#THE UNDERCOVER FAKE RELATIONSHIP >>>>>>

[leerang]

“Go Eun-ssi. Can you do me a favour? Can you marry me?”

[havendance]

In the post-war games HelenaDick mob team up fic that I probably won't get around to ever writing, this is the dynamic going on:

[dropofbittersea]

It didn’t escape him that Steve shared his assumed last name. “Are you gonna be my cousin?” Bucky asked dully.

Steve frowned. “Husband, actually,” he said easily, holding up his left hand to show a typical golden band.

Bucky scowled and closed the door.

AKA

An AU in which Bucky is put in the witness protection program and Steve is the agent hired to protect him/pretend to be his husband.

[spamsmcgee]

Find a place where we belong

->Listen to I Think We’re Alone Now by Tiffany

Guanyu X Reader in a 1980s/21 Jump Street AU.

While investigating and hoping to bust a group of street racing gamblers, Y/N has to pose as Guanyu’s girlfriend in her first undercover assignment with the Jump Street Program.

Part one: Pilot

QuickView | Next

Toto’s coffee sat forgotten as he poured over your work history. You sat, watching on as he all but ignored you.

“Well?”

“Unremarkable” he said, thumbing through pages and pages detailing your short career on the force. “Barely met quotas on parking tickets, partners say you’re untrainable, and past supervisors have called you noncommittal at best.”

In saying that, the police chief never looked up at you. He pushed your files to the side before taking off his glasses and taking the first real look at you.

“I’d like to recommend you to Captain Hamilton’s Jump Street Program.”

He kept talking. He explained the story behind Lewis Hamilton’s ragtag team of baby faced cops who couldn’t hack it anywhere else. Truly the team of misfit toys. Getting on the inside where any middle aged patrolman couldn’t reach without scaring everyone away.

Less of a shark among dolphins.

“So a narc?”

You interrupted Toto’s monologue.

“Essentially,” a new voice filtered in from behind you.

Leaned up against the doorframe, donned a pair of aviators and an aged leather jacket, captain Lewis Hamilton. The detective looking type. He pushed himself away from the frame and crossed the room to you, hand out for a firm handshake.

“We’re starting assignments now,” He said as he made a gesture for you to join the small group in another room.

Four sets of eyes tracked you to your seat, one unclaimed in the front. Your field of vision was taken up by a whiteboard with names and more names written on it.

The sets of eyes surrounding you belonged to a group easily mistaken for the teenagers you’d see riding their bikes in a cul de sac. Working their summer jobs at some amusement park.

The youngest looking of them, a shorter guy leaned over the table in front of him to better reach the conversation around him, wore shoulder holsters that held a pair of guns level with his chest.

The group settled down after Hamilton tapped the board a couple of times. Before tossing a marker’s cap at the shorter one leaned over the table. “I will put you outside, Tsunoda”

Pouting and making a heart shape with his hands, Tsunoda sunk into his chair. He, along with the others, settled into listening to Hamilton explaining their newest assignment.

“For the past six months a small group has been gambling on illegal street races throughout Miami,” Hamilton passed folders to each of the group members, “our main suspects are from two groups: West Seminole High School and Miami East Autobody. Guanyu, Y/N, Yuki, We’re sending the three of you to the school. Oscar and Logan get the autobody shop.”

“Oscar and Yuki will be our drivers,” Hamilton read over his folder, “Logan, Guanyu, focus on getting information from your targets” His eyes drifted to you, “Y/N, I want you at Guanyu’s hip.”

There was a simultaneous groan from the other boys, one speaking up, Yuki. “I’ve been here longer”

“You’re also scared of girls.”

Yuki threw that marker cap at Guanyu in response.

Hamilton raised his voice over the commotion, “the four I want you to focus on are Max Verstappen, Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, and the man over the whole operation: Fernando Alonso”

“Max and Daniel co-own that autobody shop, Max is the best of the best, he has outrun every unit in the city. He drives a 1980 Toyota Celica Supra. It looks stock, it’s not.” Lewis articulated his explanation with his slapping pictures onto the whiteboard beside him, pulled from a file in his hands.

