a rhythm on your hips, expertly guiding you with a purpose. Her own slickness soaked the pastel blue cotton sheets beneath her. Your hazy, half-lidded eyes met hers, “Close?” Your voice came out weak and breathless as you looked down at her, your pace quickening as you ground against her desperately. She nodded frenetically; you could feel your climax approaching like a crashing wave, and you desperately bit down on your bottom lip to muffle the whimpers that threatened to escape, knowing it wouldn't be much longer before you came again. 

She steadied you with each languid roll of your hips, selfishly using you to get off. Each motion a perfect counterpoint to her own, and you could feel sweat dripping down your bare back. 

"Hmmm...I love when you're inside me" 

That was all it took. In a single fluid motion, she pulled you closer, sealing her lips against yours in a kiss that was more desperate and unhinged than any before it, coming simultaneously and swallowing every sweet sound you gave her.

Finally, as you came back down to Earth, you collapsed onto her, your handcuffed hands still immobile behind your back.

"It’s okay, pretty, I gotchu," she says, her voice raw and raspy from the intensity of her orgasm. She reached for the keys to the cuffs on the bedside table. You slowly sat up, the toy still nestling comfortably inside you, and she released your wrists from their tight embrace, allowing you to massage the sensitive, bruised skin with a tender touch. With a weary but satisfied sigh, you slowly extricate yourself from her, leaving behind a trail of your essence covering her whole length. You collapsed onto the soft sheets beside her, and she swiftly discarded the strap somewhere on the floor. You snuggled closer to her, your body molding against hers as you kissed her cheek tenderly. Her lips curled upwards in a contented smile, and she gently pulled you on top of her, holding you close in her strong embrace. 

“Did so good, princess. I love you.” She placed a gentle kiss on the crown of your head, her heartbeat echoing loudly in your ears as you lay snuggled against her bare chest. 

“I love you more,” you echoed back softly. 

"Don't forget to leave a 5 star review on the app for the ride-" you couldn't help but erupt into a fit of laughter, your body shaking softly as you gazed up at her. 

"God, you're so embarrassing." You gave her arm a playful slap, a grin still spread across your face as you both laughed together. 

"Yet you're still riding my cock." Her eyebrows arched upwards, a cocky smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. 

"Only because I have to." You rolled your eyes at her

"It’s not like you're being held at gunpoint—fuck me or I'll shoot you. Pew pew," she aimed and fired at imaginary enemies with her fingers. 

"I'm dating a fucking kid." You let out a dramatic sigh, feigning disappointment but unable to keep a smile from forming on your lips

“And that makes you a what?” She retorted sarcastically, arching a single brow at you with a smug expression on her face. 

“Okay” you replied with a deadpan, “I think it’s your bedtime,” you added in a fake serious tone, making her giggle. 

“Nooo, I wanna snuggle,” she groaned in mock protest, her lips pouting as she pulled you closer.

The two of you embraced each other, intertwining your limbs as you whispered sweet nothings to one another. The soft hum of the TV filled the air around you, and the cool night air from the open window sent chills down your spine. Both of you gently lulled into a peaceful slumber.

"This is a news flash update! We have received news of yet another fatal stabbing, this time in a local motel. A 25-year-old woman was found dead in her room, brutally stabbed to death. This is the third murder reported in the last month, causing a great deal of panic and concern amongst the town's inhabitants. Police investigations are currently underway, and residents are advised to take caution and keep their doors and windows locked at all times. Now over to our reporter on the scene for further details."

Your Apartment – October 19th, 2018.

Holding Dina's baby for the first time in the hospital was an experience that felt more like signing a contract with an invisible ink pen. You hadn't realized it then, but the moment your arms cradled JJ's tiny, warm body, you became an integral part of his life and his babysitter whenever the couple was too busy or needed some peace. The trust Dina placed in you was immediate and profound, and you were the first person she called when she needed someone reliable to watch over her precious baby potato. 

And how could you ever say no? JJ was an angel wrapped in soft blankets, with eyes that sparkled with curiosity and a giggle that could melt even the hardest of hearts made of stone. Sure, he had his moments of frustration, his small fists clenching in tantrums every now and then, but those were fleeting storms in an otherwise sunny disposition. Most of the time, JJ was a remarkably well-behaved child, a rarity in the world of toddlers.

His tiny hands would reach out for you, his laughter echoing like a sweet melody in the air, filling your apartment. The way he looked at you with pure, unfiltered trust made every impromptu babysitting session feel less like an obligation and more like a cherished opportunity, something you truly enjoyed. And in all honesty, after the diner you worked at was shut, looking after JJ was something that kept you busy and distracted. And a distraction is always nice.

"I'll come pick him up at… is 11 too late?" Jesse asked tentatively, gently rocking his son in his arms. He looked down at JJ, shooting a few silly grins that made the baby gurgle with delight. 

You shook your head profusely, a soft chuckle escaping your lips. "Absolutely not. You know I'm a night owl," you reminded him with a gentle smile. Your eyes softened as you extended your arms, ready to cradle the potato-shaped boy.

Jesse handed JJ over, his small weight settling comfortably against you. You could feel the warmth of his tiny body through his onesie, the baby-soft skin of his tiny hand brushing against your cheek as you adjusted him in your arms. His dad's shoulders relaxed, knowing his son was in safe hands. "Thanks, you're a lifesaver," he said, his voice filled with gratitude. You simply smiled, looking down at JJ, who was now cooing contentedly, his little hand grasping your finger with surprising strength.

"Anytime," you replied softly, feeling a swell of affection for the tiny being in your arms. His chubby cheeks and his cute tiny hands were the most adorable things in the world. Who was gonna tell Ellie that you wanted a kid now? 

“Dina really needs to rest, and I can’t be there to help because of work.” You nodded, feeling bad for the brunette, knowing she was home alone with her son most of the time.

"Tell Dina I said hi," you added as Jesse adjusted his uniform jacket. 

"Will do—Ellie's gonna get off her shift at 3 AM," he informed you, his voice tinged with fatigue but still warm, the bags under his eyes said it all; becoming a parent surely wasn’t a walk in the park.

You nodded at his words, then suddenly remembered something. "Oh wait—I almost forgot!" Your eyes widened as you turned your back, hurrying to retrieve a small bag from the kitchen. You returned to the front door, holding the bag out to Jesse, who was now leaning casually against the door frame.

"Oh! What would she do without you?" he exclaimed in a teasing manner, deep down finding the gesture sweet and thoughtful. It was endearing how you always looked after your wife, preparing her meals while she worked tirelessly at the police station, ensuring she wouldn't skip the most important part of the day and that she was well-nourished.

You chuckled at his words. "What would you do without me, actually," you corrected him with a playful smile. "Two chicken sandwiches, one for you, one for her, no tomatoes for you. There's some apples and a few chocolate bars, too,"

Jesse swiftly grabbed the paper bag from your hand and peeked inside. "You're amazing," he said with a grin on his face. "Hope JJ won't be too much trouble," he added, his chocolate eyes shifting to his son in your arms.

"I'll be fine—be careful, alright?" you warned him, your tone turning slightly serious. 

He nodded, appreciating your concern. "Always am. See you at 11," he said, turning around to walk away from your doorstep, the bag of food swinging gently at his side.

You spent the whole evening with JJ, you dedicated your time to caring for the baby boy. You carefully prepared his meal and then proceeded to give him a relaxing bubble bath, hoping the latter would make him somewhat sleepy and ready to go to bed. Little plastic ducks floating on the surface add a whimsy touch to the whole scene. Suddenly, your phone rang, breaking the peaceful atmosphere. With JJ cradled in the bathtub, you quickly reached for your phone, ensuring your free hand was dry after patting it with the folded towel placed conveniently within your reach.

“El?” 

“Hi baby,” her warm and affectionate voice flowed through the speaker; you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort and joy.

A soft smile graced your lips, “Hey gorgeous,” your voice was filled with a playful tone, and the sound of Mr. Potato giggling could be heard in the background.

Her voice was husky as she asked, “How’s it going?” 

“Oh, y’know, just giving stinky-boy a bath.” The endearing nickname that escaped your lips elicited an uncontrollable, joyous laughter from the pretty boy. Despite being just a baby, his insatiable curiosity and discerning intelligence were truly impressive, definitely something he hadn’t inherited from his dad. The infectious giggle emanating from the baby brought a warm chuckle from auburnette. “How’s it going for you?” you took the chance to ask back.

“Jus’ stuck with paperwork while Jesse gets all the fun tasks.” Her dry lips parted slightly, releasing a barely audible, airy exhale. “Sucks you’re not here with me,” she added

“Sounds pretty homophobic if you ask me,” You quipped with a charming grin, though she couldn't see it. “Should be sitting on your lap right now.” Ellie let out a low sigh, her breath hitching as your words sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine. You knew it didn't take much to get her worked up, and perhaps it was the memories from last night that made her even more susceptible to your tease

“Yeah. I’ll be home in four hours.” A soft huff escaped her lips, a subtle sign of her growing impatience and yearning for your touch

“I knowwww,” You drawled, switching your phone to speaker mode as you carefully lifted JJ out of the bath and wrapped him snugly in a warm, fluffy towel. Soft giggles and coos echoed through the room, “I’ll stay up for you,” you told her

“You must be tired, you should go to bed earl-” 

“No,” you adamantly insisted, your tone unyielding “I miss you”

“Miss you too,” she responded swiftly, her tone matching yours 

“See you soon?” 

“Alright, mama, I'll see you soon.” she exhaled. “The sandwich was delicious, by the way,” Ellie adds, gratitude resonating in her words

A proud grin spread across your face as you replied cockily, “You’re welcome,” savoring the compliment on your cooking skills. She had always appreciated it immensely when you cooked for her, and she never wasted a chance to lavish compliments on your culinary skills. God, if she loved you more than anything. 

“Love you.” 

“Love you.” And with that, you ended the call.

You couldn't help but gaze adoringly at the little burrito in your arms, wrapped up in a beautiful pastel blue towel. The tranquil, content expression on his face spoke volumes of his relaxed state, a peaceful lull radiating from his tiny form. “Daddy’s gonna pick you up soon, let’s get dressed, yeah?” you cooed affectionately, tracing the bridge of his little nose with your index finger, inciting a gummy grin from the cutie as he batted his long lashes at you. You retrieved the bag Jesse had left at your place a few days ago, it was crammed with everything a baby might require and a few extra outfits for JJ. You changed him into a charming giraffe-patterned pjs and wrapped him cozily in a small blanket. Just as you finished, the doorbell rang, signaling Jesse's arrival.

“Howdy!” Jesse stood at your door, visibly exhausted. Wordlessly, you gestured for him to enter the disorganized apartment. His weary eyes immediately settled on the baby in your arms, noting how JJ's eyelids appeared heavy and threatened to flutter shut at any moment. The newborn had been keeping him and Dina up for nights on end, and on top of that, his demanding job had further drained his energy. The stress was evident in his drawn features, making it clear that the past few days had taken a toll on him. 

“He was an angel,” you softly told him with a gentle smile. 

“Oh really?” his voice held a hint of amusement as he raised his brows in disbelief, marveling at how your description of JJ as a 'complete angel' contradicted his own experience. He couldn't tell if his little one was behaving so well out of genuine good nature or if you were exaggerating the truth a bit cause he could sure be a little troublemaker with him and Dina. “Glad he wasn’t much of a fuss,” he chuckled tiredly. 

“I already gave him a bath and all; he’s ready for bed,” you informed him, and he nodded in acknowledgment. 

“Thank you, y/n. I owe you one.” A weary sigh escaped his lips. “Mind if I go to the toilet real quick?” he asked. 

“No, sure. go ahead”

A subtle change in Jesse's demeanor was evident as he reappeared moments later. His eyes flickered away from yours, and a tense, forced smile adorned his face, giving the impression that something was troubling him. 

“You good?” You questioned him, carefully placing the sleeping bean in his arms to avoid waking the little one. A hint of concern tinged your voice as you attempted to discern the reason behind his anxious demeanor. He was fine just a minute ago. 

“Yeah, yeah. just tired, is all,” he responded evasively, leaving you to raise an eyebrow in skepticism, but you decided not to dwell on it.

He must be tired, you thought. 

Jesse tenderly held his son, cradling him in his strong, protective arms “Thank you again for watching over him” 

“I told you, it’s no bother, he’s such a cute kid,” You responded fondly, gently caressing the baby boy's soft, round cheek as he rested contentedly in his father's embrace. 

“Alright, have a good night,” he gave you a faint smile 

“You too, Jess.” You remained at the doorstep, leaning against it as you watched him leave, his silhouette gradually fading from sight. 

When Jesse returned home, he cautiously unlocked the front door, cradling a sleeping JJ in his arm. As he entered, his gaze fell upon Dina, softly snoring on the couch, her mouth slightly parted in peaceful slumber. He watched her for a moment, a tender smile on his lips as he appreciated the sight. Closing the door gently so as not to wake her, he approached her, his footsteps silent on the floor. Seeing her there, asleep as she had waited for him, filled him with warmth and love.

“Honey, I’m home”

The Police station – October 27th, 2018.

Jesse rubbed his eyes with the rough palms of his hands, longing to be home with his family. He absorbed the animated discussions among his colleagues, who were fervently speculating about the identity of the elusive killer. With no substantial evidence to support their theories, their efforts felt akin to chasing a phantom. The killer had a remarkable ability to erase all traces, executing each action with meticulous precision.

“What if he's not left-handed and is good with both hands?” As one of the individuals engaged in the discussion took a contemplative sip of his steaming coffee, Jesse's gaze meandered over to the clock adorning the pristine white brick wall.

2:26 AM.

He should be home, in his bed.

He continued to endure the ceaseless barrage of hypothetical scenarios conjured up by his colleagues. Normally, they wouldn't have been included in such sensitive investigations, but they were frustrated and exhausted from pursuing an elusive individual who appeared to never make any mistakes. There had to be something, but no. No fucking slip-ups. 

“The slit starts from right to left, meaning he slayed the first victim—Vanessa—using his left hand,” The woman in her forties leaned back in her swivel office chair, gesturing towards the raw pictures they had taken of the first victim as she explained the details to her coworker. 

“Yeah, but it doesn’t add up—Giselle Caddel,” he countered by swiftly sifting through additional files and photographs to substantiate his theory. “See? Left to right.” he softly tapped his index finger on the images and the text printed on the pages that held every necessary information.

The woman let out a frustrated sigh and absentmindedly hummed to herself as she examined the pictures and the papers for the millionth time “Okay, maybe he is dominant with both hands,” she conceded, agreeing with his hypothesis. But again, it didn't make sense how the third victim had been brutalized, shot with an unknown weapon, leaving them with more questions than answers. The lack of registration for the gun only deepened the mystery, leaving them lost on how to proceed.

“Why do we assume we're going after a guy?” Jesse suddenly spoke up, drawing puzzled looks from all his colleagues, who had nearly forgotten he was even there. They gazed at him with a mixture of confusion and surprise, unsure if they had just heard something absurd or brilliant. He couldn't discern the thoughts racing through their minds. But he couldn't help but wonder… was it truly inconceivable for a woman to be capable of committing such a brutal act of violence?

“What are you implying?” dirty blonde brows arched inquisitively, crossing her arms over her chest. 

“What if it’s a woman we should be looking for?” he elaborated 

“A woman?” She responded with a mix of surprise and mock disbelief, her voice laced with a hint of humor. “Everyone claims they’ve seen a man at each crime scene before the murders occurred,” 

“But they’ve never seen ‘his’ face, have they?” He replied with heavy sarcasm, making air quotes while emphasizing the word 'his.'

“Ma’am, we don’t have proof that it is a man,” another coworker pondered the situation and concurred with Jesse's theory.

“He’s too brutal, too raw, too strong. A woman can’t be that strong,” she stated, still skeptical. The detective's thoughts raced through possible motives for the brutal murders. It was difficult to fathom how the female perpetrator could commit such heinous crimes without any apparent remorse. Could there be a common connection between the victims, such as… a shared romantic history with the same individual? The officer's mind was filled with questions, struggling to understand the motivations behind the cold-hearted acts. she pondered, the sinister theory making her stomach turn uncomfortably.

“Adrenaline has that effect on everyone,” he stood his ground, refusing to back down from his idea. The room went silent as the towering blonde woman abruptly stood, drawing a deep breath of air into her lungs. 

“You might be onto something,” she declared firmly, her voice carrying a hint of authority. Without further elaboration, she turned and strode out of the investigation room, leaving the officers to grapple with the weight of her words.

He leaned back, feeling the tension ease slightly as she disappeared from view. Perhaps, just perhaps, they were finally on the right track. But even then, uncertainty lingered in the air. They needed tangible evidence, something concrete to confirm their suspicions.

Jesse’s House – November 6th, 2018.

The chill of the night still lingered in the air as Jesse's eyes snapped open, his breath quickening as remnants of a brutal nightmare clung to his consciousness. A sense of disorientation washed over him, but he quickly gathered his bearings, the familiar sights of his surroundings grounding him back to reality.

He was home, he was safe. He mentally reassured himself

Turning his head ever so slightly, he beheld the tranquil scene before him. Dina lay peacefully beside him, her chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm, a serene expression adorning her sleeping face. JJ, nestled between them, let out a soft snore, blissfully unaware of the world around him, tiny hands curled into fists.

With utmost care, Jesse shifted, his movements slow and deliberate as he extracted himself from the warmth of the duvet. The soft material whispered against his skin, a comforting presence in the quiet of the night. As he sat up, a sense of protectiveness washed over him, a silent vow to safeguard the fragile tranquility of the moment. Every rustle of fabric, every creak of the bed frame was muffled by the hush of the night, a sacred stillness enveloping the room like a cocoon. Jesse's gaze lingered on the precious sight before him, the love he felt for his family swelling within his chest; he felt so grateful for them, he would've done anything for them.

He lovingly tucked his wife into bed, her arm instinctively reaching for him in her sleep, seeking the warmth of his presence as it slowly slipped away. Jesse quietly padded to the kitchen, the soft sound of his footsteps barely audible in the stillness of the night. Glancing at the clock, he noticed the time and let out an exhausted sigh, the back of his hand moving to wipe the beads of sweat from his forehead. Opening the cupboards, he reached for a glass, the cool touch of it bringing a sense of relief as he filled it with fresh water, his mouth feeling as dry as the Sahara desert.

It was only 4 AM.

He quickly downed the glass of water, the cool liquid quenching his thirst, before placing it on the granite countertop. This was his usual routine. He was fortunate if he managed to get four hours of sleep, but more often than not, it was only three before he would wake up, haunted by vivid nightmares of the killer, unable to fall back asleep. 

As he strolled his way to the living room, he couldn’t help but notice the pillows strewn across the floor and JJ’s countless plush toys scattered in every corner. Dina had a habit of showering JJ with toys, much to Jesse’s bemusement. He didn't need all those toys; a few were sufficient, and most of them were left unused. There was one particular elephant plush that caught the baby boy's attention. He seemed to be incredibly attached to it, never leaving it alone, carrying it around everywhere, and if he ever misplaced it, he would throw a tantrum until Dina found it.

The living room bore silent witness to their daily chaos. JJ’s little kingdom, with plush animals ranging from lions to bears, was a vibrant display of color against the muted tones of the furniture. Jesse picked up a few toys, absentmindedly placing them back in their basket. 

He sank into the worn, stained couch, feeling the dampness of the fabric from the water JJ had accidentally spilled earlier. The gentle, barely perceptible hum of the refrigerator filled the air, creating a soothing backdrop to the faint sounds of the city beginning to stir from its slumber. He leaned back, his thoughts drifting. Those were the moments when his mind just wouldn't stop buzzing with thoughts. The relentless pursuit of a cunning killer had started to weigh heavily on his mind, leaving him feeling utterly powerless. 

He felt like he was letting everyone down–his family, Dina. It absolutely infuriated him that he couldn't do more to protect them. Especially now that JJ had arrived, his paternal instincts seemed to kick in and his desire to protect his family had intensified, amplifying the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. He let his eyes drift aimlessly around the room until they settled on his laptop resting on the scarred coffee table. It was at that moment that a sudden realization popped into his mind.

The missing hard disk.

Jesse’s mind raced as he remembered that day, the rush of events blending together in a haze. He had been at your place and gone to the toilet when he spotted the hard disk tucked away on a shelf. Something about it had struck him as odd. It wasn’t just any brand; it was the exact match to the equipment used at the crime scene. His heart skipped a beat when he realized the potential importance of what he had stumbled upon. He was sure it was just a coincidence 'cause why would you have it? Why would you be possibly hiding it? 

It didn't make sense.

He wasn’t proud of slipping it into his pocket, a pang of guilt gnawing at him for doubting you even for a second and for stealing from you. But his instincts told him it was something worth looking into. Now, as he sat there on the couch, the memory of that discovery resurfaced with a new urgency. Something seemed to scream at him to check it, go through all the files, if it had any. So, he got up to grab it from his desk drawers in the small room that Dina had turned into a cozy office just for her husband. It was his own little space, off-limits to everyone else.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard, the late-night quiet amplifying the soft clicks as he navigated through files. His hands slightly trembled as he connected the drive to the laptop. The screen flickered to life, and he began sifting through its contents. The hard disk had been gathering dust in his desk drawer for weeks, forgotten in the whirlwind of everyday life. But now, the potential it held was too significant to ignore. What secrets did it hold? What answers might it provide in the tangled web of this investigation?

With a deep breath, he clicked on the first file, hoping it would shine a light on the darkness they had been chasing for so long.

The last files were recorded the same day of the murder.

Jackpot.

He eagerly clicked on the very last file, skipping through a few hours, fast-forwarding past the mundane bustle of customers and staff. His eyes were glued to the timestamp, searching for the crucial moment. The diner’s atmosphere, usually so lively, felt eerie and heavy through the security camera's lens as if it held its breath for the impending doom.

Minutes ticked by in a blur of motion, the clock on the screen edging closer to the time he knew everything changed. Jesse’s fingers ghosted over the keys, ready to pause at any sign of something unusual. The familiar faces of regulars came and went, oblivious to the dark shadow about to come.

And then, there it was. The whole truth.

He watched the video, his eyes never leaving your grainy silhouette. The footage played out silently, no audio, no nothing. He saw the woman with the kid leave the diner, and Vanessa picking up the tip from the table as you stayed behind the counter. His heart pounded in his chest, the anticipation gnawing at him.

Moments later, the mysterious man walked in, his face obscured by a hood, just as you had described. Jesse's pulse quickened, a sense of foreboding creeping up his spine, "There he is..." he mumbled to himself. The man's movements were deliberate, his presence unsettling even through the grainy footage. 

