#file: storm writes things

[inaris-mage-of-storms]

"Shh! It's late! We have to be quiet!"

fWhip's hissed warning was nearly lost amid his breathless giggles and Jimmy's half-stifled chuckles as they all but fell through the side door into the empty saloon. "It's fine, it's fine!" Jimmy whispered back, pressing a kiss to fWhip's cheek before fumbling with the key to re-lock the door behind them. "Everyone's asleep by now I'm sure."

"Yeah, I know that! The problem is making sure they stay asleep." fWhip stumbled and rubbed his face with both hands. "Shit, I think I'm starting to sober up. Need to...not."

Jimmy flashed a brilliant grin that made the dark building feel like a summer day and went straight to the bar. "I think that can be arranged."

fWhip laughed and followed. Jimmy slipped a couple of coins under the till before picking out a whisky. "Paying for your own drinks? What a dutiful son you are," fWhip teased.

"Hey! Nate works hard to keep this place in order, I'm not gonna just take an entire bottle," said Jimmy, struggling with the stopper. "You don't mind sharing the bottle so we don't have to dirty a glass, do you?"

"Doesn't bother me any." fWhip swayed as he moved closer. The unsteadiness caught Jimmy's eye, who set down the liquor and turned toward his friend. "Don't mind me, I'm fi - h-hey!"

fWhip's attempt to wave off Jimmy's concern was interrupted by firm hands on his waist as Jimmy lifted him onto the countertop in one fluid movement. "Sit down before you hurt yourself," he said with a grin, even as he leaned into fWhip to mitigate his own stagger.

"Hypocrite," said fWhip with a laugh before taking a swig of the whisky.

"M'not." Jimmy took the bottle, and his weight on fWhip's legs was warm. "I've got you to lean on, don't I?"

"Yeah." fWhip watched Jimmy's lips touch the colored glass rim where his own had been only seconds before. "Election's next week. Roswell's so confident in you I bet he'd etch your name into that badge if he could."

"Yeah?" Jimmy's face was so close that fWhip could feel his breath on his skin. "And what do you think?"

"I think he's right." fWhip clutched at Jimmy's vest, feeling the rough fabric against his palms. "And I think I want to kiss you."

"I think that can be arranged," murmured Jimmy. Then his mouth was on fWhip's mouth, and his teeth were on fWhip's lip, and his tongue was on fWhip's tongue, and fWhip thought whisky had never tasted so sweet.

When they broke apart, Jimmy dropped his forehead to fWhip's shoulder, and fWhip ran fingers through his hair. "What if I mess it up?"

"You've got me to lean on, don't you?"

"Yeah." Jimmy raised his head again, and fWhip smiled and cradled Jimmy's face in his hands.

"You'll be a great sheriff," he said softly. "You're a good man, Jimmy. I couldn't have fallen in love with you if you weren't."

Jimmy's eyes widened. "You...love me?" He breathed the words more than spoke them, like he was waiting for it to be one of fWhip's jokes.

"Jimmy, you're so stupid," said fWhip, squishing Jimmy's cheeks fondly. "Of course I love you."

Jimmy laughed, leaning in for another kiss. "I love you too."

"Good." fWhip rested his forehead against Jimmy's. "Because by this time next week, you're going to be my sheriff and I'm going to be your deputy. You, my friend, are gonna be stuck with me for a very long time."

"Good," murmured Jimmy, and his eyes shone with the same drive and hope for a better future that fWhip could feel in his heart. "I wouldn't have it other way."

}{ more from this au }{

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s2 episode 16 thoughts

damn. this was another episode i had to stretch out over TWO DAYS because a storm RUDELY interrupted me, but to say i was at the edge of my seat was an understatement. i was entirely invested. every beat was excellent. and most of my notes were asking the question: what is going on? so join me as i walk you through every single time i was confused (but in a good way)

so i read the synopsis and saw there was a mulder's sister mention........ interesting....

it opens with mulder monologuing about his quest in life to find the truth, and i'm into it, and then we see a helicopter... but it's HIM in the helicopter being medevaced?? so this monologue must be taking place at a later date? or is a sort of cosmic narration of his coma thoughts??

he is beat to hell and back and they are putting him in a TUB

scully bursts onto the scene and they try to be like "who are you" and she is NOT playing around, she's all "there's no time for this, a man is dying" queen.......

so he's still going on- either cosmically or in a sort of post-event narration- about "what happened on the ice" justifying his every belief. and also that he thinks that aliens are HERE and they are COLONIZING? which i feel is a bit of a jump. like aliens being a thing, okay, possible. colonizing earth? i mean, also possible, but like... don't they have better things to do?

they have him in the tub to prevent hypothermia but scully is yelling that THE COLD IS KEEPING HIM ALIVE and i'm wondering if she knows that because 1. it's obvious medical knowledge and she is simply out-doctoring these other doctors or 2. they're doing what you would normally do for a patient in these circumstances, but she knows there has been some sort of alien fuckery that needs to be addressed in a different manner

then, right as we hear that HIS HEART STOPPED, we get the little spooky song and the intro. my notes consisted of: HUH?? WHAT IS GOING ON??????

okay. jump back in time. two weeks earlier. yeah let's figure out what led up to this.

(i do get hooked when we jump right into the heart of the matter though. as a plot device i will be Sat for this convention sorry)

but my notes were still lingering on what i had just seen. first, that his face was broken as hell, and that makeup must have been unpleasant, and i can't imagine that being filmed being placed in a tub was much fun either

BUT, on the other hand, i think it's good that we're evening out the scales of each character almost dying. while he did get kidnapped in the s1 finale and almost die in the s2 premiere, scully's coma arc was a lot more dramatic, so it is good that it was his turn. we need to see them worried about each other in equal measure.

okay okay. back to the start of the episode. for real. two weeks before this whole ice bathing event, a ufo sort of thing crashed above a ship in the arctic. and the news is saying that a russian agent was rescued from a ship crash. because you can't just say it was a ufo.

cutscene to a women's health center in scranton. and my first thought was, please do not say we are gonna see some character come in with an alien pregnancy. and thankfully that is not where that went. because s2 is too early for that. work up to it a little bit, you know?

the doctor at the health center is watching the news, and he clearly recognizes the man they are shown being lifted from the crash. and he goes to run out the room.

oh? as soon as he escapes from the room.... he is being BEATEN by the dude he just saw on the tv. OH??? BIG NEEDLES???? foaming with green liquid??? the place is set on fire after that?? we have seen these needles with liquid used on aliens before....

dude, what's going on, i wrote in my notes... the girls are scared

okay, so here's what we have so far: three doctors who perform abortions have had their clinics set on fire, and their obituaries forwarded to mulder

(at this point, we see the credits which i'm used to ignoring, but this one has more names on it.... because DAVID wrote the story with MR. CARTER???? okayyyyy putting that yale degree to WORK!!!!!)

wait. we get visuals on the three newly deceased doctors. and they. all have the same face??? and no records on them at all.

they go to visit a suspect, who had a "have you seen this man" ad in his pocket for a local newspaper, so they go to that city and try to investigate

she thinks it's a setup because they have been given weirdly little information, and he thinks there are more doctors out there with the same face that need rescuing... lowkey agreeing with her but i know how these plot devices play out. so.

she's calling the number they gave her and serving looks on the phone, work, but a tip has been made that the next guy is in syracuse, so they're off on a new york road trip

an fbi agent is sent off to the scene, and we see the next same-faced doctor in syracuse, where he is talking with someone about "sharing the planet"... but. well. here's what my notes had to say:

"NOOOO MORE GOO... THE DOCTOR DISSOLVED AND THE BULLETS AREN'T DOING ANYTHING TO THE KILLER? BUT THE GAS IS KILLING THE AGENT... LIKE WE SAW IN THAT EPISODE WITH THE GUY WHO COULD GO UNDERWATER!!"

so we see the fbi agent is very dead, but then he comes right back on screen, and we are dealing with a shapeshifter!!!!! the dead guy has been placed in the trunk of a car with some funky markings on his face. using the likeness of the dead fbi agent, he tells our duo that there was nothing to see at the address they located. and the killer shapeshifts again, leaving me thinking about how cool being a shapeshifter would be.

cut to skinner cam, who has become something like a strange cousin to me. he is PISSED that mulder went on a side quest without his permission because an agent DIED but mulder is very confused because he talked to the agent and he was very much alive? (but it was actually the shapeshifter, of course) and for once mulder is too stunned to speak

scully is at hooooome checking her compuuuuter and she is wearing a flannel!!!!! yes casual wear let's hear it for comfortably scully!!! make some noise!!!

despite looking very comfortable she is not pleased because someone sent her a disturbing email, and she wants to know if mulder got one, too- it's another of the same faced doctors, and this one is in washington. right in their area!

on his way over to her apartment, we run into.... A NEW CHARACTER???? his name is ambrose chapel, and he is allegedly from the CIA... do we trust him? what was he doing outside her place.

they go into scully's apartment and i'm like, dude, we couldn't have done this in a place that wasn't her apartment? but well. why not welcome a strange man in there?

he's going on about the soviet union and the genetic anomalies from twins being studied and turned into clones, who will be used to sabotage the medical system. and all the clones- who are called gregors- are being systematically eliminated in exchange for the knowledge that created them.

pause. no i actually don't want to analyze the alleged soviet gregors who will somehow poison the medical system. i'm looking at scully's apartment. she must have moved back into DC after being reassigned from the academy. so is this the same apartment as her first one? i can't tell. this gregor stuff is complicated and i'm admiring the art on her walls- it looks like little watercolors or postcards of beach scenes. that's so sweet.

so it turns out that this ambrose chapel is the one that placed the ad they had called earlier, and he says the gregors are trying to reach mulder, and they need to work together to protect them, i guess. weird cross department alliance. i don't buy it.

scully is sitting on her couch looked confused as hell. me too girl i'm just trying to figure out if this is the same apartment from s1. sorry to the gregors.

we next see someone in a room full of green liquid that looks like those big tanks of lemonade at the mall. it appears to be a gregor. i imagine that this is NOT lemonade and is instead sustaining some sort of alien creature....

but now we're back with our agents and ambrose chapel visiting a new gregor in a hotel. when gregor opens the door, he is really scared of ambrose. and there's also another lady in the room with him who is hiding. things were going real rapid fire at this point. my notes were just a series of questions, or statements followed by question marks to express disbelief:

"gregor JUMPS OUT of the window but somehow GETS BACK UP? and now he's running away??? so we get a chase scene. WHO IS THIS AMBROSE FELLOW??? and why is there a lady in the room hiding behind a curtain???"

mulder is going after gregor on foot when he gets HIT BY A CAR????

but he says he's fine and tells scully to keep going. ambrose is stalking this gregor like a cat, and gregor has no choice but to climb something to escape.

but noooo!!! the shapeshifter is back!!! the shapeshifter WAS ambrose?? the gregors must be able to sense who the shapeshifter is.