You stared at the picture of what truly was an unassuming looking navy blue Toyota. Max stood next to it speaking to a taller man. Accompanying that was another picture, dark, blurry, two cars next to each other in the middle of a burnout.

“Daniel has a 67 Dodge Challenger, loud and obnoxious. Just like him”

The man from that first picture of Max reappeared. Only a printout from CCTV footage. Daniel outside of that gas station, chatting up a tall blonde while leaning against the aforementioned Dodge Challenger.

“Lando is a student at West Seminole. He has a prior history with reckless driving, driving under the influence, and was detained at fourteen for trying to get into a casino in Las Vegas,” Hamilton continued flipping through his file folders, “He drives a 1979 Porsche 911.”

Lando’s pictures were a collection of school photos. Aside from one taken outside of another gas station. That one wasn’t a CCTV shot, more likely some PI that followed him around.

“Fernando is an English Literature teacher at West Seminole. He drives a 1960 Fastback Mustang,” Hamilton put up a glossy picture of Fernando with his cherry red mustang, taken in the high school parking lot, “We believe he recruits drivers from his classes. Over half of our suspects have gone through him in West Seminole. The other half come from Miami East.”

The meeting continued on without anything else too interesting. More backstory on the group you would be watching. Some honorable mentions without much pull, but still suspects nonetheless. The guys asking questions. Yuki antagonizing Lewis when he can. Logan antagonizing Yuki.

Lewis moved on to explain everyone’s cover. Names, backstory, down to the car you drive. You, Audrey Kellen would be riding around with Guanyu, or David Choi in his 1980 Alfa Romeo Giulia. Yuki, Jude Ioki already had his 1987 Nissan Z. Oscar’s Aaron Meyers’ 1981 Camaro was modified enough to make the ground shake as it drove by, Lewis explained. He would go on to be the main driver. Against Yuki’s protests. Logan, Alex Reeves had his father’s 79 Chevy S10.

The meeting adjourned. Guanyu hung back to walk with you out of the briefing room. He fell in step with you as you passed him.

“Ready to go back to school?” He asked, nudging you in the side.

“Can I be honest?” You shoved your hands into your jacket pockets. He leaned towards you as if you were gearing up to let him in on some sort of secret. “Teenagers terrify me, so not really.”

He laughed. Maybe a bit of a generous laugh. You couldn’t help laughing along.

The two of you fought up to the rest of the guys. They chattered on together, barely registering that y’all had joined them. Even when you added to the conversation, they talked along with you as if you’d been there the entire time.

That night you’d go home and pack your school bag. It stayed in the back of your closet. You’d graduated high school in 82, your backpack was even older. One you’d used since the 70s.

Your younger sister had a less vintage Trapper Keeper you planned on stealing from her. Probably with a promise of a months worth of video and radio store allowance, extra time at the arcade, and some of Kate Bush’s latest on a new Walkman to keep her from asking questions.

On your way home you hit a radio store to pick up said Walkman and Kate Bush tracks.

[whatsomalfoy]

It’s the morning after… are tensions high?

There’s only one way to find out!

You can find Chapter Twenty One on AO3 here.

[aroacettorney]

what got me so insanely angsty about the relationship between ludger and casey is that it's not even subtext. it's literally in the text that are their own words.

they canonically enjoy the other person's company.

they canonically believe the other person is one of a very few who could understand them.

they canonically understand each other, from personalities and capabilities to behaviors and thoughts.

ludger canonically regrets ruining their relationship.

casey canonically wishes to mend their relationship.

they canonically want(ed) this relationship.

[bg-sparrow]

Chapter Three: Shady Business

“This doesn’t work if it’s strictly professional because it isn’t,” Liz said. “If we’re honest now, the rest comes naturally.”