When the man left, Jesse's focus shifted back to Vanessa as she walked into the back room. You swiftly made your way to the front door, turning the sign to ‘closed’ and locking the doors with a practiced motion. His eyes followed you intensely as you walked back behind the counter, your actions precise and unwavering.

There was something almost poetic in the way you moved, a quiet determination that made his breath hitch. He watched as you retrieved a knife, the gleaming blade catching the dim light of the diner. With a sense of purpose, you followed Vanessa into the back room.

"No, no, no, no," he kept whispering over and over again, like some sort of prayer.

Jesse's mind raced, the pieces of the puzzle slowly coming together—it all felt surreal, as if he were watching a scene from a movie rather than real life. 

The footage left him cold and shaking to the core. He felt a knot in his stomach. How could the woman he once knew as a kind-hearted soul be a serial killer? How could he have trusted a killer, a psychopath, all along? Fear rippled through his veins as he realized the danger he had exposed his son and wife to. He knew he had to act to bring this evidence to his team, but he needed to get Ellie first.

She needed to get out of that goddamn house immediately.

Without a moment to spare, he grabbed his jacket and his gun and swiftly left his home. He then drove hastily to Ellie's place, frantically calling her repeatedly, but she never picked up even though he was sure she was off her shift and definitely home.

“Ellie? Fuck, Ellie, answer your fucking phone! You home yet? You need to get out of there, man. Pleas-” His voice quivered, his clammy hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. His nerves were palpable as fear and anxiety coursed through his veins

“Please, if you’re listening to this, get out of that fucking house, don’t tell y/n anything. She’s not who you think she is. She is extremely dangerous. Call me ba-” Jesse's frustration heightened as the beep signified the end of the voicemail, “FUCK” he shouted, slamming his hand onto the steering wheel. 

Your Apartment, 5:06 AM – November 6th, 2018.

When he finally arrived at the apartment building, he quickly bounded towards the door, rapping against it frantically. Ellie opened the door, a puzzled expression on her face. Jesse sighed, relief washing over him as he saw Ellie safe and sound.

“My fucking god, are you–are you alright?” his tone was agitated as he spoke, though Ellie appeared confused, chuckling softly in response. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” She asked, scarred brows arched in confusion as she struggled to comprehend the reason behind her friend's agitated demeanor, making an unexpected appearance at her doorstep at such an ungodly hour 

“Look, we gotta go, you’re not safe” He urgently grabbed her arm, attempting to forcefully pull her out of her house but she was quick to snatch her arm away from his grasp, her annoyance evident.

Surprise, concern, and annoyance colored Ellie's face as she exclaimed,  “What’s gotten into you, dude?” 

Your wife is a serial killer, he wanted to shout at her, exposing you for the monster you were, but he knew better. He knew that Ellie would struggle to believe him if he presented it bluntly, attacking what she cared about the most, so he needed to tread carefully and it felt like walking on legos, not even eggshells. He couldn’t risk Ellie getting mad at him or, even worse–shutting the door in his face. If something happened to her, the guilt would haunt him forever. 

“You have an idea of what time it is?” Her emeralds darted towards the clock on the living room wall for a brief second—nearly 5 am.

“Look, we don’t have time for-” he began to speak, suddenly struck silent as his friend turned around for a fleeting moment “Is y/n home?” He inquired with a concerned expression, his complexion noticeably paler than usual. His hands trembled as he nervously peered over Ellie's shoulder, desperate to catch a glimpse of you, but the auburnette blocked his way, shaking her head. 

“No, why?” Her voice was calm and composed, a stark contrast to his agitated and tumultuous tone 

“I’ve been calling you, where the fuck is your phone?” 

“It died,” she responded curtly, running her fingers through her hair, a thoughtful expression crossing her face, lips pressing together. “Wanna explain to me what the fuck are you on?” her hands were firmly placed on her hips; her attentive eyes fixated on Jesse's agitated state—the furrowed brows, clenched fists, and the restlessness emanating from him. Pretty unusual.

“We need to go; I’ll explain everything on the way,” his voice tinged with a mix of desperation and urgency that Ellie had never heard from him. He tugged at her sweatshirt, but she didn't budge, retreating a step backward, distancing herself from him. She let out a deep sigh before reluctantly acquiescing to his request. 

“Let me get my stuff first,” she said, disappearing inside, leaving his restless figure waiting on the doorstep.

He waited and waited and waited, the minutes stretching into what felt like an eternity. With each passing second, a gnawing sense of unease began to take hold. "Ellie?" he called out impatiently, his voice slicing through the silence, but there was no response.

"Ellie?" he tried again, louder this time, the name echoing eerily through the empty apartment. Still nothing. He let out a shaky exhale, feeling the tension coil tighter in his chest. His hand hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open wider, revealing more of the still and silent space. "Fuck," he mumbled under his breath, his pulse quickening. Reaching for his gun, he stepped inside cautiously, every sense on high alert.

The living room was eerily quiet, devoid of any signs of life. He moved through it slowly, each step deliberate and measured. His eyes scanned the room, searching for any clue, any hint of where his friend might be. Nothing. His gaze flickering to the pictures hanging on the wall, captured moments of joy and celebration, memories of your wedding day, now seeming almost like relics from another lifetime. 

“...Ellie?” he called out again, his voice softer now, almost a plea. The word hung in the air, unanswered, as he continued his careful sweep of the apartment. He checked the kitchen and the bathroom—his mind raced with possibilities, each one more unsettling than the last. It was as if Ellie had simply vanished into thin air. His grip tightened on the gun, the cold metal reassuring in his hand, the silence almost oppressive, pressing in on him from all sides.

Just as he made his way back to the living room, standing in the center of the room, trying to think clearly, a loud thump reverberated through the hallway, and before he could react, his body crumpled to the floor. Lifeless. Blood began to pool beneath him, a dark and viscous river flowing from the neat, round hole between his eyes. 

You were humming a soft tune as you turned off the water, stepping out of the box shower and reaching for the towel hung nearby. The bathroom air was cool, and the contrast with your damp skin made you shiver, goosebumps rising in a wave across your arms and legs. A sharp hiss escaped your lips as the chill settled in.

You froze momentarily, ears perking up when you heard the unmistakable sound of the door shutting loudly from the living room. It wasn’t a sound you were expecting, and a flicker of unease sparked in your chest. 

Did she leave the house without telling you? 

Quickly, you wrapped the towel around your body, the soft fabric absorbing the droplets that still clung to your skin. You could feel them running in rivulets, leaving trails down your back and legs.

Leaving the bathroom, your bare feet left wet footsteps on the floor, as you made your way towards the living room, you began to hear strange, muffled noises—something between a rustle and a low murmur. Your heartbeat quickened, thudding loudly in your ears. The apartment was usually a sanctuary, but now it felt different, charged with an unfamiliar tension.

“El?” you called out, your voice tentative as it broke the silence. You listened intently, but heavy silence was all you got in response.

It was only when you stood by the doorframe of the living room that you saw her knelt down on the floor. You found yourself unable to move, every muscle tensed as if you were being turned to stone by the piercing gaze of Medusa herself. Her eyes were ice cold, piercing right through you, as Jesse's body lay lifeless at her feet. The sight of his still form and the pool of blood around him made your stomach churn.

Ellie stood abruptly, her movement sudden and jarring. Your smooth forehead creased into a furrow, the lines forming a delicate map of concern, both of you staring at each other without daring to say a word. The silence stretched out, thick and suffocating, each heartbeat echoing loudly in your ears. Your grip tightened on the towel, knuckles white with tension, as you stepped forward 

“Right on the fucking rug?!” you burst out, your voice raising slightly. Ellie winced, the sharpness of your tone cutting through the tension. 

“Baby, I’m sor—” she began, but you harshly cut her off, marching closer to her, careful not to step on the warm crimson liquid staining the fluffy white rug. 

“You better fucking scrub that shit clean,” you snapped, pointing your finger at her, eyes narrowing. Your gaze shifted to the lifeless body of Jesse, lying awkwardly with a dark, spreading pool beneath him. 

Despite the gruesome sight, you felt a strange calm; you knew there was a reason behind her actions; there always was. And you trusted her to death, so no questions were asked, the only thing that bothered you was the thought of having to throw away your favorite carpet of the house.

Ellie nodded vigorously at your demand, her face a mask of determination. You could see the guilt and resolve warring in her eyes, but you knew she would handle it. 

“Look,” she mumbled, her voice steady as she knelt down, reaching into Jesse’s jeans pocket. She pulled out a small hard drive, leaving bloody fingerprints on it. 

“Ah shit,” you cursed, snatching it from her stained hands. The tiny data storage device felt deceptively light in your palm, its importance weighing heavily on your mind. “Wonder when he stole it,” you mumbled, turning the hard drive over, examining it closely. 

“He had always been a sneaky little bitch,” she hissed, her voice dripping with disdain. She kicked his thigh, her pretty features scrunched up in anger. The casual violence of the gesture made your skin crawl, but you couldn’t deny the truth in her words. Jesse had been a liability, a snake in the grass.

“Do you think he told anyone else?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Fear flickered in your eyes, the thought of getting caught sending a wave of nausea through you. You couldn’t risk that; no, no, you couldn’t.

Ellie shook her head, reassuring you, “he came here as soon as he found out—left a bunch of voicemails,” she explained. You exhaled slowly, a weight lifting from your shoulders. Relief washed over you; no one else would find out. The bond between you felt stronger than ever. She had always been there for you, protecting you no matter what, hiding evidence you clumsily left behind. 

You stood by her side, looking down at the mess she had made. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. Both of you were lost in your own worlds, your thoughts racing in different directions, her mind already strategizing the next steps while your own thoughts swirled in another direction.

“I really want a baby” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you had a chance to stop them, a soft pout forming on your lips. She turned towards you, her face breaking into a brilliant smile that illuminated the dimly lit room. 

At that moment, her emerald eyes shimmered with a newfound glimmer, a blend of delight and astonishment that took your breath away, feeling a fluttering in her stomach. “Fuck- are you forreal?” 

You nod your head slightly, unable to contain the matching smile that formed on your own lips “Yes, I thought abou-” you started to explain, but before you could finish, bloody hands moved in a swift motion, pulling you closer by the waist. 

Her lips pressed against yours, the kiss urgent and full of emotion. You melted into her embrace, wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her even closer. Your fingers tangled in her ember-hued locks, the softness of her hair contrasting with the gritty reality of the moment. But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the overwhelming sense of connection and the shared excitement of a future you both wanted. Ellie's grip on your waist tightened, her hands staining the pink fabric of the towel still wrapped around your body.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and flushed, you rested your forehead against hers. The room around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of shared dreams and possibilities.

No matter how they toss the dice, it had to be

The only one for me is you, and you for me

So happy together-

"Alexa, shut it," you commanded, pulling a giggle out of Ellie, her cheeks heating up with a pink hue that only added to her beauty. Your thumb gently stroked her cheekbone, and her slender fingers reached out to teasingly play with the towel still clinging to your body, their silken touch sending a shiver down your spine as they danced along the contours of the soft fabric. 

"I was thinking…" she began slowly and sultrily, a mischievous smirk adorning her face, "How about we keep tryin’ for that baby?" Her tone was innocent, almost as if she were asking you to play a simple game of cards.

"You spoke my mind," you replied, pressing a quick peck on her smirk. Her hands quickly moved down to your butt, making you jump in her arms and wrap your legs around her waist. 

Your soft giggle was interrupted by her lips once again, kissing you passionately, and her hands, strong yet tender, held you securely. You could feel the warmth of her body through the thin fabric and the cool air of the room contrasting deliciously with your heated skin, making you shiver. Her lips moved with an urgency that matched your own, she was starved, she needed more.

You pulled back for a breath, your foreheads resting together. Her eyes, filled with love and desire, searched yours. "I love you," she whispered, her voice husky with emotion.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "I love you more."

With a shared laugh, she carried you towards the bedroom, your bodies intertwined and hearts beating in unison, falling in love with each other all over again. 

No one would ever come between you, and no one would ever know what had happened here. Ellie had your back, and you had hers. Always.

I can't see me lovin' nobody but you

For all my life

taglist: @aouiaa

[bookishgalaxies]

Hellooooo I saw that ur requests are opened so I tried to make my head work and think about something interesting

What about Wanderer x Reader (I know you don't like writing a male reader, but still I'd like to request it <3 if u don't feel comfortable doing it you can just go by gn reader) But the reader has a scarameow plush and he always hug his plush when he wants attention. LIKE he doesn't hug Wanderer to not bother him or something (bros so insecure ew (jk)

WELL AGAIN if you don't want to write a male reader you can go by gn <3 tysm if u write that request. Have a good day/night!!

(I actually tried to think about something to request cause I can't take trying to read smt with him and this app having mostly smut fics with him <//3 LIKE WHY ARE THERE SO MANY SMUT FICS...)

Hug Me Instead, Idiot

summary: you just want some cuddles but are too scared to ask, so you hug your plushie instead. Not realizing that Wanderer had caught on to this habit of your’s.

type: oneshot, not proofread

character: wanderer x gn!reader

warnings: reader being insecure, wanderer being wanderer (affectionately ofc)

a/n: thank you bunches for this request! I’m sorry I couldn’t do a make reader for you. I just always feel more comfortable writing for a gender neutral reader. That said, always let me know if there are any pronoun slips or mistakes. I really enjoyed this request even though I’m not much of a Wanderer fan myself.

————————★————————

The day had been long and seemed to have taken a lot out of you. You enjoyed your job and found great pleasure in what you did but right now you were exhausted. Halfway between sitting and lying on the comfy sofa.

You heard the sound of pencil scratching on paper as Wanderer made revisions to one of his colleague’s essays. He sat in a chair across the room next to a lamp emitting warm light and a small table.

You admired his features, even if they were scrunched up in annoyance at what he was reading. His indigo eyes may have possessed a sharp glare but they were mesmerizing all the same. The way his lip quirked up slightly in a devious smirk as he marked on the essay. Indicating he was obviously looking forward to badgering the scholar about the error later. His navy hair fell over his forehead and right now looked like it would be quite soft to the touch.

You two had been together for a while now much to both of your liking. Sure Wanderer could be a bit….rough around the edges sometimes, but he cared. You could see it in his actions even if he wasn’t a fan of always saying that he cared for you.

Admittedly, you hugged your cat plush closer. The stuffed animal gifted to you by Wanderer after he saw you admiring it in a shop window. You had told him that you weee admiring it because reminded you of him. Of course he was quick to scoff, telling you that your idea of similarity was ridiculous.

He regretted to inform you about the warm feeling that had spread throughout him when you mentioned thinking of him.

You didn’t notice how tightly you were holding the plush. Hugging it as if it were a real thing. You could tell you were getting tired and right now in particular wanted to cuddle with someone. That someone being Wanderer.

He was busy though, engrossed in editing the essays. You didn’t want to bother him over something so silly. He would probably find the request bothersome or annoying and you were already too scared of being perceived that way.

Fidgeting with the plush cat’s ears you started to spiral a bit. Thinking of all the times you had asked for a hug or a kiss and cringing at yourself for doing so. Honestly, you didn’t know why Wanderer stayed with you this long.

Looking out of the window next to the couch, you hear a voice from behind you.

“Move over.” Wanderer said, now standing by the sofa with a hardcover book and his now smaller stack of essays.

“Don’t you want to stay in the chair where there’s more light?”

“If I did I’d still be over there.” He replied, motioning again for you to scoot over.

He sat beside you, continuing to write vigilantly on the papers. It only took a few minutes before his sharp glare drifted over to you and he said.

“You’re lucky I’m not an idiot.” He’d say, setting the book and papers aside as he pulled you into a warm embrace.

You were stunned for a moment at how he knew that was exactly what you had wanted from him. Yes he was intelligent but….

“How did you-“

“I’m not an idiot.”

He’d look at you with pretty indigo eyes, his expression stoic as always.

“You could always just ask me.”

You knew he was right.

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

He’d scoff and roll his eyes.

“The scholars at the Akademiya bother me, not you. “

You’d smile warmly at him knowing that this was as sappy as he was going to get. It felt nice breathing in his clean and airy scent as you slowly drifted off into sleep. Finally able to let your brain drift into unconsciousness.

————————★————————

thank you so much for reading !!

stay hydrated and have a nice day/night !!

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Bookmark my Heart

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description: You're not the audiobook type. You much prefer reading over listening to books. It would just be your luck that an audiobook got you into this predicament. His eyes are piercing as you fumble with your phone to mute the volume, his voice blaring from the device.

Warnings: None! (Though I do believe Flirty!Rooster is a warning I should call out.)

Themes: Meet-Cute, Flirting, Coffee, Books, Smut Books

Word Count: 3456

A/N: So, if you all aren't aware, today is the lovely @roosterforme's birthday! I couldn't think of a better way to celebrate Em and all of the amazing things she does more than to write some Rooster for her. Happy Birthday! I hope your day is as wonderful as you are! So without further ado, I'm pleased to present you all with Bookmark my Heart, a fic where Bradley Bradshaw is an audiobook narrator and the reader, nicknamed Paper, runs right into him! All my thanks to @horseshoegirl and @desert-fern for beta-reading this fic and catching all of the places where I've missed commas as well as updating my phrasing!

My Masterlist

AO3: Cross-posted Here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted Here!

You’re not the audiobook type. Something about having someone read the pages, providing inflections and changes of tone to the otherwise inflectionless words tends to kill your imagination. So you much prefer reading over listening to the books you’re in the mood to peruse. It would just be your luck that an audiobook got you into this predicament. His eyes are piercing as you fumble with your phone to mute the volume, his voice blaring from the device. But maybe you should back up a little bit.

It all started, like it usually did for you, with a book. Unlike normally though, you aren’t talking about Keats, Byron, Shelley, or Austen. This time, the book that was your downfall was something you’d usually classify as chick-lit. Not that chick-lit is a bad thing. There are quite a few romance novels which are beautifully written and that you enjoy reading and re-reading. It’s just not normal that a romance novel, something smutty and provocative, would end up being talked about on podcasts and the news. That’s not considering how all of your female colleagues seem to be talking about the very same book. But that’s the other interesting thing. They’re not even discussing the book’s contents. More like they’re discussing the narrator’s voice in the audiobook edition - how deep and smooth and raspy it is.

It hadn’t even been a full day before the curiosity got the better of you and you purchased the book from Kindle Unlimited. It took you the better part of two weeks before you actually screwed up the courage to listen to it though. Maybe you shouldn’t have picked a Saturday morning when you were running errands to listen to the book. In your defense, there was no better time to listen to the book other than a day when you’d be spending quite a long time in the car with nothing else to do. You’d definitely miscalculated. Dear lord, this man’s voice?! It’s deep and raspy, something smooth and dark in how he voices the syllables. It’s the kind of voice you’ve once heard referred to as panty-wetting - an epithet you’ve never understood until now.

The book has you squirming as you walk through the grocery store. There’s sweat dripping down your spine as he talks about something involving fighter jets and the men (and women - you always feel like you have to correct) who fly them. You’d never have thought that flaps and ailerons could ever be that alluring. You have to take a minute as you leave the grocery store, sitting in your car in silence practically heaving just at the way the word “Doll” had dripped off of his lips. Maybe you can buy into the hype a little bit. It’s not often that you find a romance book in the male perspective after all. As far as finding the pilots sexy goes, though, what can you say? You’ve seen Top Gun - both movies - those boys in their dress whites are awfully sexy.

You send a little prayer of thanks to Rooster Bradshaw, whoever he is, for narrating this book. Just his voice has already made your boring Saturday running errands a thousand times better. You don't even mind that you're melting in the San Diego heat without the air conditioning on as you collect yourself. At least there is only one thing you have left to do today. As a reward for finishing up your errands, including odious activities like going to the bank and post office and grocery shopping, you'd vowed to treat yourself with a romp through your favorite bookstore.

Like you mentioned earlier, it all started with a book. What can you say? You're nothing if not predictable. The Breezy Bean is your favorite coffee shop and bookstore. It's a small shop nestled right in the midst of cobblestone streets and overshadowed by apartment buildings on either side. It's always a zoo trying to get parking, but you can't regret the competition for parking when the books are as good as they are and the coffee is even better.

Lara's not at the counter, but her business partner and best friend, Emily is, and you wave at her absentmindedly as you tangle the cord of your headphones around your index finger. The entire shop smells like coffee beans, paper and ink. You could spend forever here, and you're sure you have, at the very least, spent the entire day in the shop before. The shelves tower over your head, creaking under the weight of everything they hold. You're not a woman on a mission today, content to just meander until a cover catches your fancy. The eyes eat first, after all, isn't that what they say? If only you knew how true that statement would be.

The whole time you're listening to the book, tasting the words on your tongue seconds after Rooster says them, teasing the syllables out like you're trying to snatch them from his lips. Is it any wonder that after about four hours of listening to his voice, you're starting to imagine what the main character of the book looks like based on how Rooster sounds? You're only human, after all. It's quiet and dim in the back of the store, the shelves lit only by the small lights shining from the wall sconces. This is your favorite section of the store. There's a squashy green armchair here with a small table, and this is where you usually sit and wile away the hours.

It's rare that anyone ever ventures into this corner of the store. So it's a surprise when you see a man standing right in front of your favorite chair. He's tall and ridiculously handsome, wearing an eye-wateringly bright Hawaiian shirt and slim-fitting jeans. Like everyone in California, he's got Ray-Bans flung into the neckline of his tank top. The truly unique part of his look is the mustache he's carefully cultivated on his upper lip. He’s holding a book in long-fingered hands, lips pursed as he scans the pages, leaning gently against one of the shelves.

You try your best to squeeze past him in the narrow aisle, wondering if Em and Lara have squeezed more shelves back here or if you've just gained weight when it happens — your headphone cord snags on the buttons on his open shirt. You try to untangle it, unsuccessfully, but then your phone falls out of your pocket and rips your headphones right out of the jack.

You were just getting to a good part, something filled with innuendo but not quite at the sex. That's your only silver lining. Because when your phone nosedives to the, thankfully, carpeted floor sans your headphones, the audio keeps playing way too loudly for the hushed environment. To add insult to injury, your phone is closer to him than it is to you, and well, you've embarrassed yourself enough. The last thing you need is to get eye-level with a stranger's dick while your phone is narrating smut in a bookstore.

“Good book?” There's a smile on his face, and you nod timidly as he hands you back your phone. You pause the app and turn the volume all the way down before his words, or well, you should say, the sound of his voice sinks in.

