#Shop dash camera for car

[transcenddashcamera1]

The Transcend dash camera is a type of automotive video recording device designed to capture footage of your vehicle's surroundings while driving. These cameras are typically mounted on the dashboard or windshield of your vehicle and continuously record video, which can be useful for various purposes, including documenting accidents, providing evidence in legal disputes, and monitoring driving behaviour.

[azulhood]

It all started because of a school project, technically two projects, while it wasn't a world ending threat they set of a change reaction that lead to startling discoveries.

Mr Lancer had given the class the task of looking through their pasts and finding an life changing event that helped shape them into the person that were today and writing about that event.

It was a ten page essay (they were allowed to go over that limit) the more details the better and if you had something from that event to show (such as photos or keepsakes or really anything) you were awarded extra credit.

Danny's choice of event was the school field trip to a nearby museum he went on when he was seven, the space exhibit they had was what sparked his love for the stars and kick-started his dreams of being an astronaut.

It wasn't like he had any other choice (he doubted mister Lancer would accept 'my death' as a good life changing event)

He knew that he had photos of the field trip somewhere with all the other photos taken throughout his life, he just had to find them.

And after digging through thousands of boxes and piles of discarded inventions he handled with care (in case they blew up) he found them tucked inside an old photo album covered in green stains that sat on top of a bookshelf.

Opening the book caused all the pictures to fall into his lap, it seems like his parents didn't get around to actually adding them to the book, Danny resigned himself to spending the rest of his day shifting through old photos.

It wasn't all bad though, he found pictures of when Sam still had blonde hair and wore pink and of that time Tucker wrote an 'I love you' on his parents cars with their keys and many other embarrassing photos.

A treasure trove of blackmail material.

He finally found the picture he was looking for.

All of the kids who are now students of Casper high stood in front of an old building each proudly holding up something they bought in the gift shop (Danny had bought a book on planets that had long ago fallen apart)

It was a normal photo.

And yet, something seemed off.

Sam and Tucker were there with him in between them, Dash was there too.

Along with Kwan, Mikey, Paulina, Valerie, and all the others.

And yet, something was missing.

Then it hit him.

Wes wasn't there.

Danny could've sworn that he had been on that trip, but the more he thought about it the less he was sure.

He couldn't actually remember Wes being there and Danny remembered nearly everything about that trip.

'Maybe he was sick or something?' It was the most logical thing he could think of to explain the other absence, that and his parents not wanting him to go for some reason.

Mystery solved he pushed it to the back of his mind , he had an essay to finish.

Still, it stuck with him.

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

The next school project Lencer gave them was one with assigned partners.

Danny got Wes who, despite not being Sam or Tucker, was leagues better then Dash and he'd take that as a win.

Wes had insisted on studying at his house so he could, and Danny quotes "Keep an eye on you Fenton"

Danny could practically feel the hidden cameras burning a hole into him while he stood in front of the Weston's door, waiting for him to go ghost for whatever reason.

Jokes on him though, Danny asked all the ghosts to leave him along for this month with the promise of giving them a head start the next time they caused trouble, so really Wes was just wasting his time.

"This way." Wes said already heading inside without caring if Danny followed.

Being the first time he had ever been in Wes's home Danny looked at everything and anything.

It was a fairly normal home, not like Danny's which had an anti-ghost defense system or Sam's super rich house.

But more like Tuckers

One of the things that drew his attention was the pictures that lined the walls.

There were so many.

Some with Wes and his mom, some with just him, some with just his mom, and some with people Danny didn't recognise.

But there were no baby photos.

The only pictures Danny could find of a young Wes seemed to be from when he was eight? Nine?

And nothing before.

'Maybe they were put away in storage' Danny guessed, but it still made his brain itch.

He remembered looking at old school photos and not finding any sign of a young Wes at all, he didn't even remember Wes coming to school any time before the year Danny turned eight.

And in a small town where everyone knew everyone that really wasn't possible.

'Maybe they moved here and lost a lot of stuff' Which would explain a lot, well no harm in asking. "Did you loss a lot when you moved here?"

Wes stopped walking and turned around to give him a look that asked if he was insane. "I've lived here my whole life, Fenton."

Danny froze, that couldn't be right, he'd remember that.

Something was wrong.

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

Tim Drake sat in front of the bat computer as the rest of his family patrolled.

He had one monitor displaying the other bats locations while all the other monitors were used to show him files, or rather the lack there of.

Wayne Enterprises had tournaments held for schools and the prize was an all express paid trip to Gotham and tour of WE and surrounding areas, Tim could think of way better prizes that weren't visiting the crime capital of the world but that wasn't the point.

What was the point was that every time there was a winner Tim preformed a routine background check on students and staff (and by routine he means learn their whole live story) just in case anyone happened to be trained assassins set to kill one of them, stranger things have happened.

Wes Weston was one such student whose background Tim had to check.

And he found nothing.

Sure, there were hospital and school documents from age eight and upwards, but other then that nothing.

There was no birth certificate, no evidence of him attending daycare, nothing.

It was as if Wes did not exist before he was eight years old.

And perhaps the most interesting thing.

Amy Weston was listed as Wes's biological mother, DNA even said as much, and yet Amy's medical file said that she had never been pregnant and also had no siblings that could've been Wes's parent.

And yet Wes existed, appearing one day as if he had always been there.

Was it cloning? Aliens? Magic? A changeling? Someone creating false information to hide the truth?

It was a mystery, and mysteries had always been Tim's Kryptonite.

[featherandferns]

daylight - one

jj maybank x fem!reader | part 1 of the daylight series | read prologue here

content warnings: none

word count: 3.5k.

blurb: when your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, a stranger stops to help. It isn't until later that you realise why he seems so familiar.

It’s dusk, around eight at night, when you’re driving home. The dying sunlight is compensated by sparse street lamps. There weren’t many people in this area: houses or shops or anything of the sort. You glance down at your satnav. Still new to the area, all the streets look the same. All the houses do too, for that matter - at least those on the Cut. You’d ventured into Figure Eight last week on foot, camera in hand, and promptly turned back around. The Kooks were far from inviting; eyed you up like bait, practically snarling under breath at the sight of you. The houses were huge, stupid things compared to the two bedroom shack you and your parents had moved into. No, the Cut felt more welcoming. The people were genuine and real. Friendly and helpful, even if they had an edge.

“So…” Your friend Mimsy’s voice through the hands-free speakerphone brings you out of your daydreams. “How is it? Found any hot surfer bros yet?”

You laugh. “Sorry to break your heart but no, not yet.”

“Girl! What the hell have you been doing?” Mimsy scolds. 

“I’ve been busy!”

“With what? Wallowing in self pity? Pining after my company?”

“Oh my God, how did you know?” you sarcastically return. “My life is just empty without you around, Mimsy.”

“Damn straight it is,” she mumbles. 

Rolling your eyes, you continue down the street. “I’m looking for a side hustle to get some extra cash.”

“God, you’re so boring sometimes, you know that?”

You snigger. “How else do you want me to afford flights to Vancouver? It’s my only way to get back there and see you again. Unless you want me to hitchhike.”

“Nuh-uh! I just listened to the craziest story about hitchhiking! It's this guy called the ‘Glove Guy’ who roams Halifax and–”

“Mimsy,” you interrupt, “what’s our agreement?”

She’s quiet a moment, sighs and says, “one true crime story a day.”

“Mhm. And didn’t we already talk about Ted Bundy?”

“...yes.”

“I rest my case,” you say. 

“Look, I’m just saying that if you have to get a job, maybe try and be the official photographer for the lifeguards or something.”

“Mimsy…”

“Then you can ogle at hot guys all day, catch a tan and get paid for it!”

Through Mimsy’s chatter and your stifled laughter, the engine makes a troubling rumble. With that, the whole car shudders. The steering wheel shivers in your grip and your stomach drops, panic rising. Smoke pummels out the hood. Clouds your vision. 

“Oh fuck!”

“What? What is it?”

“I gotta call you back!” you blurt, hanging up in a hurry.

You take a fleeting glance in the mirrors and swerve off the road, shutting off the engine. The smoke makes you cough, catching in your lungs. 

“Oh shit! Oh shit!” you continue to cuss, grabbing your phone, scrambling to get your keys out the ignition. Swinging the door open, you throw yourself out of the car and run away, scared it might catch on fire or even explode. 

As you gape at it, chest heaving, you’re relieved to see the smoke is dying down with the engine shut off. Sighing, you plant your hands on your hips and look up and down. Nobody. Nothing. Not a gas station or a shop you can dash in for help. Hell, any shops would probably be closed either way. You reply to Mimsy’s frantic texts with a brief explanation and then contemplate calling your parents. Before you can, the sound of another car approaching catches your attention. It’s a campervan. Brown paint which is mostly chipped and peeling; stickers decorate the sides and windows. It’s well-loved and well-worn. There’s a guy driving, about your age from the looks, and he’s slowing down at the sight of you and your abandoned car.

He pulls up. Your skin prickles nervously. It’s lonely around here. The engine shuts off and you watch as he jumps out the car and saunters over, hands in his short pockets. 

“You a’right?”

“Yeah,” you lie.

He quirks a brow and glances at your still steaming vehicle. “You sure ‘bout that?”

“I, uh,” you follow his line of sight and flail your arm uselessly at it. “Well, no. I kinda broke down.”

“Ah.” He wanders over to your car and whistles. “She’s smokin’, huh?”

“Yeah,” you nervously laugh, following. You keep a comfortable distance between the two of you. 

He heads to the car hood. Glancing at you, he asks, “you mind?” whilst gesturing down to it. You shrug yes. He pops the hood and laughs through his coughs, fanning his face free of the smoke. 

“Goddamn. The hell happened?”

“I don’t know. It just blew up on me out of nowhere,” you reply, coming over. 

He pulls a rag out of one of his pockets and wafts it over the engine. As he checks out the engine, you do the same to him.

Donned in a grey t-shirt, graphic decal on the back mostly faded, and a pair of black cargo shorts and boots, he looks the image of Kildare County. His dark blonde hair is kept under a red cap. It’s fraying on the lip. A shark tooth necklace hangs around his neck, rings decorate a few of his fingers, and several string and beaded bracelets adorn his left hand. He’s good looking, even in the low visibility of the night. There’s also something strangely familiar about him. Almost like you’ve seen him before. 

He meddles with something, nodding. You snap your eyes back up to his face from his well-kept figure just in time as he looks at you. “It’s the radiator. Seems to have overheated or detached or some shit. I mean, whatever happened has completely busted the thing.”

You raise your brows. “That supposed to mean something to me?”

Laughing, he shrugs and gestures at the mechanics. “In simple terms? The thing’s a goner. You’re gonna need a new part on it.”

“So I can’t drive it?”

“Nope. Not ‘til you get it fixed,” he replies. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose and exhale deeply. “Fucking great.”

“I mean, there’s a garage not far from here. They’ll probably fix her up for you no problem. Have her good to go for Tuesday.”

“Tuesday!? I thought you said it just needs a new part?”

He takes off his cap, revealing a head of messy hair. Raking a hand through it, he says, “well, yeah, but you’re gonna need the part first. They might have to order it in and stuff.”

“Well, great,” you grumble. You pace away from the car and take your frustrations out by kicking the tyre. “That’s just great.”

“Look, if you want I can give you a tow.” Looking at him, he shrugs. “The garage ain’t far so it’ll be fine to take it using the Twinkie.”

“The who?”

He laughs at himself, shaking his head. “Sorry, uh, that’s what we call the campervan.”

“Oh. Right.”

You look around and take in the situation. It’s dark, isolated, and your phone is on 5% (thanks for that, Mimsy). Calling insurance and a tow company is only going to bump up your bill. Besides, this guy seems genuine. Non-threatening. You can practically hear Mimsy screaming at you from across the continent: so was Ted Bundy! Eyeing him up, you assure yourself you could probably take him if you really had to, and trust your female intuition and gut. 

“Alright. Only if it’s close.”

“It is, I swear. I know the owner, Barry," he says. He pulls out his phone and types something on the screen. Then, he approaches with maps open, showing the garage. It’s true: it is nearby. Ten minutes max. “I mean, if you prefer I can just call you a tow or a cab or something.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say. You close the hood shut and shake your head, laughing. “Can’t believe my Goddamn luck.”

The guy laughs too. In your peripheral, you see him extend a hand to you. “I’m JJ.”

Shaking his hand, you introduce yourself. Then the two of you spend the next five or so minutes sorting out attaching your car to his van. He does most of the heavy lifting, almost jumping at the chance to flex his strength (not that you were complaining) and you do as he asks. Fasten this here; steer this whilst I push. Eventually, you’re good to go. He offers you the front or the back and you opt for the front. Mimsy is probably having an aneurysm about now. 

The campervan smells of weed, damp and a dying air freshener. The front seats are red leather. It’s soft and supple and comfortable, and you hitch a leg up and rest one arm on the window ledge, watching the world pass by as JJ drives. The radio is humming out a Mac Miller song and it fills the semi-awkward silence. 

“So, what’s with the accent?” JJ asks. 

“What’d you mean?”

“I mean, you ain’t from round here, right?” JJ asks, glancing between yourself and the road. 

Smiling, you reply, “Yeah, I’m not.”

“Where you from then? Midwest? East Coast?”

“Vancouver.”

“Vancouver? As in Canada Vancouver?” JJ checks, eyes growing wide. 

You laugh quietly and nod. “Yep. As in Canada Vancouver.”

“God damn. You’re pretty far from home,” he laughs. 

“Well, not anymore,” you reply, voice turning sombre. “We moved here.”

“In May? Pretty shitty time to move.”

“Tell me about it,” you mumble, looking back out the window. It hadn’t been your idea. In fact, you’d protested loudly against it. 

“So, how you finding Kildare so far? Wait, scratch that - how you finding North Carolina?”

“Um…alright. You guys have pretty good waves here and the weed’s pretty good so at least there’s that.”

“Now you’re speaking my language,” JJ grins.

You laugh at that, feeling yourself relax more and more as the conversation continues. “Yeah, I think it’s the only thing getting me through.”

Love Lost fills the quiet that comes. You glance at JJ. He drives with one hand on the wheel, holding it by the top in his fist. The streetlamps sneak through the windows and highlight his features in flashes. And it’s in one of those flashes, when his handsome profile is illuminated, that you suddenly realise why you recognise him. 

The kegger. 

You quickly look away. Your eyes grow wide. Did he recognise you? Did he even remember that? 

“I heard Vancouver’s pretty as fuck though,” JJ says, unaware of your quiet panic. “Pretty gorgeous scenery and shit, right?”

“Mhm,” you hum, heart ticking nervously. “You ever been?”

“Nah. Never left the States before.”

“Not even Canada?”

“Too far,” he shrugs. “Couldn’t dish out that kinda cash.”

“I hear you,” you say. “My friend Mimsy really wants me to go back this summer but I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to make enough in time to afford flights and stuff.”

“That blows,” JJ mumbles. 

The conversation comes to a natural close when the garage comes into sight. Its neon sign shines bright in the dark like the beacon of a lighthouse. JJ pulls in and shuts off the engine. You linger in the car a moment to catch your breath whilst he looks at unhooking the tow gear. 

It doesn’t seem he remembered you or that mortifying moment at the kegger. At least, if he did, he’s acting like he didn’t. So…That’s good, right? You can just move past the whole thing. Besides, it’s not like you were doing anything that weird. You took plenty of pictures that night (though everyone else was in pairs or groups) and it was a public get-together. It wasn’t like you were halfway up a tree and peeping through his window. 

You jump at the sound of rapping on the passenger window. JJ’s stood there, frowning in confusion. 

“You comin’?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah,” you mumble, unbuckling your seatbelt and climbing out the van. You follow him into the shop. 

A burly man sits behind the counter. He’s watching a sports game on a crackling television, drinking a beer shamelessly on the job. At the sound of the bell chiming above the door, he glances over. He seems to recognise JJ. 

“Hey, Barry,” JJ grins. 

“Hey there, kid,” Barry's gruff voice returns. 

They share a bro-style hug and you awkwardly side by him near the counter. JJ plants a friendly hand on your shoulder.

“My friend here had her radiator blow-up on her just now. She needs it fixing up stat. Any chance you could get a push on it?”

“Just the radiator?” Barry checks, glancing between yourself and JJ. 

JJ nods. “Yes, sir. I checked it out and it’s just overheated or some crap. A new one and I swear it’ll be good as new.”

“Hm…” Barry contemplates. He glances at the clock and the sports game and cringes. “I don’t know, kid. It’s late and I’ve had a long day. It’s a lot of extra work that I could just get done tomorrow.”

“Oh, come on, Barry,” JJ argues cordially. “How many times have me and my old man helped you out?”

“Your old man stole fifty bucks from me,” Barry grunts. 

Your eyes dart down to the floor, lips pursing. Yikes. 

JJ falters for only a moment. “Alright, well, forget that then. How many times have I helped out? I mean, I’ll pick up a shift or two if you want? Get you some new parts or something?”

Barry sighs. He looks to you again and you smile politely, hoping your nerves don’t show. He’s a scary looking guy. He could probably crush you with one fist. Both his arms are covered in sleeves of tattoos. He’s missing several teeth and there’s a teardrop tattooed below his left eye. 

“She’s new to the County,” JJ feels the need to add. “Gotta show some good hospitality, right?”

With that, Barry relents. He gets to his feet and trudges to the window to eye up your car. 

“What kinda car is it?”

You tell him, reeling off as much information as you can recall. He nods, back to you, and sighs again. 

“Well, I think I do got a part back here for that, actually. I ain’t making any promises though,” Barry says. He heads into the back with that, leaving you and JJ in the store. The moment the older man is out of sight, JJ grins at you. 

“Am I good or what?”

“Why are you helping me so much?” you find yourself asking. 

JJ seems surprised by the question but not offended. “Dunno, really. You seem nice. And I always kinda wanted to be a knight in shining armour.”

“So that makes me, what? The damsel in distress?” you joke. 

He paces the store leisurely, eyeing up car parts and accessories. “Suppose so. You’re from a far away land so you’re already half way there.”

You laugh. Glancing around the store, you find yourself drawn to the pinboard behind the counter. It’s cluttered with posters, deals, business cards, receipts, reminders and a calendar. Amidst it is pictures and thank you notes from children. One picture catches your eye. It’s of Barry, a few years younger, with a little girl. 

“She’s cute,” you smile. 

JJ joins you and follows your gaze. He smiles too, though it seems sad. “Yeah, that was his kid. She died about a year back now.”

“Wait, really?” you frown. 

Sighing, JJ nods and looks to you. “Freak car accident. Poor kid drowned. Her mom too. Lost his wife and kid in the same day.”

“Shit,” you whisper, looking back at the photo. Your heart tugs at the thought and you feel guilty for judging him by his cover. You had your problems with your parents but you couldn’t imagine them gone from your life. 

Barry returns to the store, car part in hand. JJ clasps his hands and tosses them above his head. 

“Barry, you fucking g.”

“Alright. Alright, don’t kiss my ass too much, Maybank,” Barry quips. He heads for the door. “There’s soda in the fridge. You kids help yourself.”

With that, he grabs his toolkit and heads out to your car. JJ doesn’t need to be told twice. Whilst you feel rude for intruding on this man’s evening, JJ is happy to revel in the hospitality. He tosses a can at you before grabbing one for himself. You follow him out the back. The light from the store overflows onto the sheltered concrete. There’s two plastic garden chairs back here with a busy ashtray on the floor. JJ relaxes in one of the seats and you copy. 

“You known Barry long?”

“Him and my dad go way back,” JJ replies, sipping his soda. “I used to come here all the time as a kid.”

“Sounds like they’re not on great terms right now, huh?” you say. 

JJ sips his drink and shrugs, looking out to the abyss of greenery surrounding the garage. “Pretty standard for my dad. Kinda his M.O.”

You get the feeling that you hit a sensitive spot. Sipping your soda, you switch topics. 

“So what do you guys do for fun around here, then?”

“Surf. Fish. Smoke,” JJ lists. “Sometimes we go to a kegger at the beach and stuff. You been to one yet?”

You wonder if he’s trying to rat you out but when you look at him, you see no sign. “Yeah, I went to one. I didn’t stick around very long though. Didn’t know anyone and felt kinda awkward.”

“That’s fair,” JJ says. He pulls a vape out of his pocket and takes a hit, and it’s like the nicotine gives him an idea. He turns to you, renewed energy. “Oh shit! You should come with my lot!”

“Hm?”

“My friends. You’d get along great with them, swear down,” JJ tells you. “You fish?”

“I can but I don’t exactly relish the opportunity.”

“Alright, well, that’s gonna change,” JJ says, making you laugh. “You surf too, right?”

“Mhm,” you nod. Vancouver had a good surf scene. You and Mimsy used to spend hours on the beach and in the waves, although part of the appeal for your friend was the surfer bros. They were her kryptonite. 