Rating: M || Genre: Romance, Angst, Whump, Hurt/Comfort || Summary: Reddington's latest Blacklister is the face of a successful cruise line — and a former competitor in the luxury goods smuggling business. To obtain Albert Sconce's ledger, Liz and Ressler will have to go undercover as newlywed, prospective clients for an extended cruise on Sconce's newest ship. As they blur the lines they'd otherwise never cross, danger unfolds at every turn, threatening to sink their op and take them down with it.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Dear Steph I am searching for a fic where John and Sherlock pretend to be in a relationship for a case, they visit a cottage where several couples have been murdered, inside the cottage there are everywhere cameras installed that's how the murderer could see them so they had to continuously pretend to be together. There was also some kind of weird neighbour or owner of the cottage who kept turning up and bothering them? I think he was the murderer? Do you maybe know the fic I've been searching since days Im desperate I cant find it anymore, lots of love

Hey Nonny!

Hmmmmmm I THOUGHT I knew it until you added the camera bit... that's what's making me second-guess what I thought it was:

The Sexual Awakening of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson by suitesamba (M, 24,579 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TRF, Case Fic, Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss/Time) – Sherlock owes Mycroft a favor. Mycroft calls in that favor by offering Sherlock's consulting services in a charity auction. Sherlock and John soon find themselves at the country manor of Mrs. Ives-Patton Smarmington III - not very coincidentally a long-time friend of Sherlock's mother - where they are reluctant participants in her Murder Mystery Weekend. It's a play within a play for Sherlock and John, and their roles for the weekend event bleed over into their real lives, waking the sleeping dragons within.

-----

THOUGH I just went through one of my Couple for a Case / Fake Relationship lists, I'm thinking it MIGHT be this one??

Rainbow Hearts Retreat by PajamaSecrets(E, 11,638 w., 8 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Case Fic, Undercover, Fluff and Smut, Bed-Sharing, Therapy, Humour/Crack, First Time) – "It's a same-sex couples retreat. For those experiencing troubles in their relationship. Consists of group and couples therapy as well as encouraging socialization between the couples. It's all in their incredibly dull brochure." "Rainbow Hearts Retreat," John read. "Sounds… quite gay."

------

I think that one had an annoying next-door neighbour staying at the retreat.

Anyone able to help us out with certainty?

[evanbuckleyrecs]

Title: The Dawn Has Come

Written by: Arithese

Rated: M

Catagories: m/m

Warnings: none

Relationships: Buck/Eddie

Tags: Uncover, Poker Scene, Speculation, kind of?, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Kissing, Smut, First Time, Possessive Eddie Diaz, Smitten Evan Buckley, Lightning jokes, Bottom Evan Buckley, Top Eddie Diaz, Orgasm, Bisexual Evan Buckley, Gay Eddir Diaz, Buck is Eddie's Gay Awakening, Thank you Frank, Choking Kink, Anal Sex, Coming Untouched, No beta we die like Buck on a ladder, Episode s06e13: Mixed Feelings, 6x13, Episode s06e13: New Sensations, Poker

Words: 5,540

Summary:

“Eddie what-” Buck starts but he’s interrupted when Eddie grasps his chin, tipping it up to look into his eyes. Buck virtually shrinks down, not out of fear … but something else. Something churning in his stomach and the touch on his chin burns, but not unpleasantly so, it’s comforting yet thrilling.

And then just seconds before the footsteps stop in front of the door, Eddie kisses him.

Or: Buck and Eddie go undercover to prove Bobby's innocence, and they almost get caught.

My notes: I love the wave of undercover fics the speculation for 6x13 gave us, hope there will still be more in the future. This is a perfect example :)

[undercover-bun-etc]

My brain created an entire gacha game for my dream last night and honestly I'm sad it's not real.

[em-ontv]

Eyes on you.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x lover!fem!reader

Summary: To get information for a case, you had to speak to a witness at a bar. However, the guy was way too interested in you for Dean's liking, and Dean could only watch.

Warnings: established relationship, bits of alcohol mentioned, the guy is sort of a creep, Dean getting jealous, neck kisses at the end. English isn't my first language, mistakes should be present, this was kind of rushed, sorry!

Word count: 974

It had been two hours. Two long, agonizing hours in this small town bar, and Dean was starting to believe that he was going to lose his mind.

It was just another case, but he wasn't sure if he was going to make it out alive. Not because of demons or ghouls—no, he was losing his sanity because he had to watch some cocky idiot openly flirt with you while you played your role.