"ambrose chapel" tells scully that the gregor got away, but she steps in some familiar green goo that indicates things are not looking great for our gregor, and he is likely gone. too soon.

"how are you feeling?", scully asks mulder. "like i should have taken the crosswalk", he says LMAOOOOOO

scully is pointing out the obvious: this ambrose fellow is sus as hell. "what happened to trust no one?" "oh, i changed it to trust everyone, i didn't tell you?" LMAOOOO this man cannot stop running his damn mouth

he's all, i ran a background check on ambrose, and he is totally clear, he's been working at the CIA for 17 years! and she asks so WHY, if he has been working here for 17 years, does he need OUR HELP? and also the gregor was CLEARLY running from him, and not us!

he accuses her of being paranoid which 1. kettle calling pot black and 2. rude as hell??? she is speaking total sense here

OHHHH THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTING!!! and again she is NOT wrong.

"you'll pursue a case at the expense of everything, to the point of insanity, and expect me to follow you. there has to be somewhere to draw the line" and is she wrong??? she does not get paid enough to deal with all of this, and he's endangering them... and he seems to just assume that she will do anything he asks of her.........

"if the pursuit of this case seems like insanity to you, feel free to step away from it" he says, in a way that is very judgemental and accusatory and not at all understanding of how wild this whole thing sounds. and i'm taken back to his opening monologue, how he was going on about the pursuit of the truth interfering with his relationships... exhibit a!!

she points out that SOMEONE DIED and he deflects by saying "those are the risks you take! you either accept them or you don't"

(now, when signing up for the fbi, i do not actually think "murder by alien" was on the risk of disclaimers signed so.)

((ugh he's pissing me off here. i get it, the bloodhound need to sniff out the truth without regard for anything else, let alone something as simple as safety. but could we maybe LISTEN to our partner???? just once????? GRRRR))

(also they keep calling ambrose chapel by his last name and its making me think of chappell roan, my beloved above all else. this is not very h-o-t t-o g-o of mulder to be ignoring scully's concerns)

despite the high levels of tension and voices being raised, she pulls out her shoe that had stepped in the alien gunk and shows him how it has been burned through. his eyes light up in fascination and he says we need to go get this tested now and also can you prepare an autopsy bay? we can't figure out how the agent in the syracuse situation died. and then HER EYES expand with childlike wonder and everything is momentarily right with the world again.

he comes down to the autopsy- perhaps as a form of apology for his earlier rudeness- and watches while she goes over the stuff. and everything looks normal except his blood was clotted somehow??

"skinner's gonna wanna know why you didn't file your report... what are you gonna say?" "just the truth. i got hit by a car!" LMAOOOO okay honesty king

(it was at this point i lost power and had to spend the rest of the night wondering what the hell was going to happen next until i could finish it the next day.... i truly deserve compensation for this happening twice in one week. what sick and twisted force is out there trying to keep me from running this blog, huh?!?!?)

okay we're back. mulder is going into skinner's office.

he must have came up with a report real fast, because he goes to give it to skinner, and he says he didn't call him to talk about that:

"your father has been trying to reach you. there's been a family emergency"

(proving once again that skinner is serving the same functions as a high school prinicpal)

he calls his dad, and his mom picks up... and he asks why she was at "dad's place".... MULDER CHILD OF DIVORCE CONFIRMED?!?!?

scully stops by his office with an address she found to go on, and he says you go there, and walks out. she asks where he's going and he said "home" and did not elaborate. and said nothing else.

(this pissed me off because RIGHT before scully was kidnapped, he had similarly made an abrupt exit on here and i thought that he would stop doing that and start saying a proper goodbye but no. he has not learned. ALWAYS say goodbye and tell your friends you love them when you leave- it is NOT negotiable!!!!!!)

she drives to the address and it is... very creepy... it's the room full of tanks that aren't lemonade but they look like it!!!!! and ambrose chapel (NOT to be confused with chappell roan!) is pushing the tanks over and stepping on the chunks of stuff that comes out of them... very gross...

scully calls mulder and asks him to please call back because she thinks she is in danger, and someone is following her, sitting outside her apartment, BUT HE IS BUSY!!! WITH FAMILY EMERGENCY!!! which she does not KNOW ABOUT because he DID NOT TELL HER!!!!

he arrives at his dad's place and i am not shocked that man is either from or has spent a significant amount of time in massachusetts, specifically martha's vineyard. like yeah. this isn't shocking to me. it just makes sense.

(although if that were the case, he'd be MUCH more obnoxious about the patriots and the red sox, and before he mentioned going to dodger's stadium and having a shirt from the new york knicks.... so what's the truth?!)

his dad is on the porch and is being kinda weird- do BOTH our agents have a strained relationship with their fathers? and his dad shakes his hand and it's Weird. but he sees his mom is talking to someone inside.

SISTER REVEAL??? it was the girl who was inside the house when the agents and ambrose showed up to find the gregor! AND i think it's the same girl that gave them the map back in binghamton... but i could be wrong?

in the morning he gives his mom a kiss and tucks her into bed. aww.

then he walks outside and it looks like he is either gonna start hyperventilating or crying, but his "sister" is on the porch and he goes over to talk to her- what do you say after 22 years?

she says she was returned around age 8 or 9, and placed with a family, and that she couldn't remember anything until doing some hypnotherapy a few years back, and the memories of her family and all of the horrific testing returned.

(and sorry i'm not buying it. idk it just doesn't seem to add up!!!!!)

but he's hugging her so it's probably best he can't hear me say that. my guess is someone is trying to distract him from the truth.

but, she already knows what is going on... she says a bounty hunter is after her "father" (which confuses mulder because... same dad?) but she corrects herself and says the man who adopted her is one of the gregors- and he is an alien- and they'll be after her soon, i guess for maybe knowing the truth?

at this point in the episode we begin a series of phone calls in which both parties repeatedly miss each other's calls and i was like whyyyyy. whyyyyy.

anyway scully is leaving. she's in a jacket and she's taking the bus and i love her so bad. she says where she is going on the phone but i assumed she was lying because it was in public.

and mulder's "sister" is saying that the hit man can disguise himself as anyone. so he's trying to reach scully, who is back at the site of the lemonade-looking alien tanks.

she pulls a lock picker out of her fanny pack because that is my baby.

and when she goes in all the alien stuff is smashed. she's looking at the alien meat on the floor. and she picks something up and. OH FUCK, i yelled at my screen. i hit pause SO FAST. she was holding a PULSATING ALIEN EMBRYO. but some guy is in the back!!!!!

she tries to get him to stop whatever it is he's doing but he says "you cannot hurt us" and then all of the remaining gregors with the same face are in the room!!!!!!

so she puts them in maximum security but the windows on the cars weren't blacked out and i feel that they should have been. and just as i make note of this we see the shapeshifter hit man... NO!!!

scully ACTUALLY goes to the motel she said she would, and they miss calls 2 MORE TIMES... i will start biting!!!!!

and back where the gregors are being watched, the guards switch, and a new fellow walks in... and i guessed it was the shapeshifter, and yes indeed it was, he busts out his needle that turns the gregors to acid....

there's a knock at scully's door at like 11:30 at night and she goes and gets it and it's mulder!!! where were you, she asks, when her phone starts ringing...

and who is on the other end but... mulder.........

no.... shapeshifter......

TO BE CONTINUED?????

ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

this is so unfair because had the power NOT been knocked off i could have seen this episode yesterday and then part 2 tonight. but now i shall be forced to wait until TOMORROW to see what happens. soooooo evil.

i should have known we were gonna get another two-parter when we were halfway through the episode and still no mention was made of any ice. you know, the ice we began with?

anyway. i really really liked this episode. the pacing was great, as much as i complained about their argument i thought it was excellent conflict, we learn more about mulder, but i do not believe that is really his sister. sorry. and if it IS her i'll be forced to issue a formal apology but until then i remain doubtful. has anyone considered doing a blood test. this predates 23 and me.

aughhh i need to know how he ends up an ice cube!!!!!! and i will have to wait until tomorrow. and while i technically COULD watch part 2 tonight i want to have a real good bit of time dedicated to breaking it down

(i saw the episode after the next one is about zoo animals and i was like hell yeah this is what i love about this show. we get some heartbreaking alien infiltration content and then some possessed elephants)

((WAIT. ARE THEY REALLY GONNA GET TO GO TO THE ZOO??? LIKE I'VE ALWAYS DREAMED OF?? but it's a zoo of ANGRY animals so it's not even going to be relaxing??? this is SOOOOO unfair...))

[earlgreytea68]

Okay. It's time for an AI rant.

My nephew is 13 years old. Whenever he writes a paper for school, I check it over and fix all of his mistakes for him. He said to me, "Maybe I'll proofread your paper for you in exchange," meaning one of the scholarly articles I write for work. I said, "Cool," and gave him the file. And he said, "Well, this is full of errors! See, you always say you have a lot to correct on my stuff, and look at all the stuff you got wrong!" And I said, surprised, "What? Where?" Because I'm sure there are typos in the draft I sent him, but not, like, that many.

And then he pointed to the screen and said, "Look at all the blue and red lines you have."

And I said, "Yeah, but those are wrong. Like, those are blue and red lines I'm ignoring because the computer is wrong." And then I paused and added, "You know you can't proofread a paper by just looking at the red and blue lines, right?" And he gave me the blankest look, because that clearly is EXACTLY what he thinks. And it became even clearer suddenly why, whenever I correct something on his paper, his immediate reaction is, "It didn't have a blue or red line."