“Well, it’s settled. You’re coming to the next hang we have,” JJ tells you with a grin.

He relaxes back in his chair and takes another hit of his vape. It smells like blue raspberry. As you watch him, you find yourself laughing. 

“Alright, seriously,” you say. “Why the hell are you being so nice to me?”

“I told you: you seem nice.”

“Okay, but seriously,” you repeat. 

JJ studies his vape for a moment and a knowing smile comes to his face. Chuckling, he sighs and relents, looking back to you. “Alright. You’re fuckin' hot. Sue me.”

You bark out a laugh. JJ cracks up too. 

“What!? You asked!”

“No, no, I did,” you laugh, catching your breath. “That’s fair. I had that coming.”

“It’s just like you’re exactly my type. Kinda freaky really,” JJ continues. It seems that now the cat is out of the bag, he might as well let it roam free. “Like you’re smokin' hot and you surf and shit. And you got a dope accent, it's kinda exotic.”

“Since when was Canada exotic?” you laugh, rolling your eyes. 

JJ shrugs with a boyish grin. His eyes stay trained on you. “I dunno. Since I met you, I guess.”

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t affected. JJ’s attraction hadn’t passed you by and, in truth, he was just your type as well. Confidence that borders on cocky: handy and hunky, but not in a steroid-style way…Maybe Mimsy wasn’t the only one who had a thing for surfer boys. To cool yourself from the intensity of his gaze, you take a sip of your soda. 

“I just weren’t gonna say anything cause, you know, I didn’t wanna freak you out,” JJ admits. 

“Freak me out? How so?”

“Random guy, random area. Alone?” he replies. Sheepish, he shrugs. “Might be kinda creepy.”

You catch his drift. Shrugging, you flash him a smile. “Nah, you didn’t freak me out. You’re not too bad to look at yourself.”

“Gee, don’t hold back,” JJ sarcastically returns. You laugh. “Look, you ain’t gotta say anythin' about it. I think you should still come hang with me and my friends, whether you’re madly in love with me or not.”

“Wow, are you confident?” you chuckle incredulously. 

JJ grins. “Charming, ain’t it?”

“One word for it,” you return. You debate his offer and come to a conclusion pretty quick. Lord knows you could do with some friends, and if his gang were anything like himself, you could see yourself getting along just fine. “But yeah, I’d be down to hang with you and your friends.”

“Sweet.” JJ holds his can out for a toast. “Then let me be the first to say, welcome to Kildare.”

You clink your can against his with a small laugh and the two of you drink. Maybe your new life won’t be as boring as you first thought. 

read part two here!

taglist:

princesssuki21 |

[nervoussagittarius]

furniture shopping + night out

matt sturniolo x influencer!reader

summary: your day in the life vlog ft. your boyfriend matt, request

warnings: fluff, maybe language

“good morning vlog” you said taking a sip of your coffee. the sun was just starting to come through your apartment windows as people filled the streets below. “i have a very exciting day planned today so i thought i’d intro the video now and we can chat for a minute.”

you began to get all of the ingredients out to make breakfast for you and matt while you talked to the vlog about your night. your videos tended to feel like a facetime call between you and your fans. everyone loved how personal and friendly they felt. “matt spent the night here yesterday, and i figured i’d be a good girlfriend and make us breakfast. i convinced matt to go to ikea with me this morning because i’ve been in this apartment for about a month now, and i still have no living room furniture. so we’re going to try to fix that.”

as you continued making breakfast matt finally woke up and decided to join you in the kitchen. “okay guys, be honest do these pancakes look good? i hope so. but i’m going to go wake matt up-” matt appeared from around the corner at this statement. “oh nevermind. hi baby! good morning.” matt, not being fully awake yet, gave you a small groan and fell into your arms for a hug. you returned it, holding him for what felt like hours. neither of you complained though. you and matt could be surgically attached and it still wouldn’t be close enough for the two of you.

you turned your head to the side looking at your counter. “me and my friends talked about last night and what we have planned for this morning while i made us breakfast.” “your friends?” matt questioned since he was the only one in your house. “yeah my friends in the vlog” you said with a ‘duh’ tone, earning yourself a poke in the side from matt.

you picked up your camera again about an hour later while you were in the car. focusing the lens on matt, you began to ask him questions. “how do you feel now that i might actually have a couch after a month?” you asked with a laugh. matt’s smile brightened as he took his eyes off the road for a second to look between you and your camera. “i’m happy that we’ll finally have some place to sit other then your kitchen table. i’m excited to go shopping if you’re excited.” he reached over to pat your knee.

“matt’s not the biggest fan of shopping if you couldn’t tell. or if you’ve seen his house you’d know how unfurnished it is.” you said setting the camera on the dash to look at both of you. “listen, i just don’t see the point in worrying about how my house looks when i can be doing fun stuff with my life.” matt said with a chuckle. he grabbed your hand so you knew he was fully just joking to mess with you. “i think furniture shopping is fun. we’ll see you guys again hopefully when i have a couch.”

you were back in the car when you found yourself filming again. you head rested on matt’s ands your intertwined arms as you sat in the parking lot. “bad news guys. we couldn’t find a couch.” you removed yourself from matt as he started backing out of the parking spot. his hand now rested on the back of your neck as he played with your hair. “so sad. i still have to sit on the floor.” matt remarked. you gave him a discouraged laugh catching his attention. he looked over at you while at the red light. “don’t worry sweetheart we’ll figure it out.” he leaned over quickly to kiss you cheek. “thanks matt. we’ll see you guys later.” you said giving your vlog a small smile.

a few hours had past as you and matt spent some quality time together at your apartment. it wasn’t often that you guys got alone time so you cherished it when you did. no meetings, no sibling, and no cameras. but that came to an end when you realized you had a vlog to finish.

matt was the one to pick up your camera this time. you were in your bathroom getting ready for the prada event you were going to tonight. matt thought this would be the perfect time to try and scare you. he quietly walked through your house, making his way to you. unfortunately for him you caught him in this act. his reflection showed up in the corner of your mirror. “what are you doing?” “no i’ve been caught. i was trying to scare you.” he said with a laugh. “next time, baby” he set your camera on your bathroom counter and came around to hug you from behind. “you look really pretty, sweetheart. do you want to tell them where we’re going?” he asked as he gently layed his chin in your shoulder. he didn’t want to mess up what you were doing.

matt’s comment had made you blush, but you’ll quickly pulled yourself back together. “thanks baby. um- matt did a photoshoot with prada recently, and he looked incredible. so they invited us to an event they’re throwing tonight.” “if we make it there.” matt threw out winking at the camera. you looked at him in the mirror quickly as you threw your arm back to jokingly hit him in the shoulder. “matthew!” you exclaimed. “what? im just saying there might be traffic.” he shrugged acting nonchalantly as you rolled your eyes.

“anyway guys i think we’re going to call it a night. i’ll let you know tomorrow how the event went. i love you and i’ll see you soon.” you smiled picking up the camera as matt starts to walk out of the bathroom. “wait, matt! do you have any last words for our friends?” he turned to you with a slight smirk. he quickly screamed in the camera before running off. “i’m so sorry head phone users.” and you ended the video

an: i’m sorry this is so short but i wanted to make this different from chris’s so i hope you enjoy. i also slightly based this off of the vibe of jules leblancs vlogs because i love them 🤍

[cabinetofquriosities]

1950

Agatha x Rio AU || Warnings: smut

Fic Playlist

(Listen along while reading)

——————————————————

Rio had been tracking her mark for two nights now. Being a private eye in her time was easy, given that no one ever suspected a woman of anything.

She had been paid by Ralph Harkness to see if his wife had another man on the side. It was a pretty routine case for her to get. She would either get proof of her in bed with someone or of her going to a book club. She hoped for the book club, if just to avoid having some blubbering man who never treated his wife right in the first place breaking down in her office.

She had blended well into the background of Agatha’s life, situating herself as another face in the crowd. When she shopped, she was a few aisles over. When she drove, she tailed her two cars back. Now, she was parked around the corner, hidden on a fire escape in a shady neighborhood, watching Agatha through her binoculars.

While Agatha normally wore elegant dresses, she was wearing something closer to a feminine suit with suspenders and the blouse beneath it having the top few buttons undone. Her makeup and hair were flawless, her red lip drawing attention. She adjusted her suit jacket before walking down the street in wing-tipped shoes. It reminded Rio of something that Katherine Hepburn would wear. She looked both beautiful and dashing all in one.

She completely that she was at work as she watched the woman slid past the person guarding the door into what looked like a private club.

“Shit…” she whispered to herself, not having gotten one photo of her.

She decided to go inside. After snapping a picture of the club entrance and Agatha’s convertible, she left her camera in her own car. She made her way to the door of the club, knocking when she realized it was locked.

The door opened, revealing who she thought was a man at first, but was a very masculine woman.

“Hello, Dolly,” she said with a smirk, “First time here?”

Rio smiled nervously, saying, “Yes.”

“Relax, you’re safe here. Have fun,” she said, stepping aside to let her in.

Rio walked inside, her dark green satin dress hugging her form, falling to her knee. Her black hair swept down in a perfect wave to kiss her bare shoulders. She looked around, seeing women everywhere. They were drinking at the bar, dancing on the dance floor, and wrapped up in each other in dark cozy corners. Rio had known of places like this for certain men who lived their lives in secret, but never women.

She walked up to the bar and ordered a martini. She drank it instantly before ordering another, needing a dose of courage. She had followed others into dangerous and sordid places where she felt unsafe, but this place made her uneasy in an entirely different way.

She nursed her second martini, perched on one of the stools as a dapper woman named Syd chatted her up. She caught sight of Agatha across the room. The other woman leaned against the wall, flirting with a young, blushing blonde. As if she felt Rio watching, her eyes flicked over and found hers. Rio’s heart stopped a moment as she looked away. After a few seconds passed, she chanced another glance, finding that Agatha’s eyes were still on her.

Rio looked back at Syd, who had caught on that her attention was somewhere else.

“Sorry, you were saying?” Rio said, sipping her martini.

“Agatha,” Syd said, catching her off guard.

“Syd,” said a familiar voice right behind her.

Rio just about jumped out of her skin. She was normally so calm when out on a job, but something about this woman knocked her off balance.

“Take a walk, Syd. Your girl’s looking for you,” Agatha said, nodding toward a very angry looking woman.

“Shit,” Syd muttered before running over to the other woman with profuse apologies.

“Such a dog,” Agatha said with an arched brow, “So, I haven’t seen you around here.”

Rio played with the toothpick in her drink.

“Yeah… it’s my first time at a place like this.”

“Oh! Well, welcome to the greener grass. No man in sight.”

Rio laughed and said, “Thank you. It is definitely better than any nightclub I’ve been to.”

“I’m Agatha, by the way,” she said, reaching her hand out.

“Vera,” she said, giving her an alias.

Agatha brought Rio’s hand up to her lips, kissing the knuckles, leaving red lipstick behind. Her cheeks burned as she blushed, her reaction betraying her professionalism. Agatha kept her hand in hers.

“Would you like to dance?” she asked as a slow song came on.

“Sure.”

Agatha led her to the dance floor. In one smooth motion, she spun Rio before pulling her in. Her hand rested on her hip and the other held Rio’s.

“So, Vera, are you married or single?” She asked.

“Single, of course,” she said.

“It’s not always the case here. A lot of women need to hide themselves behind a husband.”

“You?”

“Married. Unhappily. I hoped it would at least be peaceful, but that man is drunk most of the time.”

“Oh,” Rio said, “I’m sorry. That sounds terrible.”

“It is. I can’t leave, though.”

“Why not?”

“He would get everything.”

“You… don’t have anything on him?” Rio asked, unable to turn the investigator side of herself off.

“Like what?”

“Well, if he was cheating..”

“He would still get everything. No one would hire a divorcee either. No, I just need to outlive his liver and hope he never notices that his wife prefers the company of women,” she said.

Rio swallowed, realizing how privileged she had been to inherit the money she had to start her investigation business. Most women couldn’t earn the money she did. Now, she was about to completely ruin Agatha’s situation when she had nothing to fall back on.

“Well, I hope his liver fails,” she said.

“Thanks,” Agatha said with a smirk, swaying with her.

Rio pressed her cheek to hers as they danced. Her front was against Agatha’s as she was held by her. She breathed in the other woman’s expensive perfume, finding herself dizzied by it all. She had always told herself that romance was never something that mattered to her. She never felt that spark of attraction with any man. Now, she felt a rush of new emotions swirling around in her mind.

“So…” Agatha whispered, “Why have you been following me?”

Rio’s eyes went wide as she tried to step back. Agatha tightened her hold, clicking her tongue.

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” Rio replied.

Agatha turned her head, her face an inch from Rio’s.

“I suppose he hired you. For a PI, you don’t lie very well. Do I make you nervous?” she asked with a cocky smile.

“I.. n…” Rio stuttered before sighing, “Yes. He hired me. I’m sorry.”

A bit of worry and fear flashed in Agatha’s eyes at the confirmation. Defeat settled into her posture.

“Well, I guess I’m going to be out on the street. No way will my parents have a homosexual daughter in their home.”

“No,” Rio said, “As far as I’m concerned, I found you volunteering to help the homeless.”

“Really?” Agatha asked, stunned as a person who had never been given the benefit of the doubt.

“Really.”

“Thank you, Vera.”

“It’s Rio, actually,” she said.

“Rio, that’s beautiful. Well, thank you Rio,” Agatha said, leaning in and kissing her cheek.

Rio’s blush returned, making her cheeks glow scarlet at Agatha’s touch.

“I’m sure you want to be anywhere but here, now that you don’t need to follow me, but I would like to buy you another drink if you’d like,” Agatha said.

“Sure,” she said, “I actually like it here… I mean, because it’s nice to not have men pawing at me…”

“Of course, Sweetheart,” Agatha said with a smirk.

She ordered them both whiskeys and handed one to Rio.

“Cheers,” she said, sipping hers.

The two talked for another hour. Agatha had Rio laughing and Rio captivated Agatha with work stories. The other people around them seemed to fall away as they only focused on one another in the crowded club.

Agatha rested her hand on Rio’s thigh as she laughed at a joke, kicking up a burst of panic within her. The entire night had been so wonderful but also so confusing.

“I should go,” Rio blurted out.

“O-Oh, okay,” Agatha said, crestfallen and retracting her hand.

“I just need to make sure I get some sleep,” she lied.

“Well, can I walk you out to your car? I mean, I already know what it looks like since I’ve seen it behind me all week.”

“I really need to work on tailing people…” Rio said, “Sure. I would like that.”

She walked outside with Agatha on the empty street, a single light illuminating the sidewalk. Agatha rested her hand on her lower back, guiding her toward the car. Rio felt more from that touch than she had from any kiss she shared with a man.

Once they reached the car, Rio turned to face her.

“Thank you for the drink,” she said.

“Thank you for not ratting me out,” Agatha said, “I really did enjoy your company, though.”

“I did too,” Rio said.

Rio leaned in, hugging Agatha. They held each other for a while, Agatha’s hand rubbing her back. She pulled back slightly to look into Rio’s eyes. Their noses brushed against each other. Rio felt something surrender within her. She closed the distance between them with a kiss. Agatha sucked on her lip, the kiss intensifying immediately.

Agatha pulled back, smiling with smeared lipstick, the two of their shades mixed.

“We should go somewhere less out in the open if we are going to continue this,” Agatha said.

“My place,” Rio said, her usual boldness finally returning to her.

“I’ll follow you for once.”

The two drove their respective cars to the brownstone Rio had bought years ago after her parents passed. She led Agatha inside. The other woman pulled her in by the hand and kissed her slowly, pouring every bit of tenderness she had into it.

“Bedroom?” Agatha whispered.

“Huh? Oh…” Rio asked, every thought having vacated itself.

She took her hand as she brought her upstairs, opening the door to her room. She turned on a lamp, turning to see Agatha stripping her jacket off. Rio walked towards her, taking her suspenders and pulling them down. She unbuttoned the rest of Agatha’s shirt while kissing her again. She felt Agatha reach around her and tug on her zipper, pulling it down to release her from her dress.

Rio was left in her stockings, garters, and brassiere. Agatha pulled back, shamelessly admiring her.

“Wow…” Agatha said softly.

Rio tried to avoid slouching or nervously playing with her hands. She was not used to being regarded in this way. Agatha kept her eyes on her as she stripped herself. Rio was rendered speechless in the presence of a beautiful woman naked in her bedroom.

“Wow…” Rio echoed.

Agatha crossed the room, cupping Rio’s cheeks in her hands. She began to lean in. Rio gripped her wrist with her hand.

“Agatha-“

“Yeah?” Agatha said, her eyes still on her lips.

“I’ve never..”

“Been with a woman before, I figured,” she said.

“Been with anyone before…” Rio said with an air of embarrassment.

Agatha looked into her eyes, taking in the new information. She ran her thumb over her cheek.

“Do you want to stop?” she asked.

“No… I just… thought you should know.”

“I’m glad you told me,” Agatha said with a smile, “We’ll go as slow as you want to.”

She leaned in, locking lips with Rio. She sat at the edge of the bed, pulling Rio to straddle her. She smoothly unhooked her bra, tossing it aside. Her hands cupped her breasts, earning a gasp from Rio. Sitting up, Agatha pressed her lips to her chest. She sucked on the skin beneath it and sucked hard. Rio whimpered at the delicious pain as she was marked.

Her hips rolled over Agatha’s as the more experienced woman teased and toyed with her. Her lips and teeth seemed to be everywhere, leaving love-bites wherever she could. Rio was left breathless once Agatha had claimed every available inch of her.

Agatha pulled back and looked at the flushed woman on her lap. Her lips had faded, smudged lipstick, her hair was mussed, and her eyes dilated. She looked ruined for the first time in her life and the fact that she had caused that fueled Agatha. She moved them, laying Rio down. She wanted to keep Rio’s stockings and garters on, so she elected to grip her panties, tearing the fabric. She tossed the scrap aside and kissed along Rio’s inner thigh, making her squirm.

Agatha was driving her to the edge of her sanity. She looked down at her as the other woman settled between her thighs. Rio’s mouth fell open as Agatha’s lips melted into her.

“Fuck! Agatha… please don’t stop…” Rio breathed.

Agatha moaned against her. The sounds of Rio’s pleading made her hungry for her. She circled her arms around her thighs. Her tongue explored her, parting her and sliding inside. Rio let out a yelp when Agatha found a certain spot hidden inside of her. She ground her tongue against it before pulling out. She pressed her lips to her clit, licking and then sucking on it. She slid a finger into Rio, being gentle while opening her up.

Rio was already embarrassingly close to cumming once Agatha began to fuck her. She felt her heart pounding against her chest, resounding in her ears. She gripped her sheets in her fists and twisted as her body gave in. A moan tore itself from her throat as her pleasure spilled over the edge.

Her body shook as she came down from her high. Agatha kissed her way up her front to her lips. She cupped Rio’s jaw and leaned down, kissing her with her arousal on her lips.

Agatha smirked as her hand stayed between her thighs, drawing out the aftershocks while watching Rio closely. Whimpers left Rio’s lips between shaking breaths. She held the gaze from Agatha’s blue eyes as she tried and failed to regain her senses.

There was a glint of mischief in Agatha’s eye as she slid a second finger into her, moving it slowly to allow her to adjust. Rio let out a shocked moan while Agatha sped her thrusts, her thumb working over her clit. Her pleasure built on top of her previous climax, quickly rushing to a new one.

“You’re being so good for me,” Agatha purred.

The praise washed over her, making her cunt clench around her. She felt her walls flutter around her fingers. Her breath caught, her brows bunching together as she looked into Agatha’s eyes. Agatha was left speechless at the sight of Rio cumming. She stroked her through her aftershocks again before sliding out of her.

Rio ran her hand along the length of Agatha’s side, stopping at her hip. She bit her lip before moving Agatha onto her back.

“Hey, tonight’s about you. You don’t need-“

“I want to,” Rio said, “Just… tell me what to do.”

Rio moved down between Agatha’s thighs, looking at her sex with nothing short of fear. She leaned in and ran her tongue along her slid, earning a whine from Agatha. The feeling of drawing that little bit of pleasure from her had Rio hooked. She gave her clit and cunt kitten licks, testing what worked and what didn’t.

“Inside… slide it inside…” Agatha moaned.

Rio did as she was told, the taste of desire exploding on her tongue. She moved and flexed her tongue, looking for her most sensitive spots. She finally found one that made Agatha buck her hips. She gripped her hips and pinned them to keep her from moving out of reach. She felt a hand in her hair while she fucked her with her tongue. Agatha’s grip made her grind herself against the mattress. She was pulled closer, nearly being suffocated in the most delicious way. Agatha panted faster before her thighs shook and her walls collapsed around Rio’s tongue.