If you weren’t mortified before, you're even more so now. Obviously, your brain does not compute, so your brain-to-mouth filter isn't working as you blurt out, “You're Rooster Bradshaw.”

It doesn’t surprise you at all when he starts laughing - a full body, belly laugh which fills the stacks with the mellifluous sound. If you had any doubts before that you'd run into the Rooster Bradshaw at your favorite coffee shop before (which you didn’t - see your intimate knowledge of his voice from earlier), you wouldn’t have any now. His character had actually laughed not fifteen minutes ago in the book. Well, now what are you supposed to do? You feel hot, embarrassment crawling its way up your throat as you shift your weight back and forth. Rooster's smiling at you as he stands back, lounging against the shelf like he's waiting for you to get your shit together. You'd hate to break it to him, but you don't think that's possible.

“I'm sorry.” You try your best to hide your face because he does not need to see what your facial expressions are doing.

“What do you have to be sorry for?” You shrug a shoulder as you busy yourself by turning around and trying to force yourself to read the titles. “It's not every day I run into pretty girls in my favorite bookstore, listening to me narrate a book about US Naval Aviators.”

Flirting shouldn’t be the thing which puts you at ease in this situation. There really must be something wrong with you. You’ve never done anything like this before. What happened to the girl who would have run away the minute the phone fell? She might not be facing down the sexiest man she’s ever seen, but at least that version of her isn’t at risk of heart palpitations.

“I hate to break it to you, Rooster, but a lot of pretty women are listening to you right now. This book has made its way onto podcasts and PBS. The author herself has been interviewed gushing about your professionalism and how you say the word “aileron.” Despite your mortification, you find yourself mirroring his relaxed position against the shelves. “Though I do have to correct a part of your statement there. What about yoga pants, glasses, and a messy bun makes me pretty? Because I’d call myself a mess.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say you’re a mess, pretty girl.” Rooster grins as he tugs the shoulder of your cami up from where it is sliding down your arm. “Don’t you know exactly how devastating you look in those yoga pants?”

You’re left dumbstruck, reeling as he leans even closer to you. All of a sudden, you’re inundated with the scent of his cologne as he crowds into your space, and you’re forced to tip your head up to keep eye contact. Of course, the motion makes your glasses tip on your face, and you can’t lift a hand up to resettle them on your face without brushing up against every inch of the man, nearly squishing you into the shelf. There’s a scant few centimeters between you as you try to string words together.

“What makes you think I don’t know how good these pants make my ass look?” You smirk just a little, screwing up all of your courage to peer up at him. “But really, this outfit is comfortable.”

“Comfortable is not how you’re making me feel, honey.” There’s a heat in his gaze as his voice rasps out the words. “But maybe we can both get a little more comfortable and have a cup of coffee together?” 

Only two people will ever know if your hand strays right over the seam at the front of his jeans as you walk away. “I’d love to, but maybe you need to take a few minutes in seclusion, Mr. Chicken.”

You feel giddy as you walk away because things like this don’t just happen to girls like you. You don’t flirt with men you've just met. And you definitely do not brush over the dicks of men you've just met! The counter is nearly empty as you walk up, and you know Em has clocked onto the fact that your hands are surprisingly empty of books.

“Hiya, Paper!” You roll your eyes only a little. Buy a stack of paperbacks once a week from a bookstore for months, and this is exactly what you’ll be nicknamed. “No books today?”

“Hey, Em. Can I get a latte, please? And whatever the gentleman in the Hawaiian shirt orders is on me.” You grin at the sight of her eyebrows ticking up until they’re nearly in her hair.

“What has our sweet little Paper been doing today, huh?” You shrug just a little, grinning as she hands you your drink. “I’ve been reading, Em!”

“Of course you have!” You’re laughing as you make your way to a table for two in the corner.

You’re smiling outright when Rooster swaggers out of the shelves a few minutes later, and Em clocks the Hawaiian shirt on his broad frame. She’s half drooling when he orders an Americano. As she turns to make his drink, you get the messages in short order.

What the fuck, Paper!

This is the man you’re buying a coffee for?

Damn, girl! I’m going to need all of the details. STAT!

You put the device away only when the chair opposite yours slides out, and Rooster settles in. You'd promised a full detailing of the encounter to Em, and you wouldn't be surprised if Lara interrogates you the next time you see her as well.

“So, obviously, you come here often, then.” He’s smirking as he sips on his coffee.

“Yup!” You’re just as chipper as you blow over the surface of your own mug.

“You come here often enough that one of the owners just threatened me with the loss of my…” He pauses like he’s not sure if he should laugh or cry as he says the words, “...crown jewels…” and grimaces before continuing, “...if I hurt you.”

“She also called you Paper. Why’s that, Honey?”  

You lean forward, feeling just a little more confident as he mirrors your position. “Tit for tat, Bradshaw, if that even is your last name. You tell me something about yourself, I tell you something about myself.”

“Deal?” You stretch your hand out and gasp when he takes it and sets it down to the side of the mugs.

“Deal.”

“I’ll start.” Your faces are inches apart from each other. He's whispering, and you have to lean forward even further so you don't miss a single word. “My name’s Bradley Bradshaw. I didn’t want to use my real name while narrating those books.”

“And Rooster was what you decided on?” His chuckle and yours rise into the air in perfect harmony.

“It was a nickname I got in college. I was always the only guy in the dorm up before 9 A.M.”

You take turns sharing your life stories and quite a few secrets until your coffees are long gone. You find yourself telling him all about how you got your nickname and how you’ve been feeling stuck for the longest time. With Bradley, it doesn’t feel like another boring first date. If it weren’t for the faint hiss of the espresso machine and the clank of mugs and cutlery you wouldn't think there was another person in the room but the two of you. There are butterflies in your stomach, and your entire body shudders when he hooks his ankle around yours and tugs you closer. That point of contact has your blood turning into molten lava in your veins as his hand trails gentle patterns across your upturned palm.

“Hey, Paper?” It takes an inhuman effort to drag your eyes away from the magic Bradley Bradshaw is committing just with your hands in his own.

“Hey, Em.” As you say her name, you realize how dark it is. “The store’s closing, isn’t it?”

“Yup. It actually closed an hour ago. You looked so cute together that I called Lara, and we made an executive decision to let the two of you keep talking for just a bit longer.”

Your face feels extra hot because Em’s looking at you like she’s liable to start laughing at any moment. You don’t want to know what your hair looks like now, not after hours of running your fingers through it. It’s probably even more of a mess than it was when you literally ran into Bradley hours ago. A great first impression, right?

“Let me settle up then, Em.” If your voice is hushed and a little more subdued, it’s because reality and panic are settling in.

“No, sweetheart.” Bradley’s voice is even firmer as he stands up and places a hand on your arm. “Today is on me, I insist.”

You know exactly when Em puts it together, because her eyes widen to a comical degree. She was the biggest reason why you bought the book in the first place. “You’re Rooster Bradshaw!”

For the second time today, you find yourself laughing along with Bradley, though the sounds of his laughter doesn’t put you at ease in quite the same way as it did earlier. Em’s laughing too, and she looks gorgeous in the golden light. At least she’s put together in a way you’re so obviously not. Maybe you should have taken your mother’s well-meant advice when you were younger - dress to impress, for you never know who you’re going to meet. But you haven’t taken that advice, choosing to dress simply and comfortably. It works when you can’t wear any makeup when you work in a laboratory and when all of your nice clothes would be at risk of chemical spills at worst and covered by a lab coat at best. So you walk through life in a swirl of well-worn jeans, tee-shirts, yoga pants, tank tops, camisoles, sneakers and sandals. There are a few dressier items in your closet, but they’re so far in the back that you haven’t worn them in probably a year and a half. Em’s cute outfit and wavy, non-greasy hair probably feel like a breath of fresh air to him. The same goes for the timber of her voice and how she sounds so elegant. 

If you didn't know any better (because you know Em, you do), you'd think that the words the two of them are sharing by the counter now are flirtier than settling up a bill. It doesn’t help the green, envious monster sitting on your shoulder, though. Nor does it help when you run to the restroom and take a look at yourself in the mirror. You look worse than you thought you did. Your face is wan and pale, the bags under your eyes have bags, and your hair is so greasy that it lays limp when you release it from your bun. Your lips are chapped, and fuck, how did you manage to drip coffee onto yourself?! You only drank one cup! What's left to show you that you've made a huge fool of yourself?

Your hands shake as you splash water on your face and put your hair back in its sad bun again. Just a little longer and you'll be home, wallowing in peace at yet another failed potential relationship. At least the water has brought a blush to your cheeks and cleaned the worst of the smudges off your glasses. Bradley probably has Em's phone number by now, right? It's probably best not to get your hopes up too high, else you find yourself falling from a prodigious height.

Instead, you're pleasantly surprised to see him still in the shop.

“Hey!” His face lights up when he sees you, and you're sure your earlier pep-talk about managing your expectations hasn’t worked at all. This is going to hurt. “So, I know talking to a stranger for hours at a coffee shop probably isn't the best first date. So would you maybe want to go on a real one sometime soon?”

“Y-you're serious?” He smiles and hands you his phone, unlocked.

“Put your number in there, Paper.” Your mind's not working at all as you type the ten digits in. 

“Why me?” 

His smile is warm and fond as he takes the phone back, types something and hits send. Your notification tone goes off soon after. 

“It's not every day I run into a pretty girl listening to me reading a romance novel who doesn't fawn all over me once they realize who I am. It's been nice talking to you. I feel like you're the first person in a long time to see Bradley, not Rooster.”

He holds the door open for you, a hand finding its way to the small of your back as he walks you out to your car. He even opens the door for you, a chivalrous action which has your heart flip-flopping in your chest. “Baby doll?”

“Yeah?” He takes advantage of the height difference between you to tip your face up as he feathers a kiss across the apple of your cheek.

“It helps that your ass looks damn good in those yoga pants!” 

You're laughing despite yourself as you drive away. Maybe audiobooks aren't as bad as you think? Or, well, at least their narrators aren't.

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

Taglist:

@desert-fern @horseshoegirl @dakotakazansky @sarahsmi13s @teacupsandtopgun @footprintsinthesxnd @roosterforme @beyondthesefourwalls @mak-32 @thedroneranger @chaoticassidy @shanimallina87 @kmc1989

[friendly-witcher]

Damn

just a small spencer x gn reader (I think, tell me if I missed something) ficlet about the first time you see him in his FBI vest. inspo was all the tiktok edits 🔥

word count: <1k

warnings: implied sexual themes set in the finale of season 7. bank heist + bomb threat with Lady X. established relationship with reader, who is a misc. scientist at the Smithsonian (yes I watched too much bones). this is a no maeve zone.

if you like this, I might write a few more with them :)

please be kind, my writing is my own, I do not own these characters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your boyfriend is hot, you’ve been well aware of this since the day you bumped into him in the hallway of your apartment building and every day since then. He’s tall, handsome, and has perpetually tousled hair, to say nothing of the fact that he is the smartest person you’ve ever met. He looks like a sexy professor straight out of a romance novel, yet somehow has no idea how gorgeous he is. All of this being said, you were not prepared to see him in your office wearing his usual dress shirt, tie, and his FBI bullet proof vest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ An hour or two before ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spencer had rushed to the scene after a bomb went off in the bank. He had sent you a brief text saying that he was fine, not to worry, and that he was heading into the city. This was the first time since you had been dating that a high profile case had been this close to home. So while you were used to being worried, this worry felt so much more immediate as you watched the chaos unfold only a mile or two away. 

You stayed in your office trying to concentrate on tables and graphs, but your eyes kept drifting to the news live-stream in the corner of your screen. You heard a quiet knock on the door and looked up to see your colleague Renee eyeing you with concern. 

“Lover Boy is on the scene isn’t he?” She asked, grimacing. 

You nodded, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears that threatened to form. 

Renee perched on your desk and took your hand. “He’s a highly trained FBI genius, he’s going to be ok.” You nodded again, rubbing your face in exasperation. “Let’s go and make a tea.” Pulling you from your desk. You resisted, motioning to the screen. “Watching isn’t going to help him, it’s only going to make you more stressed.” 

“I’m bringing my phone.” You grumbled as you followed Renee to the kitchen. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Emily and Will walked out of Union Station, battered but unscathed, Spencer let out the breath he felt he had been holding in since Will had walked into that bank. 

“We’re ok, we’re ok.” Emily held out her hands as you all rushed towards her. 

“Thanks to Miss Calm and Collected here.” Drawled Will, looking at Emily with a mix of gratitude and disbelief. "She defused a bomb in under two minutes without breaking a sweat."

“Well done. Both of you.” Hotch looked them both over approvingly. “You two go get checked out. I’ve got to debrief with Strauss then we are good to head out.” 

Everyone nodded in agreement, patting each other on the back and inspecting their wounds. Spencer hung back and looked at his phone, “Actually guys, I have to go check on something…” not meeting any of their curious gazes, “I’ll catch up with you guys later. If that’s ok?” 

Hotch nodded, dismissing him. “Good work today.”

“Catch you later, Pretty Boy.” Derek winked at him and turned to walk away. 

Spencer looked back down at his phone at the message, “Please be careful, I love you.” You had never said that before. He had suspected that you did love him for a while, but this was the first irrefutable evidence. He smiled and started towards where he knew you would be waiting. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While Spencer often dropped you outside work or met you nearby for lunch, he had never actually been to your office. He came through the doors slightly out of breath, “Do you know where I would find Dr Y/N L/N’s office?” 

As he strode through the corridors of the Smithsonian Institute trying to find your office he noticed he was drawing quite a few stares. Ignoring this, he finally reached your door. Where he found you with your head resting on your arms, a forgotten cup of tea beside you. 

He knocked on the door gently and you started to say, “Renee I’m fi- ” until you finally looked up and saw Spencer standing in the doorway. Your face broke into a smile, “Spencer!” 

Your eyes raked over him as he approached, unscathed, and damn. You had thought the men-in-uniform thing was a joke but looking at Spencer now you got it, picking your jaw off the ground you barrelled into his arms. 

“Are you all right?” He asked, turning your face to examine your features. 

“I’m fine. I’m fine now,” squeezing him tighter and smiling up at him. He looked at you amused and curious. 

“What was that face? Was it about the text?” Concern marring his beautiful face. 

“Honey, no! I meant that…I just…” you blushed, “I’ve never seen you in this…” your hands tracing across his chest adorned with the letters ‘FBI’. 

“I did get a lot of funny looks walking over here,” his brow furrowed, “I’m sorry I should have taken it off. I just wanted to see you and forgot.” He shook his head, admonishing himself. 

Looking up at him you continued trying to stifle a giggle, “Spencer, you sweet beautiful genius,” you said as you cupped his face, “They weren’t looking at you funny. You look, how should I put it, smoking hot. Like an actual real life superhero.”

It was his turn to blush and he tried to disagree with you, but met with your adoring gaze he stayed quiet and grinned. He gently pressed his lips to yours then met your eyes, “By the way, I love you too.” You kissed him again, smiling. 

“Come on, let me take you home.” He picked up your bag and extended a hand to you. 

“Yes please, Dr FBI agent.” Taking his hand and smirking at him. 

“So I should wear the vest more often?” He asked innocently.

“Definitely.” 

[moralesmilesanhour]

what you're searching for.

summary: Margo goes to a shitty poetry slam and gets more out of it than she expects. wc: 4.9k warnings: alcohol consumption, and it's like very VERY lightly implied that they had an Adult Sleepover if you get my meaning. Nothing really too suggestive in here I promise. One singular reference to a tiktok. a/n: this took me a whole ass week but I'm very proud of where my writing style is going! somewhat inspired by the film 'Love Jones'. If you enjoyed this pls feel free to leave your thoughts or your favorite line if you have one! EDIT: OH MY GOD I FORGOT TO ADD: the first poem is actually taken from the Junior novel 'Miles Morales: Suspended' by Jason Reynolds! The poem at the end is mine though lmao I'm not the best poet

Margo can’t stand poetry.

Someone gets up in front of you with a piece of paper clutched in their hands, and recites what is simultaneously the most vague and the most painfully obvious string of fragmented sentences you’ve ever heard as if they’d just touched your soul.

It’s not rapping, not preaching, but the ugly middle child standing between them. Some odd bastardization of music for people who thought they were too smart for either of the first two, but weren't brave enough to just give speeches.

Speeches, at least, are coherent, specific, and can be scrutinized.

So far, sitting in the front row of the bar that her classmate Zoe had invited her to for poetry night, no one has changed her mind. 

Tonight’s performances consisted of an assembly line of men (and a couple of women) in vintage sweaters ranting about their exes to the rhythm of bongo drums, or some mildly relevant social issue that none had the lexicon to really say anything in stanzas that hasn’t already been said. She had heard nothing yet that sounded much more profound than an Instagram post.

Although, one girl had come up and recited a short poem about her late mother that Margo thought was quite sweet, and the least tortuous to sit through.

The crowd erupted in snaps again for a poet with long braided dreads and an ankh tattoo whose words she had tuned out. The host took the mic and announced the final (thank god) participant:

“Now this next one I had to practically drag over here to get him to share his beautiful poetry with us tonight. Everyone, please give a warm welcome to one of my close friends and colleagues, Miles Morales!”

A lanky young man–Margo suspects about six feet even, given the way he’s towering over the host–awkwardly shuffles over to the center of the stage, offering the crowd a tight-lipped smile. 

He’s in a plain green sweater with the sleeves hastily rolled up to his elbows and a bomber jacket tied around his waist. As soon as he’s handed the microphone, it seems to dawn on him that there’s no turning back, and his body visibly tenses. 

He clearly just got here, and for once Margo doesn’t know what to expect.

Squinting beneath the bright spotlight, he clears his throat and speaks into the mic. 

“Um, hi.”

A few scattered ‘hi’s from the crowd.

There’s something bright and sweet in the tone of his voice that makes him sound a little boyish, and she wonders what he could possibly have under his sleeve that warranted him getting dragged up here last minute.

He takes a deep breath.

“It’s said

That nobody

Is ever more

Than ten feet

From a spider.”

Miles began the poem carefully, like he was confessing something. 

“They be everywhere you and me are.”

A few members of the crowd laugh, others shudder at the thought and frown. 

“And even though

We see them only

When they big enough to see, or when

They move,

Like a cursor

Across the blank white

Page of a wall…”

His voice loses some of its airiness in exchange for confidence as he recites the rest of the poem, and Margo realizes that he isn’t reading off of anything. 

Either he’s improvising, or he has it entirely memorized.

“Or when we trip

The web-like wire

Of a booby trap

Or when they

Fang our flesh

We should probably

Assume most

Just be right there…”

Miles paused and looked somewhere far beyond the crowd, lifting his arm to point to the back of the room. Then he repeated:

“Right there,

Right here,”

He gestures toward the front row, where his eyes land directly on Margo. It’s not so close to the stage that she can tell for sure, but she thinks she sees a hint of a smile cross his lips.

“Looking at us,

Looking over them.”

Silence. 

His arm falls limply to his side as his eyes frantically scan the audience, searching for some kind of response. 

Then, someone begins to clap. Then another. Then another. WIthin moments, the entire room erupts in applause, causing a shy smile to spread across the young man’s face.

“Uh, thank you!” he says, surprised at the positive reception, before shrinking into himself again and leaving the stage the same way he came.

The host returns and takes the mic from him.

“Miles Morales, everybody!”

-

After the poetry slam, Margo insisted that Zoe take her to the sushi place across the street. It had a bar sitting off to the side, one with significantly less poets. The decorative lights hung directly above the shelf filled with glass bottles and shrouded them in cherry red.

Zoe takes a sip of her sherry and leans in.

“Sooo, how was it?”

“It was a’ight.”

The light-skinned girl’s lips pull into a pout. “Seriously?”

“Hey, I told you poetry wasn’t my thing,” Margo pauses, then amends, “I liked the last guy, though. Breath of fuckin’ fresh air.”

“Right? His style really caught my attention, subtle.”

“Glad you liked it.”

Zoe’s eyes widened as she glanced just beyond Margo’s shoulder.

When Margo turned towards the familiar voice and froze. 

The poet in question was standing just inches away, a friendly smile gracing his features. His jacket is no longer around his waist, neatly folded over his arm like an expensive coat. He is with the excitable darker-skinned man who’d just hosted the event, and a man the shade of sandalwood standing just behind him.

They’re both wearing the same type of muted cardigan as Miles, but they’ve got actual coats.

“Y’all were in the front, right?” Miles asks the both of them, though he’s only looking at Margo.

She nods wordlessly. Zoe picks up the slack.

“M-hm, you were great up there! You’ve really never shown anyone your work ‘till tonight?”

Miles snorts at the wording of the phrase. ‘His work’.

“I wrote that poem in high school,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Wasn’t supposed to be anything serious, but my roommate…” 

He gives the dark-skinned man a dirty look. 

“...swiped my journal and found it. Told me I should read it out loud somewhere.”

Margo examines Miles’ face and imagines him as a baby-faced high-schooler, sitting in the back of the classroom with a protective arm around the beat-up red composition notebook he’s writing in. He stuffs it in his bag as soon as he’s done, because he has just poured his heart out onto that page, and his crush’s name is in there. Maybe there are tiny doodles of her in the margins.

“Yo,” the sandalwood-colored man claps Miles on the shoulder. “We about to hit up Tiff’s place, you coming?”

“Yeah, in a minute,” Miles nods dismissively. “I’ll catch up with y’all.”

The two other men give each other a knowing look before brushing past him.

“Alright man, catch you later then.”

Once she finally regains the ability to speak, Margo remarks, “You were the only performance I really liked, if I’m being honest.”

“Is that so?” 

“Oh yeah, this one hates poetry,” Zoe places a hand on Margo’s shoulder and laughs. “Tried to change her mind by bringing her over here, but no dice.”

Miles raised an eyebrow. “What made mine so different?”

“Hm, I dunno…” Margo’s eyes float over his form before making their way back up to his face. “Your delivery, I guess.”

Safe to say, he looks amusedly unconvinced.

“My…delivery.”

She catches herself and quickly adds, “I-I mean, it also kinda felt like everyone else was trying too hard. So.”

He tilts his head at the remark.

“Are you just saying that to flatter me?”

.“I don’t flatter people. Too close to lying.”

“That sounds like half a poem already. Maybe you should go up there next week.”

She gives him a lopsided smile.

“Only if you’re there. I need something to actually look forward to.”

His tongue darts out and passes over his lips.

“What’s your name?”

“Margo.”

Miles hums, softly repeating the name before inching his way over to the counter where he leans his hip on it.

“Pretty. Can I buy you a drink, Margo?”