You were leaning against a table, your fake smile wide and charming, while this guy—Rick or Ron, something with an 'R', some mechanic—was eyeing you up like he just hit the jackpot.

To be fair, you were stunning, and Dean knew that. Knew it too well, actually. But did this guy really have to act like that? Flirty smirk, voice dripping with innuendo, staring at you like you were the best thing to ever happen to his sorry existence. Practically undressing you with his eyes like he couldn't wait to get his grubby little hands on you.

And Dean, standing a few feet away, could only watch the whole thing unfold with an expression of absolute suffering.

He had to play it cool. Had to let you do your thing, ask the guy questions, get the information you both needed for the case.

But oh, the way Rick-whatever-his-name-was leaned in closer to you, that smirk on his face? Dean's hand twitched, his jaw clenched, and every fiber of his being was telling him to just walk over there, throw his arm around your waist, and glare the dude into oblivion if he was lucky. If he wasn't? Maybe he'll throw a left-hook... maybe two.

But no, he couldn't. Because professionalism.

His fingers drummed against the side of his glass, the cheap alcohol did nothing to cool him down. You were across the room, laughing at something Rick said—which was definitely not funny.

Dean took a deep breath, jaw tightening. His eyes narrowed as he watched 'Rick' give you a grin that was just a little too wide. His hand brushed against your arm. And Dean saw red. If he had to listen to one more word of this idiot’s weak attempts to flirt, he was going to lose it.

Because yeah, sure, you were undercover. Yeah, you had to pretend that you were nothing more than a waitress while Dean had to pretend like he was just some dude passing through. But come on. This guy? This guy with his greasy hair and his cheap cologne? The way he was looking at you like you were a steak fresh off the grill and he was starving?

Dean’s hands clenched around the glass, knuckles going white. He watched as Rick leaned in closer, his voice dropping into what was clearly his best attempt at a suave tone. Dean could almost hear it from where he was sitting.

"You know," Rick drawled. "You’re way too pretty to be just a bartender. Bet you’re not afraid to get your hands dirty, though." He winked. He winked.

Dean’s head dropped back, and he mentally started banging it against the nearest wall. He could feel the frustration bubbling up inside him, fighting to escape in a snarky comment underneath his breath…

He risked another glance at you. You caught his eyes from across the bar and gave him the tiniest smirk.

Oh, you were enjoying this.

His patience hung by a thread as Rick leaned even closer—his gaze drifting over you like you were his to admire.

To Dean, this was torture. Pure torture.

Finally—finally—you wrapped up the conversation, you leaned back, giving the guy a polite smile that didn’t reach your eyes. "Thanks for the info," you said smoothly. "But I think I've got everything I need."

You turned and walked off, leaving Rick blinking, still stuck in whatever daydream he was having about you and eventually losing sight of you in the crowds of people passing by.

Dean exhaled hard through his nose as you slid into the booth across from him. You didn’t say anything at first, just sipped your drink, clearly enjoying the way his eyes were practically burning holes in the wall.

"You okay there, sweetheart?" you asked, pretending to be oblivious.

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. "Me? Oh yeah. I’m just peachy. That guy? Total professional. Definitely didn’t want to strangle him with his own shoelaces."

You raised an eyebrow, fighting back a grin. "Come on, you know we needed the information."

"Yeah, well, next time, maybe I’ll be the one doing the questioning," he grumbled, shooting another glare in the guy's direction. "So you can just stay put."

You just smirked, leaning across the table. "Dean Winchester, are you jealous?"

Dean’s eyes narrowed at you. "Jealous—? No. I just didn’t like the guy’s face. Or his voice. Or the way he was staring at you."

You leaned back, your smile turning softer. "Don’t worry," you said, your voice dropping just a little. "You’re the only one I’m thinking about."

Dean’s frustration melted away in an instant. His lips twitched up into a smile as he let out a breath, his body finally relaxing. "Damn right," he muttered, leaning back in the booth, his usual confidence sliding back into place. "Still, if he so much as look at you again—"

"I know," you rolled your eyes, smiling as you took another sip of your drink. "You’ll wrap yourself around me like a jealous octopus."