Once the hand in her hair loosened, Rio came up from between her legs, her lips and chin slick with arousal. Agatha cupped her face and pulled her down. She kissed and licked the remnants of her own desire from Rio’s face. Rio held her close, the two of them falling into the same breathing rhythm.

“That was… thank you,” Rio whispered.

“I hope your first time was worth the wait,” Agatha murmured before capturing her lips in another kiss.

“It definitely was. Can I… see you again?” Rio asked with an edge of nervousness.

“I would love that,” Agatha said, kissing her forehead, “I do need to go before Ralph wakes up.”

“Right. Him,” Rio muttered.

“Tomorrow?”

“Where?”

“If you’re any good at your job, you’ll be able to find me.”

————————————

6 months later…

Rio had spent every moment Agatha could get away from the house with her. She fell quickly and deeply in love with the other woman. She knew she would always need her in her life.

She waited in her car with a long ranged lens, her camera aimed at a motel. A man walked out with a half-tucked shirt and a woman half his age. She leaned up and kissed him, his hand gripping her ass.

A smile broke out over Rio’s lips at the sight as she snapped a number of pictures. She drove off and met Agatha at the club.

“So?” Agatha asked.

“You have enough to petition for divorce,” she said.

Agatha beamed at her, nearly tackling her with a hug. The two had agreed to have Agatha move in with Rio once the divorce was granted. The two would run the business and spend their lives together. Agatha pulled Rio into a deep kiss.

“I can’t believe how lucky I am,” she whispered against her lips.

“I’m the lucky one,” Rio said back.

She pulled Agatha out to the dance floor as one of their favorite love songs played. The two danced, holding one another until closing time.

Thank you for reading! If you liked this, please reblog it!

[hotchscoffeecup]

reconciliation (pt.2 to how do we carry on?)

pairing: hotch x bau!reader

rating: t

genre: hurt/comfort with a happy ending

word count: 7.2k

tagged readers: @izakopanyi2 @polireader @jihyowrrld @twilightlover2007 @queenanababy @feyrecarol @rousethemouse @endofthexline @jxvipike @donttrustlove @hiireadstuff @jenna50 @michasia24

The coffee that was hot an hour ago is cold and bitter now. You grimace as the acrid taste slides down your throat. You try to place the disposable cup into your cup holder without taking your eyes off the road, but miss.The lid slips off and brown liquid sloshes over the edge onto the passenger seat. You curse as you grasp the wheel with one hand while you try to mop up the spill with what random napkins you’ve acquired since you started driving. Fortunately, your purse is spared any damage, but the road map and photograph you’ve kept on the seat aren’t as lucky. Ignoring the map, you pick up the photograph and shake it, splattering drops of coffee across the dash. The edges curl slightly, but the photo itself is fine. You hold it awkwardly between your fingers as you return your hand to the steering wheel.

There aren’t many cars on the road at this hour. You glance down at the dashboard and see 02:32 illuminated in green. You aren’t sure where you’re going, you just know you can’t stay there. Even your own apartment didn’t feel secure, not with how much of him is there. Your lives are so intertwined, you see and feel him everywhere you go. It’s what makes, made? God, you don’t even know anymore. It’s what is so beautiful about your relationship, how seamlessly your lives blend together that you’re not sure where yours and his start and end. You’re both so fiercely independent while being so devoted and wholly part of the threads that make up one another’s lives.

Or so you thought.

As you slow to a stop at the red light, the only car at the four way intersection, your eyes fall to the coffee stained image between your fingers. You’re smiling at the camera meanwhile Aaron is looking and smiling down on you, the soft shimmer in his deep brown eyes captured by the lens. It’s your favorite picture. You took it from the frame at the front table before leaving. The sound of his sobs echo in your ears as the red light reflecting on the photo paper shines green. You blink and drop the photo onto the center console before shifting your gaze back to the road. A sign ahead reads to keep left to stay on I-95 South. Richmond and Virginia Beach are in big white letters under it.

Three years you’ve lived in Virginia, and you’ve never made it to the coast. Shifting the steering wheel, you guide the vehicle into the left lane and take the exit.

•

As the waves lap at your ankles, you close your eyes and turn your face toward the sun, the briny sea breeze gently tossing your hair. You inhale deeply and the sigh you exhale is overtaken by the quiet roar of the ocean.

Turns out getting a beachfront house isn’t as expensive as one might think in the off season and fortunately for you, Virginia afternoons in September still reach the high eighties.

The beach house is nothing fancy, more like a beach shack if you’re being honest. It’s one floor supported on high rafters, old wooden steps leading down to the sand. You climb them now and they creak beneath your weight. A half rusted outdoor shower squeals to life when you reach the deck and twist the faucet. You shiver as you rinse the sand off of your legs and arms, and well, everywhere. There aren’t many crevices it doesn’t manage to stick to. You swipe the pink and white striped towel you’d found in the linen closet off the railing and wrap it around your body. Once it’s tightly secured around your chest, you work off the cheap bikini you’d purchased at a year round souvenir shop down the road and spread it out to dry.

The screen door squeaks on its hinges as you enter the house. You should probably go for a proper shower and wash the sea out of your hair, but you can’t be assed. Instead, you crack open the fridge and inspect the pathetic hodge podge of groceries you’d purchased at the corner store. Food doesn’t even sound appealing. It hasn’t for days. Every time you try to eat, you just feel sick. Your stomach roils at the thought and you grab a seltzer water before closing the fridge with a grimace.

As you exit the kitchen, your eyes catch your phone and keys on the chipped granite counter. The black screen of your phone glints beneath the fluorescent kitchen lighting. You’d turned it off when you’d arrived, ignoring the fact that you had 8 missed calls from Hotch and twice as many unread messages from him. There’d been one missed call from Emily, a name you never thought you’d see flash across your screen again. God knows how many times you’d called her phone just to hear her voice recording before leaving a message about how much you missed her and wished she were there to give you advice or talk through a case. For a fraction of a second, you wonder now if she’s gotten the chance to hear those voicemails you’d left her. Did she hear the pain in your voice? Did she feel guilt over the messages where all you’d managed to choke out were incoherent sobs? All this time you thought you’d been talking to a ghost, but she’d been out there all along.

You tear your gaze away from the counter, leaving your phone where it is and cross the cream colored carpet to the small bedroom. Yellow wallpaper splashed with repeating patterns of palm fronds plaster the four walls. The bed frame is made up of white wicker and you fall back onto the comforter, the front of which is decorated with images of shells and starfish. None of the patterns in this house match, but you don’t care. You care about very little right now.

Before you can run away down that thought pattern, there’s a knock at the door. You sit up, brow furrowed, as you lean forward on your knees, as if doing so will suddenly grant you the ability to see through walls and who could possibly be here.

Maybe the owner? A neighboring off season beach goer? Hesitantly, you rise from the bed and tug on one of the guest robes that had been hanging in the bathroom. You drop your towel and shrug it on, tying it tightly around your waist before approaching the front door. You move slowly for two reasons: one, no one should know you’re here and you don’t know why someone would be calling on you, and two; what if it’s Aaron?

The knocking repeats. It's light but firm, definitely not Aaron. A woman, you think. You twist the deadbolt and pull open the door, surprise etching into your features as a woman a few years older than you stands behind the second screen door.

“Hi, uh, can I help you?” you ask awkwardly.

The girl’s dark eyes travel up and down your body. She looks at you through the door from beneath long lashes, a knowing smile playing on her lips. You can’t control the shocked gasp that leaves your mouth when she asks for you by name.

You try your best to school your facial expressions and by the slight smirk that crosses the girl’s face, you know you did a pretty poor job of doing so. “Who wants to know?” you ask, wondering if she’s someone who’s crossed paths with you before through work.

“Aaron Hotchner,” she answers, drawing out the last syllable of his name with an amused glint in her eye.

You can’t fight the eye roll that follows. Unbelievable. “Sorry, he wasted your time.” You move to close the door, but she throws open the screen door and catches it with her foot.

Your eyes flash to hers and you see the challenge in the depth of her hazel gaze, equal to the one in yours. “Hotch wouldn’t have reached out to me unless he was desperate,” she adds. “I think you might want to hear me out.” She extends a hand toward you. “I’m Elle, Greenaway to the BAU, but when I left I shortened it to Greene.”

Your brow furrows as the name rings the slightest of bells in the back of your mind. Hesitantly, you accept her ring adorned hand and shake it as your brain sifts through the number of agents you’d heard stories about in the time before you joined the team.

“How did you find me?” you ask as you step aside and admit her into the house.

Elle nods graciously as she looks around, though there’s not much to size up in the small rental unit.

“You think Hotch didn’t immediately have Penelope ping your phone when you left?”

You exhale sharply. “I turned my phone off.”

A short laugh leaves Elle, “Not soon enough.” She turns, a hand on her hip. “You got any beer?”

Your brow furrows, wondering who the hell you just invited into your house. You shake your head as you cross into the kitchen and open the fridge. You withdraw a big bottle you’d bought at the corner drug store. “I’ve got wine.”

Elle smiles. “That’ll work. Let’s head down to the beach.”

•

“Thanks,” Elle says coolly as you finish tipping wine into the plastic cup in her hand. You cap the bottle and shove it down into the sand between the foldable beach chairs you’d dragged down from their place on the deck after you’d gotten changed into something more appropriate to wear outside than a bathrobe.

You retrieve your cup from where you’d been holding it between your legs and take a long sip before sighing and settling back into your chair, the canvas stretching as you do so.

For a moment, you and Elle sit there in silence; watching the orange pink colors of the sunset start to streak across the sky as the waves crash against the sand.

“I had no idea about Haley,” she says after another minute goes by and you stiffen. It isn’t that you and Aaron never talk about her. Keeping her memory alive is so important for Jack and you know a part of Hotch will always love her. That’s never bothered you though. Aaron had told you that he and Haley had talked about that if something ever happened to either one of them that they would want the other to eventually move on and find love again, that they didn’t want the other one to spend the rest of their life lonely. I’m sure neither one of them ever imagined something like what had happened to Haley would ever come to pass though.

“Did you know her?” you ask, your voice tight with emotion at the thought of ever having to endure a loss like that. You’d joined the team years after her death and hadn’t known Hotch during the time he’d grieved her loss. From the stories he and Jack had shared, she seemed like she’d been a kind soul and a good mother.

Elle nods, her gaze fixed on the view though you see a glint of memory in her eyes. “Hotch wasn’t as serious then.” She pauses and smirks to herself. “Don’t get me wrong, he was still a hard ass, but there was also a lightness to him before and right after Jack was born. I remember when they first brought him into the office, such a tiny little thing all bundled up in his arms. Him and Haley had looked so at ease.” She sighs and takes a swig of her wine before continuing. “I think that’s when the job started to get to him, after he had a kid.” Her brow pinches for a moment. “I think Hotch started to see the men and women we put away more as the proverbial monsters that kids fear are lurking in their closets, except we know what horribly evil things the monsters are really capable of versus what a kid’s imagination can drum up. The worst their little minds can conjure up pales in comparison to the heinous files that cross his desk. I think Hotch wanted to protect that innocence so badly and shield Jack from all of the evil in the world that he threw himself further and further into his work, especially after how things with The Fisher King went down.” Your eyes don’t miss the way her hand presses against her abdomen. The stake jutting out of Emily’s stomach flashes in your mind and you flinch at the memory.

“Something happened,” observes Elle. She sits up in her chair, resting her elbows on her knees as she looks at you.

You scoff and take another drink, shaking your head as you do so. “Once a profiler, always a profiler.”

Elle chuckles and shrugs. “Old habits die hard.” Her features soften as she turns toward you. “Something happened though, didn’t it? I know you probably can’t share too many details. Hotch didn’t in the voicemail he left you.”

You perk up at that. “Voicemail?”

Elle nods, the gold hoops in her ears swinging as she does so. “Sorry,” she laughs coolly as she reaches into the pocket of her jeans. “I probably should’ve led with that.” She fishes her cell phone out and swipes her thumb across the screen. You brace yourself as Aaron’s throaty tenor echoes from the speaker on her phone.

“Elle, hi,” he starts and stops. An exasperated sigh follows. “It’s Aaron Hotchner with the BAU I—of course you know I’m with the BAU I don’t know why I led with that. Look, I know I’m probably the last person you want to hear from after all of these years but I didn’t know who else to call. I can’t,” his voice wavers here for a moment. “I can’t share details about the case we’re working on, but it’s bad and I had to make a decision.” He stops and clears his throat. “It was a decision that impacted the whole of the team and where it was for their protection, I may have ruined the best thing to have happened to me in years. Look, I know you left the Bureau. I know you changed your name to put distance between you and the BAU, and I don’t blame you. In fact, I think I understand you now more than ever. This job, the toll it takes—” his voice trails off and you hold your breath in anticipation. He goes on to explain who you are and why you left, obfuscating the exact details of the Ian Doyle case for security reasons. He explains how after no one had heard from you for forty eight hours that he’d worked with Garcia to ping your location, how he was more worried than anything else and just needed to know that you were safe. When Penelope had located you, he remembered that Elle had always talked about living on the coast. It had been a shot in the dark, but Penelope being Penelope, she’d been able to find Elle in a matter of hours. “I just need to know she’s safe,” he breathes. “Please, Elle. If anything happens to her, I don’t know what I’ll do. I can’t lose someone else. I have to do better; by you, by Haley, by the team. I’ll spend the rest of my life making amends, but please, with this case still active, I just need to know that she’s ok. Call me back,” his voice quavers. “Please.”

The line goes dead and Elle slides her phone back into her pocket. “That was three days ago.” Elle’s brow arches, looking for a response. “So,” she adds, drawling out the ‘o’ sound. “Sounds heavy.”

You draw in a deep breath and down the rest of your wine. Aaron had sounded so tired on the phone. Guilt squeezes around your heart as you think about what he and the team must be dealing with. It’s reckless and stupid of you to have just up and left when Doyle is still out there with you and the rest of his team in your sights. You didn’t even bring your gun, sure that you’d be sending in your resignation after this cover up; but hearing his voice on Elle’s phone, the pain in it. What you’d been trying to ignore this entire time begins to wriggle its way toward the forefront of your mind; and that’s the hell this must have put Hotch and Emily through. You know he’d never do anything to hurt you, not intentionally, but how are you supposed to trust him if he could watch you suffer through the agony of her loss knowing at any point in time he could’ve put a stop to it? You squeeze your eyes shut because you know the obvious answer. There are things he has to do as Unit Chief, choices only he can make. Choices that don’t involve you or the rest of the team, and that doesn’t change because you two are an item. Still, the conflict wages on inside of you. All of this is true and he’s made choices and decisions that impact the team before, just never on this scale; not something that alters memories and fucks the psyche so irreparably.

“The heaviest,” you finally respond.

“You can talk to me about it,” she says, and you know her words are genuine. “I know I don’t have clearance anymore, so the cliff notes version works too.”

So, you tell her. About Emily, about Hotch, what you can about Doyle, the circumstances around Emily’s death, the grief, her undeath, the betrayal you felt, and everything that brought you to this moment with her.

Elle releases a low whistle and scoops the wine bottle up from the sand, pouring herself another glass and topping yours off. “That’s—” She pops her lips, considering. “Elaborate.”

“I’d say mind-fuck, but elaborate works too.” You quip bitterly and take a drink.

Elle cocks her head. “Hotch doesn’t do anything without careful consideration.”

You inhale deeply before taking another drink, a warmth starting to crawl beneath your flesh as the alcohol sinks in. You hang your head as you respond. “I know.”

“There’s a reason that I left the Bureau,” Elle says after a long stretch of silence. “I made a decision that ended my career, and it’s one I’d make again if I had to.” Her voice grows tight for a moment before she clears her throat and continues. “This job will drain you until there’s nothing left. I remember on the day I left I told Hotch about how I’d get so excited when my phone rang because it meant we had a case; but after I got shot in my own house and was lying on the floor feeling that man’s fingers inside of my gut, something changed in me forever that day. I went back to work after some time, but it was never the same. After that, every time my phone rang I felt paralyzed with fear because I knew what it was like to feel the way those victims felt in the moments leading up to their deaths.” Her voice quavers for a second and she swipes at a stray tear before choking out a laugh. “You’re not the same after something like. I know what it’s like to come back from the brink of death, and it sounds like this Emily knows too.” She stretches out a hand and grips your knee. “The only difference is that after I nearly died, I had the team. I had Spencer, Derek, Penelope, and JJ, hell Hotch was the one that came to my house and scrubbed the blood off of my walls before I got out of the hospital.” Her brow arches in response to my widening eyes. “Didn’t know that, did you?” She smiles and reclines back in her seat. “Emily didn’t have that. She didn’t have her friends, family,” she corrects. “Let’s be honest, the BAU becomes your family after a while.”

You nod in agreement.

“She went through that alone,” Elle continues and a pang of guilt shoots through you. “She didn’t have her family to turn to in a time where she probably needed you the most.”

It’s your turn to swipe at the tears that loose from your eyes. “I know that.” Your voice is tight as you choke back a sob. “I’ve always trusted the team, every one of them. How—” you suck in a shaky breath. “How am I supposed to trust them after this? What’s to stop something like this from happening again?”

Elle’s lips purse. “That’s the job we signed up for, isn’t it? Working for the government and all the shitty red tape they weave in and around the work we do.”

“If I go back,” you start. “I don’t think they’ll forgive me. I left when they needed me most. Doyle is still out there.”

Elle frowns and tilts her head back and forth. “You’ll never know if you don’t though. I couldn’t go back. My actions decided that for me. You have a choice, but you’re the only one that can make it.” She glances down at her watch and then out at the sun. It’s almost completely sunken down beneath the sea over the horizon, the orange and pink sunset fading to the purple gray hues of dusk. “I should probably get going.” She sets her cup down in the sand and stands, turning to you as she does so.

“Here,” she says, passing you a card from the back pocket of her jeans.

You take it, fingering the edges of the sturdy cardstock. Elle Greene: Social Services Coordinator is embossed in dark blue font followed by a cell phone, office number, and email listed beneath it.

“Call me if you ever want to talk. There are ways to do some good in this world without sacrificing your own happiness in the process.” She smiles at you before she starts toward the path that leads around the house and back to the road.

After a few moments, you jump up and call after her. “Hey Elle!”

She turns, brow arched toward her hairline as she waits for you to continue.

“Why’d you come?”

She slips her hands into her pockets and doesn’t say anything for a while, her green eyes focusing on her feet. When she looks up at you, there’s the faintest of smiles on her lips. “The day I left the Bureau I looked Hotch in the eye and told him that I used to wonder why he didn’t smile. When I heard that voicemail, despite how defeated he sounded, there was something in his voice that made me believe he’d found something to smile about again. When you work the job that you do, that I used to do, you have to hold on for dear life when you find the things that can make you smile after witnessing the things we do. I guess I don’t want him to lose what made him find his smile again; even after all these years I’ve spent angry at Hotch, I never hated him.” She sighs and looks like she wants to say more, but chooses not to. “Running away doesn’t solve your problems, it just keeps them at a distance until you’re finally brave enough to face them. I hope you find clarity faster than I did.” Her jeweled rings catch the last rays of sun as she raises a hand in farewell. “I’ll see you around.”

•

You pull your knees up to your chest and wrap your arms around them, the blue and green plaid fabric of the couch scratching the backs of your legs as you do so. You bite at your thumb nail as you eye your powered down cell phone from where it sits on the glass coffee table in front of you.

Elle’s words from two days ago hang heavy in the air around you.

Running away doesn’t solve your problems. It just keeps them at a distance until you’re brave enough to face them. I hope you find clarity faster than I did.

If you turn on your phone, you know there will be a barrage of voicemails and text messages waiting for you. Or, there won’t be anything more than there was when you first shut it down. You turned your back on them when they needed you. It would be easy to write you off, after all that’s what you did isn’t it?

You drop your head back against the couch and groan, the feelings at war within you tearing at your insides; your guts twisted with equal parts betrayal over Hotch not telling you and the guilt of leaving the team instead of facing that anger and hurt head on.

It’s a giant mess; a tangled web of necessary lies and the red tape that binds the hands of those in positions over you and the rest of the team. The rational part of you understands this. In black and white terms, you understand that Unit Chief SSA Agent Aaron Hotchner had to make a decision to protect another agent, SSA Emily Prentiss. While Ian Doyle is a fugitive from the law believing her to be dead, her going into hiding not only took the target off of her back, but off the backs of all of your team members, yourself included, who otherwise would’ve been collateral damage in Doyle’s relentless pursuit of vengeance against Emily. All of this makes perfect sense.

It’s when the emotional, feeling half of you comes into play that the black and white turns to splotchy streaks of gray and you struggle to make peace with the rational side of things. When you look at it through this lens, your boyfriend and long term partner, Aaron, watched you throw up from dehydration over how long and how hard you’d sobbed over the death of best friend, Emily. At any point, he could’ve put a stop to your pain and didn’t.