She doesn’t think her name is all that pretty, but he makes it sound that way.

“Knock yourself out.”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Zoe teases as she rises from her seat. “I’m gonna go order us some sushi.”

Miles takes the stool to Margo’s left as he waits on their drinks, his long legs never needing to leave the ground to do so.

He has a funny way of sitting, hands folded neatly in front of him with his back just a few degrees off from being perfectly straight. As if you needed to look distinguished at a sushi bar.

Church boy, Margo guessed. That, or his daddy’s a military man.

It’s adorable either way.

“You in school?” she asked.

“Yup. Princeton.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Oh shit, me too! I’ve never seen you on campus, though. What’s your major?”

“Physics. You?”

“Comp Sci. Been coding since I was in middle school, so…”

Margo remembers the echoing ‘click-clack’ of her keyboard as she sat in an empty computer lab for hours on end after school because she preferred it to her parents’ house.

The bartender hands Miles two glasses of white wine, and he sets the second glass in front of Margo, his warm eyes still focused on her. 

She’s intrigued by how clear they are - no trace of suspicion or calculation behind them. Just the warmth.

“So, where you from? My folks are over in Brooklyn.”

“Georgia.”

Miles’ brows jump to his hairline.

“Damn. What brought you all the way up here?”

To get as far away as possible. 

“Well, it’s Princeton,” she says beneath a forced laugh.

“Yeah, but you got, like, eight different HBCUs over there. How’d Princeton win you over?”

Margo breaks eye contact to stare into her drink.

“Needed a change of pace.”

When she looks up to gauge Miles’ reaction, skepticism is written all over his face. But he doesn’t push it further.

“That’s fair. Princeton’s got a cutting-edge quantum physics program that I’m aiming for. Had to beg my parents to come here,” he grins proudly, “but here I am.”

Margo is silent for a moment.

“Can I tell you something?” she asks suddenly, beckoning Miles to lean in.

“Yeah?”

Grinning, she half-whispers, “I’m actually here on a scholarship.”

He gives her an odd look. 

“Why’d you say it like that? Nothin’ wrong with getting a full ride. The opposite, actually.”

“Some people might feel otherwise. You’re like, the second person I’ve told other than my parents.”

“And why me?” Miles chuckles. “My poetry was just that good?”

“I just…Hm.”

Margo leans back and takes a contemplative sip of her wine, watching him over the rim of her glass. 

Why did she just tell him that?

“I guess I just sorta felt like telling you.”

Margo cautiously sets the wine back down. She figures if she’s not careful, he’ll have her full government name and social security number by the end of the night.

“Y’know, I actually get that a lot,” Miles laughs. “One time, I had this lady I was standing in line with at Target turn around and just start telling me stories about her dead son and how much she misses him. And it’s like, I’m sorry for your loss, but we’re in Target right now and I literally do not know you.”

“Wait, people just go up to you and…tell you shit?”

“Yup. There was this other time at church, too. Just as service ends and I’m about to get up and leave, this short old dude–Dominican, I think–stops me and starts telling me about his entire life. I’m talking start to finish! Apparently I reminded him of his nephew that died in the military or something.”

“Jesus.”

A crease forms between Margo’s brows. She wishes she could say she didn’t understand the old man at church or the lady at Target, but she does. No, it’s not the poetry. It’s got nothing to do with words. 

It’s the way that Miles looks at people. 

Like he already knows all of your secrets, but you’re not worried because they’re safe with him, so might as well tell them. It’s a merciful sort of gaze; you get the impression that he won’t judge you. You might even tell him more after his friendly ‘boy-next-door’ voice coaxes them out of you. The thought unsettles her because she had done just that.

“You ever had a girlfriend before?” She asks, all of a sudden.

Miles shrugs, “Yeah, in tenth grade, then again freshman year. Didn’t really work out.”

“Why not?”

His brows furrow gently for just a second, as if he’s still trying to figure out the answer to that.

“I…don’t know, actually. It goes well the first few months and then…”

“It fizzles out?”

“I get ghosted. Something about how they’re ‘not ready’. Understandable, I guess, but you don’t have to ghost me, y’know?”

He awkwardly examines his fingers, then his glass. 

Margo feels a bit guilty for suddenly bringing up his exes when they’d just met. Would they end up the same way? She saw herself there too, being in a relationship for six months before his weird pastor’s eyes get to be a bit too much and she takes off.

“Yikes, sorry I asked.”

“It’s no problem,” a smile starts to return to his face. “Onto better things, right?”

“Right.”

“And you?”

“Huh?”

“You ever been in a relationship before?”

Margo smiles awkwardly and messes with one of her fingernails.

“Well…not exactly.”

Miles’ eyes widen.

“Never?”

“I mean, guys offer, and then we talk for a little bit, but then…”

“They flake out on you.”

“Pretty much.”

“Damn shame,” he says with a bit of sharpness to his voice. “Not even a first date?”

“Nope, just ‘Read at 4:15’.”

“You know what I think it is?”

Just as he asks this, his knee brushes against her thigh. Margo isn’t sure if it’s an accident, but it distracts her nonetheless.

“What?”

“You’re too smart for them, I can tell. It scares ‘em.” But it doesn’t scare me, is the suggestion.

He smiles then, the kind that shows the whiteness of his teeth on every vowel. It’s wide enough that a dimple comes out of hiding on his left cheek, and she suddenly wants to tell him everything again. She takes another sip of wine.

“So! What’d I miss?”

Zoe finally returns from ordering their sushi at the front with an expectant grin. Miles still hasn’t taken his eyes off of her friend, while she is staring at him like a string of code, which, if you know Margo, is better than nothing.

“You didn’t miss much,” says Margo. “We were just talkin’ about our majors. School stuff.”

Miles checks his phone and lets out a low whistle.

“Well, it was lovely meeting y’all, but I gotta bounce. After getting dragged onstage, I get to be dragged over to a house party, too.”

Just as he rises from his seat, he stops and points at her.

“Before I go, though, d’you mind giving me your digits? I’d love to talk about, uh…computer science…over lunch.”

She snorts, “Who still says ‘digits’?” but hands him her phone anyway. 

It couldn’t hurt to try. 

“Sure.”

His eyes light up as if he wasn’t expecting her to say yes as he saves his number as ‘poetry slam guy’ in her phone, then hands it back.

“Cool,” Miles begins his walk towards the entrance backwards, holding eye contact for just a little longer before turning around. “G’night!”

“Goodnight!” the two women call out in unison as he leaves.

Margo looks to her left at the now-empty bar stool. The glass of wine Miles left on the counter is full, completely untouched.

It’s still on her mind as she's sitting in her single dorm room, re-writing her lecture notes on cyber security in a meticulous neat print that could almost pass for a font.

Every few minutes her pen stops because she’s distracted by the sound of clinking glass in boxes downstairs, or because she pauses to stare at the white wall in front of her that brings to mind one of the lines of Miles’ poem. 

There might be a spider that I can’t see sitting ten feet away from me right this second, she muses to herself. The thought gives her an idea, and the perfect excuse to call him without seeming too desperate.

Margo unlocks her phone and scrolls through her contacts. She smiles to herself at the contact name Miles chose. Did he think she’d forget his name that easily? 

His voice soon filters through the speaker.

“Hey, you didn’t throw out my number!”

“Yup, lucky you.” she replies. “I wanted to ask you a question? About your poem the other night.”

“What about it?”

“See, I was thinking about that first line. Are we really never more than ten feet away from a spider? Like, at any given moment?”

There’s a moment of silence from Miles before he asks:

“You…called me just to ask me that?”

“What? It’s a very pressing issue! There’s probably one in the corner  of my room as we speak!”

“Alright, I’ll humor you,” Miles laughs. “That’s actually a myth from the 90s. Your distance from the nearest spider really depends on where you’re at, so if you’re in a spot with hella bugs, you’re more likely to see one. You’re probably fine.”

“Now wait just a minute!” Margo gasps dramatically. “So you lied to all those poor folks in there?”

“Sure did. Played ‘em all like a fiddle.”

“Terrible.”

“So, why’d you really call? You don’t sound as concerned about spiders as you say you are, if I’m being honest.”

So much for an excuse.

“Don’t nothing get past you, huh?”

This earns a burst of laughter from Miles’ end.

“You’re a worse liar than me, I wouldn’t recommend making it a habit.”

“Ugh, fine,” Margo admits,  “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You could hear my voice in real life, you know. Offer’s still on the table, and I’m free today.”

Their second conversation, and already a lunch date? But as she’s reminded of what his voice sounds like, she quickly realizes that just the voice is not enough. 

Still, she tries to sound casual and makes a non-committal noise.

“Better than being cooped up in my room all day.”

“Great! Where you wanna go?”

Margo shrugs as if he can see her on the other end.

“Wherever you wanna go.”

“Ah, the ‘wherever you wanna go’ paradox,” he chuckles. “Okay, well–lemme ask you this then. Do you like eating with or without music?”

There’s a beat of silence as she considers.

“Hm…is the music good?”

“I’d never subject anyone to a place that plays shit music. Promise.”

“Music, then.”

“Cool, what time works for you?”

“How does two sound? I’ll catch you in front of the Engineering Library.”

“Bet. See you in an hour, then!”

-

The place Miles chose had a live band playing at the front.

A bass player, a keyboard pianist, a saxophonist, and a few background vocalists on occasion. All are propelled forward by the rapid-fire snare of the drummer. It’s jazz - the easy, conversational kind you hear in the background of 90s romantic comedies where the love interest wears nothing but dark lip liner and filled-in brows with a bit of smokey eyeshadow in the crease.

This is the look that Margo has decided to go for as she sits across from Miles at a mahogany table positioned ideally by the window.

It was all she could do other than frantically adjust the braided 'fro-hawk sitting atop her head and spin around in a mist of ‘Champagne Toast’ before bolting out the door.

She doubts he can even smell it right now through the curry and garlic.

“Figured out what you want yet?” Miles asks as he looks over his menu at Margo.

“Eh, I dunno,” she replies, running her index finger down her own menu. “I’m tryin’ not to blow half my paycheck on pasta right now.”

Miles gives her a strange look, then it clicks.

“Oh! Lunch is on me,” he laughs. “Your bank account’s safe for now.”

Her head snaps up.

“You should’ve mentioned that! I thought we were going half and half this whole time, I had my whole budget for the week planned out.”

Margo has to hold back an ugly cackle at the look of horror on Miles’ face right after she says this.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.”

With this new information in mind, she orders a bowl of chicken alfredo with a glass of lemonade that she sips on as the band seamlessly transitions into a cover of Solange’s ‘Cranes in the Sky’.

“So, Margo,” Miles rests his chin on his knuckles and squints his eyes comically. 

“If that is your real name.”

Margo giggles, and plays along.

“It’s not, it’s my alter-ego for when I go on top-secret missions.”

“Is it short for something? Or just Margo?”

“Hm,” she puts on an affected, ‘action movie’ voice, “If I tell you, I might have to kill you.”

“It’s worse ways to die out there.”

Margo looks around her as if to make sure no one’s listening, then leans in.

“It’s short for Marguerite.”

Miles snaps his fingers.

“I knew it!”

“What? You think I look like a Marguerite? Seriously?”

“No, but you got a lil’ country twang in your voice. Ain’t no way in hell Margo wasn’t short for something.”

“Man, alright,” she laughed. 

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” he winked, “I like ‘em country.”

“Boy, don’t give me that! You look like you’d pass out at the sight of a jar of pig’s feet.”

“Hey now, I got family in South Carolina. I used to go down there and see about ten of those every summer.”

“Fine, but you were still raised a Northerner. I could hear the Brooklyn from a mile away.”

Miles removed his hand from under his chin to clutch his chest.

“Ugh, I feel like I’m caught between two worlds!”

The reference to one of the more choice lines from the poetry slam makes Margo snort and let out a loud guffaw, which she quickly muffles with the palm of her hand.

“Why would you remind me of that!”

Miles is soon infected by the fit of laughter and has to put all his strength into not doubling over at the table and drawing attention.

“This nigga said,” he wheezed, “ ‘I keep doing the Achy Breaky to Suavemente!’ “

“I thought I was the only one who thought that shit sucked,” Margo sighed as she wiped a tear from her eye. “But I didn’t wanna be mean ‘cuz I’m not like, half Puerto Rican, or anything like that.”

“Well I am, and that whole poem felt like a microaggression. And I knew that guy!” He starts gesturing wildly with his hands at the outrage, which Margo finds hilarious. 

“He's like, one-eighth Boricua. His last name is fuckin’ Schwartz!” Miles scoffs, “He don’t know shit about no damn ‘Suavemente’. Bet he looked it up.”

“You should write your own poem, then. ‘Take up space’, as they say.”

“Hell no,” he said. “I left that behind in high school. The other night was an exception, remember?”

“Look, I’m not one to encourage more people to become poets, but you never know. Something might inspire you.”

Miles calms down and gives her a meaningful look.

“Maybe.”

The rest of the conversation saw Miles slyly gathering intel through bites of roasted chicken. He’d quickly learned from their meeting at the bar that his line of questioning with Margo ought to be less direct.

He even hit her with the ‘what’s your sign’ question, though Biggie would’ve advised against it (Margo was a Libra, he was a Leo). He didn’t actually care for astrology, but Margo wasted no time in proclaiming that she couldn’t stand Scorpios because they were ‘too nosy’. 

Miles’ only error was asking if she’d ever dated–correction–spoken to one, and her eyes hardened with suspicion again. He quickly elected to change the subject.

“Okay, totally random question, but humor me. How do you like your eggs?”

Margo blinks twice.

“What?”

“You heard me. You can tell a lot about a person by what kinda eggs they like, true shit.”

“Alright, fine. I like ‘em fried, with the crispy edges. What that say about me?”

“I dunno, but when I find out it’ll all make sense.”

Margo laughs.

“Okay, well, how do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled, fluffy,” A childish grin spread across Miles’ lips. “And seasoned with Adobo to make ‘em all orange.”

“Never had ‘em like that before.”

“Maybe I could make some for you sometime, if you’d let me.”

“Maybe.”

She remembers his promise a month later when she wakes up to the aroma of the seasoning and hears the pop of frying oil, letting out a sigh of relief at the realization that Miles is still there.

His back is facing her when she enters the kitchen, the morning light illuminating a tattoo she had never seen before. 

It’s a spider with sprawling legs that cascade all the way down the expanse of skin, the movement of his shoulder blades bringing them partially to life. She hadn’t noticed it in the dark, and he was not one to walk around in anything revealing enough for it to have ever seen daylight. It’s faded, which means he’s likely had it for years.

He’s only twenty-one, she thinks. Did he get it in high school?

Amusement creeps onto Margo’s face at the image of Miles sneaking around the house, darting in and out of the bathroom to clean it without his hawk-eyed mother or straight-edged father taking notice. Picturing this, it’s suddenly much easier to believe that their son would have to beg and plead for them to send him a measly forty-six miles away for school, even for an Ivy League. 

Miles doesn’t turn around yet, but Margo catches the way he stops, tilting his head playfully and placing a hand on his hip.

“Man, I can’t believe I’mma have to eat this whole thing of scrambled eggs all by myself, with the ones I just fried! How sad.” “You’re not very funny,” Margo says with a smile, pulling out a chair from beneath the dining table.

He switches the stove off, then does a dramatic spin to face her with fake surprise on his face.

“Oh! Where’d you come from? I didn’t see you there.”

He turns back around to grab two plates–ceramic ones, not the stack of styrofoam ones–from one of the cupboards to serve the eggs in, starting with fried.

Margo watches him silently. The tiny, squint-or-you-might-miss-it gold chain around his neck catches the light as he moves, and she remembers feeling the cold metal brush across her lips.

“The fried ones, are they–”

“Crispy at the edges?” he finishes, with a smile in his voice. “Yes ma’am!”

“You could really be a detective, can’t get nothing past you.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“See?”

The two burst into laughter, and the ink on Miles’ back does also. His poem was accurate, in a way. For the past five weeks, Margo has been no more than ten feet away from a spider.

They have a brief and quiet breakfast, wherein Margo finally asks to try the scrambled eggs and is delighted by the burst of flavor added by the Adobo. They aren’t too dry or too soggy the way they tend to be in restaurants - just fluffy, as promised. She thinks it might be time to finally start taking Miles at his word as she watches his back again while he’s washing dishes.

Once he is fully dressed and about to leave, Miles stops suddenly, as if he’s forgotten something. He reaches into the left pocket of his jacket and pulls out a neatly-folded sheet of paper, nervously running his other hand through the short dreads sitting atop his head.

“Before I leave, I, uh…I took your advice and wrote a lil’ something.”

He hands it to Margo, who takes it gingerly. 

“Well, good for you.”

“It’s been a while, so it’s kinda rough, but hopefully the sentiment is there.”

Miles plants a quick kiss on her cheek, and she smiles easily for once as opposed to the usual raised eyebrow.

“I’ll be sure to let you know if it is.”

Some time after he leaves, she finally sits down to read it while sipping on a cup of tea, because coffee wreaks havoc on her nerves. His handwriting is strange, overly graphic as if it’s the title card of a cartoon, but she reads it.

I know you don't like poetry 

but you said you liked mine,

and the way you sip your wine

has set my pen to paper,

so I hope 

you'll make another exception. 

You've already claimed

half of my sketchbook 

because I just can't get your eyes right.

I always make ‘em too soft,

or too round.

They don't pierce through me,

like they did when

you stared at me over your glass,

eyes narrowed.

When you search my face

and pick me apart,

I'd like to know what it is 

you're always searching for.

[theflyindutchwoman]

Well, I mean, we could come clean. Are you ready for that? Are you ready for Smitty's commentary on us dating or the "oohs" every time we walk into the roll call room together? Or we could lie. Okay, I have an idea. I heard from a C.I. that there were drugs coming out of the kitchen. And -- And you asked me to join as backup. Right. Like a soft undercover infiltration. Not bad. Thank you.

| ANATOMY OF A SCENE - CHENFORD EDITION 5.10 - The List

This moment is actually the perfect introduction of the 'secret relationship' era… of what makes it so good, really : how bad they are at this secrecy thing. Embarrassingly (and hilariously) so. And the irony is that there's no reason for them to be this terrible. They usually thrive under pressure, undercover or not. They're naturally reserved when it comes to their personal life, shying away from PDAs and all… And they already spend so much time together, have a shorthand… And yet, they are downright awful at trying to conceal and pretend that nothing has changed between them.

Just the way they are standing in the bull pen gives them away… The whispering, the awkward smiles, checking every five seconds if anyone is watching them… Tim grinning when Officer Jan passes by… As if that's not suspicious in itself. Honestly, anyone who didn't know they were together before they went official should give their badges back on principle. And then, there's the content of their brainstorming… With Lucy trying to come up with a good reason as to why they were together at the 'most romantic restaurant in town' - other than the real reason. And let's talk about this for a second. It's never been confirmed but I'd like to think that it was Tim's idea to try this place for their first date. As much as he was uncomfortable at the pop-up restaurant at the beach, he doesn't mind going to fancy places either. Like the one he chose for his bet. So I could see him picking this restaurant, especially if Lucy had talked about it beforehand, wanting only the best for her… She's worth the effort after all.

For all the humor in this scene, there's also a more serious side. Starting with Lucy who is ready to come clean right away… Which is quite the statement from her, considering how she used to refuse to even put a label on her previous relationships. And the implications behind this… She is fine with disclosing their relationship to their superior officers after only one date. One that they didn't get to finish. Her certainty in them is so precious. And Tim's face… There are so many different emotions here. But mostly, he's taken aback by her readiness. It's clear he isn't yet - but it doesn't mean that he is less committed. As unserious as his comments about Smitty or the 'ooohs' are, it does reveal underneath what his concerns are : gossip. That their colleagues would be talking about them. About Lucy. And that's quite telling that this was his first thought. Not the issue of the chain of command, not that it could be too soon...

And to be fair, Lucy isn't any more keen to face their colleagues' judgements. Hence her choice to go for a cover story. And this is such a good callback to her approach to their undercover op… The one that started it all. Tim's smile when she tells him her story… I do wonder if his mind went back to her previous cover story, the one that broke his brain… Either way, he is looking so proud. Both of them for that matter. That is, until Nolan comes over… They barely make it a few seconds before blowing it up. All it took was for John to say hi. That's it. They're so worried on getting caught that they end up raising suspicion. Luckily for them, he is just befuddled, wondering what they are even talking about. Their faces once they realise that he doesn't have a clue as to what's going on and they were giving themselves away… They are so transparent. These two are a complete disaster and I love every second of this.

[yntaro]

Let’s talk about Romance Mangas!

My say to those I have read and loved: (not ranked)

1. This Manga hurts my heart. I read it while on high school and it kinda hit me with how lonely I am because I never had an Ayane-chan and Chizuru-chan, and Kazehaya-kun to downright change my life to better. But I did enjoy those time because I had romance manga to begin with. Kimi Ni Todoke might be the one that get me into read romance mangas. I liked it because I somewhat relate to Sawako, being outcasted and all. I grew to love their story, and found myself hoping that maybe love will come to me too.

Kimi Ni Todoke (From Me to You)

2. In this spin off featuring Kurumizawa Ume (a character from Kimi Ni Todoke) and Sawako’s cousin Eiji Akahoshi, my hope for meeting love blooms even greater. They were soulmates as the title suggests so they were literally speed, but then I haven’t read the latest chapters yet because I can’t find them (if anyone know, pls let me know). As I was saying, they literally skipped the slow burn but still works because we can now root for the former second leads. (Yes, Eiji is from another romance manga from the same author: Crazy for Love)

Kimi Ni Todoke: Soulmate

3. What do you do when you accidentally married a man twice your age?? Some may not want age gap romance, especially when the age gap is 20 years, but you might change your mind reading this manga. It’s wholesome and you can actually find yourself smiling and rooting for their relationship to work. This manga has been going on the internet, it’s popular so you may had heard of it, it’s where I heard of it, so I think I don’t have to had any say except I enjoyed it and I am finding or accepting manga recs similar to this.

Gomashio to Pudding (Sesame Salt and Pudding)

4. WHOLESOME IS THE WORD. This manga is fresh breath of air. I’m pretty sure most of you guys have heard of it as it’s one of this month’s anime. I just love how cute they are in each chapter, even the other couples. And I thoroughly enjoy Himuro’s monologue. :)) If you guys were bothered by random pacings, you should watch the anime instead. They swept up the plot.