There's a very good reason for that: THAT'S BECAUSE THE COMPUTER ISN'T SMART ENOUGH TO KNOW THAT IT WAS WRONG.

I am so tired of being sold the idea that computers are better than humans and so we should just outsource everything to them, which is clearly the lesson my nephew is absorbing in U.S. middle school. COMPUTERS ARE NOT BETTER THAN HUMANS. Like, maybe they are better at humans at crawling through rubble to find people trapped inside. They are also better at preserving things in a searchable format. Things like that. Very limited circumstances.

I don't want to sound alarmist but everything I hear about people using generative AI freaks me out. It's not just that I'm freaked out by people being like, "I use it to write novels!" (Although I don't see how they do, I have tried to have it write fiction for me and the output was truly terrible.) But I recognize my bias around creative writing and so no one needs to credit my views on artificial writing. But! Other things are alarming, too! "I use it to brainstorm x, y, or z." But...why? Why not just...use your own brain...to...brain...storm? The computer doesn't even have a brain to brainstorm with! And you might be like, "But it comes up with things that my brain would never think of!" So would other people! You could also brainstorm with other people! Or even through Google to see what other people have thought before you (not AI). Please don't belittle the wonder of thinking.

I just feel like the marketing around generative AI boils down to "Wouldn't it be easier not to use your own brain to think about things?" Everyone. No. It would not be. Please just trust me on this. I'm not just an old person who is out of touch with technology or something. I promise. USE YOUR BRAINS. IT WILL BE OKAY.

[purinfelix]

you're no good for me, but baby i want you - n. riki ✶⋆.˚

summary: after growing tired of his constant teasing you made up your mind not to give Niki anymore of your attention, but you should've known that he wouldn't let you go that easily - and is willing to go to desperate measures to get you just to look at him ──── delinquent Niki x class president reader || sfw but a little suggestive, kissing/making out, so much tension like so much, enemies to lovers sorta? || w/c: 2.7k

a/n: okay i'm trying to get better at writing longer fics/ones that actually have closure bc looking back i realise i kinda always leave u guys on cliffhangers LOLL - also i rlly tried to avoid making this too cliche given the trope i hope it worked !!! actually really like this one so i hope it doesn't flop rip

‘Bad boy’ felt too cliche - at least for your liking. You preferred to refer to Niki as what he was, a delinquent, a troublemaker, someone who skipped most of his classes and spent the rest dosing off or arguing with the teacher. But no matter what you called him you were sure of one thing, he pissed you off.

To be honest, you had absolutely no interest in the sorts of things a student like him got up to in his own time, but it was the fact that he insisted on dragging you into his business that irritated you the most. You weren’t sure why exactly he kept targeting you, maybe it was because he just wanted to mess with the class president or because you seemed like an easy target to him - whatever reason he had didn’t make it any less tiring though.

Skipping classes was one thing, but his constant breaches of uniform code meant that you were running out of warning slips - and patience. It didn’t help that whenever you did, he would only look you up and down with an amused smirk, brows raised as if daring you to continue telling him off - which only worked to make you stumble over your words.

That’s why you had made the decision to stop giving him anymore of your attention, and the most recent time you had seen him sporting his signature look - no blazer, dress shirt half unbuttoned and several silver earrings, you chose to ignore him. You simply walked past him in the hallway without so much as a passing glance, hoping it would tell him to stop wasting your time and causing trouble.

Little did you know, he would misinterpret your signs to mean the exact opposite.

The next morning when you were waiting at your desk you heard a wave of hushed murmurs coming from down the hall, and couldn’t help but feel partly responsible. A loud thud sent the classroom door flying open and a couple of his friends filed in with amused grins - and it was only when Niki followed them in did you see why. Not only had he gone and messily bleached parts of his jet black hair, but he now donned a piercing straight through his right eyebrow which, judging from the pink tinge surrounding it, was both brand new and self-made.

You were unable to stop your neck from craning as your eyes followed his figure, watching as he sauntered over to his desk in the back corner of the classroom, threw his books onto it and sat down. The expression on his face showed that he couldn’t care less about being there, but his eyes trained on you as if waiting for you to make a move.

You hated that he knew you so well, because before you knew it you were out of your seat and at the head of his desk, arms folded with a stern expression on your face. You can’t remember exactly what you said but it must’ve been harsh, and loud enough to summon the attention of almost the entire class, and your teacher who stormed into the classroom shortly after to tell the two of you off. It must’ve also been harsh enough to earn the two of you an after-school detention, which was your very first - though it clearly wasn’t Niki’s.

So that’s how the two of you had ended up alone, in an empty, hot classroom - waiting as the minutes of your detention ticked by agonisingly slowly. Irritated was an understatement. It was taking every ounce of self-control you had not to turn around and punch Niki right there and then. You kept your fuming to yourself, at least for now though, while you worked silently on an assignment, determined to at least make good use of being stuck here for the next hour or so - even if it meant spending it in a tense silence.

Niki didn’t seem to share the same sentiment, having sat himself in the chair right beside yours and kicked his feet up on the desk, twirling a pen in one hand as he hummed softly to himself. You were trying your best to ignore him, and he was trying his best to make that very difficult.

“What are you working on?” he asked curiously as he leaned in over your shoulder.

“Just an assignment,” you shot back curtly.

“Ah of course, what a goody-two shoes,” he scoffed as he sat back.

“Rather a goody-two shoes than a good-for-nothing delinquent,” you mumbled under your breath, though not quiet enough to escape his ears.

“A delinquent? Is that really what you think of me?” he asked in faux-offence, “I’m hurt.” You turned slightly, just enough to see the dramatic pout he had formed across his lips, his brows curving upwards and his piercing going with it.

“Whatever,” you huff, feeling both irritation and exhaustion rise in you, “it’s your fault we’re here in the first place anyways.”

“Oh yeah, my fault that you started a petty argument.”

“Your fault for dyeing your hair that stupid colour and getting that piece of metal jammed in your face!” You cry out, fully facing him now as you felt your face burning hot, “I mean seriously, all I did was ignore you once, and you go ahead and did something ridiculous like that?” Gesturing to his piercing and new hair, you can’t help but feel even more infuriated at the sight of his smirk which only grew as he watched you from half-lidded eyes.

“What makes you think I did it for you?” He asks teasingly, and you suddenly feel your bravado begin to crumble - he’s right, who are you to assume that?

“Well, I-” you stutter, but he interrupts you.

“Well maybe I did,” he laughs softly, “that depends on whether you like it or not.”

“That is so besides the point, Niki,” you whine, “it’s against uniform policy.”

“Oh c’mon, you think it’s a little cool,” he taunts, and you turn back around in your seat, chewing your bottom lip as you’re determined not to give him a response which you’re sure will only fuel his ego.

You sit in silence for a bit, and you can tell he’s watching you carefully in the way he leans in, keen eyes trained on your expression - almost as if he’s trying to figure out what you’re thinking. But that’s a challenge even you’re struggling with right now.

He’s the one to break the silence again. “I am sorry about getting you a detention though, that wasn’t what I meant to do.” You blink in disbelief because for the very first time, he sounds almost as if he really means what he’s saying.

“Is that an apology?” you say, gasping to show your surprise, though this quickly dissolved into a soft laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it get to your head,” he sighs, “I just couldn’t sit here and watch you sulk for the next hour.”

You can’t help but smile to yourself, feeling the tension between the two of you melt away at his apology, just enough for you to want to keep talking to him - even if it means neglecting your homework, for now. Your eyes move over his face, his sharp jaw, his eyebrow piercing glinting under the warm classroom light.

“Did it hurt?”

It’s a stupid question, you know, but it’s the only thing you can think to ask as you fiddle nervously in your seat. If you’re being completely honest, you do think it’s cool, you’ve always thought his piercing were cool - and right now you want nothing more than to reach out and feel them for yourself. But your common sense stops you.

“Well, duh,” he scoffs, sitting back in his seat as his eyes fix on yours, “figured a smart-ass like you would’ve been able to guess that.”

“Just asking,” you grumble defensively, though your curiosity urges you to keep talking. “If it hurt, why’d you do it?”

“Well, you like it, don’t you?” He asks, “that’s all the reason I need.”

You’re tempted to tell him off again, but something about his tone catches you off guard - it’s oddly earnest, and he says it with such a simplicity that makes you really believe that maybe he’s telling the truth and you’re unable to find the resolve to spoil this moment

“Can I feel it?”

He’s almost as shocked by your request as you are, and even as it leaves your mouth you’re unsure entirely why you’re asking it. His eyes widen in a way that you can’t help but find a little cute, even as you’re struggling to process your own thoughts.

“Sure,” he replies, a little too quickly, almost as if he had been waiting for you to ask him that, but can’t believe you actually did. You turn in your chair to face him, your arms coming up awkwardly to bridge the distance between you both but it’s clear you’re still too far.

You’re about to lean forward more in your seat to reach him, until you notice his hand coming down to grip the leg of your chair and it isn’t until you feel yourself moving and hear the faint screech of the legs against the floor that you realise that he’s pulling it - pulling you closer to him.

Once you’re close enough he stops, though his hand doesn’t leave the back of your chair, instead resting there as if trapping you in with him as he leans down as that his face is level with yours. You try not to overthink the way your knees are touching, or how this is your first time seeing him this close and how he’s even better looking up close. Carefully, you bring your hand and pray that he doesn’t notice the way it trembles, as your thumb grazes his thick brow gently. Even though you wish he didn’t, he keeps his eyes open and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you as your fingers close around the small metal ball.

“It’s cold,” you mumble, not sure what else to say to fill the air between you two.

“It’s metal,” he says matter-of-factly, letting out a small laugh at your fascination with it.

“You didn’t need to to do this just to get my attention, you know,” your eyes focus on the piercing as you speak, unable to look him in the eyes when admitting something that feels like a confession.

“I had to get you to look at me somehow.” You’re again amazed at how he can say such earnest things with such a serious face, and even as you look away you know his eyes are on you.

“Most people would’ve just said hi or something, not put a brand new hole in their face,” you sigh, fingers moving to tuck a stray strand of bleached hair behind his ear.

“Well most people wouldn’t be here now with you touching their face, so by my standards my plan worked better.”