Your fingers slide into your hair, gently tugging at the roots as you try to sort through these warring versions of yourself and the pieces of information and emotions that come with each. Because in your heart, you know and understand it’s not black and white. It’s gray and it’s messy. So, why can’t you reconcile both halves of yourself and just be okay with this then? Why can’t you just be overjoyed by the fact that your best friend is back from the literal dead? How many people in this life can say that that’s happened for them? Why can’t you just tell Aaron you understand what he did because you do, but at the same time you don’t? You wouldn’t have told anyone, but then that would be Aaron showing you preferential treatment and you’d be in no better position than he or JJ when it came to hiding this fact from the rest of the team. It’s something you’d talked about extensively when you first started dating and so far, it has been fine. He makes decisions that sometimes you agree with, sometimes you don’t. It is always just part of the job. So what does it all boil down to? Where does this leave you?

“Fuck me,” you whisper aloud as you dive forward and swipe the phone off of the table before you can really think about what you’re doing. You hold down the button on the side and it titters to life. For a moment, you close your eyes as you feel the vibrations pulsing in the palm of your hand, each one a notification of some sort. When they cease, you swipe directly to your contacts and select Aaron’s. His is the first to show alphabetically anyway. Your thumb hovers over the call button for only a second, before you exhale a shaky breath and hit the dial.

The phone barely presses against your ear as you catch the tail end of his hello. It’s after hearing his voice, that you’re rendered speechless.

“Baby, are you there?”

Your chest rises and falls, your heart rate quickening beneath your chest. You sniff as tears prick your eyes, not realizing how much you’d missed his voice until now.

“Aaron,” you squeak out, your voice cracking on his name.

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” Hotch says, a plea in his apology. “I promise I’ll do everything I can to fix this. I miss you. I love you.”

A sob shudders free from your lips as all of your walls come tumbling down and you let yourself break down to pieces of ash and stone. “I’m sorry I ran when you needed me.”

“It’s okay,” Aaron soothes. “It’s okay. It's over. We got him.”

You sit up and swipe under your eyes with the backs of your hands. “Doyle?”

“He’s dead.”

Panic rises in you. “And the team? Is everyone—”

“Everyone is fine. No one was hurt.”

You close your eyes and sink back into the cushions as your pulse levels out. “I’m on my way.”

“There’s no need,” he replies coolly.

Your brow pinches. “I don’t—”

The sound of a car door slamming echoes beyond the front door. You stand and the old t-shirt that belongs to Aaron falls to your thighs as you do so. You’d not even realized you’d packed it until you pulled it on after your shower earlier. The linoleum creaks beneath your feet as you cross through the kitchen and unlock the deadbolt. When you pull open the door, you gasp and drop your phone.

Aaron’s lips tremble as he smiles at you and takes the phone down from his ear. He ends the call and slips it into the pocket of his slacks. “I got in the car and just started driving,” he says as his glimmering eyes flit across yours, always the profiler checking for micro expressions. A desperate smile clings to his lips as he looks at you. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you breathe in response; unable to think of what else to say at the moment

His smile falters as he takes a step closer to you. You see his hand twitch ever so slightly at his side.

“Honey, I—”

You leap forward and throw your arms around his neck. He breathes a sigh of relief into your hair as his arms fold around you, his hands pressed flat against your back as if he can somehow hold you closer than he already is. His hands slide up your spine to curl around the back of your neck. When he pulls away, there are tear stains on his cheeks.

You reach up and swipe your thumbs under his eyes, his skin smooth beneath your touch. A smirk tugs at one corner of your mouth as you wonder when he had time to shave.

“This doesn’t mean I forgive you,” you say, still cupping his cheek in your hand.

He nods as he leans into your touch. “I know,” he says softly.

“I know why you had to do what you did.”

Another tear leaks from his eye as he presses his forehead to yours, cradling your hand against his cheek. “I never wanted to hurt you or anyone else, but I had to protect you.”

“I know,” you say and you mean it. “I also know why you couldn’t tell me. I’m a coward for running away, but I just—I was so overwhelmed by everything. I didn’t know how to cope with your return, with Emily’s, with everything. I would’ve been a hindrance if I’d stayed, but I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have run.”

Hotch shakes his head as he steps back to look at you, the dark slash of his brow set as he does so. “What you did was not an act of cowardice. Trust me when I say you are not the only one that has a lot of anger and frustration aimed at me right now. Spencer snapped twice at JJ. Morgan laid into me, and I deserved it. JJ and I always knew that if and when this came to light, that there would be consequences for our actions. It was a calculated risk, and I take full responsibility for it. After you left, I gave everyone the option to leave if they didn’t think they could work the case. You knew you weren’t in the right headspace and pulled yourself out. It was the right decision and no one faults you for it.”

“I’m still so mad at you,” you say.

Aaron’s lips form a tight line. “I know.”

“But I also love you.”

His brow relaxes at that admission and relief floods his gaze. “I’ll take your use of the present tense as a good sign.”

You both chuckle at that and a shiver races through you as a sea breeze catches your hair and sends goosebumps up and down your arms. You wrap your arms around yourself and incline your head toward his SUV. “Your go bag in there?”

He nods and you flick your eyes up and down the length of his figure. “Go on then,” you encourage. “Get it and come inside before I change my mind.” You smile and you feel it reach your eyes for the first time in nearly a week. He withdraws the key fob from his pocket and smiles at it in his hand, before shaking his head with a quiet laugh and turns to head toward the car.

He pops the trunk and returns with his bag slung over his shoulder. “You look good in my shirt,” he compliments you with a sly smile as he passes through the front door. You close and lock the door behind him and point towards the bedroom. “Don’t think flattery will get you off the hook, Aaron.”

“You’re pointing me toward the bedroom, so I can only hope that’s a good sign.”

“Nearly a week has given me a lot of time to think,” you call after him as he disappears inside.

When he returns, his suit jacket is off and he’s loosening his tie from around his neck. “And what conclusion have you come to?”

“To be determined,” you muse as you approach him. You finger the tip of his tie and curl your fingers around it before tugging it free and dropping it to the floor.

One of Aaron’s brows arches as he regards you curiously. His hand curves around your hip and you press yourself against him. Heat pools in your belly, but you ignore the sensation, hard as that is after nine months without him. He dips his chin to kiss you and instead of meeting your mouth, he meets your finger instead. You press it against his lips and arch a brow. “Not so fast, Hotch.”

He winces and inhales sharply, a pink blush quickly coloring his cheeks. “I should’ve known it wasn’t going to be that easy.” He admits against your finger. “You only call me Hotch when I’m in trouble.”

Something between a scoff and a laugh leaves your lips as you poke him on the tip of his nose, the slope of which you’d missed so much since he’d been gone. “How about,” you start and loop your arms around his neck, “we just talk? From the beginning, tell me what went through your mind and what led to the decision. We can talk about Emily, her funeral, the grief. You can tell me what you can about Pakistan and I’ll tell you about how hard it was when you were gone. Tell me about when you and JJ knew you had to tell the team and I’ll tell you how it felt like I’d had my heart carved out of my chest and put through a blender. Tell me how it felt when I left and I’ll talk about the ways in which I wish I hadn’t but why I felt like I had to. Tell me why I should trust you and I’ll tell you why I want to, but am afraid. Tell me—”

Aaron catches your wrists in his hands and plants a firm kiss upon your lips. You envelope him with your own and revel in the familiar way they meld together, the taste of him like coming home. He pulls away, though his lips still hover over yours. “I promise I will tell you everything and more. We’ll talk until the sun comes up if that’s what it takes.”

You smile and when you speak, your lips brush against his. “I guess I ought to put some coffee on then.”

•

White rays of early morning sunshine break through the sheer curtains, casting soft light across the bed sheets. For the first time in nearly a year, you wake with Aaron’s arm securely around your waist. You breathe in deeply and the faint smell of coffee lingers in the air, two empty mugs leaving brown rings on the nightstand.

You don’t remember when you two had laid down to go to sleep, but remember laughing about it being 3:00 AM at one point and continuing talking in spite of that; and talked you two had. You’d tackled everything from the decision he and JJ made at the hospital all the way up until right now. You laughed and cried, and so did he. You’d never seen Aaron cry before last night, and you were grateful that he’d felt safe enough with you to be vulnerable like that. As the night had worn on, you’d felt the fractured pieces of yourself slowly start to pull together; that you can both heal from this and maybe even come out stronger on the other side.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand and you reach for it, now being as good a time as any to tackle the number of unread texts and unheard voicemails. You can’t avoid them forever.

8 voicemails from Hotch, 2 from JJ, 6, from Penelope, 1 from Derek, and 1 from Emily. Your brow knits together as you view the time stamp next to her voicemail and it’s marked only an hour ago. Why would she have called you so early? Surely, Hotch would’ve let the team know that you’re safe and that he’s with you.

You open the app and press play, bringing the phone to your ear to avoid disturbing Hotch and Emily’s voice fills your head as you listen in.

“I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now…” Her voice is tired and her tone is genuinely apologetic. “…I missed everyone so much, but you. It tore me up inside knowing we didn’t get to say goodbye, that I didn’t get to explain to you why all of this had to happen and you had to mourn me. I knew Hotch would take care of you.” She chuckles softly and you picture her shaking her head. “God, that man adores you, you know that right? Knowing he’d be there to help you through things was a small solace, but I knew that the weight of asking him to keep this from you and the rest of the team would take a toll on him. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Doyle, he never—he never would’ve stopped hunting me and he would’ve used or killed everyone close to me to do so. If there had been any other way, I would’ve done it.” She sighs heavily. “Anyway, Hotch texted the team and myself last night that he’d gotten to you safely in Virginia Beach. I imagine you and him had a lot to talk about last night. It’s probably going to look like I’m copying a page out of his book, but you’re the only person I haven’t looked in the eye and apologized to, so I’ll be there in about an hour or so. Hopefully, you open the door.”

Your eyes widen as you drop the phone back onto the nightstand. After glancing at the clock and noticing it had been an hour and fifteen minutes since she called, you slip out of bed. Hotch stirs, but doesn’t wake and his hand moves to shift under the pillow and he nestles deeper into the blankets. God, he must be so exhausted. From the red eye flight from Pakistan to immediately leaping into and closing the Ian Doyle case, this is probably the first proper sleep he’s gotten in weeks.

The sound of tires crunching over gravel draws your attention to the living room. You pull on a pair of sweats and throw off the oversized shirt you’d slept in in exchange for a tank top, forgoing a bra in the process. You rush into the bathroom and rapidly brush your teeth, accepting there not being any time to fix your tousled bed head.

Footsteps echo up the walkway on the other side of the front door as you approach and before you can think it through, you throw the door open. You only take a second to confirm that it is in fact Emily on the other side of it before rushing forward and throwing your arms around her.

A loud oomph erupts from lips, the sound muffled as you turn your face into her neck. It takes a few seconds for her to react, her arms slowly folding around you as she realizes that it is in fact a hug that you’re giving her and not an attempt to take her to the ground.

Tears leak from your eyes onto the fabric of her purple top. “I’m sorry,” you murmur into her shoulder.

Emily pulls away, her hands not leaving your shoulders as her brown eyes flicker across your face; her features drawn. “You’re sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for. I came here to apologize.”

You shake your head as something between a laugh and a sob bubbles up from your throat. “I’m so mad at you,” you start and reach forward with both hands to clasp her face in yours. “But I am so happy that you’re not dead and I understand why you had to do what you did.” You smile and drop your hands before playfully shoving her. “A bit though, isn’t it? Faking your death and fleeing the country? Where’d you get that idea? Lifetime?”

Emily smiles, flashing her teeth as she inclines her head this way and that. “I did always have a flair for the dramatics.”

The door creaks then and you turn to watch Hotch push the door open. He smiles as he takes in the sight of you and Emily reconciling. “I put on a pot of coffee,” he says. “How many mugs should I bring out?”

You look between him and Emily. “Three,” you answer, turning your attention back to Emily. “Definitely three.”

Emily smiles and follows you inside, greeting Hotch with a short hug before joining you in the living room. As Hotch busies himself in the kitchen and the smell of coffee starts to fill the air, you start to feel like life might finally start to return to normal.

[guilty-pleasures21]

Maybe this will just be my trash one.

I was inspired by this fic by @tarjapearce . I LOVE her writing so much!!! Please go check her out and give her some love!!!

1. Um ... yeah ...

Part 1 - the beginning

Part 2 - the car

Part 3 - the detectives

Part 4 - the contract

Part 5 - the clothes

Warnings: graphic descriptions of sex (male x female).

_______________________________________________

     She studied herself in the mirror, her critical gaze running over the new lingerie she’d bought earlier. Francesco only ever let her leave the house to go shopping. ‘It’s for your own protection, mia cara’, he’d always tell her, the term of endearment sounding like poison on his lips. And then she’d feel bad all over again - because he was right. He’d given her everything and asked for nothing in return. It was the reason she’d married him, after all: because he’d promised to keep her safe. Because he had kept her safe, when no one else would. She walked over to the cupboard to pull out one of his shirts: a neatly pressed white top that grazed her thighs and slipped off her shoulder when she buttoned it up. It had been a while since she’d dress up for him, so rarely was he ever at home. But he’d said he’d be coming home early tonight, so she’d thought to take the opportunity to bring some of that spark back to their relationship. He’d been sweet in the beginning, taking her to dinner, buying her jewellery, promising her that no one would ever hurt her again, not as long as he had anything to say about it. But the thrill of chasing after her - of being much more in love with her than she was with him - must have worn off at some point, because his work days had become longer, his trips to the city more frequent. Now, she was lucky if she got to see him more than a few hours every weekend. She returned to the mirror to adjust the shirt, but then heard a sudden commotion happening outside, cars screeching and doors banging and guns going off before the sickening sounds of fists meeting bodies flew through the house. She dashed over to the intercom by the bedroom door and turned on the camera. An unfamiliar group of men and women stood outside the entrance, surrounded by the unconscious bodies of the guards Francesco had hired to keep watch over the villa. She shuddered, fear squeezing around her insides as she tried to come up with a possible escape route. She grabbed her phone off the nightstand and took her passport from the safe, stuffing both of them into one of her crossbody bags. Then she went over to the window and took a moment to survey the area below, making sure she had an unobstructed path to the shed at the other side of the swimming pool. She inhaled deeply, then climbed over the ledge and lowered herself as carefully as she could, hanging from the edge to get her feet as close to the ground as possible before she jumped. Then she let go. 

     She was pretty, he thought to himself, his eyes running over the long, curling lashes, dark, almond-shaped eyes and soft, rosy lips of the woman curled up in his arms. But whatever was she doing jumping out the window of Francesco Lombardi’s bedroom? And in his clothes, no less. She scrambled out of his arms, horrified, and pressed herself against the wall, clutching tightly to the strap of her bag. She curled into herself as he continued to study her, doing her best to minimise his view of her bare legs and shoulders. But she couldn’t hide the gleaming golden band that wrapped around the ring finger of her left hand. Francesco Lombardi had a wife? And such a beautiful one too, no less. 

     He folded his arms across his chest as he looked at her, the expensive material of his back shirt pressing against the rippling muscles of his forearms. She glanced up at his face and her heart skipped a beat at how handsome he was: deep-set copper eyes, sharp cheekbones and jawline, powerful, defined muscles. His full lips twisted into a smirk, noticing the way her eyes roved over him, and she gulped, the sight making her stomach flip over. She lowered her gaze and bit her lip, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. 

     “I don’t have anything,” she told him softly, making her voice vulnerable and helpless. She tugged on the strap of her bag. “This is just my phone. And my passport.” 

     He walked closer to her, intrigued by how ready Francesco Lombardi’s wife was to leave him at the slightest hint of danger. But was that just common sense? Or did she know more than she was letting on? 

     He stopped a few centimetres in front of her, close enough for her to smell the woodsy, spicy scent of him and feel the heat radiating off his imposing form. He stayed there for a bit, letting her squirm for a few seconds, her gaze flickering between him and the ground in anticipation of his next move. Then he held his hand out to her. 

     “What?” she asked.

     “Passport,” he requested.

His voice was deep and thick, but gentle - not like Francesco’s; harsh and demanding, an undercurrent of slyness lacing his every word. And his accent was different too - not the Italian that tinged Francesco’s voice or the hint of British that crept into hers. His was Spanish, if she had to guess, but mostly American. He hadn’t grown up here then, not like Francesco.  “W-Why? What would you want my passport for?”

She was cute, the way she hunched over her bag protectively, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as she looked up at him. 

     “So I can find out your name.” He shrugged, his lips widening into a full smile. She frowned and straightened, trying to make herself seem bigger even though she was so very small to him. Especially in that oversized shirt that kept slipping off her tiny form. 

     “Why don’t you just ask me?” she pointed out to him. And, Dios, she had to know how adorable she looked when she made that face; had to know that no one would ever take her seriously if she looked at them like that. He took a step even closer to her, tilting his head down so that their lips were just a breath apart.

“Would you tell me if I asked?” 

     Her lips parted, stunned by their sudden proximity. She felt her mouth begin to water at how soft his lips looked, how lush and inviting. Then she swallowed hard, pulling her gaze away from his. “Only if you’ll tell me yours.” 

     “Miguel,” he revealed, holding his hand out to her. “O’Hara.” She eyed his hand carefully, then slid her gaze up to his again. Miguel. It suited him. But his last name … it sounded Irish. Maybe he was mixed? He didn’t really look it though, with his dark features and tanned skin. She took hold of his hand cautiously, her slender fingers curling around his.

     “X,” she confessed. He raised an eyebrow. 

     “No last name?” 

     “I don’t want you to search me up.” She tried to keep her tone light as she said it, like she meant it as a joke, but he wasn't fully convinced. 

     “Hmm.” He considered her thoughtfully. Then he jerked on her hand, pulling her forward so she fell against his chest. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise, and he slid his hands up her back, holding her close to him. “Tell me, X: do you usually shake the hand of strange men who break into your husband’s house?” 

     She curled her fingers against his chest, chastising herself for forgetting to take off her wedding ring. But what did he want with her? And how could she get him to let her go? It was no use trying to push herself away from him - any effort she made would be futile, considering how big and strong he was next to her. So she hunched over instead, trying to make herself seem even smaller. 

     She was so small and soft in his arms, her warm body fitting so perfectly against his as he held her close. He bent over slightly, bringing his mouth closer to her ear so he could murmur in it. “What a shame, princesa.” 

     She pushed against his chest, hoping to catch him off-guard - and conceal the way her body shivered at the feeling of his warm breath tickling her neck. But he loosened his grip on her anyway, letting her go. She took a step away from him, avoiding his gaze. “Just … Can I at least put on some proper clothes before you … torture me or whatever?” 

     He brought his hand to his mouth, trying to hide the smile that took over his face at her request. Not just cute, but funny too; in a sarcastic, witty kind of way. He placed his hands on his hips and bit his lip as he looked at her, waiting until she lifted her gaze back up to his. “If I was going to torture you, cariño, you’d be taking off your clothes. Not putting more on.” 

     How could he say that to her? While looking at her like that? In a way that had her feeling hot enough under the collar that she might have considered removing her clothes anyway? She folded her arms across her chest and frowned at him, trying to look stern. “You … If you’re going to be using lines like that, then I’m definitely going to be putting more clothes on.” 

     He grinned and moved closer to her, stopping just in front of her once again. He lifted his hand to her chin and tipped her face up to his, their mouths so dangerously close once again. His gaze fell to her lips and stayed there. “Then what should I say, cariño, to get you out of those clothes?” 

     Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, then she wrenched her face out of his hand and side-stepped him. “Can you just … tell me why you’re here?!” 

     There it was, that adorable frown once again. “I’m here because your husband has some information I need.” 

     She furrowed her brow as she considered his words. If he took Francesco down, she’d go down too. Unless she found a way to escape - to run away to some other countryside where no one would find her. But how would she even be able to afford it? Never mind the meagre savings she’d managed to transfer to her mother’s account before the lawsuit, everything she had belonged to him. She had to interfere - had to throw him off Francesco’s scent. At least until she managed to convince her husband to share with her all the passcodes for his numerous off-shore accounts. She gripped onto her bag strap again, hesitating. 

     “I … can help you,” she suggested, looking up at him to gauge his reaction. “Maybe?” 

     She probably had some plan in mind to try to stop him. Then again, she had tried to escape from the house immediately. With her passport, no less. Maybe she did know something useful about Francesco Lombardi’s business dealings. And besides - his eyes trailed over her small figure again - there was no way she could pose any sort of threat to him. Maybe he’d try playing along. He waved a hand at the house, signalling for her to lead the way. She obliged, turning to slide open the balcony door. As soon as they’d stepped in, however, the front door slammed open and Francesco himself burst in. His gaze bounced between the two of them, his brows drawing together in an angry frown. Then he stalked over to them. 