Koori Zokusei Danshi to Cool na Douryou Joshi (The Ice Guy and His Cool Female Colleague)

5. Wahhhh this is really addictive, I can’t stop myself from thinking that the whole time I am reading. A combination of slice of life, comedy, and romance genre, huh. Who knows it will all work beautifully as in this masterpiece. (Also, Sousuke Shima’s character design reminds me a bit of Miura Kento from Kimi Ni Todoke)

Skip and Loafer

6. HOT. I have no other words. Some may misunderstand though. But it’s what I think of it, like will you look at them!!! They’re attacking me. I hope we got to see how their relationship progress soon. Btw, I’m all in for Ichi, I’m sorry dear Oji.

Uruwashi no Yoi no Tsuki (In the Clear Moonlit Dusk)

Aaaand I just rumbled my thoughts on the last part. I may edit it for a more serious discussion later. Thanks! :)))

[theshadowrealmitself]

I've headcanoned for years that pon-farr-based prostitution on Vulcan has got to be basically a medical science. Like, oh, you need to temporarily bond and mate with someone so you don't die? That's medicine, baby! The doc diagnoses your transient fits of rage as the oncoming fever and says "You are experiencing a normal hormonal fluctuation. I am transferring you to our colleagues in the P.F. Dept. who will help you through these trying times. Please allow them to help you select a compatible associate and utilize their services. Follow up with me if the symptoms do not resolve in the usual manner." That's just logical!

Of course, for anyone who will only accept their partner but can't be with their partner for any reason (distance, death, etc) they can always do like Tuvok (from Voyager) who utilized a holographic recreation of his wife, since he refused anyone else's assistance. Apparently that worked out swell for him, so it must be an effective fix.

I think the main problem with that is: how important is it that they have a bond? Tuvok was okay with only using a hologram, but his bond wasn’t severed or anything like that (at least to my knowledge)

And if it’s absolutely important to surviving, then what effects would it have on medical staff to bond and then sever those bonds repeatedly to help people through pon farr?

Also I think there’d be the issue of Vulcans feeling shame over losing control, so maybe they don’t care about being medically helped through intercourse and maybe even being bonded or not isn’t an actual concern, but having to make it to a medical building and be seen by strangers in such an emotionally vulnerable position? If there was a setup like that, a majority of the Vulcans would probably still avoid it

I think what you’re describing is something that would be ideal for Vulcans, and something they wish they could have, and it’s probably what a lot of non-Vulcans would assume they have if they heard about Vulcans having a mating season that could kill them, but due to other factors (bonding and the shame and secrecy involved in pon farr) it’s not something that could actually exist in reality

Editing to add: I hope this doesn’t come off as dismissive or insulting to your headcanon!! This is just my 2 cents on if I could see that being a reality!!

[bella-rose29]

Golden Boy (part two)

When Sturmhond returns to Ketterdam a few years after leaving university abruptly, he runs into an old partner, who is working as a translator in Kerch.

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: swearing, drinking, drunkenness, mentions of being shot (past tense), mentions of injury (present tense but it's literally kicking a box. edit: someone gets slapped), an extremely long speech (I'm so sorry it's literally 300 words)

Tag list: @bubybubsters, @el-de-phi, @hauntedenthusiasttragedy, @iambored24601, @itsyoboo-jassy, @karensirkobabes, @kentucky-criedfricken, @naushtheaspiringauthor, @notoakay, @simbaaas-stuff, @thelov3lybookworm

As always, if you'd like to be added to my Nikolai tag list, here's the place to ask!

Docking was successful that morning, everything going smoothly.

The crew of the Volkvolny poured off the ship and onto the waterfront of Ketterdam, breathing in the smoke and fumes that polluted the air, shouting with joy at the many bars and taverns they could already see.

Sturmhond shook his head, laughing at his crew's antics.

It had been five years since Nikolai had left Ketterdam in the night, running away from his life as the second prince of Ravka to pursue one of privateering under the name Sturmhond, and he hadn't come back to the city since. He hoped he didn't run into any trouble, not wanting to spend more time here than was necessary; he could already feel the unease that he might see her.

Tamar and Tolya came up on either side of him, the twins each clapping a hand on his shoulder as they passed.

"Don't spend too long looking moodily at the skyline, Captain. You've got a bet to lose," Tamar said, walking backwards as she pointed at him.

"A bet that I will win, Tamar, a bet that I will win," he called back. She'd bet that she could drink him under the table. He'd bet that she was wrong.

He started off in the same direction his crew had taken, casting a last look at his ship to check that everything was secure before entering the tavern that the twins had disappeared into.

He was immediately confronted by noisy chatter, drunkards singing loudly (and badly), others shouting to be heard over the singing, making others shout over them, everyone trying to be heard. The floor was mildly sticky from spilt ales, and the air was close. Finding the table his colleagues were sat at, he ordered a drink, joining them.

"Let's have you, then!" Tamar declared, and Nikolai complied.

~~~

"I don' understand! I was 'aving Tolya help meee!"

"Ah but consider: I have a higher drinking threshold than you, Tamar. Also, you were cheating?!"

"Noooo! I would never cheat! You're a cheater, with your cheating cheaty cheatiness!"

Nikolai laughed, loud and booming, and got up to get some water for his friend. Reaching the bar, he was poured a jug and given some glasses, and was just about to head back to the table when his breath caught in his throat and his heart skipped a beat.

She won't recognise you, he thought, forcing himself to walk forwards. She won't, she won't, she won't. He repeated the words like a mantra, and by the time he made it back to his crew he almost felt that he couldn't say anything else.

"You alright, Captain?" Tolya asked, laying a hand on his arm. "You're pulse is crazy right now."

"I'm fine, thank you. Give Tamar this." He passed over some water, taking deep breaths at the same time.

Saints, what was wrong with him? He sees Y/n once and starts having difficulty breathing? He frowned. Actually, that's not new. But why was she sat with a group of dodgy looking men in a dark corner of the room? His frown deepened, worry now flitting across his face. Maybe she's in a gang? She seemed actively involved in the conversation, but Nikolai wasn't a good enough lip reader to know what was being said.

"Captain?" Tolya's voice sounded from his left.

"Hmm?"

"Isn't that Flint? The pirate mercenary?" Tolya pointed, and just his luck, Nikolai followed the finger to one of the men sat next to Y/n.

Shit, she is in a gang.

He felt a pang of hurt then, that she seemed to be part of a group of pirates when she'd turned down sailing the seas with him all those years ago. He regretted what he'd done, how he'd left things, but he truly had believed she'd be better off without him. Seeing her now, looking somehow even more beautiful than she had been five years ago, was bringing back memories he'd rather forget, but knowing he now had a chance to try and get her back (or recruit her from a different ship), he stood up, indeed recognising Flint. "Let's go, that's him. Bastard stole my favourite sword."

Closing in on the secluded table, Nikolai was able to hear more of their conversation.

"I can't figure out what language that is, can you?"

"Fjerdan," Nikolai replied, surprised at the language being used. Flint was Kaelish, so why was he in conversation with some Fjerdans?. He picked up some words before they noticed him, but all thoughts went out of his head when Y/n turned her head to look at him.

"Sturmhond," Flint spoke in Kerch, lip curling at the sight of the privateer.

"Flint, always a pleasure. Don't suppose you still have my sword, do you? Quite fond of that one."

"Oh I've got it. In fact, I've got it right here." He pulled it out of the scabbard at his side, pointing it in Nikolai's direction (apparently) threateningly, and Nikolai recognised the blade as his own.

"Perfect," he rubbed his hands together. "Hand it over, I've got a crew to get back to." Flint laughed at the outstretched hand in front of him, then spat on the floor next to his chair. Y/n spoke some hushed words to him, gesturing subtly towards the Fjerdans.

"Alright. You've got five seconds to get out of here, Sturmhond, before I use your own sword to gut you."

"I'm not leaving without it." He set his jaw.

"Ghezen's Hand, just leave. This is a business meeting and you're fucking it all up, alright?" Y/n's voice surprised him. He hadn't expected her to speak, and having not heard it for five years he was taken aback. "What?" she demanded. "Why are you looking at me weirdly?"

"Sorry, sorry. Flint, when you're done here, come and find me. I'm getting that sword back."

"Stop obsessing over your sword, Ginger Boy, and piss off."

The title made his heart ache, knowing that she'd once called him her Golden Boy. Had it been someone at court naming him that, he probably would have hit them, but it was her, and he found that he didn't mind.

Ginger Boy hurt though.

He put his hands up, turning and stalking back to the table. He stopped a waitress, ordering a whisky despite the extortionate amounts of alcohol he'd already drunk.

This is going to be a long night.

~~~

Thirty minutes later Flint swaggered over, bracing his hands on the table and leaning over to look Nikolai in the eye.

"Right then, pretty boy. How much for the sword?"

"Aw, you think I'm pretty?"

"What? No! The sword! How much are you willing to give for it!"

"Right! Right, yes, of course. Uh," he mock pondered for a moment, tapping a finger against his chin. "Nothing."

"Then you're not having it."

"I am, I'm just not trading for it. Who's the girl?"

Y/n had come over with Flint, and now looked up from where she stood a few paces away, arms crossed over her chest.

"The girl is my translator. Got in a tricky spot with some Fjerdan slavers," he grimaced. "All sorted now, though. Well, if you're not willing to trade anything for the sword, then I'll be off."

"Ah, shame. We were just starting to get along! How about I walk you out?" He ignored the protests of Flint, strutting past and opening the door. Outside, Nikolai basked in the quieter street, turning at the flash of noise that came when Flint stepped out after him. "Now. Has he paid you yet?" he asked Y/n. She shook her head. "Here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna pay this lovely lady here, and then you're gonna hand over the sword. Then you're gonna walk away, and you're gonna leave me and my crew alone, alright?" Flint scoffed.

"And why should I do all o' that? I'll pay her, sure, but not the rest."

"I think you'll want to, Flinty." Nikolai leaned in close, trying not to breathe in too deeply the fish and alcohol smell emanating off of the pirate. "Or the Fjerdans will find out just what you've been doing with the money they're paying you." He pulled back, and Flint's eyes went wide.

"You- you- what?! How could you possibly- what?!" the pirate spluttered.

Nikolai let a glint come into his eye, a smirk form on his face, and said "The next time you have a private conversation, maybe check that nobody will hear anything, yeah? My Fjerdan's pretty good."

"Fine, fine! Here, here's your cash, and have the stupid sword! Jus' don't tell anyone what you 'eard alright?" And he shoved money at Y/n and the blade at Nikolai, leaving abruptly. "Filthy privateers, think they own the place," he muttered under his breath, pushing his hands into his pockets.

"Do I know you?"

Nikolai snapped his head around to look at Y/n.

"No. No, I'd remember meeting someone as gorgeous as you, darling." He threw in a wink for good measure. Her lip curled in disgust as she counted the notes.

"Yeah, and I'd remember meeting a fuckboy like you." She turned and went back into the tavern, pocketing the money. He paused for a moment, thinking quickly. Running after her, he caught up with Y/n just as she put her foot on the bottom step of the stairs to the upper rooms. She raised an eyebrow. "What? You're not coming with me. Go back to your pirate crew, yeah?"

"I'm a privateer, there's a difference."

"I know there's a difference. Got your licence to hand then?"

"Yep. Carry it everywhere." He patted his breast pocket. "And I don't want to come up, I want to offer you a job." He didn't really need a translator on his crew, what with his own language skills, but he thought it would be worth a shot.

"Keep talking."

"Actually, is there anywhere private upstairs? Just to talk, I swear!" At her eyes rolling he held his hands up, desperation creeping into his voice.

"Fine. Five minutes, then I want you gone."

"Of course."

She led him up the stairs, then across the landing and into a small room with a bed and a desk, clothes littered on the floor.

"This is your room." It wasn't a question, and he didn't need to see her nod to know he was right.

"Don't go getting any ideas, alright." She paused, staring at him for a moment. "You're sure I don't know you?"

"Positive. Impossible that we've ever met before."

"Improbable," she said, moving away. He stared dumbly after her, jaw going slack.

"What?"

"Usually people mean improbable, not impossible. It's just a stupid thing someone said once."

"Someone?" he probed.

"Yeah. Old friend. Well, old partner. Hang on," she narrowed her eyes at him. "Why are you so interested?"

"Sounds like someone I know, that's all." He swallowed thickly under her gaze, knowing that she was reading him. "So, the job?" She nodded, still observing him. "How's your Zemeni? Because I have a new member of my crew who speaks nothing else, and only a handful of us speak the language, but we don't have the time. You'd live on the ship and we'd drop you off when he knew enough that we could teach him as we go, and I'll pay handsomely." She titled her head, considering.

"How much?"

"What's your rate?"

"50 Kruge a day."

He raised his eyebrows.

"What? If you don't like it, you can piss off. If I'm gonna be living on a ship I want compensation for my discomfort," she shrugged.

"Fine. 50 Kruge a day, for however many days you need. We're leaving tomorrow afternoon, if you can make it." He desperately hoped she would say yes, deciding he couldn't take her saying that he'd be leaving on his own again.

"Okay, fine by me. How many bells?"

"Four." His whole body relaxed, pleased that she was coming with him.

"Sure. See you tomorrow." Nikolai took it as his cue to leave, closing the door softly behind him.

~~~

Nikolai didn't sleep that night, mind keeping him awake as it raced through every interaction and memory he'd had with Y/n in University. He had a chance to make things right, even if she didn't know it, and Saints be damned if he would fuck things up with her again. The next morning was hell for Nikolai, the hours until four bells dragging, not at all helped by his lack of sleep.

"Ugh, come on," he muttered, stood on deck observing the waterfront. He'd run out of things to do to keep himself busy; one of the issues with being so organised. He liked the chaos and spontaneity of being on the sea, but he also liked knowing exactly what was happening at any given moment, leading to an incredibly well-planned journey. He always accounted for every possibility, but Y/n might just throw a spanner in the works.

Nikolai heard an argument forming, and noticed the Zemeni boy and two of the Ravkan Grisha trying to communicate. Erumi had been part of the crew for two months now, but still only spoke his native language, and while Nikolai could speak Zemeni fluently, and often gave the boy his jobs in the language, he certainly did not have the time to teach him Ravkan, or indeed any other. Most of the crew couldn't understand him, and the ones that did were like Nikolai; able to communicate in Zemeni, but having no time to teach.

It wasn't wholly unnecessary having Y/n on board, then. She was needed here, and not just for Nikolai's selfish desires.

"What's going on?" he asked the Grisha.

"Idiot isn't doing his job right, but we can't tell him how to do it because he doesn't speak Ravkan," one of them replied.

"Erumi? What is it you're trying to do, maybe I can help?"

"I can't remember which knot to use for this one, and they're getting mad at me because of it, but I can't talk to them, and it's just-"

"Woah, slow down! Let's start with the knot, yeah? Here," Nikolai took the rope and slowly moved through the actions, making sure the boy knew exactly what was going on. Untying it, he passed it over to Erumi, telling him to tie it himself. Satisfied with the end result, Nikolai turned to the two Ravkans.

"Look. I know it's difficult, but you just need to be patient. There's no use getting mad or raising your voices at him, because he won't understand what you're saying. Try and be gentle, and show him through your actions, not words. Before you start grumbling," he said, noticing the displeased looks on their faces, "we're getting a translator today, and she's gonna teach him enough Ravkan that we can all understand each other better, okay?" They nodded, and he dismissed them.

"Captain? Look!" Erumi showed him the knot, having been tying and retying it, and Nikolai smiled.

"Good job! Right, you go and take a break for a bit, yeah? I'll see you in a bit." The boy nodded, grinning widely, and Nikolai watched him go.

"Cute kid."

He jumped halfway out of his skin, one hand flying to his pistol, the other to his sword handle.

"What the fuck?! Where did you even come from?"

"My mother's womb," Y/n said. "And 'what the fuck' sums it all up quite nicely, I'd say." She needed to stop quoting him, it was making his ego swell.

"Why?" he frowned.

"You speak Zemeni, and you look like you've got plenty of time, so why do you need me?"

Four bells sounded then, and he startled.

"You're early?"

She shrugged. "Figured I might as well be, gives me time to run away if I need to. Why do you need me?"

"Once we get going, I really don't have much time. I'm captain, and so I have to oversee everyone. I can't spend too much time with any one person or someone else will think I've got favourites. My whole reputation is built on being equal, and if nothing else I don't want to start any mutinies."

"Oh. Fair I guess. Where would I be staying, then?"

He led her into the cabins under the deck, pointing out his and the twins'. "Yours is the one at the end, you can go and have a look if you like." She did, leaving Nikolai in the corridor to ponder his next move. When she reappeared a few minutes later, she just nodded.

"Everything alright?"

"It'll do. I'd like a proof of payment before we leave, just to make sure I'm going to get properly compensated."

"Of course, here." He pushed open the door to his own cabin, walking over to the desk at the back of the room.

"Privateering for Dummies? Should I be worried?"

"Oh, I'd actually forgotten I had that." He studied her, wondering if she recognised the book. Hopefully she didn't open the front cover; he'd nicked it from the University library and the stamp was still on the front page. "And no, you don't need to worry at all, you're in very safe hands." He rummaged around in a drawer for a moment, then pulled out a stack of notes. "50 Kruge a day, yeah?"

"Yep."

"Here's your first day then."

"Thanks."

Saints, this was awkward. She hadn't stopped studying at him, eyes clearly examining everything about him, and it was making him sweat.

"I'll go and introduce you?"

"Sure."

He wanted the floor to swallow him up.

~~~

An hour later they were on their way, and Y/n and Erumi had been getting along well so far. They sat off to the side, hidden from the sun in the shade of the upper deck, and from Nikolai's position at the wheel he caught snippets of their conversation.

There wasn't much interesting, just Y/n teaching Erumi basic Ravkan words such as 'ship', 'please', 'thank you', and the like, but when they took a break (he was not a fast learner), Nikolai found it hard to tune out. He knew it was wrong to listen, and he really did try to think about something else so that he wasn't eavesdropping, but then he'd heard his name, his real name, and he couldn't help himself.

"Wait, you went to school with the Nikolai Lantsov? That's so cool!"

"If cool is being an arse then yeah," she replied, and although he couldn't see her face, Nikolai knew that she had a look of disgust on it. "He was nice at first, persistent in a kinda cute way, but then he turned out just like every other rich person, using me to make him feel better about himself."

Shit.

She really thought that about him? He'd been trying to distance himself as a defence mechanism so that when he did leave it would hurt less for both of them. He'd spent the last five years wishing he could know why she'd been so torn up about him going when she'd already said that she was staying, but now he wanted to erase what he'd just heard from his memory.

"Damn, that must have hurt?"

"Yeah, it did," her voice was hoarse, and she cleared her throat. "I thought he was gonna be the one, you know? And then he left me alone and made me feel like shit, so..." She trailed off, and Nikolai passed the wheel to someone else. He had to get out of here, go somewhere he couldn't hear them. Pushing himself down the stairs, he headed below deck and towards his cabin, locking the door and throwing himself onto the bed.

"Fuck," he whispered, although significantly more muffled given his face was in a pillow. Trying to win her over might be more difficult than he'd anticipated.

~~~

The next morning, Nikolai got up early, having not slept too well in the night. Washing and getting dressed, he went up on deck, and was surprised to see Y/n sat on a crate, looking at the sunrise.

"Morning," he said quietly, drawing up a box to join her.

"Oh, hi. Thought I was the only one up, apart from the skeleton crew."

"Couldn't sleep much last night, figured I'd just get up. You?"

"Same. Too busy thinking about things."

"Wanna talk about it?" At her guarded expression, he quickly said "Feel free not to, though. I know it's not my place to know everything about you, I just thought you might want someone to listen."

They were quiet for a while, sat in peaceful silence watching the sun rise over the sea.

"You just remind me of someone I loved."

Her voice was so quiet he had to strain to hear her, but when his mind registered the words, his heart ached in his chest.

"'Loved'? What did they do to mess that one up?"

"He uh... he... sorry." She swallowed thickly, and Nikolai could practically feel her nerves.

"Take your time. There's no rush."

Nodding, she continued, and Nikolai held his breath. "We met in University. He uh... we were together, and then he wanted to leave and I wanted to stay. He kept away from me for a while before he left, and when I confronted him about it he just... stood there. I have this thing about rich people, and I thought that he would be different and be better than the ones that told me to just 'stop being poor', but then he... then he didn't try and fight for me, and that hurt, you know? I would have been fine with trying long distance, but he just wanted me to leave. So, yeah. I don't mean that that's why you remind me of him, by the way," she hurriedly added. "I just mean that, sometimes, the way you talk reminds me of him, or the look you get on your face every now and then. I know you're not him, it's just weird how similar those things are about you both. And I never really... I never really stopped loving him. We were only together- well, technically two weeks, but the second one he was ignoring me, so... But I did love him, and I still do five years on, and it sucks, because I trusted him and he let me down."

Nikolai had forgotten to breathe, heart both lifting at her confession that she still loved him, and sinking at how shattered he'd left her heart.

"That..." he cleared his throat, surprised at how hoarse it was. "I'm sorry," he settled for.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for. It's not like you're actually him." Nikolai only smiled, pain filling his expression as he turned away and moved to leave. "Where are you going?"

"I need to have my morning meeting with the twins. They're probably wondering where I am. I'll leave you in peace."

"Oh, okay," she smiled, small and tentative, and he offered one back. Walking away, he muttered another "I'm sorry" under his breath, fiddling with the chain around his neck.

~~~

Y/n wrinkled her nose for the fourth time in the last ten minutes as Erumi pronounced yet another Ravkan work wrong.

Ghezen's Hand, he's shit at this.

To be fair to him, she probably wasn't being the best teacher either, having been left confused ever since the talk she'd had with Sturmhond the previous morning. He was so similar to Nikolai she was half convinced it was him, and the only reason she had any doubt was that he hadn't shown any sign that he recognised her. Remembering the conversation she'd had with Nikolai in that coffee shop all those years ago, he had mentioned that he would get himself Tailored, and the Privateering for Dummies book she'd seen in Sturmhond's cabin couldn't be a coincidence. Then there was the whole 'Volkvolny' and 'Sturmhond' thing, and the link between 'wolf of the waves' and the dog theme in his name was far too closely linked to the nickname 'Sobachka' that Nikolai had admitted to for Y/n's liking.

"Y/n?"

Blinking out of her thoughts, she noticed Erumi looking expectantly at her, eyes wide. The boy was barely 18, and was trying to grow a beard (key word: trying), and she wondered how he ended up here. She knew that Sturmhond recruited practically anyone, so long as they worked hard, since his crew were from all walks of life, but Erumi had mentioned that he'd chosen to join the Volkvolny, and Y/n was curious.

"I think that's enough for now, yeah?"