"You know me too well."

"Someone has to."

And when the two of you got back to the motel, Dean practically threw himself at you, arms around your waist as buried his face into your neck, kissing every inch of your skin like a starved man, smiling like a fool when you ran your fingers through his hair, earning a hum of content from him.

[spamsmcgee]

You sat in the passenger seat of Guanyu’s Alfa Romeo. Neither of you made a sound, as if the approaching speedsters would hear you over the roar of their own engines. Headlights in the distance kickstarted a mental countdown.

As the Jump Street Program’s newest, you are given the role of Guanyu’s high school sweetheart. Together you go undercover to bust a local street racing gang led by English Literature teacher, Fernando Alonso.

QuickView

Top Records

Part One: Pilot

Part Two: Day One

Part Three: Obligatory Filler Episode

Part Four: The Final Countdown

Part Five: Get ‘Em

[whatsomalfoy]

It was a whoopsie moment. A chapter I intended to post weeks ago, but just discovered saved only as a draft. My bad, please forgive!

Chapter 19 is the longest chapter in a long while, my friends. And it’s got what we’ve all been waiting for….

Just kidding. That’s Chapter 20 🌶️. But for that, you’ll need to read 19 first, and you can do that here.

[dramioneasks]

Hello! I’ve been thinking about a fic I read a while back about D&H being an undercover married couple. H is impregnated with D’s child through a spell I think? And they are friends/hang out with someone who they eventually find out is Snape’s daughter via the same spell. I truly can’t remember the plot very well, but the last line of the story has D&H and their child at Hogwarts and D asks H to “Remind him to break up with Pansy when they get back to school.”

I think the story took place either during HBP or DH with Draco seeking help from the Order. I accidentally deleted all of my tabs on my phone so I couldn’t find the story anywhere. Hopefully this information is helpful!

Anyone?

Edit: Thanks!

brupaula-blog1: The Witness and the Wife By: Marmalade Fever. https://m.fanfiction.net/s/2772642/1/The-Witness-and-the-Wife

[kisses4reid]

not our scene | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,, - part 2

summary - an undercover mission causes realisations that otherwise would be squashed in denial

genre - fem!shy!reader x spencer, forced/wanted proximity, fake relationship -> real relationship, awkward idiots, fluff

warnings - awkwardness, mentions of trafficking and manipulation, realisations of love

w/c - 1.9k

a/n - second part!!! sorry for the cliffhanger that’s my favourite thing to do NOBODY COME AT ME. maybe third part/epilogue?? who knows. love y’all

The instrumental music that poured from the live band on the elevated stage came to a close, you and Spencer hovering on the opposite side of the expansive floors, discreetly keeping an eye on two large kitchen doors. The room erupted in applause, which you joined into, for the band, the man you assumed to be the main musician stood and bent at the hips with a sly smile - he knew he was good. The room quieted down to a small chatter from the abundance of people that filled the room. Women with large hats, velvet gloves, and bright lips cornered tall men in grey suits (or the other way around) and laughed like they’d known each other for many years. Men with peppering beards whispered to each other before letting out howls and pointing towards women who were not their wives. The wives stood silent. 

Spencer cleared his throat, breaking you out of your trance, “He’s been in there for around 10 minutes now. I’m gonna call it in, in case they’ve already got the tracker on him.” You nodded with a tight lipped smile, still recovering from the rollercoaster of emotions that dancing with Spencer had put you through. He glanced at you once more before holding down a button on his cuff and speaking out loud. You nodded along, in case anyone was watching - and also as a kind of self-soothing motion. 

You didn’t drink - well, not often. So when a different waiter came up to you both every 10 minutes asking if you’d like a variety of alcohol, you had to kindly decline each time. And each time you became more irritated. People laughed loudly, people danced in quick blurs, people came up to you both and stared at your dress for a little too long. Thankfully, Spencer took your hand (you’re still in love after all) and nodded with a smile that almost made you forget you were on a mission. 

The two of you escaped onto a balcony with a cold breeze accompanying the faster music that both of you wanted to avoid. Your night was already over, just as it started. One dance. You scolded yourself for wanting more, a longer night, for Webley to continue manipulating people. But you’ve done your job, you’ve completed your mission, and now you have to go home and act like all of it never happened.