     “You let her go! Now!” he commanded Miguel, grabbing X’s elbow to pull her to his side. He turned to face her, his light brown eyes widening with concern as he looked at her. “Take the car, mia cara. Go to your mother. I already told Antonio to transfer money to your account. I’ll meet you there.” He pressed the car key into her hand, pushing her towards the door. But she hesitated, glancing back at Miguel thoughtfully. He folded his arms across his chest, waiting to see what she’d do. 

     “What are you waiting for?!” Francesco yelled at her, his normally immaculately styled sandy hair falling into his eyes as he yelled at her. “Go!” 

     X stumbled as he shoved her again, making her way over to the door.

     “Cariño,” Miguel called out to her lazily, stopping her in her tracks. “What happened to you helping me?” Francesco moved to block X from Miguel’s view. 

     “You leave her alone,” he warned Miguel. “She has no business in any of this!” 

     Miguel leaned to the side slightly, easily chancing a glimpse at X over Francesco’s smaller form. “That’s not what it seemed like to me.” 

     Francesco turned to glance at X, trying not to let his confusion show at Miguel’s revelation. “What are you still doing here?! I told you to run!” 

     X nodded and continued walking to the door. But then she was stopped by two of Miguel’s … bodyguards? A short woman with smooth brown skin and tightly curled hair and a taller, fair-haired man with a long face and bulging muscles. 

     “Ven aquí, cariño (Come here, sweetheart),” Miguel instructed her, that languid tone still drenching his voice. X gulped and returned to him, knowing that her best bet was to just try and play along until he got bored with her. 

     So, she understood Spanish. He’d have to make note of that for later. He tugged on her shirt when she’d gotten close enough to him, pulling her even closer. She gasped as she fell into his chest again. 

     “¿Qué pasa, hermosa? (What's going on, beautiful?)” he asked her, injecting a tone of hurt into his voice. “I thought you said you were going to help me?” 

     Francesco leaped forward, meaning to pull his wife away from the monster, but Miguel pulled out his gun and aimed it at Francesco, stopping him in his tracks. X curled into herself as she tried to avoid meeting Francesco’s gaze, ashamed now by how she’d tried to sell him out so quickly. “I-I … I don’t …” 

     Miguel wrapped his free arm around her waist and nuzzled her hair with his nose, inhaling the sweet and fruity scent of her shampoo. 

     “¿Qué pasa, bonita?” He lowered his mouth to the base of her ear and grinned when he felt the shiver run down her spine. “Tell me where he keeps his bank statements, mi angelita. The ones you’re not supposed to know about?” 

     He brushed his nose against her neck and she let out a choked gasp at the feeling. “M-Mi-Miguel …” 

     Ay, coño, the way she whimpered his name? It drove him mad. He pressed his lips to the crook of her neck and let out a soft moan, squeezing her curves appreciatively. “Mmm. You have such a lovely wife, Francesco. How could you even think of cheating on her?” 

     She dug her fingers into his shoulders, horrified by the revelation. “W-What?”

     She turned to Francesco, looking to him for reassurance. But he looked away, avoiding her gaze guiltily. 

     “Did you … cheat on me?” she asked him, knowing the answer deep down anyway. It would explain the long nights, the trips to the city, the months he’d gone without touching her. He refused to answer. 

     “Francesco!” she pressed, the rage beginning to bubble up within her now.

     “It was just … It was just one time, mia cara!” he pleaded with her. “I was tired and … she took advantage of me!”

     “Oh.” Miguel schooled his features into a fake expression of confusion. “One of them actually managed to take advantage of you? What kind of lawyer are you, Señor Lombardi?”

     “‘One of them’?!” X repeated, horrified - the exact reaction Miguel had been hoping to draw out of her. Francesco glared at him, but whether it was because of his declaration or because of the insult, Miguel didn’t care. 

     “Tu sporco canaglia! (You dirty scoundrel!)” he shouted. X tightened her grip on Miguel unconsciously, her lips twisting into a frown as she looked back at Francesco. 

     “You … You filthy piece of shit!”

He hadn’t expected that. Miguel grinned, amused by the curse falling from her sweet lips, and wrapped his arm more firmly around her waist, supporting her as she seethed at her pathetic excuse of a husband. Eventually, she gritted her teeth and turned to Miguel, revenge the only thought on her mind. “His safe is in the kitchen. You can check there.” 

     “Gracias, cariño.” Miguel pressed a delighted kiss to her forehead. He might keep her around, he decided. Pretty, smart, and driven by anger, turning it into something productive. She couldn’t have been better than if he’d conjured her up himself. He gestured for Ben and Jess to bring Francesco into the kitchen, following after them with X. She went over to the oven and pulled it open.

     “No! X! Don’t you dare! You f*cking b*tch!” Francesco screamed at her, struggling against Ben and Jess. Miguel scowled at the insult and stepped forward, ready to smack the insolent b*stard across the face. But X yelled back at him. 

     “Shut the hell up, Francesco!” She pulled out the back of the oven and handed it to Miguel, then disappeared back inside to key in the passcode to the safe. It wasn’t long before she’d gathered up the binders inside and given them to Miguel. He opened one up and sifted through the papers within, then grinned when he saw that they contained what he needed.

     “Bien hecho, mi angelita (Good job, my little angel),” he praised her before setting the binders atop the kitchen island. He took hold of her shirt again and tugged her back to him. He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, then cupped her cheek in his hand, his heart speeding up as he gave her a smirk. “Should I give you your reward now?” 

     “I didn’t do it for a reward,” she told him, her voice coming out much softer than she’d meant it to. She could tell by his tone exactly how he planned to reward her. But in front of other people?! In front of her husband?! Sure, he was a cheater, but she wouldn’t be the same. Although … it wasn’t like they’d ever repair their relationship; cheating was a dealbreaker for her, so he was as good as dead in her book. 

     Miguel grinned as he watched the emotional conflict play itself out across her face. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him, leaning down to press his lips to the crook of her neck. 

     “¿Qué estás pensando, mi angelita? (What are you thinking, my little angel?)" He slid his hands higher up her back, pulling her tighter against him, and brushed his lips along her neck. Then he began pressing soft kisses along her skin, taking his time to relish the feeling of her against him. 

     “I-I … I …” she trailed off, her words disrupted by the shiver than ran down her spine at the feeling of his lips on her. He was so gentle, so soft, and he smelled so, so nice. Like nutmeg and wood, warm and spicy, clouding all her senses entirely. 

     “You … You f*cking leave her alone, you b*stard!” Francesco yelled, his voice cracking with his fury. Miguel groaned loudly against X’s neck, maintaining eye contact with her husband as he did so. 

     “¿Qué dices, querida? (What do you say, darling?)” he asked her, voice low and husky. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

     “M-Miguel …” ¡Ay, coño, that p*nche whimper again! He slid his hands down to squeeze her ass, causing her to squeak and tense against him. Maldita sea, she was cute. He wondered what other sounds he could get her to make, if the layers of clothing between them weren’t stopping him. He slipped his hands beneath the hem of her shirt, sliding them up her bare skin. Then he trailed his fingers down to her underwear, tracing the thin fabric and giving a soft chuckle at the feeling of the delicate lace draped across her curves.

     “Was this a surprise for him, mi angelita?” Miguel asked her teasingly, face still buried in the crook of her shoulder. “Do you think he deserves it, cariño?” He curled his fingers around one of the thin ribbons, his mind running wild as he tried to put together a mental image of what she might have been wearing underneath the shirt. 

     “N-No!” She glared at Francesco, still yelling and struggling against his captors, then her head fell back with pleasure as Miguel dipped his hand just into her underwear, his fingers tracing lazy circles along her skin. “I-I … D-Divorce …” She gasped and wrapped herself around Miguel, sliding her fingers up the back of his neck and into his hair, clutching at the strands tightly. He groaned into her neck, his fingers moving dangerously low along her skin. 

     “Mmm, angelita.” He looked up at Ben and Jess and nodded his head at Francesco. “Leave him. I want him to watch.” He turned his gaze to Francesco as he lowered his mouth back to X’s shoulder, bare now where he’d slid the collar down. Franscesco continued his futile protests, kicking and fighting against Ben and Jess as they handcuffed him to the very oven that had been his downfall before they left. 

     “M-Miguel.” X clutched at the collar of his shirt, pulling back to look up at him desperately. “I don’t even … k-know you.” He grinned and plunged his fingers all the way into her underwear, dragging them through her rapidly dampening folds. She bit her lip, trying to muffle the moan that fought to slip out.

     “Angelita,” he whined, feeling himself start to harden at how soft and wet she was, how her little body shuddered against him helplessly, getting more and more aroused by his movements. “Should I take you on a date first, princesa? Hmm? Where would you like to go? Dime dónde quieres que te lleve (Tell me where you want me to take you)." He brought his mouth closer to hers, chuckling when she tilted her head to follow his lips with her own. Then he leaned forward and kissed her as he continued playing with her p*ssy, his fingers stroking and teasing her while his tongue swept across her mouth. She stumbled at the overwhelming feeling of him all around her and he pulled her hips against his, holding her upright as he kissed her. 

     “Angelita,” he moaned again, pulling his lips away from hers to move them back to her neck. He groaned at how wet she was, at how sweet she tasted on his tongue, and circled her entrance with his fingers. Her legs twitched at the sensation and another whimper fell from her lips. “Me estas matando, cariño (You're killing me, sweetheart)."

     God, he was good, torturing her and teasing her with his large, calloused fingers. She gasped, her entire body tightening as he slid his finger into her, and he laughed. 

     “Relájate, mi angelita (Relax, my little angel),” he soothed her, tickling her walls gently. “I’m not going to be able to go any deeper if you don’t relax.” 

     “F*ck you, you f*cking b*stard!” Francesco yelled at him, the oven banging and rattling as he pulled at his handcuff. X relaxed her body, so lost in her own pleasure that she didn’t even hear the horrified shrieks of her husband - soon-to-be ex-husband, if either she or Miguel had anything to say about it. Of course he’d never let her go back to that monster - not now that he knew what it felt like, having her in his arms. He pushed his finger deeper inside of her, then added another, forcing a gasp from her lips. 

     “¡Ay, p*ta madre, mi angelita!” Miguel groaned, bringing his mouth to her ear. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had sex before.”

She was just so tight, so sensitive and so desperate for him: it was like she’d never been touched before. X gripped his shoulders tightly as her body began to contract at the feeling of his fingers prodding and poking at her. Miguel chuckled at her gasps and moans, then looked back up at Francesco, his features pulled tight in horror as he watched the sight unfolding before him. 

     “Or is your husband just too small for you?” Miguel grinned wickedly at Francesco and curled his fingers inside of X, prompting a loud moan to fall from her lips. “Discúlpeme, mi angelita (Excuse me, my little angel). Ex-husband."

     “I’ll kill you! I’ll f*cking kill you, you f*cking b*stard!” Francesco threatened him, dishevelled like he’d never been before. Miguel snorted at the threat and returned his attention to X. 

     “Then I’d better take advantage of this moment, sí, mi preciosa?” Miguel teased, removing his fingers to trail them across X’s clit. “What do you say, mi angelita? Do you want me to show you what a real man feels like? Between those legs?” He ignored Francesco’s curses as he looked at X, waiting for her response. 

     She couldn’t - she shouldn’t. She didn’t even know him, this stranger who had broken into her home and tied up her husband after stealing his bank statements! She looked up at Miguel, eyes wide, lips quivering as she tried to tell all of this to him. “M-Miguel …” 

     P*ta madre, she was cute. He lifted his fingers to his mouth, licking off the glistening liquid she’d left there. He moaned at the taste, then flashed a smirk at Francesco before reaching up to cup her cheek in his hand. “Sabes muy deliciosa, cariño (You taste so delicious, sweetheart)."

     She whimpered at the declaration, tangling her fingers in the collar of his shirt as she felt another stream of arousal leak out of her. Miguel grinned and lifted her up easily, setting her down on the kitchen island and spreading her legs apart to accommodate himself between them. He held her thighs down and looked her in the eyes, his expression serious. “I’m not going to force you, mi angelita. Tell me if you want me to stop.” 

     A gang leader? With morals? She would have laughed at the thought if she hadn’t been so painfully aroused then. She glanced over at Francesco, knowing she should say no, knowing she should tell him to stop, then leave and never look back. But she said nothing, just turned back to Miguel with an embarrassed look on her face. He grinned. 

     “Let’s see this underwear you got, hmm, cariño?” he suggested, starting to unbutton her shirt. “We wouldn’t want it to go to waste, would we now?” He slid her shirt off and tossed it aside, sucking in a breath when he saw her exposed curves beneath the scanty pink lace. F*ck, she looked delicious. So f*cking delicious, all his for the taking. He ran his hands up and down her sides, completely exposed save for the streams of ribbons holding the piece of fabric that clung to her front against her body. She was so, so beautiful, he was getting hard just thinking about all the ways he’d make her squirm and writhe beneath him, her soft curves pressing up against his hard muscles. 

     “Cariño,” he growled, his lips curling into a snarl as his eyes roved over her hungrily. She glanced over his shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of Francesco’s reaction - he’d used to look at her in the same way, back at the start. But then he’d found his other toys and hadn’t needed her anymore. He clenched his jaw, his normally handsome features scrunched up in anger and frustration, his eyes boring holes into Miguel’s back. And then Miguel slid his hands up her front, landing on her breasts where he pinched and stroked her already stiff nipples, pulling her attention back to him. 

     “So … So f*cking beautiful, cariño,” he told her, licking a stripe up her neck to her ear. Her head fell to the side in response and he let out another growl before cupping her face in his hands, straightening her so he could begin kissing her. He groaned into her mouth as he brushed his tongue against hers, the sound sending vibrations running down her chest, then he glided his hands back down to her thighs. 

     “Can I … Can I …” he mumbled, his lips moving against hers as he tried to get the question out. He pulled back, his thumbs toying with the ribbons around her waist, and fixed his gaze on her chest. “So f*cking beautiful, cariño.”

He raised his hands to undo the ribbons around her back, taking his time to expose her full, luscious breasts to him. He licked his lips as she whimpered nervously, then leaned forward to press his lips to her nipples, holding her firmly in place as he sucked and licked on her gently. 

     Holy shit! He was so gentle, so … appreciative, like he was in such awe of her body, had such a desire to just worship her. He dragged his tongue around her nipple, then closed his lips around it, pulling her breast into his mouth and groaning as he sucked on it thirstily. She gripped onto the table as she let out a choked gasp, her p*ssy throbbing desperately against his stomach. Francesco stilled behind them, his lips curling with horror as he found himself unable to pull his gaze away from the sight. Miguel released her with a wet pop, then licked his way up her collarbone, his teeth grazing her throat as he made his way back up to her mouth. He kissed her again, harder this time, more aggressive, then began moving his hips against hers, driving the bulk of him into her. 

     “M-Miguel,” she gasped, her body begging for more - for him. “P-Please?” 

     “Lo sé, mi cariño, lo sé (I know, my sweetheart, I know),” he reassured her, his lips and tongue brushing along her neck and throat. “I just … Just let me taste you, querida. Just … Déjame probarte, mi querida, solo una vez. Solo … (Let me taste you, my darling, just once. Just ...)"

He stood back and undid the rest of her ties, his wavy hair cascading into his eyes at the frenzy of his movements. And then she was fully exposed, completely bare before him, her delicious curves entirely on display for him. 

     “Mmm, f*ck,” he murmured, his pupils dilating as he squeezed her breasts together, bouncing them in between his hands. She let out a desperate whine and he lowered his hands to her thighs, pulling her legs apart and kneeling down on the ground. 

     “Don’t,” Francesco begged softly, his tone defeated. “Please.” But Miguel ignored him, instead pulling X closer, so that he could drag his tongue up her centre. A loud yelp escaped her throat and her body shuddered at the feeling, her hips bucking against his mouth as she silently begged him for more. He closed his mouth around her so that his pleased moans sank into her skin and vibrated along her nerves, adding onto her pleasure. Then he dribbled his tongue up and down her folds, drinking up the c*m that continued to leak out of her as he kept playing with her. F*ck, she tasted delicious. 

     “Miguel!” she pleaded with him, her legs twitching as he circled her entrance teasingly. “Miguel, please! Please?”

He dipped his tongue into her, swirling it around her insides, brushing up against her walls and stroking her vigorously. She whined and moaned loudly, drowning out any protests Francesco might have had, and Miguel increased the intensity of his movements, spurred on by the sounds of her pleasure. Finally, with one last curl of his tongue, she came, her body shaking and shuddering as she rode out her orgasm on his mouth. He kept his tongue shoved up inside of her when she’d finished, making sure to drink up every last drop of her sweet, sweet c*m, and she felt her brain turn numb at the feeling. How could she sit there, completely exposed, another man’s tongue buried so deeply inside of her while her husband watched? She shifted uncomfortably, ashamed by how thrilled she was by the thought, and Miguel finally slid his tongue out of her, pushing himself up to look at her. She glanced up at him nervously, a squeak escaping her throat at the mix of saliva and c*m dripping from his jaw, and lowered her gaze again. 

     “P*ta madre,” he breathed, shaking his head in awe. “Sabes muy p*nche deliciosa, mi angelita (F*ck. You taste so f*cking good, my little angel)."

He raised one hand to her face, cupping her chin and tilting her head up to his so he could start kissing her again. He needed … He needed more. He needed to feel her clenching around his d*ck the same way he’d felt her clenching around his tongue, her tight little p*ssy begging him for release. He began undoing the buttons of his shirt, his lips never leaving hers as he pulled off his clothes and tossed them to the ground, climbing on top of her when he was fully naked. 

     “Querida,” he whined, holding her down against the cold marble of the kitchen island as he tugged on the skin of her neck with his teeth. “Querida, tu … Te necesito, mi angelita. Te necesito … ahora (Darling, you ... I need you, my little angel. I need you ... now)."

     “Mi-Miguel,” she breathed, losing control of her thoughts once again. Holy shit, he felt good, his broad shoulders and chest, his smooth skin and hard muscles, pressing into her and shielding her from the rest of the world. She tangled her fingers in his hair, gripping onto the silky strands as she wriggled beneath him, rubbing herself up against him for relief. God, his c*ck! It felt huge! So hard and so warm and so painfully outside of her, not filling her up like she wanted him to. “Migue-el!” 

     “Mmm, querida,” he chuckled, delighting in how badly she wanted him as well. He moaned against her neck, then sat up, sliding her around so she could lie more comfortably lengthwise on the counter. He took hold of himself then, tracing his tip along her soaking folds, lubricating himself in preparation of entering her. She raised her hips, urgently seeking him, but he pressed her down gently, holding her flat against the island. “Calmate, angelita (Calm down, little angel). I’ll give you what you want. I’ll give you everything you want, mi angelita preciosa.” 

     He grunted as he began easing himself inside of her, stretching her out and filling her up so very nicely. She sighed at the feeling, arching her back and wriggling her hips to better accommodate him, barely hearing the groan he let out at the satisfied look on her face. Then she was sitting up, her head falling onto his shoulder as he held her against him, keeping her upright on his lap. He raised her off of him slightly, then slammed her back down on top of him, thrusting his hips into her at the same. F*ck, she felt … so f*cking good. He continued the movement, pumping himself in and out of her, relishing the feeling of her tight and warm walls squeezing and squelching around him. 

     “Querida,” he mumbled in her ear, sliding his hands up her back to press her soft curves tightly against his hard body. She wrapped her arms around him, her eyes fluttering shut as her brain went numb, completely consumed by the sheer pleasure of having him so deeply inside of her. She gasped as she came again, writhing helplessly in his arms as he continued to drive himself into her. He bit down on her shoulder and squeezed her ass as she contracted around him, her soft little p*ssy tightening around his d*ck even lovelier than it had around his tongue. And then he came as well, his muscles finally relaxing as he relieved himself inside of her. She leaned over and bit his ear, then lowered her lips to his neck and sucked on his skin, licking up the salty sweat there as his warm seed seeped into her. 

     “Mmm, Miguel,” she murmured against him, scrunching his hair in her fingers as he continued to hold onto her. His chest heaved up and down as he tried to catch his breath, his fingers stroking her spine as she panted against him as well. Dios, she was cute. He definitely wouldn’t be able to let her go now that he’d had a taste of her. 

     “Boss?” Jess called out to him from somewhere outside. “Cops are on their way. We’d better get going.” Miguel pressed a final kiss to X’s cheek, then lifted her off his lap, setting her down on the table. 

     “That’s right,” Francesco told him, suddenly regaining some of his confidence. “You’d better get going you filthy b*stard.” Miguel rolled his eyes and got off the table, holding a hand out to X to help her down. She hopped off of it, stumbling slightly as her legs shook, still weak from having him inside of her. But he held her steady until she regained her footing, then bent over to pick his clothes up. X reached for her underwear, then grabbed Francesco’s shirt as well, starting to put it back on. But Miguel held a hand in front of her, stopping her. 