“Did that plan have to include getting me my first-ever detention?” You ask in annoyance, though you can’t help but laugh softly at his simplicity.

“Well, not at first,” he admits, “but at least we’re alone, hm?”

“Because you need me alone to talk to me?”

“No, because I need you alone to do this.”

You’re pretty sure if you weren’t already leaning towards him you would’ve fallen backwards from the forceful way his lips crash into yours - and if not from that then the sheer shock of just that. Luckily for you though, he already has an arm snaked around your waist, keeping a hold of you and pulling you closer.

It shocks you though that, despite the initial force, Niki’s kiss is gentle, almost as if he’s easing you into something he knows you’re struggling to accept. He’s experienced, that’s for sure, but you can tell in his movements that he’s holding back from pushing you any further.

You don’t even realise it but your hands are cupping his face, caressing his strong jawline and pulling him closer to you. You open your mouth to talk but the only noise that comes out is a breathy gasp and if you weren’t so caught up in the feeling of his hands in your hair you might’ve stopped to feel embarrassed about how desperate you sound for him right now.

“Niki,” you mumble against his lips, unsure of what to do as you feel your mind struggle to comprehend what’s happening.

“Want me to stop?” he says in between heavy breaths, and even though it sounds like a taunt you know him well enough to know he’s being serious.

You shake your head in response, but decide to have a little fun of your own while you can. “When have you ever cared what I want?”

“Oh, you have no clue,” he hums in a low whisper as he leans back in.

“And when have you ever listened to what I’ve told you to do?”

“You’re right about that,” he smirks, pressing his lips to yours again, this time with the reckless abandon you’ve come to expect from him - almost as if he was waiting for your permission to let go. You thought you would’ve felt a little predictable, pathetic even, for having fallen so easily into his trap and giving him much more than just your attention at this point. But from the way his hands roam your body, grasping for more of you as he whines against your lips you smile to yourself at the realisation that really, he’s the one who’s fallen into your trap.

This sense of control is what finally calms your mind, even if it still struggles with just how ‘wrong’ all of this sounds against how right his lips on yours feel. The sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway however forces you to tear yourself away from him, though his hands don’t leave your body as you strain to figure out who it might be.

“Shit, it’s the teacher,” you say under your breath, pulling away from him to smooth down your skirt. Niki clearly doesn’t care, but still lets out a soft sigh as he hangs his head, leaning back in his chair.

“Tomorrow,” you continue suddenly, “I want the eyebrow piercing and the bleached hair gone.” You know you’re being harsh, but you also know that, given what just happened, you can’t afford to be nice.

“Wh-” he says suddenly, looking at you in disbelief, “I thought you liked them though.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you say firmly, “they’re still breaking like ten different uniform rules.”

“Just when I thought I’d finally broken your guard down,” he groans.

“Well, they’ve served their purpose already, haven’t they?” you taunt lightly, bringing a hand up to swipe at your bottom lip which you can feel is a little plump from him biting it. His eyes watch attentively as you do, and he lets out a soft laugh followed by a nod in agreement.

“You’re right,” he exhales, “but now I’m thinking if I keep them in I might keep getting lucky.”

“Niki,” you sigh.

“I mean, maybe if I had a reward for following rules I might feel more motivated,” he hums, looking away as he feigns innocence.

You pause, thinking to yourself for just long enough. “I’ll be studying in the library after school, maybe if you do as I say I’ll let you join me.”

“Studying? That’s what we’re calling it now?”

“Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll be there,” he laughs, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile - one that you can’t help but share even as the same teacher who gave you both this detention comes in to tell you you’re free to go.

You watch as he swings his bag over one shoulder coolly, tossing you his signature smirk - only this time, it doesn’t just annoy you, it lingers, sticking to your thoughts in a way you don’t want to admit. Because you know you should be mad, you should roll your eyes and remind yourself that he’s still the same infuriating troublemaker. But as he walks away the only thing you find yourself wondering is if he’ll actually show up tomorrow, and worse, if a part of you wants him to.

[alsofoundinpeas]

The View from Here

Summary: After a few chance encounters, Spencer finds himself developing a crush on Y/N. When he discovers she lives across from him, he spends countless hours admiring her from a distance, too nervous to make the first move. But when her package is mistakenly delivered to his door, it sparks the beginning of something more than just a crush and stolen glances through the window. (Part Two)

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. This could be considered dubcon (Spencer watches reader through her window but doesn't realize that she actually wants him to) so please be aware of that! Masturbation (both m and f). Use of a sex toy/penetrative use of a sex toy (f!receiving). Perv!Spencer (he means well truly, but alas he is a man) but also a hint of Perv!Reader (since she's intentionally doing things to grab his attention?? I'm not quite sure how to label that I'm sorry!!) Themes of voyeurism/exhibitionism (they both watch each other get off). Sub!Spencer (gotta squint for it now but it'll be more prevalent in part two). Both fluffy and smutty

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader/afab!reader

A/N: This was started to fill a request for sub!Spencer but I got carried away forgive me LMAO but part two is almost complete and will be out soon :') I wrote this with season two Reid in mind before the writers (further) traumatized the absolute fuck out of him. This is a bit different from my usual writing, so I truly hope you guys enjoy it! As always, please let me know what you guys think and if you do enjoy it then please like, reblog, and share it with your friends. <3 I truly do appreciate each and every single one of you and the feedback I get from you guys, I promise :') <3 Thank you and I love you all!! :)

The door slammed behind him as Spencer stormed into his apartment, tossing his satchel onto the couch with an angry groan. The stress of work had been wearing him down for weeks, but today had pushed him over the edge.

He’d just wrapped up the reports for their latest case and was on his way to deliver them to Hotch when an oblivious agent from the sex crimes unit collided with him. The force sent the cup of scalding coffee in her hands flying, drenching him and his case files. Instead of responding to her blubbered apologies, he had just stomped off to the bathroom to clean himself and calm down. Not only was it painful and humiliating, but it also destroyed all of his hard work. Work he'd now have to redo tomorrow.

Spencer exhaled sharply, fingers raking through his hair as he trudged toward the bedroom. All he wanted was to strip off his coffee-stained clothes and lose himself in the pages of his new book, anything to escape the tension of the day. Once inside, he moved to close the curtains but stopped short, his eyes landing on something unexpected just before he pulled them shut. His body went rigid, his heart racing as an unfamiliar warmth spread through him. He blinked, barely able to believe what he was seeing.

There, in the apartment directly across from his bedroom window, was Y/N.

Spencer had bumped into her a handful of times—their first meeting happening at the library just down the street when they'd both reached for the same book, then a few chance encounters after that at his favorite coffee shop, and the most recent interaction being one of the most mortifying moments of his life.

He’d stumbled over the sidewalk on his way to work, and he’d never wanted to disappear into the ground more than in that moment. But she had been there, her smile warm and gracious as she helped him gather the scattered books and case files that had spilled from his satchel, her kindness leaving him flustered and breathless. He’d been captivated by her the first time they met, but it was that moment that truly cemented his fascination with her.

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat when he realized how wrong it was to be watching her through her bedroom window. But despite the guilt creeping in, he couldn’t bring himself to look away. It was as if he were under some kind of spell, captivated by the sight of her spinning around her room, carefree and radiant.

She wore a loose t-shirt that slipped off one shoulder and the tiniest pair of shorts he’d ever seen, completely at ease in her own space. She held something in her hand, singing into it like a microphone, completely lost in the music. Spencer didn’t realize when it happened, but a smile tugged at his lips, the stress of the day forgotten as he watched her. Her joy was so genuine and infectious that it pulled at him in ways he hadn’t expected, leaving him momentarily breathless.

His thoughts were interrupted when Y/N twirled around, singing as she faced her window. Spencer released a startled yelp, frantically yanking the curtains shut before she could catch him staring. His heart raced in his chest as he dared a quick peek through the fabric, anxious to see if she had noticed. Thankfully, she seemed oblivious, still happily dancing around her room, unaware of his presence.

"Oh my God," Spencer muttered, a wave of relief washing over him as he realized he hadn’t been caught staring like a complete weirdo at the woman he’d developed a crush on, despite having barely exchanged five sentences with her.

He was sure she didn't even remember his name. Why would she? All he'd managed to do during their brief interactions (besides busting his ass on the concrete the one time) was stutter out barely audible attempts at conversation before hastily retreating, his face scarlet and slacks uncomfortably tight.

Spencer had assumed Y/N lived nearby, but he hadn’t realized she was this close.

The day's weight melted away as Spencer peeled off his work clothes and slipped into his pajamas. He grabbed his book from the nightstand and sank back into his pillows, propping himself up against the headboard. But as he tried to focus on the pages, the image of Y/N dancing in her room kept invading his thoughts. His mind refused to settle, consumed with ideas of how he might run into her again now that he knew that not only was she just a building away—she was right across from him.

As the weeks passed, Spencer’s routine began to mirror Y/N’s more and more as he grew increasingly familiar with her schedule.

He began waking up earlier, noticing that she typically left her apartment an hour before he needed to head to work. With the extra time, Spencer found himself watching her with quiet awe each morning while she got ready, fascinated by how the soft light from the window seemed to illuminate her features as she did her hair and makeup. He also started visiting his favorite coffee shop daily instead of just once a week, hoping for a chance encounter before his workday began.

Night after night Spencer found his gaze inevitably drawn to her window, the soft glow of her bedroom lighting luring him in like a moth to a flame. He would trace her movements, pretending to read his book as it shielded his face, should he need to feign innocence. Something was alluring about her, even in the simplest moments—whether she was folding laundry or typing away on her computer, she was impossible to look away from.

Spencer couldn’t shake his curiosity about Y/N’s habit of leaving her curtains open.

Did she know he could see her? Was it intentional? Their apartments, situated at the ends of the buildings on the top floors, offered a level of privacy that made him feel certain (or at least, he desperately hoped) that no one else could be watching. Perhaps she’d noticed his frequent absences and simply stopped caring about keeping them shut.

The first case away from D.C. after Spencer learned Y/N was so close was more difficult than he expected. As he lay awake in his hotel room, his thoughts kept drifting to her, and the longing grew with each passing hour. He missed her. The only thing driving him was the need to finish the case quickly so he could return to the familiar comfort of his bed, where he could silently admire her from a distance.