“Great job, the officers have been notified and we’ve got a tracker on him now. You two can leave whenever-“

“I think we’ll stay for a bit.” Spencer spoke up, and it shocked you. It must’ve shocked Morgan too as the line went dead quiet. “Right, Y/n?” He gulped and eyed you with pleads. His tie was slightly askew, the wind flapping his jacket lightly, his eyes reflecting the stars that now hung high in the sky. 

“Y-yeah. This party’s actually…” You looked over the over-crowded floor, to your red and sore feet, to the bad alcohol standing on the waiter's trays. But then you looked over to Spencer. His eyes, his hair, his small smile, his red tie. “The party’s actually not that bad.” You say with a smile.

“Okay… don’t stay for too long. We don’t want everyone to be hung over for a flight home tomorrow.”

The balcony was made of white concrete pillars and marble floors, sconces of warm lights and vines of ivy that wrapped around the pillars and balcony like waves of seaweed. It was beautiful, just like the rest of the establishment, it was unfortunate its main use was to take advantage of innocent people. But you weren’t out there to think about that - at least that’s what you assumed. Spencer wouldn’t want to stay to talk about trafficking or crimes surely. 

In that moment, even after watching his small smile of excitement that you agreed to stay with him, all you wanted to do was kick off your shoes and take a goddamn breath. 

You walked over to the parapet of the balcony and was glad to see the top was a flat slab of concrete, just wide enough for you to pull yourself up and sit down. 

You sighed in relief, taking off your heels and letting them fall onto the shiny marble. 

Spencer followed your movements, standing next to you and looking out onto the view. City lights and stars blended in with each other from this angle. 

“Are you okay?” He asked gently. You smile, “That’s the third time you’ve asked me tonight. Do I look troubled?” He stood for a moment before turning his head towards you, his hair sweeping across his eyebrows in the breeze. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.” “Was it really that obvious?” “To me, yes… I think that if I didn’t pretend to enjoy tonight people would’ve been suspicious of us.” You frown slightly, “You didn’t enjoy the night?” “I didn’t enjoy the reason, nor the location. I enjoyed the people though.” He sends you a smile that makes your heart flutter and your cheeks redden. You hope he doesn’t see it in the dim lighting. 

Inside, the dance finishes and people clap, and you do too. Spencer glances at your hands and smirks slightly. “You don’t think they’re suspicious now? We danced once, and now we’re out here watching them like weirdos.” 

Spencer turned to lean on the balcony and look into the ballroom, shrugging. “We’re two young people in love,” he turned to look at you, eyes warm and deep, “alone time is what we need.” 

You bit the inside of your lip and stared at Spencer. His suit, his matching (skewed) tie, his hair and his eyes. He did the same to you, before gulping and looking down at the floor. He bent and picked up your shoes, turning them in his hands and observing. “These are too small for you.” You laugh at the obvious fact, “They’re JJ’s. She’s got the tiniest feet I’ve ever seen.” “You’re only one size above her.” “She wears high heels much more often than I do.” “You swap between sneakers and converse. You’ve only bought new shoes two times since I’ve known you. This is the second time I’ve seen you wear heels, and even then they were practically ballet shoes.” He smiled to himself like it was an inside joke. “Oh…” You looked down at your feet and realised he was exactly right, “I’m surprised you’re not wearing your black converse right now.” “Morgan didn’t let me. He said he was pressured to make me look good by all the girls.” He lifted a finger and turned fully towards you, “Did you know that sleeve buttons on suits were created to help doctors who worked in the war keep their sleeves up? Now, they’re a sign of intelligence and wealth. Also, a few weeks ago, you called me a grabologist because of my collection of ties, but did you know that the largest collection of suit ties is owned by a New Zealander woman called Irene Sparks. Now, I think I’d like to oppose that not with my own collection, but with Morgans.”