     “I don’t want you wearing that, cariño,” he told her, taking the shirt from her and replacing it with his own. “Here. Put this on instead.” She bit her lip, worrying at it as she contemplated his underlying meaning. Her gaze flickered over to Francesco, his brows set into a harsh frown as he glared at her. Then Miguel moved to stand in front of her, blocking her husband from her view. He nodded at his shirt, gesturing for her to put it on, and she did so, setting the underwear aside. He picked it up and shoved it into his pants pocket, flashing her a wicked grin that hinted at whatever he had planned in mind for later. So he wanted there to be a later. Was he really intending on taking her with him then? But how long would he keep her for? What would he have her do? Besides … the obvious, of course. She gulped as her stomach flipped at the thought, lowering her head to avoid meeting his gaze. He slipped his jacket on and placed a hand on her lower back, guiding her out the door and far away from the life she knew she’d never come back to.

[cottonlemonade]

How You Met

word count: 927 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: post time-skip Kita x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: youths

Kita pulled out his phone to take the obligatory picture of the first cherry blossoms of the year, angling the camera against the light of a street lamp for effect and ducking his shoulders against a brisk breeze that rocked the branches back and forth as if grabbed by an invisible hand. Pink petals fluttered through the air like snow and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes, listening intently to faint sounds of the city in the distance. When he opened his eyes again he spotted you and his heart gave a little jolt.

The first time he had seen you was around mid February when Atsumu and his then new girlfriend just started dating and were making good use of the friendly neighborhood taxi service. (Atsumu’s reckless driving had led to yet another suspension of his license so after promising Kita to help him out at the farm on his days off for a month, Kita agreed to drive him twice a week.)

One night, as he was picking up the lust-driven delinquent, his phone buzzed with a notification about a flash sale happening at a nearby boba store he liked. Seeing as he had already spent 20 minutes in the car, fruitlessly waiting for the new couple to wrap things up upstairs, he decided to take the short walk to quickly collect the promised deal and that’s when he saw you - your cute full cheeks cuddled into a thick scarf and puffy coat collar, waiting in line along with another dozen or so people. Once the boba and free snacks were retrieved, he and you met eyes for a moment. You tilted your head ever so slightly and gave a small curious smile before bowing and leaving.

After that you had run into each other every so often at that little park, sometimes over another sale at a food store of some kind, sometimes just because you were both taking a stroll in the crisp night air (one of you more voluntarily than the other) and over the following few weeks he realized he didn't seem to mind driving his former teammate all over town anymore - even going as far as to suggest additional visits to his girlfriend or to grab dinner at a restaurant in that neighborhood. Atsumu, while suspiciously squinting at him from the passenger seat every time, didn’t say anything.

Tonight it looked like you were coming from grocery shopping, readjusting a bag weighing heavy in your hand while trying to keep your purse from slipping off your shoulder. Your steps slowed for a second when you saw him standing there, his phone still in hand, blatantly staring at you and you smiled, giving the small wave that passed between you two as a routine greeting by now.

He swallowed and made his way towards you, ready to offer help carrying the bag when a lot of things happened very quickly. A group of teens dashed by on their bikes, not bothering to alert you of their presence, driving past so narrowly you were pushed from left to right, stumbling a little. He shouted after the boys to apologize but they just laughed and drove on. Kita turned around to you who looked shocked but unharmed and began to walk again when a last straggler from the group came racing along the pathway and knocked you to the ground, calling for his friends to wait.

Kita jogged over and knelt at your side.

“Are you alright?”, he asked, hesitating for a second, before grabbing your elbow, carefully pulling you to your feet. Your hands and knees were scraped, your bag torn. You nodded and he helped you to a nearby bench to sit down before swiftly gathering the scattered groceries, some beyond saving as the boys had driven over them, like splattered grapes and a split carton of milk.

“Thank you very much.”, you said and tried to shake strands of hair out of your face, unable to use your shivering hands.

Without thinking he raised his own to brush it back for you, his mouth feeling very dry when your eyes met.

After an impossibly long moment he cleared his throat and told you to stay put while he would head to the pharmacy around the corner and before you could stop him, he was on his way. You looked down at your ripped jeans - now more ripped and dirtied by the fall - and grimaced.

When he returned he knelt in front of you again, tearing open the bag of disinfectant wipes and after checking with you that he wasn't overstepping, began cleaning your knees and hands, reassuring you and careful he didn't touch you more than necessary, put plasters on the now cleaned cuts.

“Thank you.”, you said again and took the arm he had offered you to get up.

He held out a new bag he had gotten from the pharmacy in which he had stacked the few unscathed groceries and you accepted it with a bow.

You both stood there for a while, neither really knowing what to do next.

"Sorry for all the trouble.", you said finally and he looked at you, kneading your fingers, looking anywhere but at him and he saw a distinct blush creeping into your cheeks. You were even prettier up close.

"Don’t worry about it.", he said simply when his brain started to work again. A pleasant shiver trickled down your spine at his calm soft voice.

"Could I… invite you for some coffee tomorrow? As a Thank You."

a/n: I wanted this to feel like the most cliched romance anime/kdrama meet cute imaginable.

[xxblairexxss]

Jibber-jabber

Pairing : Mason Mount x reader

Theme : Fluff

This was so so so cute I had a blast writing it!

Your relationship with Mason wasn’t a secret amongst his fans. Two years ago, Mason asked you to be his girlfriend and a few months later, he uploaded a picture of you on his Instagram story which proved all those rumours that has been flying around to be true. His fans had found your social media way before Mason posted or confirmed anything and it was only because they saw Mason following you, a random girl with no more than 1000 followers and never missed to leave a like on every posts of yours though he never left any comments.

ynusername

Liked by masonmount and others

ynusername 🥐☕️

ynbestfriend miss uuuu

masonmmupdate you are soooo pretty

footballwagssoon mason’s gf??

rebeccaa__19 are you mason’s girlfriend? 🥹

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

masonmount has added to their story

12th June

ynusername has added to their story

2nd July

Even though everyone knew you were together and that you were no longer an unfamiliar face amongst the fans, you chose to keep it as private as you can. There would be an occasional pictures of you guys holding hands together or showing off your matching socks or a 2 seconds view of him in your Instagram story to which the fanpages would cut the part of the 15 seconds video and reposted it with the slow motion effect. It wasn’t because you were trying to hide anything or trying to be mysterious but it was because you wanted to use the social media platforms as your personal diary and no one stayed on one topic in their diary.

You had been staying at Mason’s house a lot this month as he tried to sort out his contract which meant he wasn’t at home that much so you would occasionally treat yourself on a solo date where you would took a stroll near the park or got yourself a coffee at the new coffee shop you came across. It was therapeutic sometimes to spend time with yourself.

But today, it was different. Mason asked you out to buy some stuffs at a department store. You told Mason that you wanted to do a vlog and that he didn’t have to be in it. He didn’t mind, of course but what he didn’t knew was that it wasn’t actually a vlog.

You already had your phone recording when you did your makeup earlier so as you talked thorough all the products that you were using, you decided to talk about the plan as well but in a whispering tone now. Not that Mason could hear but just to be safe. “So, we’re going out and I wanted to prank him. I’m gonna chatter about 20 random topics I could think about at one time and none of it are gonna make any sense. I’m not sure how he’s gonna react because he never gets annoyed with me so…”

“Babe, you ready?”

“Yeah!”

﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎﹎

“So, I went to this one bakery the other day, yeah?”

Mason had his hand on your thigh, like he always did whenever he drives and nodded to your question. Your phone was propped against something on the car dash to record both you and Mason. You had asked him once again if he wanted to be in the camera and he said of course he wanted to be seen in the camera with his girlfriend.

“And I asked the worker which one was the best-selling and she said it was pain au chocolat but they had a new menu that made them won the�� Oh! Do you know the history of pain au chocolat?”

Mason blinked, trying to catch up with you before shaking his head. “No, I don’t know but babe, what about the new menu?”

“Mase, listen! So August Zang..”

“Wait, who’s Zang?”

“The one who brought pain au chocolat to France! This is why you should listen.”

“Okay, baby, I’m listening.”

“Oh! And there was this cute dog that passed by—”

“Was it Zang’s dog?”

“….what? Mase…” You gave in and cackled at his question. “That doesn’t even make any sense!”

“Oh, yeah, tell me about it, princess.” He pinched on his furrowed brows, didn’t find this whole thing funny, in fact, it was kinda stressing him out but were you gonna stop? Not yet, of course so you continued.

“Then I felt like getting a green tea but there was a stranger that walked past me and the smell of coffee from the one that she was holding— the new menu was something to do with cranberry I think.”

“Okay, babe, are you okay?” He teared his eyes away from the road as the traffic light turned red and placed his hand on the side of your face.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Do you…want me to stop talking?” You leaned into his touch and trailed off.

“No, no. Keep talking. The topics are kinda complicated but I’ll manage. So, you were talking about the dog, yeah? No? Was it the coffee? Cranberry? Zang? Which one do you want start with?”

“I want to talk about the street art I saw…” You forlornly returned his gaze.

“Okay, I don’t mind adding one more topic. Let’s take it slow, okay? What about the street art?” Mason stroked his thumb against your jawline and took your hand in his. To him, you looked the most adorable when you talked. He had a hard time catching up, sure but he didn’t mind. The sight of you blabbering, the way you bit your lips to think off the next topic, the way your hands moved randomly with every words you said. He sworn he wouldn’t trade this moment with anything else. He was listening attentively but he also couldn’t stop gazing at you full of admiration. His precious girl.

To you, he didn’t look annoyed, didn’t look irritated. Of course, you wouldn’t be able to read his mind but the public could be the one to decide on that when you posted the video on your Tiktok.

[crazycatgirl420]

It's not Magic, It's Science P2

The Fentons had been good at inventing, at research, at theories and experiments to prove or disprove those theories. They had not been good at bussiness.

Danny gave Tucker a hundred dollars to fix the FentonWorks website into something more professional. Sam was his first Client, and they sat down to figure out how Danny would take clients and sell his inventions.

With the Portal closed, the only Ghosts who came through were coming from Vlad's Portal. Being Emancipated meant there was no custody issues. All of Vlad's attempts at forcing his way into Danny's life were slowly esclating with Maddie and Jack dead.

Danny didn't have time to be dealing with the Mayor of Amity Park's obbession with him. So he took the collection of cameras and mics to the police and requested a restraining order.

"Mister Fenton, is it true your parents knew Mayor Masters?"

"-that your parents supported Mayor Masters?"

"-know that Mayor Masters took videos of minors?"

"-Are you pressing charges? Will you sue?"

Valerie and Dash stepped between the Papparazzi and Danny, as they left the school. Sam and Tucker sheilded Danny from the back, and together they fled to Jazz's little car.

"Go with them," Val said, as Sam and Tucker took the backseat with Danny. "I'll follow on my bike."

Danny never thought he'd need bodyguards, or that Dash would become one of them. But a lot of things changed after the funeral. Hiring Val and Dash as bodyguards would probably be smart, at least until the issue with Vlad goes away.

Danny slowly grew Fenton Works into an actual Amity Park bussiness, instead of a local oddity. Ectoplasm was a wondeful green energy source, natural and rewnewable, at least until a thousand years after all life on the planet dies off. Harvesting it from the air, using things the Doctors Fenton had already built that do just that, and then making that into a collection of power sources.

Ecto-Batteries, and their charging pods. Ecto-Light Blubs, with a filter for red light at Sam's insistance, that went into all public lights. Ecto-Blubs for the schools, bussinesses, houses that came with a collection of color fliters to choose from.

"Can Ecto replace gas?" Sam asked, the first time Jazz's car had a leak.

Danny spent the weekend under Jazz's car, and three hours after school learning at a mechanic shop. It took six months, dozens of trips from the lab to the car port, but he built a car able to run on Ectoplasam.

The issue came when he added it to his website.

"Mister Fenton? This is Timothy Drake-Wayne of Wayne Enterprises. I'd like to talk to you about your Ecto-fueled vehicle. Do you have time to talk next week?"

[demonvampire180writes]

Come find me on the Archive

The week is finally coming to a close. It’s been an agonizingly long six days since Buck has seen his boyfriend in person, and his heart aches for him. His skin misses the lingering warmth of every touch and the smell of his shower gel after a long, hot bath. Buck misses those bright blue eyes that crinkle at the corners with every smile and the deadpan delivery of dumb jokes. In short, Buck just misses Tommy.

After a final inspection, Gerrard dismisses the A shift and Buck shoots out of there like a rocket, barely taking time to shove his change of clothes into his duffel before he’s side stepping through coworkers just so he can get to his Jeep that one second faster. Because the faster he moves, the sooner he gets to see Tommy.

As he runs, he places his hand over his heart; the tattoo is through the peeling stage and the redness and swelling have both gone down. It’s still fresh enough that the lines are dark, and strong, but it doesn’t look like he just stepped out of the shop and decided to go sunbathing and got sunburnt either. He’s unspeakably happy, and as each day went by, the more he wanted to see the older man, to show it off. It took days and days for the nerves to calm down and, now that he’s finally going to see Tommy, all he can do is shake with anticipation.

Tommy’s going to love it, he just knows it.

Just as he’s throwing his duffel into the passenger seat, his phone nestled into its holder on the dash, it begins to ring with a video call. Buck grins so wide his face hurts as he answers it, Tommy’s face too close to the camera as usual. “Tommy!” Buck breathes, leaning back against the seat.

“Hey babe. How’re you?”

“I’m just getting off shift.” Shyly he adds. “I can’t wait to see you.” Tommy pulls the phone back some and Buck swoons at his affectionate grin. “I missed you.” He finishes.

“God, I missed you, too. A week is far too long to not see you.” Buck’s heart pitter patters. “Are you coming over right away or do you need to stop home first?”

Buck is shaking his head before he even finishes speaking, feeling his heart grow three times larger just hearing the man’s smooth baritone over airwaves. “I can’t wait a second longer. I’ll be at your place in…” He glances quickly at the clock on his dash, turning his eyes back to his love promptly, “...probably an hour?” It’s 6 PM on a Monday so crosstown traffic will be atrocious. And he took a car this time.

Tommy winks, lips quirking michievously - his pupils dilate a bit and a shudder runs down Buck’s back. Don’t get distracted. “I’ll be waiting for you. So how was your shift?” As Buck starts the vehicle, they fall into easy conversation. Before he knows it, Buck is pulling into Tommy’s driveway, their conversation not having lulled once the entire drive.

He’s up and out of the seat almost before he’s turned the ignition off, and the front door swings open, Tommy standing behind it with his arms held wide open. Without a second thought Buck walks right into his embrace, wrapping himself around his man like a koala around its favorite tree. Tommy leans into him and presses a kiss to his hair, his strong arms hugging him tight enough that Buck can barely breathe. And he’d rather not be anywhere else.

“Hey.” Tommy mumbles, refusing to pull away.

“Hey.” Buck replies, turning to nose the side of his boyfriend's neck, inhaling his scent until it’s all he can smell. “Missed you.” He says it again to ensure there’s no confusion.

“Missed you too.” He presses another kiss to his hair before running a hand through it, tugging softly at the little curls at his nape. “Glad you had a good shift.”

“It’s better now because I get to see you.” Buck looks up through his eyelashes, batting them like he thinks he’s cute or something. Apparently Tommy thinks he is because he plants one right on his lips, his own mouth curved up in an exasperatedly fond smile. “How was your day off?”

“Oh, you know.” Tommy pulls away and Buck whimpers, bottom lip jutting out almost subconsciously. Tommy says nothing but pulls the younger man through the doorway, closing it behind them, and lacing their fingers together as they traverse the foyer and hallways into the kitchen. Tommy plants Buck down on one of the island stools and makes for the fridge. As he pulls it open and grabs out two beers he says, “The usual. I worked on that car I’ve been trying to restore, didn’t get very far because my God is it a beast, and did some chores. Really I spent most of my day lamenting that you weren’t here in my arms, yet.” Buck’s face flames and he has to duck his head in his embarrassment.

“Dammit Tommy, really? You’re gonna make me giggle like a little girl over here.” He chides, secretly loving when Tommy casually slips in some mushy bullshit. It makes him feel loved. It makes him feel like the tattoo was, in fact, a great idea. He doesn’t see Tommy shrug but he can sense it, like he senses the shit eating grin he wears as he sets down his drink in front of him, having popped the top off on the bottle opener mounted under the counter. Then there’s fingers lifting his chin, forcing him to look up and he inhales sharply at Tommy’s slight frown, his blue-grey eyes intent.

“Evan, I’m not joking. I missed you so much this week. We were both so busy at work, and we hardly had time to Facetime each other. There wasn’t even time to visit you at the station for meals or breaks. I-” He takes a deep breath, grounding himself, and seems to force the words out. “I never thought I could miss seeing someone in person that I talk to on the phone every single day. It physically hurt me to not be able to touch you; to hold you.” He leans in to press a hard, lingering kiss to Buck’s lips, tilting his chin upwards with those two fingers like he had done the first time he took Buck’s lips. When he pulls back, Buck’s heat is in his throat and his brain is in a fog. It takes all his willpower to look away from Tommy’s lips and into his eyes as he says, “Knowing you were coming over tonight, I could only distract myself for so long before you were the only thing I could think about.” He pauses. “Though, now that I’m thinking about it, you’re all I think about anyway.”

It takes all of Buck’s self control to not leap from his seat and tackle this man to the ground and take what he pleases. It’s not that he doesn’t want that, in fact he’s so pent up he can cry, but he refuses to let that be the foundation of their interactions. That was Buck 1.0 and Abby taught him that that isn’t what he has to be. Every relationship since has taught him more and more that, while sex is great, there’s more to intimacy than just that. Like getting permanent body modifying art without discussing it with your significant other first. Instead, Buck keens pitifully and whimpers as he wraps himself once more around his boyfriend, pulling him in snuggly between his legs and burying his head into his stomach. Tommy snorts and wraps his large hands gently around Buck’s necks, thumbs rubbing circles over the taut muscles there. He doesn’t stop, or pause, even once, until Buck pulls away.

“No wonder everyone keeps accusing me of having it down bad for you.” He huffs, eyes hot.

“Down bad?” Tommy asks with a confused, raised brow.

Buck pats his boyfriends stomach and replies, “Don’t worry about it old man. You wouldn’t get it.”

Tommy gasps, “Excuse you, Evan, I am not old. I’m only forty.” He tugs at Buck’s hair. “I’m not even old enough to be your Daddy.”

“Oh yeah? Says who?” Buck asks with the most lascvicious grin on his face, unable to keep from poking the beast. Tommy lunges forward but before he can tackle Buck, Buck is out of his seat darting around the kitchen island.

The next twenty minutes is spent with Tommy chasing Buck around his house with peels of laughter rolling out of Buck in waves he cannot stop. Eventually it ends with Tommy tackling Buck onto their bed with the younger man on his back, panting and Tommy bridged over him, curls a tangled mess. Both men grin at each other and Tommy leans in to meet Buck halfway in a kiss. Moaning, Buck rolls his hips, his libido choosing that moment to rear its head. He can feel Tommy responding to the motion but, at the most inopportune time, Buck’s stomach screams out with hunger - reminding him that the last full meal he ate is close to ten hours ago.

Startling, the two crumple in laughter, realizing what just happened. Tommy lets his full weight flop on top of Buck, and Buck relishes as he buries that perfect, somewhat crooked nose, bury itself into the sensitive flesh of his neck. They stay, giggling, like that for a few minutes before Buck’s stomach makes his hunger known once again. “I think that may be a sign.” Tommy huffs, nuzzling him deeper. “Shame.” Buck can feel the disappointment against his thigh and he can’t agree more. Tommy brushes his lips against his skin and sighs, “We’ll be picking up where we left off, later.”

“D-definitely.” Buck mumbles, running his hands down Tommy’s spine, grabbing his ass, and squeezing until the man yelps in protest. “So. Are we making dinner or going out?”

“If we stay in, I can promise you we’re not going to be leaving this bed to get as far as dinner.” Tommy assures him.

Buck guffaws and shoves Tommy off, laughing as he lands with a whumph on his back, grinning like the loon he is. “Dumbass. What are you hungry for?”

“You.” He replies, deadpan.

Buck rolls his eyes and thwacks him softly in the stomach with the back of his hand. “I’m clearly dessert. I mean what do you want for the main course?” He’s sitting up now, willing the heat in his stomach and groin to get the message that personal time isn’t on the books right at this second. His body needs nourishment if they’re about to marathon the next seventy-two hours they have off together. A delicious shudder runs down his spine, but he manages to shove those thoughts away.