The longer he thought about her, the tighter his boxers got. Spencer huffed out a pitiful whine, his hands clenching and unclenching beside himself as he tried to fight his shameful thoughts. This wasn't the first time he'd had these thoughts about her since meeting her, no. But it is the first time he's had the mental image of her undressing to go along with his fantasies.

The first time it happened, Spencer had all but thrown himself off his bed in his haste to close his curtains. His heart had pounded so hard his chest ached as he'd squeezed his eyes shut, willing the sight of her raising her shirt over her head and tossing it carelessly to the ground out of his mind. The second time, he took a little more time to slink over to his window and draw his curtains, his pulse racing at the sight of her bare back and the smallest glimpse of lacy panties as she began to shimmy out of her pants. The third time, he had crouched by his window, peeking out despite having pulled his curtains closed, and watched as she stripped completely before heading into her conjoined bathroom.

That was the first and (so far) only time he'd touched himself to what he'd seen.

The moment her bathroom door had clicked shut, Spencer sprang to his feet and hurried into his own bathroom, tearing his clothes off before stepping underneath the stream of hot water. One of his palms smacked the wall while his other hand frantically pumped his aching cock, whimpers and groans flowing freely from his lips as he imagined Y/N's hand around him instead of his own. It didn't take long for him to spill into his hand, and unfortunately, it took even less time for the guilt to slam into him at the realization of what he'd done.

After that night, Spencer had vowed to himself that he wouldn't let it happen again, knowing just how inherently wrong it was to jerk off to the sight of his neighbor (the woman he secretly admired) getting undressed when she had no idea she had even been watched.

But tonight, alone and frustrated in his hotel room, he was struggling to stick to that vow.

After another hour of tossing and turning in bed, Spencer released a resigned sigh. "Just this once," he murmured to himself, swallowing hard. He let his hand slip underneath the waistband of his boxers to push them down his thighs before spitting in his palm, hissing at the contact as his hand wrapped around his arousal. His eyes fluttered shut as his imagination began to take over, his hand slowly increasing its pace as images of Y/N and her lacy panties raced through his mind.

Spencer's mouth hung open as his thumb swiped over the swollen tip of his cock, a bead of precum oozing out and aiding his movements. He pictured her hovering above him, her gaze teasing as she stroked him faster and faster. He imagined how she'd sound as she talked him through it, her sweet voice luring him closer and closer to the edge. His hips bucked into his hand as his climax took hold of him, a choked moan of Y/N's name ripping its way from his throat as he painted his heaving chest with his cum.

With shaky hands, he cleaned himself, still dizzy from the aftershocks of his orgasm. After wiping himself off, he collapsed onto the bed, surrendering to the exhaustion that weighed him down. That night, his dreams were filled with Y/N—her radiant smile, her captivating voice, and the tenderness in her eyes whenever they met his. When he woke the next morning, breathless and murmuring her name, he realized he was in deep.

What Spencer didn’t know was that Y/N had known exactly what she was doing all along.

From the moment she reached for the same book as him—an act carefully planned to give her an excuse to talk to him—she’d been captivated by the stuttering genius. New to the neighborhood, she had noticed him a few times before finally gathering the courage to make her move. All it took was his flustered "Oh! I-I’m so sorry, here—" paired with furrowed brows and those wide, innocent eyes, and she was utterly entranced.

When Y/N discovered that Spencer lived right across from her, it felt like she’d hit the jackpot.

After their previous encounters, she’d quickly noticed the effect she had on him, and from that moment, she devised a plan to capture his attention. She began with subtle moves, leaving her curtains open one night so he’d realize she was the one across from him. She chose an outfit she was sure would draw his gaze, and when he nearly ripped his curtain rod off the wall, convinced she’d caught him looking, she knew she’d succeeded.

When Y/N noticed he was waking up earlier, watching her get ready with curious eyes over what he clearly thought was a cleverly placed book (which, in reality, did nothing to hide his attention), she decided it was time to raise the stakes.

The first time she undressed with the curtains open, she sank to her knees cackling at how quickly Spencer had scrambled out of bed to shut his own. The second time, she relished in how he hesitated before shutting his curtains so he could catch a glimpse of her lacy panties (ones she’d chosen with him in mind), but it still wasn't enough. By the third time, she was done teasing. She’d stripped down completely bare in her room, grinning smugly as she turned to walk into her bathroom because she’d seen Spencer not-so-subtly peeking through his curtains.

When Spencer still didn’t make a move after that, Y/N decided she was done waiting.

With him away on a case for the past three days, she saw the perfect opportunity to set her new plan in motion. After work one evening, she made her way to his building, quickly locating his apartment number—a detail that, to her surprise, matched hers. Smiling to herself, she placed her order and waited for him to return, ready for the next phase of her plan to unfold.

After nearly twelve grueling days away, Spencer finally returned late Friday night, aching for the comfort of home—and, more importantly, the sight of Y/N. Exhausted, he stumbled up the stairs to his apartment, eager to collapse into bed and wake up to her face rather than the grim case photos that had dominated his thoughts. His eyes half-lidded with fatigue, he fumbled with the key, unlocking the door before shoving it open.

“Oh! What the-“

Spencer cursed under his breath as he stumbled, his eyes dropping to the package at his feet. Frowning, he bent down slowly to inspect it. He hadn’t ordered anything, and there was no reason to expect anything from his mom. So... what was this?

The package was a light pink, medium-sized bag. Spencer nudged it onto its other side to check the sender, and his breath caught. It was addressed to Y/N, though she’d written the wrong number in the street address, causing it to end up at his door. He instantly recognized the name of the online boutique, having (unfortunately) heard Emily, JJ, and Penelope brazenly talk about ordering sex toys and such from this place.

What could Y/N have possibly ordered from there?

Spencer was wide awake now, his pulse quickening as he grabbed the package, slammed the door shut, and locked it. He carried it into the kitchen, turning on the light as he went. There was no way he’d open it—he knew that would be both illegal and downright creepy. But his curiosity got the best of him, and he couldn’t resist running his hands over the package, trying to guess what was inside.

His tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth as he carefully handled the package, giving it a slight squeeze. He could feel the soft outline of fabric inside a smaller plastic bag, his mind spinning with possibilities about what kind of set Y/N might have ordered. A small, involuntary gasp escaped him as his fingers brushed against something hard, separately wrapped from the lingerie. Was that… a dildo? Vibrator, maybe?

A quick glance at the clock told him it was far too late to return her package now. He swallowed, setting the bag down on the table with a mental note to take it to her first thing in the morning. He had the weekend off, and he knew she didn’t work weekends, so it wouldn't be a problem bringing it over. The only problem was going to be looking her in the eyes without turning into a complete mess.

Spencer rushed to his room, his excitement growing as he headed to bed, knowing he’d finally see Y/N tomorrow—in person, not just through her window.

The morning arrived quicker than he had expected, but for the first time, he was happy to hear his alarm. It was 9:30 a.m., giving him enough time to shower and get dressed before making the short walk to Y/N's apartment. More importantly, it would give her a chance to wake up before he just showed up at her door with her package in hand and rambling like a nervous mess.

Spencer’s nerves began to take over as he finished his shower and started getting dressed, his hands trembling as he pulled on his sweater. The last time they'd spoken was when he'd all but face-planted into concrete in front of her and then practically bolted off once she'd helped him gather his things (after a lengthy, awkward apology of course). What if she thought he was a freak?

Before he could talk himself out of it, Spencer took a deep breath, grabbed the package, summoned the last of his courage, and walked out the door.

A hesitant knock at her front door had Y/N grinning smugly as she rose from the couch and headed toward the door. She’d been waiting for this since she’d seen Spencer’s light come on late the night before. Her package was finally here.

The door opened to reveal a nervous Spencer, his eyes lighting up when they landed on her. He instinctively adjusted his glasses, his nose twitching as a small, shy smile appeared on his face.

"Spencer! Hey! What brings you by?" Y/N beamed, stepping aside to let him in. She had to suppress a giggle at her innocent act—she knew exactly why he was here.

Spencer blinked in surprise, both at her invitation and the fact that she remembered his name, pausing briefly before stepping into her apartment. His gaze wandered around, taking in the cozy surroundings with quiet admiration. When he realized she was waiting for him to speak, he cleared his throat, his face flushing as he held up the package.

"I, uh… I just wanted to return this," Spencer stammered, his words tripping over each other. "You had one number wrong on the street address, and, funny enough, we have the same apartment number, so it ended up at my door. I thought the least I could do was bring it over, especially after you helped me when I… well, fell." He offered a shy smile, his nerves still running rampant.

Y/N accepted the package with a smile, her fingers brushing lightly against his before he quickly pulled his hand back. "I could’ve sworn I got the address right this time," she said with a teasing laugh. "You’d think after a few months here I’d have it down by now, I'm sorry."

Spencer quickly shook his head, trying to ignore the rapid beating of his heart and the lingering sensation of her touch as he waved it off. "You don’t need to apologize, Y/N. It happens," he said sincerely, his fingers nervously twisting the ends of his sleeves now that the package was no longer in his hands. "Honestly, I wouldn’t mind bringing your mail by anytime. I just hate the thought of it sitting at my door or in my mailbox while I’m away," he chuckled, his eyes crinkling as he gave her a warm smile.

"Well, aren't you quite the gentleman?"

Y/N placed the package on her coffee table and then headed toward the kitchen, gesturing for Spencer to follow. He blushed profusely, swallowing hard as he willed away the dirty thoughts that were caused by that simple comment before trailing after her. She turned to look at him over her shoulder as she reached into her cabinet for two mugs, smirking to herself as she noticed him quickly avert his gaze from where it had landed on her ass.

Y/N placed the mugs on the counter, then turned to Spencer with a genuine smile. "Thanks for bringing it to me instead of just sending it back like most people would," she said. "How about a cup of coffee as a small token of my appreciation?"

Spencer nodded, thanking her as she fixed them both a cup. She raised an eyebrow, watching him add enough sugar to send a horse into cardiac arrest, but she kept quiet. Once they’d both prepared their cups to their liking, they headed back to the living room, Y/N sitting close enough that Spencer could feel the warmth of her body radiating toward him.