"Oh, okay. Want to talk?"

"Actually, I wanted to ask, why are you part of this crew? I mean, you don't understand anybody unless they're speaking your language."

"I'm an orphan, and the youngest of three. My siblings didn't want me around, so I left. I heard about a privateer who got his name from feeding a captain's fingers to his pet dog, and I thought 'that's cool'."

"You thought that was cool? You need help if you thought that was cool, Erumi."

"No, not like that, I just meant, it would be cool to work with someone like that, to be someone worth talking about. I'd also heard about how inclusive he is, and although I grew up in Novyi Zem, the people in my village didn't like that I'm zowa. Figured if anybody would accept me, it would be him. And if he can feed somebody's fingers to their pet dog and not get squeamish, then I'll be protected too."

"That's... that's actually not a bad reason. Wanting protection and acceptance. I definitely spoke to one girl earlier who said she was in this line of work because apparently guys think it's hot."

"I'm sure they do," Erumi replied. "And I'm sure that she'll go far in life." The two of them talked for a little while longer, Y/n trying to teach him a few more words, giving up very quickly.

"We'll carry on a bit later, give you a chance to do some jobs," she said in Zemeni. He nodded, bounding off, and she had no idea how he had so much energy.

Nikolai always had energy too, she thought.

Being on this boat was obviously driving her crazy. She had stubbornly refused to think about Nikolai for the last five years, but now that she was here, close to a man so similar to her Golden Boy, her mind wouldn't let her forget him. He'd been weird the morning before, apologising with such sincerity for somebody that supposedly didn't know her, and her suspicions about who Sturmhond really was were only growing. Y/n watched him now, talking animatedly to Tamar, and in certain light his ginger hair looked almost blond. The colour seemed to change every day, some days being a bright shocking red that drew the eyes, on others, such as this one, it was muted, more yellow than orange. His eyes were always changing, too. Always a weird muddy green, but sometimes bright green like the beginning of spring, and at others, a dark shade more similar to the fir trees of Fjerda.

She spent the rest of the morning sat watching the waves, spotting the occasional dolphin breaking the water. A loud laugh startled her out of her reverie, and she whipped her head round, expecting to see Nikolai since it sounded just like him. At only seeing Sturmhond, however, her hand drifted up to her neck, rubbing at where the chain used to sit. Y/n frowned, brows drawing together, and then she froze where she sat, tears staring to prick at the corners of her eyes.

Hanging out of Sturmhond's white shirt, the silver flashing in the bright midday sunlight, was a compass.

Her compass.

Choking back tears, she forced herself to walk towards the stairs and her cabin, aiming for privacy and soundproof walls so that nobody heard her cry. She didn't get that far, however, with Tamar shouting her name and jogging over. "You okay? You're crying. Who do I need to kill?"

"Nobody, sorry, I'll be fine. Just homesick I guess." Tamar nodded, concern still on her face, when Sturmhond joined them.

"Shit, what happened? Who do I hurt?" Y/n choked out a laugh at his words, both at the similarity between his and Tamar's, and at the irony of it.

"I'll be alright, just... carry on with your lives." She disappeared below deck, heading straight for her cabin. When she heard heavy footsteps behind her, she cursed, recognising them as the captain's.

"Y/n! Y/n! Wait- ow!" She had reached her door when she looked back at his cry of pain, seeing the man clutching his right shin.

"What did you do?"

"Walked into a box somebody had left lying around. Seriously, I'm more worried about you."

"It was a metal box," she said, eyeing the offending item. "You sure you shouldn't get your leg checked?"

"I've suffered worse. Got shot multiple times, heartbreak too, so this is nothing."

"Heartbreak?"

He looked at her for a long moment. Ah. So he does know who I am.

"Yeah. Broke my heart and the heart of the girl I love." Y/n's breath caught at his use of present tense, then she internally cursed herself for allowing the butterflies to start up.

"I think we need to talk in my room, Captain."

"If you say so," he replied, and given how the man had been acting the past few days, she was very surprised that he didn't say it with a smirk and a wink. Instead he seemed incredibly serious, although the fact that he was still clutching his shin put off the whole image slightly, and she offered him a cold pack when they were inside, door shut. He sat, taking it gratefully. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Why didn't you fight for me?"

The question clearly caught him off guard, and he sat staring dumbly at her for a few moments.

"Sorry?" His voice was barely more than a whisper, and if she hadn't taught herself, she would have had to strain her ears to hear him.

"I know who you are, Sturmhond, and I want to know why you didn't fight to be with me five years ago."

She turned to look at him, startled to see his hair even more blond than it had been in the sunlight.

Tailoring must be wearing off, she thought. Good, I'll get my Golden Boy back, some part of her belatedly added, but she pushed it to the back of her mind.

"You know who I am? Prove it."

"The compass. What's the inscription say?"

"Your heart takes you places but-"

"-your love brings you home."

He said the first part hoarsely, not breaking eye contact with her as she spoke the second half with him.

"I gave it to Nikolai, to you, the day you left me. My father had it engraved for my mother when we had a little extra cash and when he passed away, she gave it to me. I didn't go a day without it until you."

"I'd say you chucked it at my head, not gave it to me, but yes. And I haven't gone a day without it either. Not one." He stood, placing the cool pack to the side. "There has not been a single moment where I haven't thought of you, and how badly I left things between us. I was doing damage control because I thought it would hurt less in the end because I was scared. Scared of how much I loved you, and Saints," he laughed, "I'm still scared of it. I'm sorry that I hurt you, I truly am, and I know that I broke your trust and your heart. But I hope that you know that I am not like them, and I will never be like them, because I have spent my whole life with people like them and I am sick of it. I'm sick of pretending that I don't care about the people of Ravka just to please some nobles, because I do. They run the whole fucking machine. I'm sick of people treating others like the dirt under their shoes simply because they weren't born into privilege. I'm sick of all of it, which is why my crew is what it is. It's also why it hurts me so much to know that you think I'm like that, because I'm not. Not at all. And I am so sorry that I made you feel that way, and I will spend the rest of my days making it up to you just to even be considered for a second chance, because I still love you. I am ridiculously, hopelessly and completely in love with you, Y/n, and letting myself leave without you was the worst decision I have ever made. My life without you is merely an existence, and my world is all the more darker without you shining your light in it. You are my heaven, and you are my universe, and I love you with every fibre of my being every day."

He was in front of her now, having moved closer the whole time he'd been speaking. Tears were streaming down her cheeks at how genuine he'd been, and he gently wiped them away as they fell.

"Nik," Y/n sobbed, and she collapsed into him, crying into his chest. She had no idea how long they stayed like that, her crying and him holding her tight, one hand stroking her back and the other playing with her hair, chin resting on the top of her head, but after a while her sobs subsided, and she pulled away, hiccoughing every now and then.

"You'll be alright, darling, even if that means I'm not there to make sure of it." He was wiping her tears away again, not that there were any left, but the movement of his thumb on her cheek was so soft, and his expression was so kind and loving, she pushed up on her toes and kissed him. It was brief, only a second or two, but it made the butterflies flutter and her heart sing.

Then she smacked him.

"You ever, ever, do anything like that again, I will kill you, slowly and painfully, so that you feel every. Single. Inch of pain that I felt these last five years and whatever pain I feel in that moment, do you understand?" He nodded rapidly, bewildered look on his face.

"Absolutely. Does this mean I'm being considered for a second chance?"

"It means you're getting one, so don't screw it up, Lantsov."

"I won't. I promise you, I won't. I will not make that mistake again."

"Good." And she kissed him again, this time for longer, and more slowly, savouring every second. When she pulled away for the second time, he trailed after her, and she gasped at the sight in front of her.

He was him, he was her Golden Boy again.

"What? Did I become a terrible kisser? Is there something on my face? In my hair? What is it?"

"You might need your Tailor, Golden Boy. Your eyes are blue and your nose doesn't look fucked."

"Shit, really?" And when she nodded, he laughed, tipping his head back and letting the joyful sound out. "Feels fitting, I suppose. That I look like myself instead of someone I'm not. Almost symbolic, isn't it? I transform from a-"

"Shut up, Nik, and kiss me again."

"Oh, okay," and he did.

[12percentspider]

Weird reading 6/11 : Urban Legends and Debunking Things

^ Includes creepypasta. Honorable mention for the 27 club because it really is a weird bunch of coincidences. Reading the actual list though, I think they should have stuck to musicians and not included like uhhhh Joseph Merrick or politicians? I personally think it's far more spooky that Marc Bolan said he wouldn't make it to 30 and missed it by 2 weeks. [Side note: You should absolutely listen to Robert Johnson <3]

Speaking of Joseph Merrick though... apparently it's not just Barenaked Ladies who called him John (which uh, the song in question was released in 1998 when his real name was apparently proven in 1980)... but NO, Michael Jackson did not buy his skeleton (what the song is referencing)[it wasn't listed in his wiki page but... Michael Jackson-related stuff is a whole other thing].

Some I'm including separate:

Heard this one a lot as a child- temporary tattoos are drugs

The story behind some morbid things you could find at a thrift store (Frozen Charlottes)

Man Door Hand Hook Car Door because it's a classic

Partly why I decided this was the topic today BONUS: it makes these things even goofier, and my family owns one.

One of the funniest classic rock bits ever

Polybius <3

Robert the Doll is on the list which is also a classic but like, DUDE. I'm with Ozzy on that one. So no link, go read about that if you want to, there's an interesting story behind the doll whether you believe it or not.

Anyway, take that list with a grain of salt actually because I'm seeing at least a couple of things listed that shouldn't be for racism reasons (and you KNOW exactly why).

^ Please just LOOK at this thing I saw while looking for stuff to include. It... doesn't look like a cardinal lol.

More info about this sort of thing, which uhhh, does actually relate to asking questions and thinking critically! Critical thinking is a skill that needs to be practiced, so keep on practicing.

^ warning for suicide faking and a news outlet editing real images of a tragedy as well as nazism being mentioned.

Combine that with this:

and this:

... to get a good reason why sometimes things aren't as they seem on multiple levels.

[sesamestreep]

the first tuesday in may

A/N: I originally wrote this as a prompt fill and then decided I hated it and wrote something else instead, but I held onto the draft because I liked the concept. After revisiting it and editing it into something not completely mortifying to read, I decided to post it after all. Double prompt fill! What a time to be alive! (posted to AO3 here)

Sloan thinks she is uniquely terrible at being a famous person. Not that she gets into trouble as a public figure all that often (trouble finds her with alarming frequency, but she does her best not to court it, at least), but rather that she doesn’t care about a lot of the things she thinks she’s supposed to as a celebrity. If she had her way, she could work at ACN, be on several new programs a day as an anchor, and still somehow not be recognizable at all. This doesn’t make sense to her friends and family. She understands that, on paper, it doesn’t make much sense at all. If she wanted to be some anonymous economist, she simply should not have agreed to ever be on television. She’d chosen this life instead. Some days, she still can't figure out why.

All of this is to say, she never really anticipated being invited to the Met Gala. Honestly, she hadn’t even heard of it until she started working with Mac and even then, she didn’t think about it much. She does like fashion, though, and she likes museums in a theoretical way where she wants them to exist and have funding but she also gets bored after 15 minutes in even the more interesting ones. The fervor and fanaticism around the Met Gala, though, had surprised her and then intimidated her, in that order, when she’d gotten her invitation. But a designer had agreed to dress her and she’d managed to walk the red carpet without falling on her face and she’s pretty sure she didn’t say anything to a reporter that she’ll regret, which means the night was an unmitigated success for her. The thing she’s really worried about is how her colleagues at ACN will react the day after. She’s ultimately more nervous about the first Tuesday in May than she was about the first Monday.

Despite her preparation for commentary and possibly mockery from her co-workers, the morning fortunately passes without incident. By the time she’s finished with the 12 o’clock show, though, most of the staff for the prime time shows have started to trickle in and, truthfully, it’s them she’s most anxious about. Neal is the first to say something, but because it’s Neal, it’s also the cheeriest possible comment she could ever hope for.

“Saw pics from the Met Gala last night,” he says, as she passes by his desk. He doesn’t even take his eyes off his computer in order to say it. “You looked amazing. How many best dressed lists did you make?”

“I haven’t checked,” Sloan replies, with a slight eye roll. “I’m guessing very few.”

“No way.”

“There was some debate over whether I dressed properly to the theme.”

“Yes, but that’s what people love about the Met Gala. The debate is the fun part!”

“If you say so.”

“Regardless, me and all the other brave soldiers on Sloan Sabbith stan Twitter have your back.”

“I know what most of those words mean individually and yet, together, they’re a mystery to me.”

“So, a ‘stan’ is actually—”

“Oh, no. I’d like it to remain a mystery, thanks.”

Neal clamps his mouth shut with an amused expression. “Suit yourself.”

“I appreciate the loyalty, though,” she calls over her shoulder, as she makes her way to Mac’s office.

“Always!”

Her knock on Mac’s door is immediately met with an invitation to come in, but she hesitates in the doorway when she sees Will there already.

“I can come back…”

“Not at all,” Mac says, waving her in. “Will and I were discussing what to do with your segment for tonight’s show as it is.”

“We have so many options for what to discuss,” Will says brightly, “since you missed last night’s show.”

Sloan sighs. “Okay, I knew this was coming…”

“Did you have fun at your fancy party? With all your celebrity friends? While the rest of us were working?”

“First of all, Charlie approved it, and I was there representing ACN, so I was working, thank you very much,” she replies, crossing her arms over her chest. “And secondly, you’ve been to the Met Gala like five times! Don’t take it out on me that you got snubbed this year!”

“Why would they want me there, when they can have someone younger and more beautiful?”

“Yes, it’s that and not your feud with Anna Wintour that prevented you being invited,” Mac says, giving him an arch look.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Will says, spreading his hands out in a wide, innocent gesture.

Sloan, for her part, is delighted. “What did you do, Will?”

“Nothing!”

Mac snorts. “He called her a shrew at Anderson Cooper’s birthday party three years ago.”

“That’s not true,” Will shouts. “How did you even know about that?”

“He told everyone at CNN about it,” she replies, looking down at the papers strewn about her desk, like this subject is boring her completely.

“I did not call her a shrew,” Will says, this time to Sloan. “I would not say that about anyone, even if they deserved it, like Anna Wintour very clearly does.”

“He was very drunk at the time,” Mac says, also to Sloan, over-pronouncing the words like she’s speaking about a child. “He doesn’t remember.”

This, at the very least, does make Will look sheepish. “I wouldn’t say it, even drunk,” he insists, though he doesn’t sound quite so confident anymore. “But I think we can all agree that her reaction is not unlike how a total shrew would behave.”

“Just apologize to her, dude,” Sloan says, leaning on the available chair in front of Mac’s desk, rather than sitting in it like a normal person. 

“Don’t call me ‘dude,’” Will says, pointing a warning finger in her direction. “And I’m not going to apologize for something that I never did in the first place.”

“Allegedly,” Mac says.

“Shut up,” Will shoots back.

“I’m just saying, if you smoothed things over with Anna, you and I could be Met Gala buddies next year.”

Will looks incredulous. “Oh, it’s ‘Anna’ now, is it?”

“Well, yeah. We really bonded on the dance floor when Bruno Mars was playing.”

Will makes a disgusted sound, while Mac hides her smile in her fist. “Leona must have been in heaven,” she says, tactfully trying to move the conversation in another direction. “She loves Bruno Mars.”

“She was. I think she invited him to her birthday party next weekend. Reese looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel.”

“Leona’s birthday was in March,” Will says, frowning.

“I know,” Sloan says, patiently. “Do the math on that one quicker, Will.”

Will’s face clears with comprehension. “Poor Reese,” he says, shaking his head. “Anyway, now that we’re done gossiping about our country’s elite and their posh exploits at an event designed to market luxury brands to those who will never be able to afford them, we should talk about tonight’s show, which will be dedicated to the working class, the average citizen, and the—”

“And the suit you’ll be wearing will be custom Armani,” Mac interjects, unimpressed. “Nice try, farm boy.”

Half an hour later, Sloan emerges from the meeting with her topic for her segment on Will’s show settled and makes a beeline for her office, praying that she’s already been accosted by everyone who cares about the Met Gala and she can make it through the rest of the day in peace. Unfortunately, she’s not so lucky. 

Kendra offers her some polite praise on her dress in passing, which prompts Martin and Gary to do a quick Google search while she’s standing right there. It’s a new form of torture she was not remotely prepared for.

“Woah,” Gary says, artless as always. “You look glam, Sloan.”

“That’s kind of the point,” she replies, fighting the urge to fidget. 

“Did you meet anyone cool?” Martin asks, and she disappoints him by saying she didn’t. He then swivels his monitor towards her so she can see a picture of her talking to Bradley Cooper, which she fully doesn’t remember happening. When she just shrugs, Martin looks crestfallen and she takes that as her cue to leave.

Later on, when she’s walking through the bullpen after a meeting with Zane, Jenna stops her to say how much she loved her dress and to ask if Bruno Mars was nice in person, which leads to a repeat of the same situation as before, except now it’s Maggie and Jim googling her in front of her.

“I didn’t really talk to him much,” she says, keeping an eye on the others. Jenna’s clearly disappointed by this answer, so she adds, “But that’s only because he made a point of talking to everybody.”

“That’s so cool,” Jenna gushes, mollified at last. “He seems so down to earth, you know?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sloan says, vaguely. She definitely should have paid more attention to who she talked to last night. She was too busy praying to every god she could think of that Bruno Mars would become Reese’s new stepdad to retain any details of her actual conversation with him.

“Wow,” Jim says. “That’s a lot.”

Maggie fixes him with a glare. “Don’t be an asshole,” she says, with real fire. “Sloan, you look beautiful.”

“Oh, thanks,” Sloan replies, shrugging. “It’s like a costume party, kind of, so it’s supposed to be over the top.”

Jim, for his part, looks embarrassed. “I wasn’t trying to be rude! You know that I think you’re beautiful too, Sloan. I was just saying—”

“You think she’s beautiful?” Maggie asks, lightly. Too lightly. It’s the most obvious thing Sloan has ever heard, and she’s intimately familiar with being too obvious with people she likes.

“Yeah, I mean. Clearly,” Jim says, scratching his neck and (if Sloan’s not mistaken) wishing he’d never been born. “She’s—you’re very beautiful, Sloan, in a textbook kind of way.”

Sloan and Jenna wince simultaneously, and Maggie’s head swivels sharply to stare down Jim even more intensely. “What is that supposed to mean?” she asks, and Sloan gets the vague sense that she’s handed them another convenient reason to pretend to hate each other for the day.

“Nothing,” Jim practically shouts. “Sloan’s beautiful. But like, you know, she doesn’t need all this—” he waves a hand in the direction of Maggie’s monitor, presumably at the photo of Sloan on the red carpet—“to be beautiful. I think she looks nice in real life, when she’s more natural.”

“Oh, right,” Maggie replies with an eye roll. “You’re one of those guys who likes women when they wear no makeup, right?”

Jim looks over to Sloan and Jenna, who are watching this disaster unfold with stone faced solemnity. Sloan tries to convey with just her eyes that he needs to stand down or get his ass handed to him, but it definitely doesn’t come through. He decides to dig his own grave, instead.

“Yeah, I mean, that’s preferable, isn’t it?”

“How much makeup is Jenna wearing right now?” Maggie asks, smelling blood in the water.

“Uh, none. Right?”

Maggie swings her gaze over to Jenna. “Is that true?” 

“No,” Jenna says, with another sympathetic wince.

“How many products did you use to get ready this morning?”

Jenna sighs. “Twelve.”

“No fucking way,” Jim says, staring at Jenna like he’ll suddenly unlock x-ray vision somehow. 

“Women have to put so much effort into their appearance just to look like what men think of as ‘natural,’” Maggie says, truly on a roll now. “And then men like you criticize women who wear makeup that looks ‘over the top’ or ‘obvious’. It’s like we can’t win!”

“To be fair,” Sloan attempts to interject, “I don’t think Jim meant—”

Jim doesn’t take the assist, because he interrupts to yell, “I don’t see how it’s my fault that beauty standards—!”

“I wasn’t saying it was your fault,” Maggie replies, hotly, “just that you’re part of the problem.”

“Oh, yeah, because that’s so much better!”

Sloan gives Jenna a sympathetic shoulder pat, as she delicately makes her exit. Jim and Maggie will be at each other’s throats until they run out of oxygen, and she doesn’t need to wait around for that. Unfortunately, Jenna, as an intern, probably will. She returns once again to the peace and quiet of her office. 

Getting ready for Market Wrap-Up at four o’clock, she gets into a conversation with the make-up artist—not the usual girl, who’s out with what she suspects is strep throat—about the gala, what it’s like to attend, if the exhibit is any good this year, which are questions Sloan is more happy to answer. No, she didn’t get to keep anything she wore. Yes, she was worried she was going to fall on those stairs. No, she didn’t bring a date.

This last answer seems to displease the woman. “If I was dating someone off the New York Giants, I’d make sure everyone knew,” she says, as she dabs mattifying concealer on Sloan’s nose. It’s to reduce shininess from sweating under the intense studio lights, Sloan knows, but she can’t help regretting the way it obscures her freckles too. 

“I’m not…dating anyone on the New York Giants,” Sloan says, carefully.

“Oh, don’t worry! I’m not going to tell TMZ. You don’t have to pretend for my benefit.”

“I’m not pretending. I’m really not dating anyone from the Giants. Or any other NFL team, for that matter.”

“So, who are you dating, then?” the woman asks, with a knowing sparkle in her eye.

Sloan shrugs. “No one.”

“That’s too bad. You’re pretty. You should be dating someone.”

Sloan wants to object to that assessment, or the overly familiar way this woman she doesn’t know is talking about her love life, but she can’t muster the energy. She’s been on a string of bad dates lately, including one with, yes, a New York Giant, but none of them had come to anything. She’s officially too old to consider second dates with men who can’t be bothered to ask her a single question all night long. And there’s the recent experience with having her private photos leaked by an ex that she’s still reeling from. Overall, her wariness is probably not unwarranted. That doesn’t dispel the loneliness of it all, though.

“Do you think I look old?” Sloan asks, suddenly.

The makeup artist does a gratifying double take, looking back and forth between Sloan in real life and Sloan in the mirror. “Girl, where are you seeing that?” she asks.

“Not here,” Sloan says. “I saw the pictures of me from the event and I just thought I looked tired and old. I don’t know.”

“Absolutely not,” this woman she barely knows says with more confidence than Sloan can imagine having. “Don’t do that. You look amazing. There is nothing wrong with looking your age, but you sure as hell do not look old. Don’t do that!”