You smile at the memories of the girls dressing you up, fueling the sisterhood that the childhood version of you missed out on. You thought about Morgan, Hotch and maybe Rossi, and how they were probably dressing him up as well. It was truly a found family, something that you felt you belonged to. They knew your habits, they knew when you were lying, they knew a good portion of your past. And you knew all the same for the rest of them. But Spencer? 

Mentally, without realising, you had been creating essays for him since the day you met him. You made journal entries for everyone else, but for Spencer it was books on books of mental notes and facts and aspects of him and his life that you kept in the back of your mind, ready at any point to bring out and use. Why he wears mismatched socks, why he likes purple, why he can’t handle too many people talking at once, why he feels uncomfortable at hospitals, why he hasn’t contacted his father in years. And he knew no doubt even more about you. He had a talent for knowing your emotions and feelings like no one else could, and it made your heart palpitate every time he did it.

“I mean, you’ve seen my collection of ties but jeez, you’d think a guy who mainly wears t-shirts would keep his collection small. You’d like one of his, it's a green that matches that bedside table you painted once. Like those socks you got me last Christmas. But anyways, he somehow had a perfect red to match your… dress. Which by the way, I noticed a lot of people looking at you - and I don’t blame them. I think you look, um, I think you look incredible.” His rambling quietened down for a moment as he tried to avoid eye-contact with you, before he cleared his throat and continued on with his rambling (which mixed with compliments every second sentence). 

And suddenly, you realised this was all an excuse. You were in denial, so badly, that you thought of him as a subject of your devotion without stepping back and seeing the real picture. 

“Spencer…” You cut him off and he looked up with big eyes, surprised you spoke up. You were the only person that let him ramble, it may have been the only time you stopped him. “Wh- You wanna go home?” He saw your eyes, you looked in pain, in shock, in… “No, Spencer, I… Um.” You pressed your lips together and looked down - were you really going to say this? Were you really going to admit you loved the man in front of you without any evidence that he felt the same way? He was your coworker, your best friend. Everything could be ruined in just a few words. Suddenly, you wanted to take your train of thoughts back, to let him continue on with his rambling - it always calmed you down anyways.

Suddenly, his palm was held out in front of you with a small mint in the middle. You looked up at him and his worried but genuine smile. “Here,” he said softly. You took the mint in your hand and simply stared at it. To be loved, is to be known. “Um, Spencer. I…��� His eyes were wanting, curious, they were so goddamn beautiful, “I… I love you.” 

His mouth gaped slightly and his cheeks reddened. Spencer gulped and fiddled with his fingers before chuckling nervously, “I was supposed to say it first.” “What?” “I was supposed to say I love you first.” You hopped down from the concrete railing, dress falling to cover your shins again. “I can take it back if you want.” You responded quickly. “No, no don’t take it back, even if you did I don’t think I could mentally accept that you had taken it back.” You covered your mouth with your hand and looked up at him in shock, “So you-” “I love you, too.” He nodded and took your hands from your mouth, holding them in his, “I have since the third week you’ve worked with the BAU.” 

“Oh, that’s great um…” You looked down at your intertwined hands and furrowed your eyebrows, “What do we do now?” “We could go to the McDonalds that’s a 10 minutes walk away or, I could kiss you.” He stared into your glistening eyes and wanted to pinch himself to see if this was actually happening. “I don’t-”

“You don’t like McDonalds, sorry, my brain is-”

“Just kiss me.” You replied exasperated.

“Okay.” He nodded and placed his hands on your waist.

taglist (open!!) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover @c-losur3 @littlelearningbrat @khxna @laurakirsten0502

[bg-sparrow]

Chapter Two: Shock

“Are you really going to make your wife lose the first argument of your marriage?” Liz asked. Ressler shrugged, nodded. “Sets a precedent.”

Rating: M || Genre: Romance, Angst, Whump, Hurt/Comfort || Summary: Reddington's latest Blacklister is the face of a successful cruise line — and a former competitor in the luxury goods smuggling business. To obtain Albert Sconce's ledger, Liz and Ressler will have to go undercover as newlywed, prospective clients for an extended cruise on Sconce's newest ship. As they blur the lines they'd otherwise never cross, danger unfolds at every turn, threatening to sink their op and take them down with it.