"So... did you take a peek inside of it?"

Spencer coughed violently, choking on the sip he’d just taken, his face turning a deep shade of scarlet as he frantically shook his head. Y/N’s expression shifted to concern as she patted his back, gently rubbing in soothing circles to help him catch his breath.

"What? N-no, I would never! That's literally illegal and so invasive—" Spencer sputtered, his eyes wide as he stared at her, clearly taken aback.

Y/N's brows furrowed briefly before she erupted into laughter, her head tilting back as she laughed loudly. Leaning in, she rested a hand on his thigh, her tone softening. "Spencer, sweetheart, I was just joking," she said, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye.

He relaxed immediately, fighting the urge to lean into her touch as her hand lingered on his leg. "Thanks for that," Spencer said with a playful roll of his eyes. "Just what I needed this morning—choking on my drink and desperately hoping you knew the Heimlich maneuver." His cheeks were still flushed, a mix of embarrassment from her teasing and the aftereffects of his coughing fit.

After a pot of coffee and hours of conversation, Spencer left with a grin so wide his cheeks ached and Y/N’s number saved in his phone "just in case any more of her mail ended up at his door." He silently thanked whatever force had kept him from backing out earlier that day, grateful for the time he’d gotten to spend with her because of it. He’d found himself falling even harder for her, already yearning for her company despite having just left her place.

That night, as Spencer climbed into bed, something caught his eye from his window. He frowned in confusion as he noticed Y/N’s curtains were open even though they’d been closed just an hour ago. He’d assumed she’d already gone to bed, but apparently, he was mistaken.

He craned his neck, searching for her. She wasn’t in her room, as she usually was when the curtains were open. Where could she be? His jaw nearly hit the floor when she finally appeared, his eyes widening in awe at the sight of her.

Y/N walked into her room from the bathroom, wearing the most stunning lingerie set Spencer had ever seen. The lilac fabric complemented her skin in a way that had him almost drooling on himself, and the thin lace left little to the imagination (though he'd already seen what was underneath it once before and knew exactly how incredibly sexy her body was bare). The sight had his cock stiffening in his boxers, and his teeth dug into his lower lip in anticipation as he watched her.

Spencer nearly toppled out of bed as he watched her crouch down to grab her torn-open package, her hand reaching inside to pull out a light-blue rabbit vibrator. He knew he should get up, close the curtains, look away—do something. But he couldn’t bring himself to move.

Instead, he watched in an almost trance-like state as Y/N crawled onto her bed, swallowing hard as she settled back against her pillows. His hand wandered down his body, palming at his erection over his boxers as a whimper slipped from his lips while he watched her legs spread slowly open, propped up and giving him the perfect view of her clothed pussy. He felt overwhelming guilt, especially after the morning they'd shared, but he was powerless against the pull she had on him.

The close proximity of the buildings had always annoyed Spencer, the narrow space between them so tight he swore he could reach out and touch the other building if he tried. But now, he couldn’t have been more grateful. His bed was on the opposite side of the room that Y/N’s was, leaving her perfectly positioned for him to see her from his spot.

Y/N dragged the tip of the vibrator up and down her inner thigh, teasing herself as the fabric of the lace dampened with her arousal. Her head lolled back against the pillows, and her chest rose and fell with a sigh as she finally placed the vibrator against her clit through her panties. Her back arched at the touch, and her lips opened around a moan he desperately wanted to hear.

Spencer considered himself a sane man (for the most part). But he had never been more tempted in his life to leap through a window than he was right now. If it meant landing in her room so he could at least have the chance to beg for a taste of her, he'd happily do it.

His hand halted its movement, instead moving to his waistband so he could wriggle out of the constricting fabric. He kicked his boxers to the floor like they'd scorned him before his hand wrapped around his cock once more. He leaned forward, letting saliva dribble from his lips to coat himself before stroking himself slowly, teasing himself the way Y/N was right across from him in her room.

When Y/N dipped the vibrator into her panties, Spencer's breath hitched in his throat. He watched in rapt fascination as she paused her movements, her free hand shoving the lace down her thighs before she continued. With the fabric now out of the way, Y/N began to run the tip of the vibrator up and down her slit, collecting her arousal and spreading it around before she slowly eased the toy into herself.

An obscene moan ripped its way from Spencer's throat at the sight, and his hand sped up while his eyes struggled to stay open. He watched through hooded lids as she began to fuck herself in earnest now, her hips rocking into the toy and her eyes squeezed shut in pleasure as she brought herself to the edge. Spencer whimpered as his body began to writhe against his sheets, sparks of pleasure zinging up and down his spine as he worked himself toward his climax.

All it took to send him over the edge was the sight of Y/N's legs thrashing as she came around the toy, a sight that left him both so aroused he couldn't breathe and so jealous of a toy he debated just how truly sane he considered himself to be after this. With a swipe of his thumb over his flushed head, Spencer came in spurts across his tummy, his hand pumping gently through the aftershocks until he was trembling and gasping Y/N's name like it was a mantra.

Once Spencer could finally open his eyes, he looked over at Y/N's window and saw she was no longer in bed, the soft light spilling from under her bathroom door the only sign of where she was. He rolled out of his bed to indulge in what was now becoming a routine walk of shame to his bathroom to clean himself off, his head spinning from what he'd just seen. He knew the shame of his actions would catch up with him in the morning, but for now, exhaustion and elation kept him from caring.

Spencer stumbled back into his room, half-asleep and ready to crash when his phone buzzed. Crawling into bed, he reached for it, curious about who would be contacting him at this hour. His heart stuttered in his chest, eyes widening in shock as he read the message on the screen.

Glad to see that you enjoyed the show, sweetheart. Next time, just come over. <3

Continued A/N's: AHHH I truly hope you guys enjoyed that! The next part gets FILTHYYYY and I can't wait to finish it hahahaaaa. Please let me know what you think because I'm thinking of doing more in the future that would be similar but of course I want to make content you guys will actually enjoy as well <3

REMINDER: I do not give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please just ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

[januaryembrs]

I CAN SEE YOU | Spencer Reid x FBI!Reader

Request: Congrats on 2k!!! Could you write something based off of ‘I can see you’ by Taylor Swift with Spencer please?

Description: Spencer may or may not have a little thing for the desk jockey on the floor below, and she may or may not have a thing for their silent elevator rides together.

Length: 1.2k

Warnings: fluff?? Season one Spencer in mind when I wrote this (my sweetest boy)

He passed through the lobby at the exact same time every day. Usually with his head dug in an obnoxiously thick book, or fiddling with the strap on his satchel bag, or flicking his long curls out of his sweet, hazelnut eyes. Sometimes with thick round glasses perched on his slender nose, sometimes nothing but a thoughtful, musing frown. 

Not that she was obsessed with him. 

But it wasn’t hard to acknowledge that whoever the guy on the sixth floor was that seemed to stick to an incredibly tight schedule had the face of a god. 

Though she supposed he could say the same about her schedule seeing as they seemed to enter the elevator at nearly the exact same time every single day, never saying a word, a brief nod of hello was about the extent of their interaction. One time he had pressed the button for her floor, number five, for her, and she hadn’t stopped smiling the rest of the day. 

Of course there were times he and his team would be away on a case, in which she wouldn’t see him for days on end, while she went to her lonely desk in forensics no matter what case had come up.

In the grand scheme of things, she was a desk jockey, inputting numbers and data and figures, organising files and sheets and loading ink into the printer. She was a nobody and he was part of the BAU. 

No one would even notice if she didn’t show up for the day. At least that was what she hoped as she sped walked out of the cab, her hair soaking down her back, her lungs puffing in a crackling wheeze, frantically tucking her tight shirt into her dogtooth pants, limping on her ankle that she’d rolled racing out her apartment building into the raging storm that had overcome Virginia in a matter of hours. 

She felt socks wet through as she squelched her way into the elevator, barely noticing the usual passenger that was tracing a bony finger down the page of Pride and Prejudice, quickly flicking over the page in a matter of five seconds. 

He looked up when she hopped in beside him, squeezing in as a handful of other people followed her. Trying desperately to even her hair out in the large mirror behind them, it was only then she realised her mascara had smudged down her cheeks entirely, making her look like she’d slept in a pile of charcoal. 

“Fuck,” She said loudly, her hand slapping over her mouth when she realise the deadly silent elevator full of federal agents turned to look at her, and she felt her cheeks heat as if her makeup condundrum hadn’t been embarrassing enough, “S-sorry,” She muttered, turning her head to the ground as she frantically wiped beneath her lids with her cardigan sleeve. 

Turning to see if he had noticed, she caught him staring right at her, and she could have sworn the heat on her face blazed even harder when she saw he was smiling into his book in amusement. 

Fuck. She repeated in her head this time, taking a small sigh of relief when the doors opened on the first floor and half the passengers trickled out onto the finance floor. 

She was still fixing her hair by the time they got to the second floor, communications, and even more people got out. By the end of the third floor, it was just the two of them left. 

“Bad morning?” He broke the silence, and it was the first time she’d ever actually heard his voice. He was even dreamier than she’d thought, in a boyish kind of way.

“Car battery died, and the bus was full,” She murmured, fiddling with the hem of her sleeves that were entirely sodden, “And then apparently someone up there hates to see pretty girls get to work looking dry and respectable,” 

He chuckled properly, and she swore it soothed the ache of the cold rain just the smallest bit. 

“Don’t we all,” He mused, though his eyes went back to his book, flicking over the words faster than she figured would be possible. 

She figured he didn’t want to be bothered by the drowned rat looking woman that had all but thrown herself into the lift beside him, interrupting his reading with her curses and pitiful glances. 

It was only when they reached the fourth floor that he quickly rooted around his bag for something, likely a bookmark since he didn’t seem the type to dog-ear a perfectly neat page. It wasn’t until a soft, moss green sweater was thrust in her face she snapped out of her self loathing daze.

Looking at him wide eyed, he nudged it towards her hands, and it was like Spencer only just realised that offering a stranger your clothes was perhaps not normal, but he didn’t feel like they were strangers.