“You’re right. I just—”

The woman adjusts Sloan’s head so she’s looking straight into the mirror. “Honey, if you can’t even have confidence in yourself, the rest of us are definitely in trouble.”

That is enough to startle a laugh out of her, though she hides it by looking down at her lap. “Thank you,” Sloan says, feeling far too raw about it. “I…did I even ask for your name when we got started?”

“You didn’t, but it’s Mika.”

“Thank you, Mika. I appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it,” Mika says, like it really is nothing to her, as she touches up Sloan’s eyeliner with a deft hand.

It’s a couple hours after that, when Sloan is frantically trying to put the finishing touches on her segment for Will’s show, that she remembers she left some of her notes from their meeting behind in the green room. In her rush to go grab them, she nearly collides with Elliot as he’s leaving the room with Don in tow. 

“God, did you get taller?” she gripes, as their almost run-in just brings her attention to the fact that she only comes up to his sternum.

“Nice to see you too, Sloan,” Elliot replies, elegantly side-stepping her. “Rough day?”

She glowers at him. “No. Why?”

“I thought maybe you might have indulged in too much champagne with Rihanna last night or something.”

“I didn’t meet Rihanna,” Sloan says, rolling her eyes. Though, given her Bradley Cooper slip-up earlier, she honestly isn’t even sure that’s true. “And I’m not hungover at work, thank you very much.”

“Just a joke,” Elliot says, holding his hands up in surrender. “My wife wanted me to tell you she thought your dress was beautiful. She’s obsessed with Vivienne Westwood.”

“Oh,” Sloan says, caught off guard by this praise. Elliot’s wife is so much cooler than him. “That’s so nice.”

“You didn’t get to meet her, did you?”

“Very briefly, but all my meetings and fittings were with her people, unfortunately. She was nice, though, when we did meet.”

Elliot smiles. “I’ll tell her. She’ll be so jealous. She really wanted to get married in one of her dresses, but it wasn’t really in the budget back then.”

“Next time we have an office party or something, tell her to come pester me with questions.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

“You’re the best, Sloan,” Elliot practically shouts, as he makes his way down the hall, leaving her and Don alone together.

If she’s being honest with herself (which she tries to do as infrequently as possible), it’s Don’s opinion of the whole Met Gala thing she’s most worried about. Unlike some other people here—she thinks of Mac and Will, specifically—Don doesn’t bother to pretend that he’s above paying attention to the less highbrow items that make the news, but given that he’s also a straight man who wears the same five flannel button-ups to work on a regular rotation, he might be above caring about news that pertains to fashion. He might think the whole thing is stupid, which is the way Sloan wishes she felt. She can’t go in for some of the more avant-garde and impractical sides of haute couture, but she likes a well-made, properly fitted, beautiful piece of clothing as much as any sane person does. Her favorite outfit might be jeans and a hoodie, but she can also appreciate the work that goes into those couture gowns even she, an actual celebrity like it or not, will never have occasion to wear. So, yes, she’s bracing herself for Don’s opinion, provided he has one. Which, obviously, he does, because he’s Don.

“Allow me to be easily the 150th person to tell you that you looked beautiful last night,” Don says, after they’ve been quietly standing there like idiots for a few minutes. Sloan is already in the process of scoffing, when he interrupts to ask, “Did you have fun?”

Sloan makes a helpless gesture with her hands. “I guess…?”

“You guess?”

“It’s…really overwhelming. And exciting! But loud. And there’s so many people and they’re all taking photos. And I had to be careful not to crush my dress when I sat down, so that was awkward. But it really was cool! Seeing the exhibit while the museum was closed was awesome.”

“I bet. Whenever my sister visits the city, she always drags me to some new exhibit at the Met. If I ever win the lottery, I figured I’d rent the place out for her for a big birthday or something.”

“That’s…” Not adorable. Not sweet. Not I’d love to meet this sister I’ve never heard of before next time she’s in town. Has she ever been shown around the Met by someone who saw the exhibit while Gisele Bundchen was six feet away, because I’d be happy to— “That would be such a good idea.”

Don smiles, and his eyes do that thing where they crinkle at the corners. “Well, cross your fingers I win the Powerball soon.”

Sloan very dorkily crosses her actual fingers, making him laugh. “Maybe then they’d let you go to the Met Gala,” she says, like a stupid idiot.

Luckily, Don just laughs again. “Oh, I don’t think they’d ever admit the likes of me.”

“No?” Sloan tries to picture it and fails. Don on a red carpet doesn’t make a lot of sense, if she’s being honest. He has that behind-the-scenes energy, that frustrated stage manager from high school theater aura that he just can’t shake. Still, she can’t help thinking that she would have had more fun if he were there with her, which is a line of thought she’s not allowed to pursue any further. 

“I don’t think schlubby E.P.s of poorly rated cable news programs are ever going to drive viewers to Vogue’s website, even if they happened to be independently wealthy,” he says, plainly.

“You’re not schlubby,” Sloan objects before she can collect her wits. She feels a little bit of Mika’s ire from before when Sloan called herself tired-looking hearing Don put himself down. “Don’t say that.”

He waves her off. “Either way, I have a hard time imagining it will ever be an issue for me.”

“Too bad,” she replies, too incensed to be cautious. “I can’t help feeling like the event would have been way more fun with a buddy.”

He looks at her, in that Don way of his, like he’s running diagnostics or something. Like he’s reading her thoughts and intentions and trying to figure out what the fuck to do with them. Hell, she knows they’ve both been through a lot lately, especially where their love lives are concerned, but how many times can she make her interest clear before they confront the damn thing? 

“But then you’d have to rent a tux, of course,” she says, when the silence stretches too long and she loses her nerve. “And who wants to do that?”

“Well, that won’t be an issue either,” he says, looking at her seriously. 

“Right, of course! I was—”

“I mean, I already own one,” Don says, cutting her off. 

“Oh. Well. That is…good to know for, um…well…”

“Future reference?” he suggests, eyebrow raised inquisitively.

“Yeah, for future reference. Exactly. Just in case I ever, um…”

“In case you ever need a date.”

“Right,” Sloan says, feeling insane. “Like at the last minute or something like that.”

“Yeah,” Don says with a smile. “Something like that.”

“Well, I’ll keep you in mind.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Sloan entertains several bad ideas at once, ranging from making up a wedding she needs a date for this summer so she can see him in this tux he supposedly owns to desperately admitting he doesn’t need to ask her to keep him in mind, that she thinks about him all the time, that she hasn’t figured out how to stop thinking about him yet, but she ultimately manages to keep her cool with great effort. For someone who was anxious to confront this thing between them a moment ago, she’s not doing very much confronting right now. In fact, she’s trying to figure out a way to get out of this conversation as fast as possible so she can retreat to the safety and seclusion of her own office again and regain some damn equilibrium. But they’re in too deep now to cut and run without making things even more awkward. She’s stuck.

“Don, thank God!” Mac exclaims as she rounds the corner, startling them both. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

“I just finished a meeting with Elliott,” he says, taking his eyes off Sloan belatedly and managing to sound normal and casual as he does so. Maybe he’s not managing anything. Maybe he feels normal and casual. Maybe Sloan is the only one freaking out. “What’s up?”

“I had a question about—sorry, I’m not interrupting, am I?” Mac asks, seeming to only notice Sloan just then.

Don, of course, being an unholy plague on her peace of mind, looks over at Sloan, as if to pass the onus of answering Mac’s question on to her. Why couldn’t she develop feelings for someone nice? Why did it have to be Don, who’s tough and perceptive and smart, but stubborn and self-effacing and impossible at the same time? Couldn’t it have been someone easier and more laidback and more straightforward? Then again, even as she thinks it, she finds herself growing bored of this hypothetical person. She wants Don, even if it’s a bad idea, but she’s not ready to say it out loud just yet. Not again. The last time had nearly killed her.

“No,” she says, pasting on a smile for Mac’s benefit and hoping it’s enough to fool someone who knows her so well. “Nothing important.”

“Oh, good. You have a second to talk, then, Don?”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, with an easy shrug. “Let’s go to my office.”

“See you in a few, Mac,” Sloan chimes in, as she ducks around them to sneak into the green room.

Don doesn’t let her off the hook that easily, though, because he turns at the last second and says her name, pulling her attention back to him. When she meets his eye, he says, simply, “I meant what I said before, Sloan. I’m here, if you want me.”

With Mac watching them like a hawk, Sloan can’t acknowledge that with much more than a nod. “I know,” she says, too softly for someone trying to be casual. It must be enough for Don, though, because he nods too and heads off with a bemused looking Mac. Sloan is sure, if nothing else, that Don can be trusted to distract Mac with work talk and that whatever just happened between them is safe with him. He would never give her away like that, not even to Mac. When she turns back to the room and catches sight of her flushed cheeks and bright eyes in the mirrors that line the walls, though, she’s not convinced their secret will be safe with her for very long. 

[carpenoctxrn]

Doctor. Doctor. (Spencer Reid xFemReader)

Chapter 5: The Party

Chapter 4 is here

Join my taglist by clicking here so you dont miss my future works.

Warning: Horny Reader, mentions of sex, mentions characters in Season 14 of the show so if you think this is a spoiler maybe skip paragraphs that have *** on top of them.

A/N: I edited the first a bit as it seemed messy and lacking.

P.O.V: Y/N

“Dr. Reid, how’ve you been?” Phil questioned as he stood beside me. I awkwardly stood next to him not knowing what to do. 

“I’ve been good actually. Really good. Me and my girlfriend have been planning on moving in together after dating for 4 years, 7 months and 27 days” He spoke whilst looking down.

His sudden mentioning of a long relationship seemed abrupt. It also was enough to wound a thought, a feeling, an emotion that I wanted to feel. It made me think..

..is he doing it on purpose to hurt me?

“Damn man that long,” Phil said as he nodded his head in admiration, “congratulations I am sure it will be the perfect step for you guys, moving on to the new chapter and all,” Phil droned on.

The situation was less than wonderful. Ten minutes ago if I would’ve heard this I would've been happy for this human who is my neighbour and my friend's boyfriend's colleague. Logically, ten minutes ago he meant nothing to me. But now, in the present, my heart adorned him physically. And as much as I hated to have objectified him due to his physique, to have been attracted to him because of his stature and I couldn’t help that he pulled me in. His kind nature, warm body heat and exquisite hair made me stay a little longer.

They made my thoughts linger on him. And I curse them for being so brazen, for now I have to fake a smile on my face as I nod to every word that Phil spoke of Spencer’s relationship. I had to play it out like it wasn’t anything that hurt me. But logically right now, my five minutes of crushing on this man allowed me to feel sadness at the thought of him being taken.

“Did you get pineapples because I said tropical is the way to my heart?” Spoke an unfamiliar voice of a woman behind me.

Turning around I spotted a friendly looking woman who was around my height but much more curvier and colourful than me. She wore glasses and her blonde hair complimented her bubbly face and wide eyes so perfectly.

If I didn’t know any better I would say that's Penelope Garcia.

“What can I say Ms. Garcia, a gentleman never forgets,” Phil spoke as he bowed down towards Penelope but in turn ended up bowing right in front of me. Making me take a step back to allow them some space as I looked down and to the side uncomfortably.

I was uncomfortable because I didn’t know how I was going to get through this night. I don't really crush on man, I haven't since high school. And if I remember correctly I would always become quiet and distanced for a very short period of time to feel normal eventually. 

“And those who said chivalry is dead clearly have never met you,” Garcia flirted back as she gave her hand to Phil to kiss, which he did.

“Oh they did meet him, it’s just none of them was THE Penelope Garcia,” Spoke Luke from behind Penelope. On Luke’s arm was a familiar face of Lisa.

The others engaged in conversation as I walked with Lisa and met her halfway. Hugging her I took a step back with a grin on my face.

“You look really gorgeous, Dr. Douglas,” I teased the woman in front of me. She wore a silk green spaghetti strapped dress that was floor length. She had on a white turtleneck underneath it and made her in a high bun. Her make up was light with a dark lipstick perfectly outlined.

“And so do you Dr. Y/N, you really came scouting for a sugar daddy,” Lisa giggled as she nudged me in the shoulder. My own laughter coming in and joining in with her harmonious giggle.

“And what are you ladies gossiping about?” Luke asked as stood next to Lisa and put an arm around her. 

I saw Lisa’s eyes widening and my eyebrows cocked up at the gesture and small smirk formed on my lips. Making eye contact with Luke I realised we didn’t answer his question and most likely I would have to.

“How good we look,” I said giggling as Luke shook his head in approval.

“Well both you ladies look like the belle of the ball,” Luke said as he looked at Lisa with a soft gaze.

“That’s what I said,” Chirped in Krystall as she stood behind and put an arm around my back to pull me in.

She quickly whispered in my ears, “Thank you for the cupcakes,” As she pat my shoulders and walked away.

I just offered her a small smile and whispered a small No problem. 

“So I see Phil and Garcia have become each other’s date for the night,” Lisa said as she put a hand on Luke's shoulder. We all looked at the two possible couples with adoration and fondness, I could see they were flirting with each other. And suddenly I locked eyes with Penelope Garcia. Her mouth formed a big smile and she excitedly pulled Phil along with her towards us.

“Sorry for stealing your date, Doctor….” Penelope Droned on expecting me to introduce myself to her.

“Y/N Monterey, but Y/N is fine,” I spoke a bit confused as to why she would pretend she didn’t know my name. Spencer said he asked their technical analyst aka Penelope Garcia if I was the same Dr. Monterey. And Penelope doesn’t seem to be the type to pretend she didnt know someone when she clearly knows them and I know she isn’t trying to be rude. So logically only one reasoning remained.

Dr. Spencer Reid lied to me.

But why?

“Again sorry Y/N for stealing Phil from you, it’s just been a while since I last saw him and I became overly excited seeing him,” She explained with a wide eyed shocked look on her face as she frantically spoke.

“It’s okay, Phil has that effect but only a special type of woman,” I said teasingly.

“Ohh and what type would that be?” Penelope asked back knowingly teasing Phil in the process.

“Technical analyst type” I said laughing which echoed amongst everyone around in the small group that had formed.

“Wait, so you're not like girlfriend and boyfriend?” Penelope asked with a super confused look.

“No, we are just really good friends,” I clarified laughing at the thought of dating Phil.

“Like you are with Derek Morgan,” Lisa added on.

“Ohhh, then why did you lie to me, Newbie?” Penelope asked curtly, her question directed to Luke.

“I didn't know what type of relationship they have, I swear” Exclaimed Luke with his hands up in a defensive position.

“So what do you say to joining me tomorrow afternoon for a date? A proper one?” Phil said as he came behind Penelope.

“I would say, pick me up at 6 and I hope you love delicious vegan pizza,” Penelope added back with a grin on her face.

I felt happy for the blossoming new relationship that Phil was stepping in. He truly deserves someone as sincere and kind as Penelope.

“Hey, since you don’t have a date and Reid doesnt have a date, why don't you two hang out together,” Suggested Luke.

“Actually she does have a date,” Lisa spoke as she stepped away from Luke and linked her arms with mine, “so I guess YOU should go keep Dr. Reid company.” Lisa teased a very sad looking Luke.

“I heard my name,” Spoke a voice from beside me. Looking to my right I saw Spencer. He was 5 inches away from touching my shoulders. To meet his gaze I craned my neck to look at him.

Why the fuck am I fetishizing him for being so big next to me.

I don’t like it when men do it to me for being smaller than them. So why am I doing it to him?

“Looks like you’re my date Doctor,” Luke said, “want me to get you a drink?” Luke asked Spencer.

“No thanks, I’m driving back,” Spencer replied sweetly.

As Luke began to walk to the drink table Lisa called out his name.

“Aren’t you going to ask us if we want drinks?” Lisa questioned Luke's actions.

With a sly smirk Luke came back and said “I only ask my date for there drinks, unless you’re proposing an apology I will gladly take you back as my date,”

With a scoff Lisa unlinked our arms and made her way to the drink table. Making sure to give Luke angry eyes. Luke just loved the attention he was getting from the female and followed her to the drink table, teasing her fondly.

“They are compatible with each other,” Spencer stated as he walked to stand in front of me.

“Makes me feel jealous at their compatibility,” I confessed to him, joking but truthfully.

“I understand the feeling,” He admitted as he looked at my face. 

My gaze was looking into the distance at the couple we were talking about. His admittance made me look at his face. God his eyes at first glance they would look tired and overworked, which is true. But after staring deep into them you could see that his eyes had a hope to them, reflected in the golden specks that mixed with his light caramel coloured eyes. In the right reflection of the light, you can visibly see his pupils dilating. Observing and outlining everything in front of him. Right now, I was in front of him, and by god was he staring at me. From his height I knew he had a clear view of my cleavage but I also knew him enough to know he wouldn't stare. No, no, no. Dr. Spencer Reid wasn’t a crazed horny bastard who would ogle at breasts. He felt like a different beat to me.

His movements were calculated and logical, they played a bigger part in what he wanted and that made him different. To me he felt like the man who would shove a remote controlled viberator down your pussy and make you flirt with another man as he controlled it. As he controlled you. I know for a fact he wouldn’t fuck a woman just because he felt horny, he would fuck that woman into oblivion because she gave him a good reason to do so. The reason would be hard for others to understand but it would be lingering touches, a slight second too long staring into each other's eyes. 

Men like him are few. They do not need to be asked to be fucked into oblivion. They know just by looking, hearing, feeling. Like I said men like him are few but, by the heavens are they the prime examples of sex god.

“Dr. Monterey? Are you okay?” Spencer said as he crouched a bit and raised his voice enough to get my attention.

“Sorry I just began thinking about something,” I said, having no idea what excuse to give him.

Well the truth wouldn’t hurt.

My eyes widened at the thought and I stuttered out, “I think I just need some water,” as I began walking to the drink table, leaving the tall man behind and not letting him even start the sentence.

I did feel guilt but I just couldn’t stand in front of him or near him. Every aspect of him turned into sex for me and my dick deprived pussy and my “hand around my throat” feelings were going crazy at the sight of him.

“I need water,” I said looking directly at Lisa.

“Woah are you okay?” She said as she opened a bottle of water and handed it to me.

“Yea, yea,” I said as I took a few sips of the water. Letting it slowly drip down my throat in order to feel the calming sensation all over my body, “why’d you ask?” I questioned her.

“Two reasons,” Lisa said as she handed me the cap to the bottle.

“First you always go for the alcohol at a party regardless of where the party is,” she stated.

“Second, your cheeks and ears are so red that it looks like you’ve been drinking for hours,” she exclaimed quietly.

“Lisa something happened a while ago,” I said in a fearful voice. 

She looked at me and grabbed my hand, “Are you pregnant and don't know who the father is?” She questioned seriously with concern.

“What no, no. I umm.” a lump began to form in my throat as my heart felt heavy at what I was about to tell her. It was going to become a reality for me once I said this out loud. And there may even be a chance she will laugh at me but I had to tell someone who wasn’t Phil.

“I Promised Phil I wasn’t going to do anything that will impact his status in this group. But in the last twenty or even less minutes, I’ve developed a crush on Dr. Reid. And now everytime I look at him, or think about him all I want him to do is to fucking ravage me. Now usually it wouldn't be a problem, by now normally I would have been in front of him asking him to meet me in the bathroom so I can suck him off but I can't do that because he has a GIRLFRIEND. And now I have a silly fucking crush on a man whose planning on moving together with his silly fucking GIRLFRIEND,” I said with my eyes glossed over with potential tears as I felt myself look at her with bewilderment. My hands were wildly moving around trying to showcase the angst feeling inside of me at this predicament as I spoke to her with anger and sadness. Her face was fueled with shock.

“Let’s go sit outside,” Lisa suggested as she guided me to the beautiful seating arrangement made outside. We sat at a lounge chair against the wall with a fire in front of us.

“I don’t know what to tell you Y/N. I think that maybe you’re feeling this way because you haven’t been laid in a while. And Spencer is your type.” She spoke. Sipping her cocktail drink at the end of her sentence. 

“My type?” I was surprised at her words.

“You want to think your type is muscular guys with tattoos but in reality it's awkward men who are incredibly smart and are tall,” she said nonchalantly. As she saw my mouth opening to ask a question she answered it “Such as Hiccup Haddock, Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Strange, and now Spencer Reid,” she added on.

For a few minutes we said nothing. I just sat there soaking in her words and basking in the warmth of the fire against the cold winter wind that swirled around my figure.

“Are you going to be like this all the time when you move in with Luke?” I asked seriously annoyed at how she was able to calm my chaotic mind.

“Hey I might get better,” She said as she cheered with her drink before downing it all.

“Here I’ll go get us some drinks,” I offered, feeling a need to stand up as a means to get rid of the overbearing pit of anxiety that felt like buzzing in my thighs.

“Thank you Dr. Monterey,” Giggled Lisa.

“Lightweight,” I muttered under my breath.

As I went to the table I saw a group of people there. A tall asian man,  a ginger headed woman, a blonde woman, a brunette man, and a brunette woman. 

“Oh Hi, you must be the infamous Dr. Y/N Monterey,” Exclaimed the brunette woman in front of me as she extended her arm in front of me to shake it.

“I have no idea what I am infamous about but it should be about not knowing anyone’s name at a party,” I said joking at my dire reality of today.

*** “Oh where are my manners,” the brunette exclaimed, “I’m the BAU chief, Emily Prentiss, this is SSA Jennifer Jareau and her husband former Detective Will LaMontagne Jr., and SSA Matt Simons and his attorney wife Kristy Simmons,” as Emily said everyone's name they nodded in recognition of me and said a small quick hello. I returned the gesture back with a smile and a wave of my fingers.

***“So what can I make for you, Dr. Monterey?” Matt said as he took the glass from my hand.

“Any sort of cocktail you can make for Lisa and one cuba libre please for me please,” I spoke politely.

“I always hated the idea of mixing good rum with soda, until one day I discovered the fusion of Cuba Libre,” announced the voice of David as his wife trailed behind him.

“What's so special about Cuba Libre?” Asked Emily with an unknowing look on her face.

“How about…” paused David for dramatic effect “..everything.”

“I’m from New Orleans, if you’re not mixing alcohol in your tea at 10 in the morning then you’re not living right,” Said Will in a joking manner, emitting a few giggles from those around us.

“Yes but that's New Orleans,” added Jennifer, jabbing at her husband and making everyone’s tipsy and buzzed self laugh.

***“Here you go,” Matt spoke as he handed me both drinks.

“Thank you!” I said politely as I walked with the drink back outside to Lisa who was talking to Penelope, Phil, Luke, and my current obsession at the party, Dr. Spencer Reid.