Tommy’s head lulls his way and, once again, in the driest, most deadpan way he can muster, he replies, “You. You are the appetizer, main course and dessert. You’re a one stop dinner shop to me, Evan.”

O-o-o-o-kay then, so much for putting those thoughts away. Grunting, half in resignation and half with building desire, Buck heaves himself on top of Tommy, straddling him. “If I pass out, Thomas Kinard, I’m blaming you.” And the next instant he’s on him, bodies making magic with every movement.

Buck is standing next to the bed, shirt in hand. They’d gone two rounds before his stomach had protested loud enough that they had to call it quits. Tommy’s currently showering, Buck went first to make sure showering is all they did, but a second later the door swings open and he’s standing there in all his bare chested glory, hair dripping, curls awry. He uses the towel wrapped around his neck to start drying his hair, eyes roaming Buck hungrily, though more sated than he was an hour ago, when his eyes stop and his mouth falls open. The towel he’s using drops, draping limply around his shoulder and his mouth is agape.

“What is it, babe?” Buck asks worriedly. He glances down at his own body, not seeing anything to call for alarm. Then it strikes him. Slowly raising his head, he carefully follow’s Tommy’s sightline and confirms just where he’s looking. How did he forget? Actually, how had Tommy not noticed mid coitus? (Well. Actually. If he had, Buck wouldn’t have been doing a very good job he thinks to himself.) “O-oh. Um…” The weeks earlier anxiety spikes. All the confidence he’s built vanishes in an instant and his body starts to shake. He pulls the shirt he’s holding up a little further, even though it’s not really blocking anything, creating a barrier between his boyfriend’s eyes and his new art. He feels laid bare, and not in a good way. This was a stupid idea. He wants to cry - he feels the heat prickling in the back of his eyes, the way his nose tickles in anticipation of tears.

Tommy strides forward, reaching him in three long steps, and reaches out to place his hand over Buck’s heart. Buck, unintentionally, flinches and Tommy doesn’t fail to notice. He pulls his hand back as if burned, looking hurt. He doesn’t reach for him again as he says, “Evan. Is that new?”

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to flinch.” He apologizes quickly, feeling smaller than an ant. He looks away from Tommy, shuffling his feet. “Y-yeah. I-it’s new.” His throat clogs. He’s going to pass out. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid Buck. How could he have thought this was a good idea? It’s too soon and now Tommy is going to leave him, just like everyone else. Tears really do begin to fall now, Buck unable to stop them at the thought of Tommy leaving him. “I-I know it’s too much, and I-I-I know it’s t-too soon, so if you n-need to step back from m-me, I get it.”

“Evan.” A warm hand presses over his heart again. “Hold on just a second. I know you tell great stories, but it’s easier for me to understand if you start from the beginning. What do you mean it’s ‘too soon’? What’s too soon?”

Buck sniffles far too loudly as he wipes at his nose, the dopamine from their romp in the bed not twenty minutes before evaporating into dust. He’s unable to compose himself and, in fact, starts crying even harder when Tommy brings him into his arms, one hand still pressing against his tattoo. “This. All of this. I know it’s stupid but… I just… I love you so much Tommy and the thought of losing you brings me to my knees.”

“Honey. Baby. Why would you ever lose me? I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

“You say that now,” Buck snuffles, “but everyone gets sick of me eventually. And then I do stupid shit like getting a tattoo that I hope will be my good luck charm in keeping us together. Forever.” Tommy pushes him back and his hands clamp down, hard, on his shoulders.

“Evan. Look at me.” He doesn’t. “Dammit, Evan Buckley, look at me.” There’s a growl in Tommy’s voice that Buck has never witnessed before, and he can’t help how his head snaps up to look him in the eye. Tommy’s expression is hard, harder than Buck can ever remember, and his heart stutters. Tommys is pissed at him. Of course he is. Who wouldn’t be pissed when someone does something this big without talking about it. The tears come faster and he can feel snot pooling along his Cupid’s bow but he doesn’t even bother trying to swipe it away anymore.

To his total surprise, Tommy does it for him, using the towel he’d been drying his hair with before, not caring that he won’t be able to use it again until it’s washed. “I’m still not understanding. This tattoo is… You got it for us?” Buck nods miserably, still sniffling. 

The longest silence Buck has ever suffered through follows, though logically he knows it was likely only a few seconds, when he hears a sniff that isn’t his own. Lifting his eyes, his chest seizes, noticing wetness in his man's eyes, his baby blue-greys glistening with his own unshed tears. “T-Tommy, oh my God I’m so sorry. It doesn’t have to mean anything for us. I can tell people I just thought it was cool. Oh God, please don’t-” He doesn’t even finish the sentence before Tommy’s mouth is crashing over his and his face is wrapped up in hot, calloused hands. Buck opens his mouth in a gasp but doesn’t get it out because Tommy’s tongue is shoving past his lips, tangling with his until neither of them can breathe.

When they finally pull away from each other, Tommy rests his forehead against Buck’s as he breathes, voice wet, “Oh Evan, you stupid, stupid man. I don’t even know how to convey to you just how much I love you. How much I love everything about you. Just how much I want to spend forever with you, too.” He sucks in a breath through his nose, calming himself. “I have never loved anyone as much as I love you, Evan. I’ll never love anyone as much again. And I’m sorry you ever had to doubt yourself, or your actions. I promise that I will do better showing you that you can be who you are, no matter what.”

Buck whimpers, his knees going weak. Tommy catches him, holding him up without disengaging their heads. “You’re perfect, Tommy. You already do so much for me. You don’t need to change. It’s my fault. It’s just my stupid insecurities.”

Tommy shakes his head. “No, Evan. You’ve been through so many bad relationships, romantic and familial, and I knew that, yet I still didn’t try hard enough. I will never let you feel this way again. I shouldn’t have let it happen in the first place.” He tilts his head to press a kiss against Buck’s birthmark, squeezing him into a hug with one arm around Buck’s shoulder and the other around his waist, wrapping him in an embrace he never wants to escape from. Buck doesn’t respond, choosing to instead grab Tommy’s hips as best as he can, leaning his head against his shoulder and letting himself be surrounded by his calming scent.

When Tommy finally lets go, he grabs Buck’s chin and rubs soothingly along his jaw with his thumb. “Now, you’re going to let me finish getting dressed, and then you’re going to tell me all about this.” He pats Buck’s chest. With a watery chuckle Buck nods his ascent, finally loosening his grip on the shirt he’s kept a death hold on this entire time.

The two sit in Tommy’s living room on the couch, Buck with his shirt off facing Tommy who’s sitting with one leg cocked, the other draped over the edge. His eyes roam over the scene - a hyper realistic helicopter with its blades blurring as though in motion facing towards what could only be LA’s muted skyline. In the background of the otherwise greyscale ink is a fiery red sunset with hues of orange, and red, and pink, the glaring sun sinking behind the fluffy grey clouds. Although “LAFD” isn’t anywhere in the image, if one looks closely enough they would notice a tiny “217” inked on the front of one of the building outlines, as though nothing more than an address. Another one, more in the background, shows “118”.

The picture takes up the entirety of Buck’s pectoral and Tommy is in awe. His fingers trace the delicate linework and a lump the size of a gumball catches in his throat. Buck did this for him. For them. This man, this beautiful, glorious, golden retriever of a man wishes so much that they’ll last that he marked himself. Trying to clear away the emotions Tommy chokes, “It’s stunning, Evan. I don’t even have the right words for it.”

Evan looks at him, shy. “So… this is okay?” He puts his hand over Tommy’s, squeezing.

He doesn’t even have to contemplate the answer, replying, “Nothing has ever been more okay in my entire life.” He pecks the tip of Buck’s nose. Trying to shake off the too heavy emotions he jokes, “So, when I called you that first day… You weren’t denying me seeing my hot boyfriend shirtless… You were keeping this little surprise to yourself?”

Evan shoots him a crooked smile, heat coloring his neck the prettiest red. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you.”

Tommy snorts, flicking the end of his nose with his free hand. “And I’m guessing your whole family knew?” Buck nods. Scoffing the pilot says, no heat in his words, “And Howie managed to keep it a secret? Damn, I see where his loyalties lay.” Evan rubs at his nose but grins. “Evan…” He pauses. “Thank you. Thank you for making me the happiest man I’ve ever been, and probably the happiest man I’ll ever be. Neither of us can say for certain that we’re going to be forever but, more than anything in the world, more than me hoping you have Daddy issues,” he snorts that cute little snort he does when he’s taken off guard, “I hope we are. Evan Buckley. I love you and you’re mine. Now and for the foreseeable future.” He leans in to press his lips to Evan’s forehead, heart swelling with pride.

Tommy doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this, but he will never take it for granted for as long as they both shall live.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

[wildemaven]

A Quick Photo

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader 

WC: 680

Warnings: 18+; Allusions to sex

A/N: I saw these photos on my dash and wrote a little something for them. This is set after Honeymoon in the Saturdays with Javier verse. This is a poor attempt at smut-ish again, it is what it is. I just love these two so much! I am also realizing I need some sort of name or nickname for Reader now cause it think it’s about damn time... 

Series Masterlist / Main 

“Will you stay still!”

“I am.” His voice laced with mischief.

“Javi! Stay still! They’re going to come out blurry!”

His hands grab at you again, and again you swat them away, trying to refocus your lens on him.

*Click*

*Wind*

*

Settling back home after the trip was an adjustment for the first few days.

Unpacking, washing laundry, cleaning out the car-- on top of situating back into the normal routine of life.

After breakfast you spent some time tidying up the bedroom picking up yesterdays clothes and fixing the bedsheets. Grabbing the stack of decorative pillows off the sitting chair in the corner, you noticed your camera had yet to be put away after unpacking.

Tossing the pillows onto the bed with out thought, you picked up the camera and noticed it still had a few frames left on the roll—  eager to get it developed to relive your trip all over again.

Hearing the sound of your husband in the other room had you thinking of just how to use up the rest of the  roll.

*

“C’mere—” His large hands grabbing unsuccessfully, sliding across your bare thighs as you jump back out of his reach.

“Not until you let me finish this roll! Now, please Javi, don’t move.”

He surrenders ands stands there, as still as can be in his snug white henley shirt, top few buttons undone and sleeves pushed up the width of his forearms.

He looks stunning like this. The natural light from the window hitting him just right— his features perfect and enticing. You can’t help but selflessly want a few photos of just him.

“Stop looking so…broody Javier.”

Furrowing his brows at your comment. “How am I looking broody? I’m just standing here.”

“Your face— you look all “I’m Javier Peña and I’m tough” like.” You say in a deep voice with your chest out, hands on your hips— doing your best to impersonate him.

He looks unamused as he stands there in a similar pose— hands resting at his hips, fingers just barely tucked into his pockets.

*Click*

*Wind*

“I do not sound like that.”

*Click*

*Wind*

“Javi, you do— but I love you, broody and all.” You laugh and lean into him for a brief kiss, his hands make their way into your hardly buttoned shirt— his shirt actually, the button-up one you had thrown on your nearly naked form before joining him for breakfast this morning.

*Click*

*Wind*

“Is that so.”

His fingers work together to undo the remaining buttons of his shirt. His nose nudging at your cheek, the soft slide of it against your skin as he takes in your scent.

Tender light nips to your jaw, the drag of his top lip down your neck as he slides the shirt off one shoulder— your skin prickling at the sensation of his wet kisses across your collar bone.

“Jav—“

His newly callous hands, fence building the last week taking a toll on them, guide the shirt off the rest of the way, leaving you in only your cotton panties. Pulling you against him, hands kneading at your skin, grabbing and caressing as they move about your body.

“Let me love on my wife a bit.” His breathy whisper ghosting your ear. “Then we can take your film down to the camera shop to get developed…” The slow glide of his finger tips down your stomach, inching closer to the ache between your legs. “Grab some lunch while we wait…” His tongue and teeth catch your earlobe, causing a whimper to rip from your throat.

*Click*

The last frame, an accidental capture as he walks you backwards towards the bed, where he’s eager to take you apart bit by bit.

Euphoria, thick like molasses, seeping through your veins. Limbs shaky, cradling each others exhausted bodies. Beads of sweat pooling before dripping down your dewy skin onto the undone sheets.

You’re too tired to care about anything, being wrapped up in Javier’s arms is all you have on your mind for the time being.

[jessicanjpa]

Twilight Advent Calendar 2023 Event

🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲

Dec. 21 - Pick any five characters. What's something they always carry with them?

Jasper: Zippo lighter

You never know when you might need to dismember and incinerate an enemy. Or, you know, burn out an entire classroom because you accidentally killed the teacher and you have no choice but to murder the whole class to cover your tracks. Safety first.

Carlisle: doctor bag including a fantasy-level knockout syringe

I don't even know what's in that syringe. Propofol? Ketamine? Methohexital? Even if he were to inject a bolus directly into the jugular vein after making an educated guess about his victim's body weight, I don't think anything can work that fast. Cardiac arrest is more likely, but he's the doctor.

Anyway, that syringe canonically sees more action than Jasper's lighter and I think that's hilarious.

Esme: tin pencil box, 1921

Carlisle had an exasperating habit of purchasing any and every item that newborn Esme mentioned even the smallest interest in. When the words "I used to draw when I was a girl" crossed her lips, he practically ran out the door to shop for art supplies. This tin pencil box came home in his pocket. Esme still carries it in her purse to this day, stocked with whichever medium is her favorite at the time. A small, battered sketch pad is ready and waiting, too—you never know when you might stumble across something beautiful.

Rosalie: decorative makeup compact and emergency toolkit

It's important to Rosalie that everyone—humans and vampires alike—see her as both beautiful and competent. I don't think the books ever mentioned whether Rosalie and/or Alice wear makeup to school, but if they do, it has to be reapplied often because of the nature of vampire skin. And while she's perfectly capable of using people's glasses as a mirror (canon), I think she'd rather do it in style.

And she feels most comfortable when she's prepared for mortifying scenarios like her car breaking down in a school parking lot someday. She also likes being the one to say "Well actually you just need a 3/16 hex wrench—here" when someone is scratching their head over a broken chair/desk/bicycle/anything.

Charlotte: digital camera -> smartphone

Nomads have to be very particular about what they keep with them; no self-respecting vampire wants to dash around the globe wearing a backpack. But Charlotte had to, back when she had no choice but to carry around a bulky camera, extra rolls of film, and prints. She very happily made the switch to digital once the resolution became good enough. And now she's made the switch to smartphone photography (a little more grudgingly). Peter got her an iPhone-compatible macro lens last year and that finally won her over.

🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲🌲

You can find all of the #twilightadvent23 prompts here!

[beardedmrbean]

Police have released an image of a suspect with "distinctive" injuries wanted in connection with an alkali attack in south London.

Abdul Shakoor Ezedi, 35, was last seen at a Tesco store on Caledonian Road, north London, at 20:48 GMT on Wednesday.

Police have warned the public not to approach him, but to call 999 if they see him.

Mr Ezedi had travelled to London from the Newcastle area, the force said.

The image is taken from the Tesco store, where the suspect is believed to have purchased a bottle of water.

"He left the shop and turned right," the Met said.

"The image shows Ezedi with what appears to be significant injuries to the right side of his face. This makes him distinctive."

A mother and daughter hurt by the corrosive substance could have suffered "life-changing" injuries in the attack.

The 31-year-old and her daughter, three, remain in hospital, along with her older daughter, eight.

The suspect fled the scene in Clapham on Wednesday evening.

He attempted to escape in a car but crashed into a stationary vehicle, then ran.

Police believe the suspect is known to the family, but said they were not yet clear on their exact relationship.

Supt Gabriel Cameron told reporters on Thursday he had "no idea" what Mr Ezedi's motivation may have been, but that he was "wholeheartedly confident" he would be caught.

He said Mr Ezedi is believed to be from the Newcastle area, and the car left at the scene, a Hyundai, belonged to him.

He may have been known to police, Supt Cameron added.

"While this appears to be a targeted attack, he is a dangerous individual, and we urgently need to find him," the Metropolitan Police said earlier on Thursday.

Supt Cameron said the suspect was last seen in the north London area, in Caledonian Road, and if people see him they should not approach him, but call 999.

There was a heightened police presence in Caledonian Road on Thursday afternoon, including unmarked cars with blue sirens and police vans.

Twelve people in total were hurt in the attack. Out of four members of the public who tried to help, three went to hospital with injuries - two women in their 30s and one in her 50s. Police say they "bravely came to the aid of the family" and have now been discharged from hospital.

The London Ambulance Service said it sent a response team, including three ambulance crews, to the scene after receiving a call about an incident near Clapham Common just before 19:30 GMT on Thursday.

A man in his 50s declined medical treatment for minor injuries he suffered at the scene.

Five officers who were injured as they responded to the attack have left hospital after receiving treatment.

Some of the burns the mother and her daughters suffered in the attack were "quite substantial", Met Police chief Sir Mark Rowley told the BBC on Thursday, but added he did not have a full picture of their injuries yet.

They were attacked on Lessar Avenue, near Clapham Common, at 19:25 GMT on Wednesday evening. Police were called following reports of an attack with a suspected "corrosive substance".

One witness told the BBC that the mother cried "I can't see, I can't see" as he tried to help.

Police have urged any members of the public who saw what happened to call 101 quoting reference CAD 7790/31Jan.

Officers have also asked local residents and drivers to check their doorbell and dash cameras for any footage that might have captured a man fleeing the area.

A crime scene is now in place and is likely to remain there for some time, police say.

[milkmaidovich]

PLEASE ALWAYS HAND ME ALL YOUR EMO/POP PUNK!MICKEY HEADCANONS, THANKS.

OKAY WONDERFUL here's one about how Mickey even finds FOB:

GOTTA be an accident, right? Where is he gonna hear pop punk of any kind in his regular daily life? We know he dropped out of school early, has spent time off and on in juvie since, and it's not like anyone in his family (outside of Mandy) would listen to it.

So say he gets sent on a job in the middle of May '05 (From Under The Cork Tree came out May 3rd of that year), and it's just an easy car jacking from somewhere on the West Side. Someone in the house owes Terry some money and he's gonna take the car as payment but he can't be fucked to do it himself so he sends Mickey. And Mickey is not at all mad, will take whatever excuse he can to get away from the house and all the family hanging around right now, though he does kind of wish he had Ian with him, but for what? They're fucking, not dating, even if they do hang out sometimes before they fuck, or after, or instead of if they're with Mandy, but this would just be them alone so why the fuck should be be wishing Gallagher were here?

He'd be agitatedly chain smoking the whole walk from the L, chest and head tight and throbbing like they do when he thinks too hard about this... situation he's got going on with Gallagher. He'd find the house easy enough, he'd staked it out the last couple days and had heard the family talking about leaving for vacation and knew there'd be no one home to catch him so it's late afternoon when he gets there.

He's after the Honda on the street, the one with the Wheaton College parking sticker in the corner, and it takes no time at all to jimmy the lock and slide into the driver's seat, reaching beneath the dash and yanking at the wires, twisting them together to get the car to start.

And as soon as he does the stereo ROARS to life, loud as fuck camera noises pouring out of the speakers and Mickey is PANICKED for a hot second but then some guitar comes in and his whole fucking brain lights up?????

And then the guy starts singing??????

Mickey's four songs deep, just finishing Sugar We're Going Down by the time he realizes he's still sitting in front of the goddamn house and finally drives away. He takes the longest route he can to the chop shop Terry told him to go to and before he gets there he digs around in the car looking for the cd case that matches the CD he popped out of the slot in the stereo before finding it in the glove box. He wipes the car and pockets the CD before dropping off the car and gets to the nearest pawn shop he can to get a cheap discman and some shitty headphones.

He doesn't come home till after dark. He spent all day walking around and listening to the album on repeat and felt his whole fucking brain rewire itself. How the fuck did these guys take all these complicated, mixed up feelings he have and put them into songs????

The CD and the discman immediately become his most prized and we'll hidden possessions.

[despicablebisexual]

Depravity, part I (18+)

Hol Horse x f!reader, modern! AU, detective noir, no stands

masterlist

Hol Horse is drawn back to a city he tried so hard to let go of. You face the man you hate the most.

content warnings: murder, alcohol consumption, tobacco use, cursing

[Universe #139] Location: [REDACTED] Year: 20XX

Hol Horse stepped out of his car and onto the rain soaked pavement. His hand lingering on the top of the door as he looked up at the dark sky to find the small relief that it had stopped raining. The gloomy city he begrudgingly called home had finally been freed from the torrential downpour that lasted for the past few hours, but with the clearing of the sky came the full force of the sinister underbelly once again active.

“Hey, Horse! Over here,” a voice called. Looking away from the sky, Hol Horse cursed to himself as he saw Mista waving him over, and his hand itched to grab at the cigarette pack in the inner pocket of his coat. He was trying to quit, but each day was a new test of his personal conviction.