She was the first person he’d ever met in the building besides Gideon. He remembered the two of them stepping into the elevator, the bashful woman already flicking through files, her lanyard hanging low over her chest as she chirped good morning to Gideon and he did the same, wishing her a good day when she stepped out onto floor five. 

He couldn’t help if he was so perceptive he’d clocked her name and position written on her ID, couldn’t help it if he was a huge fan of routine and repetition, that he purposely walked into the lobby at the same time every day knowing she was going to be right behind him just for an excuse to see her. 

No, they certainly weren’t strangers, Spencer tried to reason, yet he wasn’t even sure she knew his name.

“T-take it,” He stuttered, watching the doors close and the lift jolt as it ascended to her floor, “You can just bring it back tomorrow,” 

“That’s- I couldn’t,” She reasoned, her eyes fretful, “It’s yours,”

“I’m not using it, you must be freezing,” Spencer reiterated it with another nudge towards her, and he saw the longing glance she gave at the promise of warmth. 

Number five dinged above them, and the doors slid open. 

“Just take it, please,” He said, and it seemed like that was the magic word as she cautiously took it out of his hand, and melted when she realised it was softer than she’d thought, like it was made to feel like a giant hug. 

“Thankyou…” She said, heading for the doors with slow steps; she didn’t want to leave whatever moment he’d caught her in. 

“Spencer,” He replied, smiling at her with a shy cadence. 

“Thankyou, Spencer,” She said, and gave him her own name back. But he already knew it, and he realised he would sound like a complete creepy stalker if he’d said so. So he just nodded, a small wave off as she headed for her office and the doors closed behind her. 

He loved how she said his name, he thought blissfully, but he loved even more showing up to work day after to see her waiting by the elevator, his sweater washed and ironed, pressed neatly in her hands and still warm from where she’d tumble dried it. 

She handed it back to him with a sheepish smile, and he took it gracefully, catching a whiff of her fabric softener and felt fuzzy inside right there and then. 

“Good morning, Spencer,” She said sweetly, and he swore he wanted to kiss her the minute it left her lips, glossed with something rouge and shiny. 

But he didn’t, he just said it back, loving how her name rolled over his tongue. 

[melanchol1cs]

FRUITS OF THE FLESH.

widow!reader x priest!leon

word count: 3.4k summary: a man reaps what he sows. masterlist | taglist | wips

18+ MDNI. catholicism, religious connotations, no specific time frame but i’d like to say victorian era-ish, alot of allusions to the lord or god, reader’s dead husband idk, inner conflict, denial, guilt, leon asking for forgiveness like a hundred times, kissing, oral(r!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex.

a/n: started this like two months ago, just had the motivation to finally finish. i don’t really know how i feel about my writing on this one… i feel like i’ve lost all my skills after not writing for a few weeks

grief is truly a horrible thing. an all-consuming force that threatens to eat you from the inside out.

it’s a shadow that lingers, a specter that moves silently but persistently, weaving itself into the fabric of every moment. it does not announce its presence with fanfare, nor does it depart when you will it to. instead, it creeps, slow and steady, like the cold wind before a storm, pressing against your chest until breathing feels like a sin.

grief is not a feeling; it is a presence. it is a weight, heavy and suffocating, as if drowning in a dark, endless sea. the surface is so far above, unreachable, and the water presses in from all sides, choking the breath from your lungs. there’s simply no escaping it. eve when you close your eyes, hoping for a moment of peace, it finds you there too.

grief is a thief that takes more than just what you’ve lost—it takes time, peace, and clarity. it takes pieces of you.

and ever since your husband’s death, you’ve been trying to pick those pieces back up. but they slip through your fingers like sand, scattering in the wind, impossible to gather in their entirety. every attempt to rebuild feels futile, as though you’re trying to piece together a puzzle with missing parts, the picture never quite forming the way it once did.

the room is relatively empty, save for a few devout attenders who are spread out in their pews. the priest stands on the altar, the candlelight casting a soft glow on his features as he continues the mass. it’s a somewhat traditional ceremony, filled with prayers and rituals that you’d grown accustomed to.

the priest stands before the small congregation, the words of the mass flowing effortlessly from his lips.

you sit near the back, hands folded tightly in your lap. the rhythmic cadence of the priest’s voice, the latin prayers echoing in the cavernous space, should bring you some semblance of peace, but it doesn’t. it feels distant, as though you’re watching the service through a veil, separated from the others.

the priest's voice drones on, a familiar melody that fails to soothe the ragged edges of your heart. you feel like an outsider, a stranger among the devoted faithful. even the rituals that once brought comfort now seem hollow, the prayers falling flat against the weight of your sorrow.

as the mass draws to a close, the priest's eyes meet yours, his gaze piercing and knowing. for a moment, you feel like an animal trapped in his sights, vulnerable and exposed.

the priest's gaze lingers on you a moment longer than necessary as he processes the end of the mass. the small congregation begins to file out of the pew, murmuring gentle blessings and well-wishes to one another. he watches them go, his eyes lingering on each face, before turning to face you once more.

the nave slowly empties, leaving only a handful of devotees behind, including yourself. he remains at the altar, hands folded in quiet contemplation. the soft rustle of the evening breeze carries the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, a melancholy reminder of the passing seasons.

"you stayed behind," leon observes, his voice a gentle whisper.

"is there something on your mind, my child?" he approaches you slowly, his large frame casting a long shadow across the stone floor.

“no, father, everything’s fine," you lie through your teeth, your voice barely a whisper.

"is all well?" there's a pause, and in it, you sense an invitation to share your burdens, to unburden yourself to this man of the cloth. but the words stick in your throat, tangled around the aching void your husband left.

what could you possibly say? what good would it do? the priest's eyes search yours, his face etched with compassion. then, he nods, as if he understands the futility of words.

he accepts your silence, his gaze softening with understanding. in this sacred space, he knows better than to pry, to force confessions or unburdenings. instead, he allows you the solitude you crave, the quiet contemplation you so desperately need.

the silence between you stretches on, a fragile truce that exists solely in this sacred space. it's a comfort, of sorts, to have this shared quiet, a reminder that even in the depths of your grief, there are still moments of solace to be found.

"i'll leave you be for now," leon says eventually, his voice a gentle murmur that breaks the spell.

"thank you, father." he nods, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips as he takes his leave, the soft rustle of his robes the only sound in the hallowed space.

eventually, you rise, stretching your stiff limbs. the cool stone beneath your feet is a jarring contrast to the warmth of the pew. making your way to the front of the church, you light a candle, your fingers brushing against the smooth glass as you set it upon the altar. the flame flickers to life, casting a warm, golden glow over the surrounding statues.

you linger a moment longer, savoring the peaceful atmosphere, before making your way out.

the church is bathed in an eerie, moonlit glow when you return late that night. the candle you lit earlier still burns, its flame a slowly dying down.

you move with a quiet reverence, your footsteps muffled by the soft carpeting as you make your way to the front row of pews. you've come seeking answers, but none present themselves as you approach the altar. the statue of the crucified christ looms above, his suffering face a poignant reminder of the pain that accompanies loss.

the shadows cast by the statues seem to deepen and twist, taking on a life of their own in the dim light. a shiver runs down your spine, the fine hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. something feels off, a discordant note that you can't quite place.

you pray, hoping it’ll all go away, but unease persists.

it's subtle at first, a whispered thought on the edge of your consciousness. but the longer you have your back turned, the more you feel as if someone is behind you. but you don’t dare look.

not until it speaks.

“what are you doing here, my child?," you hear him say softly, his voice carrying a note of gentle warning. "you shouldn't be here this late."

his words send a chill down your spine, the softness of his tone at odds with the tension emanating from him. you slowly turn around, your heart pounding in your chest. leon stands just behind your seat, his silhouette large and imposing against the blackness outside. his eyes glint in the candlelight, a predatory keenness that makes your blood run cold.

"father," you stammer, trying to keep your voice steady. "i... i just felt the need to pray," he takes a step closer, his footsteps deliberate and heavy.

"at this hour? prayers can wait till morning. you shouldn't be here, not alone, not now.”

“but, why?” you ask, a hint of fear creeping into your voice. “does the church not allow visitors at any time?”

guilt pricks at his heart, a sharp pang of conscience that he's not entirely sure he wants to acknowledge. “no, of course not. the church doors are always open. but this is late, and you're alone... it's just not safe,” his tone is gentle, but there's an undercurrent of something else - a hunger he's trying his damnedest to suppress.

“is that really the reason, father?”

guilt gnaws at him, a growing sense of unease that he can't quite shake. "of course, that's the only reason," he lies, his voice wavering slightly. but the truth lingers in the air, a palpable tension that he can't seem to dissipate.

he takes a step closer, drawn to you like a moth to flame despite his better judgment. "perhaps... perhaps i misjudged. the church's doors are always open, for the faithful and the lost alike," his eyes roam over your face, drinking in the curves of your features, the softness of your skin in the candlelight. “especially to you.”

a low groan escapes him, half-desire, half-anguish. "forgive me, child. i should not be saying these things,”

“no, wait—“ you softly reach for his arm.

he freezes at the touch, his breath catching in his throat as your fingers make contact with his arm. the sensation sends a jolt of electricity through him, his resolve crumbling like sand beneath the tide.

"don't," he whispers, his voice rough with strain. "please, don't." but even as the words leave his lips, he can't bring himself to pull away, to sever the connection between you.

“but i haven’t done anything, father,”

"you've done plenty, my child," he murmurs, his voice thick with a mix of longing and self-loathing. "just by being here, by existing... you've awakened desires i thought long buried." leon's breathing grows ragged, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

he steps closer still, the heat of his body radiating towards you like a physical manifestation of his turmoil. "i am a man, not a saint," his confession hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of his forbidden attraction.

“and…” he shakes his head, a bitter struggle that leaves him weak-kneed and aching. "i should send you home," he murmurs, his hand coming up to cover yours, to hold it in place. "before we both regret this.”