A/N: Thank you for showing my little stories love! I am genuinely happy with how many people wish to be on my taglist! Feels like an honor ngl.

Chapter 6 is here

Taglist: @hopelessromantichopefulthinking @awesomeness1679 @lovemesickly @strangerintheblur @fairydresses @ohnojessica @ohnojessicaa (@kodakmack @liidiaaag these two tags are not working btw so please fill out the taglist form!)

[meet-me-in-the-pouringrain]

The Phoenix And The Rocket

Chapter 5 / 8-ish

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Emily Prentiss, at the insistent of her therapist, signs up for a Trauma ‘dumping’ site. She never expected that her Dump would connect her back to her old boss and the man she’s been in love with for over ten years.

Also the man she’s absolutely furious at for leaving

We’re moving spectacularly fast yall, i’m the one writing and i’m like 🫣 slow down guys

Edit : Since publishing I have been made aware that the term ‘Trauma Bonding’ is actually an abuse tactic and doesn’t mean ‘bonding over shared trauma’. Would like to make it clear that was a very strong mistake on my part and I apologise deeply for any offence.

Read below the cut

She's not surprised when Dave walks in her office when the case ends and they're home five days later, two glasses in one hand and a bottle of Jack in the other. She manages a smile at him as he shuts the door and sits up to pluck the bottle up.

"Wanna tell me what's going on?" Dave asks, teasing but Emily can detect the concern. "Who the guy is?" After her outburst at the precinct, he knew there was more to the story.

After the thing with Mendoza ended badly, Dave was Emily's sounding board. He was there for her in lieu of any of the girls as a drinking buddy, an ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on.

Emily didn't have a father growing up, he ran out the second he could, and Dave has worked his way in, settling in her heart and filling that hole in her life. It's not a secret they have a relationship further beyond colleagues. He's her father figure in all walks of life and she's his daughter.

His favourite child out of all of them, if you will.

The concern he's showing her now is that of a father panicking about his daughter not of a colleague probing into another's love life.

She's told her girls, and they've most likely already relayed the information to Garcia so eventually the correct story is going to go around so she may as well confess her sins now.

Emily sighs and swigs the drink to hold of her reply. "I don't know" She admits finally. Seeing his confused expression, she looks down, fiddling with her glass. "It's an anonymous website" She tells him. "It's called TraumaBuddi-"

"TraumaBuddies" Dave finishes off, nodding. "Heard of it, it's where you unload all your shit right?"

"Yeah" Emily laughs slightly at his words. "Yeah it is. Some of the stuff on there is heavy" She breathes, shaking her head. "But uh. Yeah this guys story was intriguing so" She shrugs and finishes her first glass quickly, just after he took two sips of his own.

"So what is it?" The man asks, intrigued.

Emily pauses, wondering not for the first time if by telling a story that wasn't hers to tell would be betrayal. Dave seems to read her mind, for he nods and backs off.

But Emily decides to tell him everything that Rocket has told her. She can't hold it in any longer, and almost vows that she'll send Rocket an apology once Dave leaves.

She tells him all the details of his story but leaves out anything else. Dave gets told that Rocket's wife was killed by a serial killer but not that Rocket got a piercing on his ear when he was 15 and dared to by the girl who later became his wife. He gets told that Rocket had been stabbed more than 5 times but not that his favourite hobby is fishing because of the way his son laughed when the Bass he caught fought back. He gets told about how Emily talked him through the multiple identity crisis but not that Rocket's favourite movie is Interstellar.

"Wow" Dave laughs when she finishes. Emily is breathless by the time she spews all that out. There is more sneaky glinting in his eye that makes Emily want to scream. "Two serial killers, a car bomb, losing the love of his life?" He shakes his head and drains the rest of his whisky. "If I didn't know any better I'd say this 'Trauma Buddy' was Hotch" He says before standing and disposing of his glass.

Emily freezes mid pouring. His words echoed around her. "Hotch?" She laughs though it was shaky. Dave just looks at her suspiciously. "That's impossible" She shakes her head, resuming her task of pouring a healthy dose.

"Why?"

Another shake of her head and pathetic laughter. "Because it is, Dave" She insists through gritted teeth. A fume of anger sparks in her chest that she doesn't think is fair but also doesn't attempt to push away.

"Okay" The old man shrugs. "Don't drink any more of that bottle, Bella" He warns like a father on his way out of the office. "You drive here."

"Relax, dad" Emily grumbles. "I took a cab" He doesn't hear her as he exits the office otherwise he'd have been forcing her in his car.

Emily sat alone, making no move to follow him, and drank a further two glasses. Dave's words made her lose herself in thought.

It can't be, right?

It was an hour later when the cleaners showed up and the lights shut off that Emily got moving. One of the janitors flashes her a friendly smile, too many late nights in the office was the cause of that, as she leaves. Her hands itched towards her phone as she waits for her cab.

A serial killer who got his Ex-Wife.

Foyet and Haley.

A Car Bomb that made his hearing go fuzzy.

NYC and Kate.

Another serial killer targeting his son.

Scratch and Jack.

Rocket checks all the major boxes.

Emily curses loudly and angrily upon entering her house. She throws her satchel forcefully, stomping towards her laptop. She wonders how in the hell she missed it? Is she that stupid? What kind of profiler is she to not read through the subtext. She slams her fingers on the keyboard, logging into that stupid website and immediately going to Rocket's page.

With every new sentence she grows more angry and resentful until one made her pause.

"After my wife died, I moved on. But just two years later, I experienced the same heartbreak again when I lost the woman who I had grown to love. She didn't know that, of course, when she left but I lost her all the same. She came back briefly for around 7 months but decided to leave again.

In the span of a year I lost the love of my life twice.

In the span of three I had lost two."

It couldn't have been Hotch.

Emily would've have known - Garcia would have blabbed the second it happened - if something that detrimental happened while she was away. In Paris or London. It couldn't have happened while she was here and she just didn't know about it.

It couldn't have been Hotch.

With a sigh of relief, Emily begins typing out a new message.

PhoenixPren : Hey Rocket! I see you haven't replied to my last message is everything okay?

She starts moving around, not one to wait for a reply, when her laptop pings almost instantly.

RockyRackoon : Hello. Sorry for not replying sooner, Max and I are moving house and it's been hectic. How are you, Phoenix?

She smiles, ignoring the warm feeling in her chest, and shrugs as if her partner can see her.

PhoenixPren : Max? Is that your son?

She types and deletes that message a few times before ultimately sending it.

PhoenixPren : And I'm okay.Ish. We have a rough case at work

RockyRacoon : Oof makes me glad i'm retired.

RockyRacoon : And yes, He's my son. He's 16 nearly, we're moving closer to his maternal aunt.

Emily grins at the personal details Rocket shared.  Then her smile wavered. Jack Hotchner would be 16 and Jess still lives around here, somewhere, JJ saw her in a grocery store a few months back.

His name is Max, Emily.

She couldn't tell whether she was happy or disappointed at that.

Mid typing out a polite congratulations / good luck reply, Sergio suddenly shoots out of her workspace making papers fly everywhere.

"Sergio!" She scolds, exasperated. "What is up with you lately?" She shakes her head, putting a hand on her beating chest. She ignores the pest as he mewls for her attention, dropping to her knees to pick up the papers. Emily can't even tell you what half of them are and spends a while just reading over them with furrowed brows.

Until she gets to a paper that only she has and that she should have destroyed.

A letter of resignation, another of recommendation followed by two fake IDs.

Aaron and Jack.

Frank and Max.

Emily buckles, falling to sit awkwardly on her hip as she gasps. No fucking way. She scans each ID thoroughly, lingering on Jack's - Max's - for far too long.

Well now she was fucked.

A ping on her laptop made her whirl around.

RocketRacoon : Actually, Max's aunt lives in Alexandria, Virginia. Isn't that your neck of the woods?

She could scream.

With shaky hands, she types slowly.

PhoenixPren : Yeah. I'm in Dupont Circle.

RocketRaccoon : Oh, only 20 minutes away.

Emily is still on her knees on the floor, using her couch as a table.

Don't do it. Please don't ask. If you ask I cannot say no.

RocketRaccoon : This may be a bit forward, But would you like to get coffee? We arrive Friday Morning.

Ah, he did it.

Emily was typing before she could even think. The possibility that it was that man was making her act upon impulse.

PhoenixPren : Given that my team and I aren't on a case, absolutely. I know a great cafè in Alexandria. Rise and Grind.

She recalls, briefly, that R&G was his favourite coffee place but he never could get it because he lived in Quantico, almost an hour out.

RocketRacoon: I know the place. See you there, Phoenix.

PhoenixPren : How will you know it's me?

RocketRaccoon : I'll know.

Aaron stares at the computer, heart beating fast and filled with dread. Jack is next to him on the couch, waving his broken arm around like he could magically fix it.

He didn't know what the fuck just overcame him.

Inviting her out for coffee?

Where the fuck did that come from?

He removes the glasses from his face, wiping his hand over it tiredly. He groans lowly, making Jack snicker. The trees rustle harshly, mockingly, in the window making him shoot a glare out.

"Mom thinks you're funny to" Jack muses, smirking at the window. Aaron rolls his eyes and closes his laptop after Phoenix doesn't reply.

"Mom can shut up" He retorts, resisting a smirk of his own when the trees shake harder, as if Haley was yelling at him.  She probably was, if he could delude himself that far.

Jack snorts. "That's you told" He says, switching the channel on the tv. "Told you dating is okay."

Aaron groans again and puts the laptop on the floor in front of him. The coffee table is gone, sold in a yard sale they had two days ago. The rest of the nicknacks and furniture around the room baring the couch has either been sold or packed away. They fly out on Thursday night, the cheapest flight times he could find, with the rest of their stuff meeting them throughout the weekend.

It's taken a lot of effort. Jack is in his sophomore year at school so Aaron has had to deal with admin pulling him out, then actually finding a house that's moderately close to another school, vetting the school and seeing which is best for him but also trying to find a house that's close enough to Jess but far away from any of his old teammates.

And that's hard enough in itself when you haven't had contact with any of them so you don't even know where they are living.

So yeah, moving across the country is a little hectic.

"Jack" He scolds. "It's not a date."

"You've been chatting up a woman-"

"I don't think you can call it chattin-“

"You've been chatting up a woman" Jack repeats as if his father hadn't spoken. He smirks as he remembers the woman's user name but wisely chooses not to comment. There's a reason his dad didn't tell him it was Miss Emily, so he won't push. "Flirting a lot and then you ask her out to coffee? Sounds like a date to me dad"

The trees rustle as if to back up his point.

Aaron rolls his eyes. "No it was a moment of madness fuelled by you and your mother's" He points to the tree. "Meddling tendencies." He stands and puts his laptop away in the bag in top of his suitcase. "It is not a date, I'm merely going to meet and thank this woman for helping me. Now, Are we playing Mario Kart or what?" He asks pointedly.

Jack side eyes the window again as Aaron leaves to find the game in one of the boxes. "I don't think we meddle" He says to the ghost of his mom. "Do we?" The trees shake again and Jack takes it as if she's shaking her head. He carefully watches the doorway. "It is who I think it is right, mom?" He asks softly. "Be still if it is." The child that still lives inside him holds out the imagination that the nature outside really is his mom, still with him.

The trees shake gently a few times before the wind miraculously dies down. Jack breaks into a wide smile as Aaron comes back with the game in hand.

"What?" His father asks suspiciously.

Jack just shakes his head. "Nothin" He replies nonchalantly. The tree backs him up with another shiver, making Aaron roll his eyes and start the game with no other thought cast to his ‘date’.

Word count :2200

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[shade-without-color]

Patience can sometimes be a virtue

A/N: I think it has been a hot while, so I have been working on a new fandom Haikyuu, and seeing those Haikyuu Twitter fanfics inspire me to work on a little thing, and it has to be Asanoya as they are my beloved boys!!

A huge shoutout to my colleague for helping me edit a thing and @fawn-eyed-girl for actually being the enabler of things

Asahi noticed that Nishinoya is awfully restless, as he vicariously chewed the manju bun and sipped the energy drink.

“Slow down….”

Nishinoya’s eyes widened to Asahi’s easygoing tone, nearly choking on his manju bun. “I….I….” Thankfully he managed to swallow down the contents to his throat. “You know what…I was thinking Asahi….”

“Huh?”

Nishinoya raise an eyebrow “We should try something new, Asahi, after all coach Ukai gave us a day to rest…” Asahi rubbed his head at Nishinoya’s cheekiness. “Perhaps we should try something new…”

Asahi grew pale in horror. He could imagine all of the horrific combinations Nishinoya could do, maybe dried squid with chocolate sauce, or perhaps tempura with ketchup. That mere thought nearly made him shudder 

“Heard from the girls that there is a new bubble tea store that just opened.” 

Asahi heaves a sigh of relief, at least it’s rather tame. “Bubble tea…”

“Yeah, the girls, especially Yachi-kun took on board with that, alongside with their photos of the girls holding the drinks…”

“Who knows…” Nishinoya gave a cheeky wink. “I can spot some cute girls and their cute uniforms…” Asahi shook his head. “Asahi, do you want to be killed by Captain Daichi for fooling around with girls…”

“Nah, Daichi is spending time after school munching the snacks from Kiyoko with Suga.” Nishinoya gave a thumbs up. “Means we are free from his sight…”

“Fine.” Asahi shrugged his shoulders, there is something about Nishinoya’s confidence that become Asahi’s streaming light. To proudly declare himself as the one who defeated all matches, and delivered with godly reflexes is a stark contrast to his easygoing nature. 

Nishinoya have that fearlessness that Asahi wished he have, and going out of his comfort zone is frightening and yet.

Yet. 

Yet so thrilling.

Giggles from many school girls ring to him like clear bells. Asahi glanced over the shiny new kiosk, with rows of girls shouting their orders, and small clusters gathering around like a murder of crows gazing over their drinks “The reason we are here…” Asahi tried his hardest not to roll his eyes to see Noya gawking over the fashion parade of young girls’ uniform. Noya forced himself not to drool at every sight, though Asahi scanned so briefly on the menu.

The choices are daunting as ever. “Noya! noya! Noya!”, Asahi though tall, is simply pushed over by a sea of girls who are rushing in to get their bubble tea orders. “Which one, which one…” Noya scanning through the menu cheekily. “I know I know, wait…”, of course his thirst has no end, to see the girls clutch with cute colourful bows in their blouses or holding their handphones, snapping photos of their ‘adorable’ drinks.

Suddenly Asahi’s blood grew cold to see a yellow-haired young man gently waddling the sea of girls, which screeches fill the air that he actually cut the queue. Noya whispered to Asahi “Wait I know that pointy head idiot! That is Hinata’s friend from training camp” 

“Hi!” A chirpy bubble tea barista called to Kogane, causing his face to blush redder than one girl’s bowtie to contrast with her beige sweater. “Your order….”

“Ummm….” Kogane muttered his order. They could only hear the barista muttering ‘so you order….”

Noya pauses quietly, screaming on the inside that a huge guy trampled over the delicate flowers, he squinted a little, scanning the menu “Asahi-san! I made up my order, I will order one jasmine milk tea with their special milk foam, with three toppings….” Asahi grew pale in horror over Nishinoya’s choice of toppings (He could hear Daichi’s screaming in his head over the amount of sugar that Nishinoya consumed), and he resignedly stared at the pretty display promoting bottles of milk tea suspended with a white layer. “Excuse me?” Asahi reluctantly raised his voice, causing Kogane to drop his change stupidly upon the flustered barista. 

“How can I help….”

Asahi sucked his breath to blurt his question. “May I know what is this…” 

The barista with braids came out from the store. “Oh, it is our panna cotta milk tea, which has a layer of vanilla panna cotta set below with your tea of choice, 3 to exact, Royal Milk, Kyoto Matcha or Earl Grey!”, Asahi found himself chewing his lip on that matter, which one, which one….which one….

Suddenly Aone came in, glancing at Kogane stirring the pretty bottle of their speciality panna cotta milk tea, gingerly passing to him a cup of regular bubble milk tea. “Aone! Your order….” Kogana smiled at him. “Please…” Seeing that sight of Aone caused Asahi’s blood to run cold, how the hell did Hinata know how to interact with that imposing giant? Thankfully they glanced upon another young man, Fukatachi who called them “Aone-San! Kogane-San!!! What the hell???? You should be coming in to clean the court, Sensei is going to kill us???”

Kogane blurted to himself. “Fukatchi-san, come on!! It is only a…”

“No buts…”, Aone gave a nod to Kogane, pursing his lips drinking the bubble tea, glancing at Asahi and Noya quietly, before dragging Kogane with his drink.

“Well” Noya chirped to Asahi. “Have you made up your mind….”

Asahi is glad that they did not need to meet the Date tech team again, “I think so….”

Fukatchi can handle these two rowdy boys. “Can I have one Earl grey Panna Cotta milk tea…please…” Noya beamed a happy smile for Asahi. “Well good choice…”, it makes Asahi’s heart grow lighter that Noya validated his choices. “Let’s get ordering before the girls can get their chance….”, and of course, Asahi is dragged first in the queue with Noya over the orders- with him hyping around how cool the machinery operates to make many cups of bubble tea.

Though yes, things can be difficult, Asahi knew that sometimes a spirit of adventure is needed for a dull world. And before he could clear Noya’s train of thought- Asahi’s drink is handed to him. Noya cannot help but complain “Sheesh your order is much quicker than mine…”

“Well because you gave the workers a hard time by your mountain of toppings for a plain tea…” Asahi sheepishly muttered to Noya. “You should stick it simply..” using the straw to break up the layer of panna cotta.

“Perhaps…”

Well, patience should be a virtue that Noya should learn.

[themculibrary]

Maria/Steve Masterlist

Adjectives Assemble (ao3) - SugarFey M, 26k

Summary: Natasha wants to find that rare edition of The Master and Margarita before her rival at the Russian language bookstore does. Kate is distracted by the cute barista next door. Carol and Jessica dance around each other. Maria just wants to keep her business afloat without being bothered by pesky police officers or high school art teachers, no matter how polite they may be.

Another average day at Adjectives Assemble.

As Safe as Houses (ao3) - DizzyDrea T, 25k

Summary: Senator Steve Rogers (R, NY) is a decorated war hero who has a deep and abiding desire to serve his country, which may or may not include someday running for President. Maria Hill is a veteran Air Force pilot working in the private sector and bored out of her mind. When Steve finds himself needing a private security detail for a trip to France, he hires Shield Security and Maria becomes his constant companion. They grow closer as the trip progresses, but can they survive what's coming to find out if their Paris sojourn could turn into something real?

A Woman Of Edges (ao3) - tielan G, 12k

Summary: "I’m beginning to think you’re the most terrifying woman I’ve met." Learning to like, live with, and love Maria Hill.

can't carve a whistle (ao3) - irnan G, 3k

Summary: Maria Hill's never found it easy to explain why she became a SHIELD agent, but she knows why she stays one.

chiseled out of brick (ao3) - Anonymous T, 23k

Summary: He was a grown man, hell, he was a superhero. Asking a girl out for a drink wasn't that hard. It wasn't rocket science or espionage or math or divine intervention - it was just asking a girl a question. Out loud.

conversations with other women (ao3) - zauberer_sirin G, 9k

Summary: Steve still believes that someday someone is going to teach him how to dance.

Counterfeit and Counterpart (ao3) - Frea_O T, 28k

Summary: Five times Maria Hill doesn’t understand Natasha Romanoff, and why she might be better off that way.

Dinner In Other Languages (ao3) - tielan G, 3k

Summary: Maria can manage professional colleagues with Rogers, but she values her place in S.H.I.E.L.D more.

From A Certain Point Of View (ao3) - tielan G, 9k

Summary: Of friendship, love, and best-laid plans; small gestures and public displays of possessiveness; enlightenment, advice to young padawans, and the loyalty routines of JARVIS.

Gone But Not Forgotten (ao3) - Shorti G, 4k

Summary: They say that history is written by the victors of war, but a war fought amongst brothers has no winners. That's when you need a woman like Maria Hill to step in.

The one in which Maria and Steve are actually on the same side.

Holding Out For A Hero (Or Maybe Not) (ao3) - tielan G, 7k

Summary: The first time Steve Rogers notices Maria Hill is when she steps into the discussion about Loki's capture, and he realises nobody questions her right to be there. And that's just the start.

if time is all I have (ao3) - tielan G, 4k

Summary: Maria knows what that look means. She knows the mindset behind it. She's seen it in the resolve of agents who knew the odds of going in, heard it in field operatives calling for an exit in impossible situations, witnessed it in extraction targets who didn't believe that they'd actually make it out. And sometimes the odds were defied, the impossible happened, and everyone made it out in one piece. Sometimes.

To see that expression in the man they call the Winter Soldier....

I'll be There (ao3) - Lokisarmy0602 T, 2k

Summary: After DC Maria felt she needed to go see Steve in hospital. After dealing with the congress and Stark, she knew she could deal with an injured Super Soldier. Sam called to ask her to do the same thing as she had done in DC... press the button to send the missiles.

Look Clear and Calm (ao3) - Beatrice_Otter T, 13k

Summary: The Avengers need oversight, but Ross's plan is dangerous and unjust. Maria will have her work cut out for her, if she wants to stop it. Meanwhile, Steve has a question for her.

Maria Hill's Late Lunch (ao3) - tisfan E, 2k

Summary: Maria is cranky. Her lunch is late, her boyfriend is a jerk, and she has to deal with Secretary Ross. Could this day get any more torturous?

Yes, yes it could.

Radio Silent (ao3) - hecklesyeah M, 77k

Summary: "I shouldn't be doing this."

"What, stuff yourself with breakfast food for dinner?"

"I haven't even decided which pie to have for dessert. No, this," she says and gestures between them. "I shouldn't be doing this. And yet here I am."

- - -

Alternately: the one where Maria and Steve navigate a relationship and where Tony and Bucky figure out how to move forward from a murderous elephant in the room.

The Odd Couple (ao3) - tielan T, 8k

Summary: He's fast and she's weird.

Twice the Joy (ao3) - sbarmarj G, 3k

Summary: Maria spoke again after a moment. “There is a Swedish saying that shared joy is twice the joy, shared sorrow is half the sorrow. Maybe you felt normal because you could finally share your sorrow.”

At Tony's memorial service, Maria and Steve discuss the last five years, his impending time travel, grief and finding joy before he leaves once more.

Two Lies and A Bit of Truth (ao3) - igrockspock T, 3k

Summary: Maria Hill has a lot of back stories. One of them is even true.