Regardless of his dislike for the detective he routinely worked with, he made his way over. His mood was further soured as Hol Horse caught sight of Mista’s partner, one he also had an intolerance for; Leone Abbacchio. 

There’s nothing wrong per se with either of his coworkers, but Hol Horse strongly preferred when he’s assigned cases where the two Italian dickheads, as he likes to call them, aren’t joining him. Mista is too energetic and jumps the gun quite literally whenever they work together, and Abbacchio walks around with what Hol is convinced is probably the world’s biggest stick up his ass. They’re unnervingly smart and work well together, but something about them just rubs Hol the wrong way. He also doesn’t appreciate how Mista insists on calling him by his surname, thinking it’s entirely too funny that it matches his “cowboy aesthetic” as Mista determined.

“Hey,” Hol Horse said gruffly, making his way toward the pair, ducking under caution tape. “What do we got?” 

“Twenty-one year old female. Dead for barely an hour. No ID or personal effects on her either,” Abbacchio replied with a cold voice, hardened by years on the job.

Hol Horse peered around the crime scene investigators as they inspected the body of the woman and surrounding area. Behind him, Mista, and Abbacchio, a group of civilians had gathered to watch, morbidly intrigued by the commotion.

Hol Horse sighed in frustration. These dump and dash murders were getting out of hand and although the city claimed to have been “cracking down” on 24 hour surveillance and police presence, the crime rate seemed to only be getting worse. Too many years on the job had taken any faith Hol Horse had in the criminal justice system and warped his days into never ending spirals of frustration.

“The sick fuck cut off her right hand,” Mista said, angered by the unknown perpetrator’s disgusting actions. 

His comment caught Hol Horse off guard, whose breath caught when he heard him. 

“Her right hand?”

“Took it with him, most likely,” Mista nodded, face visibly displeased. “Shot her in the knee too, but we might have caught him on video.”

Hol Horse breathed a very, very small sigh of relief. There’s no way it was him again. That case was over two years ago, and was considered cold. He hadn’t been active in two years, plus, he was always careful to cover his tracks. If it was the same guy, he would have never been caught by a camera in an alleyway.

“Who found her?”

Mista nodded his head toward a woman near the ambulance, currently being sat down and evaluated for injuries. “Shopkeeper on the corner. Said she saw someone run off not long before she found the body behind the dumpster. The cameras around her shop are pointed toward the alleyway, and we’re getting an order to seize the footage.”

Some time passed between the three detectives as they silently stared at the bustling crime scene around them. A few foot officers were yelling at the growing crowd to disperse so the investigators could properly find and label any pieces of evidence. 

“Where’s J. Geil? You never fly solo,” Abbacchio commented with a judgemental tone, lighting up a cigarette as if they were anywhere except a crime scene.

Hol’s fists clenched in his pockets but he let the comment pass. It was true, he didn’t work alone often. 

“Got shot in the arm last week. He hasn’t been cleared to get back out in the field, yet.”

Both Mista and Abbacchio nodded their heads in understanding. Between them, they were happy that J. Geil wasn’t there, despite having to deal with a grumpy Hol Horse. Whenever those two were together, they were an unfortunate mix of showboating and overconfidence, despite working in one of the worst parts of the city.

“I’m interviewing the chick,” Hol Horse said suddenly, not giving the other two a moment to process as he already walked away from them and toward the ambulance. The shopkeeper, a middle-aged woman with blonde hair tucked into a low bun, was still speaking to the EMTs, a blanket wrapped loosely around her shoulders.

“Good evening ma’am,” Hol Horse said with a tired voice, not bothering to look up as he took out his notepad and flipped to a blank page. “What can you tell me–” he looked up and froze. The woman was beautiful, green eyes shining with the reflection of the police lights around them. She seemed lively despite the rather upsetting situation she was in, and Hol Horse couldn’t help but chuckle.

“How did a pretty lady like you get caught up in something like this, Ms..?” he asked, making a show of his southern drawl that he was told added a certain finesse to his Japanese.

She smiled and turned away. “Call me Holly, and I was doing some inventory in my shop after hours since my husband couldn’t get to it this morning.”

He let out an airy chuckle. “That’s a beautiful name you got there Ms. Holly. Listen, I’m sure you already know this, but you shouldn’t stay out late in this part of the city.”

She nodded and tucked some loose hair behind her ear.

��Now, what can you tell me about what you saw?”

She deeply exhaled for a moment before starting. “Well, like I said, I was in the shop doing some inventory. It’s a music shop and we sell a lot of vintage stuff. Vinyl records, 8track, cassettes, all that sorts of stuff, so we always do inventory to make sure nothing’s out of place.”

Hol Horse nodded and wrote a few details down. 

“I heard a yelp and a banging outside, followed by a gunshot. I rushed to the door immediately to make sure it was locked, but I saw someone rush by the window.”

“Just one gunshot?”

She nodded her head. “Just one.”

He shook his head but wrote it down. If he had to guess, the shot to the knee wasn’t what killed her, at least not immediately, judging by the streaks of blood on the ground from when she presumably crawled. The woman continued speaking before casually dropping a fact that made Hol Horse snap his head up.

“Wait, you knew her?” he said, pointing over his shoulder to the body.

“I’ve seen her around before.” Holly suddenly got quiet and looked around before leaning in closer toward Hol Horse. “I think she might have been caught up with the wrong crowd.”

Hol Horse huffed. Yeah, no shit.

“And you mean?”

“Well,” Holly wrung her hands as she spoke, “I’ve seen her around here before. I noticed she looked hungry once so I gave her a dinner I packed for my husband one time.”

Hol Horse raised his eyebrow toward her. 

“Okay… I gave her dinner several times, and we talked. She told me once her name was Roxanne –I think that was fake, though– and she claimed she was from Hell City.”

A shiver ran through Hol Horse’s body at the mention of Hell City, a place notorious for its nightlife and tech scene. In reality it was named Genesis, but was given the moniker for how hellish the tourists who visited there acted. Once upon a time, he was intimately familiar with that place, but hadn’t stepped foot in that town in over two years. 

“Hell City, you’re sure?”

She nodded in confirmation. “Yes.”

He grimaced but wrote down the information, making a mental note to grab a picture of the girl’s face before he drove the hour it took to get there. 

“Holly!” “Mom!” two voices suddenly yelled. Hol Horse and Holly both looked up to see two tall Japanese men yelling and pushing their way past the crowds to get to them. The younger one, the taller of the pair, looked especially distressed as he bullied his way through the police barricades.

“You know them?”

“That’s my husband and son.”

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

Genesis Hell City. The city that prided itself on its bustling tech industry and sightseeing. What had once started as a coastal city that had pristine beaches, eventually grew to be the home of some of the world’s finest technology developers. As the tech scene rose, so did the portion of the population who chased after it. A long, long time ago, Hol Horse had been a uniformed officer here who prowled the streets while working his mandatory night watch shifts. He’d been placed there after graduating from the academy and spent the better part of four years of his life working these streets. 

Life was okay then. For the first two years, he had a partner that was pretty good and did most of the paperwork between them. Hol Horse coasted on his success until said partner was promoted to detective and moved to narcotics across the city. Hol Horse then went on to have a series of partners who he’d long forgotten their names. He enjoyed the lifestyle of Hell City as much as a police officer could, entertaining the men and women he met around there during his free time before being promoted to detective himself.

You see, up until that point, Hol Horse would characterize himself as someone who got by in life by knowing who to hang around. If you find the right person, you’ll get carried to success with little struggle, that was his life motto. If there was one thing Hol Horse was good at, it was finding that person. There was his first partner; a girlfriend he lived with for about six months who had a lot of inheritance to spend; a young man who recently moved to the city and looking for a ‘guide,’ you get the jist. Wherever there was someone in need of a right-hand man, perhaps even a devil on their shoulder, Hol Horse was there. 

Although he had a great setup going, the demands of his job and the city had sucked the life out of him until one case in particular was enough for him to send in a request for a new location. Back once again, driving through the streets of Hell City made Hol Horse’s stomach churn, as they reminded him of a bad time in his life when he cared too much about his job. While the city was only an hour away from where he lived now, he had made a point of never coming here again. Of course, fate would make sure he failed that goal. Why was he here? Because old ghosts needed to be put to rest, despite Hol Horse vehemently spending the last two years running from them. 

Being away from here for the past two years, Hol Horse wasn’t entirely familiar with the subtle changes made to the city, but he still managed to find the oh-so familiar bar he was looking for. When he pulled into the parking lot of Stardust Saloon, Hol Horse turned off the engine of his car and sat in silence for a moment. He cursed himself for so eagerly going to talk to Holly Kujo, as Mista and Abbacchio told him he might as well head to Hell City since he was “already ahead of them” in terms of the case. It had been two weeks since they found Roxanne’s body, and the further Hol Horse investigated, the more each sign pointed towards a serial killer Hol Horse had lost track of back during his days in Genesis when he was freshly promoted to detective. The Genesis police department was no help, claiming that even though it pointed to one of their old suspects, the case was in Hol Horse’s hands since it occurred in his city. 

All Hol wanted to do was turn the car back on and hightail it out of there, maybe go and stop at one of his flings’ apartment instead of returning to his own. Midler was back in town after going on vacation, she might be up for a little fun. 

As much as his plan tempted him, the picture in his coat pocket of Roxanne weighed him down. Deep down, part of Hol Horse did still care about his job and wanted to get the girl some sort of justice, but he didn’t have high hopes. Things like justice don’t happen in either of these cities.

With a sigh, Hol Horse got out of his car and slammed the door shut. Before he went anywhere, however, he reached into his coat for a cigarette and his lighter. He’d gone the past two days without a smoke, he reasoned he could have one now. As he lit up the stick and tucked his lighter away, his boot clad feet dragged him toward the glass door of the bar as he contemplated his last few moments alive, because surely, once he opened that door and walked inside, he’d be as good as dead. Afterall, that’s always what you promised he would be if you ever saw him again.

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

“There you go,” you said as you sat the three mugs of beer on the table. “Let me know if you need anything else. I’ll be behind the bar, so just flag me down.” 

The group of salarymen thanked you and politely dismissed you. With a heavy sigh, you turned around and walked back to the bar. For a Thursday night, Stardust was surprisingly busy. 

Stardust Saloon was your pride and joy. When you were twenty, after moving out of your family’s home when you had a falling out with your mother, you had landed on the doorstep of Daniel J. D’Arby. He’d found you tucked away in the booths of Stardust, half-drunk and half-depressed as you failed to keep a steady job after having lived in Hell City with your little sister for seven months by that time. The city had been swallowing you whole, and you could see why it was nicknamed what it was. 

Daniel first approached you with his brother at his side, ready to throw you out and call the police for not paying your tabs, but they halted when they saw the mess of a person you were. Telence, the younger of the two, got Daniel to calm down just enough to listen to your sob story, and when you were finished, he immediately offered to let you pay off your debt by working for them. With no other option, you took their offer and started.

 That was over eight years ago. Since then, you've managed to work your way up and get promoted to manager. Daniel and Telence trusted you enough to run the place for them, so much so to the point where they only stopped into the bar about twice a week when they came to collect their cash. Honestly, the whole thing was a win-win situation. Their bar was being run for them and you had enough money to find a decent apartment and not have to hustle for money. 

Tonight was a night like any other, complete with you coming out of the office for the evening to help on the floor. Tonight’s staff included several of your good friends and best workers. Behind the bar was Polnareff, an eccentric French guy that was a great barkeep. He could get anyone to buy any drink, and he earned the bar a huge amount of sales. When Polnareff wasn’t working, he was flirting with Avdol, one of the cooks in the back. The two had been dancing around admitting their feelings for each other for several months at this point, which frustrated everyone on staff as Polnareff made it everyone’s problem when he was feeling discouraged about the situation. On the floor with you was Bruno, a kind-hearted man that kept the regulars returning for his great service, and Ermes, your fiery waitress who had a knack for somehow getting the most tips every night. How she did it when all she did was yell at her tables, you’ll never know, but you reasoned it was fine. She always ended up splitting some of them with Weather Report, the resident bouncer of Stardust Saloon, at the end of the night, so you assumed they had some sort of deal going on there. Whatever it was, you turned a blind eye to it. 

“Y/n,” Polnareff exaggerated, putting his hands on your shoulders as you returned back to the bar. “Can we close up shop yet? I’m tired,” he cried.

You laughed and shrugged his hands off. “Tired my ass. You were just in the kitchen nearly bouncing off the walls as you talked to Avdol. What happened?” He scoffed. “I was not talking to Avdol! He’s in there training the new kid.”

“Narancia isn’t a kid, he’s nineteen.”

“I’m twenty-five! That’s a kid to me!”

You laughed to yourself and pushed past him and toward the sink to wash your hands. Polnareff got back to wiping off the glassware he had been towel drying previously. As you finished drying your hands, you leaned your back against the bar and looked at him. Behind you both, the door chime rang indicating someone stepped into the busy bar.

“We’re only a couple hours into the shift. Why are you so tired?”

“I didn’t sleep well,” he huffed. “Can’t we close early just this once?”

“Jean, it’s only,” you paused to look at the clock on the wall, “10:30pm. We can’t close.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. You would let us close early if–”

Polnareff paused, staring at something in the corner of your eye in surprise. 

“If what?”

“Can I help you?” Polnareff suddenly seethed, causing you to turn around in shock at whoever he was speaking to.

Whoever you had been expecting to be on the other side of the bar, was nowhere near close to who actually was. A fury suddenly ignited inside you, causing your brow to pinch as you glared at the man on the other side of the counter. Standing there in all his stupid, cowboy-aesthetic glory, was none other than Hol Horse. A man who had run from your life over two years ago.

His hand reached up to take off his signature hat as he exhaled a puff of smoke, his blonde tresses fell around his face in loose waves. “I was hopin’ I could talk to your boss lady here,” he said, nodding his head toward you.

“Je t’emmerde!” Go fuck yourself! “We should have you thrown out of here,” Polnareff yelled.

“Come on now, Polnareff, no need to get so worked up. I got business with y/n, nothin’ more.”

“We’ve got no business,” you scoffed. “Whatever you have to say, I don’t want to hear it,” you spit, turning away from him. “Get out of my bar before I have security throw you out. Shouldn’t you be in your new city now with your new life?”

“Y/n–”

“Leave! I’m serious!”

You started to walk away, hoping to make it to the kitchen for escape, but he called your name gruffly and slammed something down on the counter.

“A girl wound up dead in an alleyway two weeks ago and she was missin’ her hand. She was from here.”

You stopped dead in your tracks. Memories from three years ago when you first met Hol Horse started washing over you, a familiar ache working its way back into your heart.

“I need to speak with you. Please. I want to help this girl.”

Hol Horse held his breath as he watched your back. There was a tension in your shoulders that he could visibly see, and if wasn’t so sure that you would slap his hand away, he would have reached out to massage the stress away like he used to.

“I thought you gave up that life. I thought you don’t help people anymore,” you said bitterly.

He sighed and took the cigarette from his mouth, putting it out in the ashtray on the counter. “Call it a change of heart.”

He watched your shoulders rise as you took a deep breath in. Turning to Polnareff, you pointed to the floor.

“Make sure Ermes doesn’t burn this place down. We’ll be out back.”

Polnareff was visibly shocked as you so easily gave in to Hol Horse’s request. He had been there two years ago when the two of you had your terrible break up after Hol Horse informed you he put in for a transfer and claimed he “wasn’t the type to do long-distance.” He had rushed to your apartment that night to keep you from killing Hol Horse as you threw various objects from around your shared apartment at him. And he had been there for the following two years of pain as you struggled to get over being so suddenly abandoned.

“Come on, I don’t have all night,” you said to Hol Horse, gesturing for him to come around the bar and follow you through the kitchen. With one final nod of courtesy to Polnareff, Hol Horse gathered the crime scene photos and walked to catch up to you.

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

The outside air was cool compared to the heat of the kitchen and you would have found relief in the temperature change, had Hol Horse not been there with you. As soon as the two of you stepped outside, you turned to him and held out your hand.

“What?”

“I know you’ve got cigarettes on you. Gimme one.”

With a sigh, he reached into his coat and pulled out two sticks, one for each of you, before flicking open his lighter. Both of you leaned in together to breathe in so the flame caught hold, and memories of doing so post-intercourse flashed in Hol Horse’s mind. 

You exhaled your initial puff before taking one more. Hol Horse swallowed hard as he watched the smoke curl past your lips and into the night air. You were so damn beautiful, especially since it had been two years since he saw you, and he struggled to think as he watched you.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Are you gonna get on with the pictures?” you asked with a roll of your eyes.

“Oh,” he realized, taking the photos and shuffling them around a bit. He took the one of Roxanne laying on the morgue table, blood and dirt brushed off her face, and gave it to you. You held the picture for several moments as you sucked on the cigarette.

“Never seen her before.”

“A witness who had seen her before explained that she claimed her name was Roxanne and she was from this area. When we found her, her right hand was missing.”

You were quiet as you studied the photo. Hol Horse grimaced as he could feel the tension rising in the air, and he leaned against the wall so he wouldn’t have to directly face you. 

“Our working theory is that it’s him again…” Hol Horse whispered.

You remained silent, continuing to flip through the pictures. 

“He fucked up this time, y/n. We’ve got a lead. There’s camera footage this time.”

He watched you with bated breath as you studied the photos. The scene was oh-so familiar, almost exactly like that of the one where they found your sister’s body three years ago. Your hands shook violently as you were stuck on one particularly morbid picture; a close up of her severed wrist. Your grip was so tight on the photo that it creased the edges and caused you to drop your cigarette. 

“You shouldn’t have come back here,” you advised him, shoving the photo back into his chest and stomping out the cigarette on the ground. When you turned to go back through the door, Hol Horse’s hand raised over your head and shut it back in place.

“Hey,” he said, firmly pushing on it so you couldn’t get through.

“Let go, Hol Horse! I’m done with this conversation!”

“Y/n.” He placed his other hand on your back, his touch burning you through your shirt. “I’m going to the station tomorrow and requesting all the files be brought from storage. I’m opening your sister’s case back up.”

“I can’t do this again,” you shook, tears falling from your eyes. “I can’t let you get my hopes up that you’ll find who killed her.”

Hol Horse was unsure of what to do. He’d seen you cry plenty of times, hell, this moment wasn’t that different than when you first met, but now, he wasn’t sure what to do. He knew if he tried to comfort you like he did back then, he’d get a swift slap to the face.

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

Three years ago

When a blonde haired man dressed in a dress shirt and suit pants knocked on the door of your apartment, you were utterly confused. Despite being in a loose band t-shirt and biker shorts, you answered the door anyway.

“Can I help you?”

“Are you Ms. y/n l/n, ma’am? My name is Hol Horse and I’m with the Genesis Police Department,” he flipped open his wallet to show his badge quickly before stuffing it back in his wallet.

You scoffed. “You don’t need to be so formal, y/n is fine. What’s this all about?” you asked, crossing your arms to lean against the doorframe. There had been a robbery at the gas station a block away from here, but that had already been a week ago.

He nodded and stood a little straighter, pulling off his strange cowboy hat to look at you. “I’m very sorry to inform you Miss, but your sister Diana has passed.”

Your stomach dropped as your eyes widened in shock, not quite sure of what exactly he just said. “W-what?”

“We found your sister’s body on the bank of the river early this morning.”

Everything else he said was muffled by the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. Diana was dead. Your little sister was dead and you had just seen her the day before. 

He might have been a stranger, but he was the only thing you had to support you. So, you fell into his arms as you sobbed. Hol Horse was taken by surprise, but eventually wrapped his arms around your shoulders. This wasn’t his first death notification, nor would it be his last, but something seeing the spirit break in your eyes made his own heart clench.

“I’ll be working as the lead detective on your sister’s case…” You raised your head to look up at him, and saw the dark determination in his eyes. 

“I promise you, I’ll bring your sister justice.”

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

“Listen, I know I made mistakes back then,” Hol Horse whispered, taking his hand from your back to turn you by the shoulder. “I promised some things I shouldn’t have and I let myself get too close to you. I fucked up, I know.”

Bravely, he let his hand come up to cup your cheek. He was surprised that you didn’t immediately remove it, so he took it as his sign to continue. His thumb swept over your cheekbone to wipe away a stray tear that had fallen.

“My mama raised me to be a church-going boy, and you of all people should know I didn’t turn out to be one of them.” He half-heartedly smiled and looked deep into your eyes. “But I know I got some sins to atone for, and I got some forgiveness to earn. I’d like to do both of those things by finally closing your sister’s case.”

“Holden Horse you’ve got some balls for coming back here,” you whispered to him, tears still flowing. “I’ll be damned if I let you screw me over again.”

Hol Horse prepared himself for you to berate him, so he removed his hand from your face. Just as it lifted off, your hand came up and snatched his wrist, pulling his hand to you. 

“You better be right about being able to find this guy.”