“no, please don’t push me away, father,” you plead.

his eyes flicker closed, as if in supplication to some higher power, as the admission spills from his lips: "i'm sorry, child. so very sorry for what i am about to do.”

his body crowds yours, crushing the air from your lungs with the sheer force of his need. his mouth descends, claiming yours in a bruising kiss that sets your very soul ablaze. the world narrows to the taste of him — smoke, spice, and something uniquely his own.

it's overwhelming, consuming, and yet, somehow, it's the most natural thing in the world.

and when you end up pushed up against his office desk, the wood cold and unforgiving against your back, you know things have gone irrevocably awry. his hands, so recently devoted to guiding prayer, now roam the curves of your body with a reverence bordering on the religious.

your lips part on a gasp, allowing him greater access, and he seizes the invitation with a fervor that leaves you breathless. large hands roam your body, mapping the contours of your frame with a desperation that belies his years of discipline. he breaks the kiss only to trail open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, the rapid beating of your pulse point a siren's call he's powerless to resist.

he's shaking, the tremors starting deep within, spreading outward through his muscles like ripples on a pond's surface.

"forgive me, lord," he whispers to himself, as if seeking divine absolution from the sin that he’s about to commit. but even as the plea leaves his lips, he doesn't let go. instead, he raises your hand to his lips, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your knuckles.

then he's on his knees in front of you, hands grasping at the hem of your dress. the fabric rustles as he pushes it upward, baring your thighs to his hungry gaze. his breath is heavy, face mere inches from your center.

"tell me to stop," he pleads, his voice a ragged whisper. "command me to sin no more, and i will obey.”

for a moment, he teeters on the brink, the line between devotion and lust blurring until it's nearly indistinguishable. "please," leon's eyes lock onto yours, searching for the strength to resist, to obey his vows. but what he finds there is surrender, a silent plea that sends his resolve crumbling like the weakest brick.

"father," you breathe, his name a prayer on your lips.

he closes his eyes, a silent, anguished prayer issuing forth from his lips. his hands tremble as they part your legs wider, stealing a breath from your chest. slowly, reverently, he leans in, finally dragging you underwear down, exposing you to his gaze.

"you are so beautiful,"

his voice cracks on the words, a mixture of awe, reverence, and raw, animal desire. he can't tear his eyes away from your unveiled flesh, drinking in the sight like a man dying of thirst.

"pray with me," he murmurs, his breath hot against your slick folds. "ask for forgiveness, for the sins we are about to commit." even as he speaks, he's dragging his tongue along your inner thigh, the sensation making you gasp and shudder.

"our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name,”

his hands roam your hips, gripping the soft flesh as if to steady himself against the waves of his own depravity.

“thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven,"

each curve of your body yields to his touch as his fingertips traced a path of fire across your skin. desperation and control tangled within his gestures, gripping onto the softness beneath his hands as he strives to anchor himself against the tumultuous waves of desire and decadence that threaten to crash over him.

“glory be to the father, and to the son, and to the holy spirit…”

the words are a broken whisper, a plea for mercy that's drowned out by the urgent throb of his own need.

“amen.”

he brings his mouth to you at last, and with a groan of surrender, he begins to eat you out with a hunger that knows no bounds.

he laves at your clit with a fervor that leaves you panting and weak-kneed. you're a mess of whimpers and moans, your hands fisting in his hair as he works you over. leon's grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into the flesh as he eats you out with a single-minded determination.

"yes, yes, just like that," you babble, your voice a desperate chant, even as your vision starts to blur at the edges.

one of his hands drifts lower, his fingers seeking out the entrance to your womb. he teases the delicate skin, tracing the outline of your slit before slipping a finger inside. a low groan rumbles in his chest at the slick heat that envelops him, urging him on.he works two fingers in and out of you in a steady rhythm, the lewd squelch of your juices only further fueling his own desire.

"please, father, i need—" the words die on your lips as a particularly intense thrust of his fingers sends you plummeting over the brink.

his eyes blaze with an unholy light as he takes in your ravished expression, his own need reaching a fever pitch. he surges to his feet, shedding his robe and shoving his pants down with a desperate haste. he reaches for you, pulling you forward effortlessly, as if you weigh nothing at all.

he wraps a hand around himself, stroking himself in time with the frantic beat of his heart. "i'm sorry," he whispers, his voice raw with anguish and guilt. "so very sorry."

he hovers over you, his thick length prodding, seeking entrance to the very core of your being. you help guide him in, a hand slowly pushing back on the back if his neck as the thick head of his cock breaching your entrance with a slight burning sensation. he groans, his hips bucking forward as he sheathes himself fully within you.

for a moment, you're both still, letting the intensity of it all wash over you.

and he starts to move forward, inch by inch, the wooden desk creaks in protest beneath you. his eyes squeeze shut as he buries himself to the hilt, your slick walls clenching around him like a vice.

"oh, my lord, forgive me," he breathes, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he struggles to still the tremors that rack his frame. "i am a man undone.”

he starts to move, slowly at first, each thrust a testament to the effort it takes him to resist the primal urge to rut into you like an animal in heat. his hips rise and fall in a deliberate rhythm, each stroke drawing a gasp from your lips.

"you feel so good," he rasps, his breath hot against your skin. he pulls nearly all the way out before plunging back in, the slick glide of his thick length a pleasure unlike anything you've ever known.

sweat drips from his brow as he pounds into you with a fervor that borders on religious ecstasy. each thrust is a prayer, a confession, a plea for absolution. his eyes never leave yours, searching for some glimmer of forgiveness in their depths.

"i'm— i’m close," he warns, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

your head rolls back, a silent moan escaping your lips as the pleasure mounts. his hands fly to your face, cradling your cheeks as he forces your gaze to meet his.

"please, please, don't look away." he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a chaste kiss. "i need to see you," he murmurs, his hips stuttering in their relentless rhythm as he fights for control.

he can feel the pressure building, coiling tighter and tighter within him until he's teetering on the precipice. his hands roam your body, kneading and squeezing as if trying to imprint every curve and valley onto his very being.

he's a hairsbreadth from the edge, the tension coiled so tightly within him that he's not sure he can contain it much longer. but for you, he'll try.

he'll endure the sweet agony of restraint. he leans in, his breath mingling with yours as he whispers a final plea.

"dear god, i'm so very sorry." the words are a prayer, a plea for forgiveness not just from the divine, but from you. he knows that what he's doing is wrong, that he's violating the sacred trust that he's been entrusted with as a man of the cloth. but in this moment, caught up in the maelstrom of his own desire, he can't bring himself to care.

he hooks an arm beneath your knees, pulling you higher up on the desk. the new angle allows him to drive even deeper, the head of his cock brushing against that spongy spot that has you seeing stars.

your body responds, arching up to meet him as a keening wail tears from your throat. he watches, entranced, as ecstasy washes over you in waves, your face a mask of rapturous bliss.

you finally feel his heat as it floods your innermost depths just moments later.

he collapses onto you, his weight crushing in its intimacy as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. his heart pounds against your ribcage, a frantic with regret and release.

he stays there, draped over you, his breathing ragged and uneven as he tries to regain some semblance of control. his body is slick with sweat, his muscles trembling with the aftershocks. slowly, he pulls back, his hands still cradling your face as he looks deep into your eyes.

his breath comes in ragged gasps as he struggles to regain some semblance of control, to quiet the chaos that rages within him.

"forgive me," he whispers, the plea hanging heavy in the air between you.

he knows it's not enough. he's broken the trust, violated the sacred vows he's taken. there's no going back from this, no easy path to redemption. the knowledge that he's failed, that he's fallen so very far from the path of righteousness, fills him with a deep, abiding shame. but for now, in this moment, he can only cling to the thin thread of your forgiveness and hope that it's enough.

tags: @crowleyco @withonly-sweetheart @fanilkychae

[rauspberries]

lawyer!aaron hotchner x paralegal!reader. summary: your boss shoots down your big idea to try and win a big case, only to use it later without telling you. noting your irritation, he sets the record straight. tags/warnings: afab reader, no use of y/n and no physical description of reader, prosecutor!hotchner, author didn't go to law school, reader is in law school, this is mostly just very hidden flirting and tension word count: 4.1k notes: this was recommended by an anon! i unfortunately accidentally deleted the ask but thank you so much whoever suggested this <3 this is mostly just tension but maybe one day i'll write more of this pairing [leave me requests huehuehue]

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the wall, cascading your shadow against the wall full of plaques on the wall. When you had first started working at the district attorney’s office as a paralegal, you had been amazed by the look of the place. High ceilings, tile flooring, the cleanliness of the place. It screamed excellence and richness, like you had finally made it – even if you weren’t exactly high on the food chain.

As a paralegal, you were essentially a mini-lawyer. Your job was to collect evidence to assist the prosecutor, conduct interviews for them and help prepare for court, meaning you were extremely important in the way legal cases were handled. Your caseload was just as high as the one of prosecutors, your overtime hours just as extreme, but you enjoyed the fast-paced environment and the lovely collection of recommendation letters you’d get once you finished going through law school.

While you sometimes tended to stray to help other procescutors, you tended to be on the cases that Aaron Hotchner handled, to the point where you had memorized everything about him. How he liked his cases ordered on his desk, what order he preferred to gather extra evidence in, how he conducted his witness interviews, all the way down to his coffee order. In order to help him efficiently, you believed that you needed to know absolutely everything in order to excel.

You had been called a perfectionist for the majority of your life. To be a lawyer, that’s what you had to be. You couldn’t slack off just because you weren’t there yet.

You push through the doorway of Aaron’s office just as he sets down his briefcase on the desk, giving him a soft smile as you place a coffee cup on his desk. “Detectives found more evidence in the sexual assault case in Columbia Heights, meaning we’ll most likely have another court case on our hands during the week. I pulled more cases to set precedent for the Argal case and the summary for that is right here,” you grab the manilla folder from beneath his briefcase, holding it back to him, “and the lab results on the knife finally came in for the Neller case, we got him dead to rights.”

The corner of Aaron’s lip pulls up in a slight smirk as he pulls open the file you handed him, glancing at it for a moment before back up at you. “Whatever happened to ‘good morning, Counselor?’ And breathe, please.” He chuckles, setting the file down before sitting in the chair behind his desk. 

Taking a deep breath at the reminder, you cross your arms over your chest, tilting your head. “Is it a good morning if you haven’t slept? Kidding,” you add quickly when he pins you with a stern look, afraid of being sent home due to exhaustion. 

“The Temple murder case is tomorrow, by the way.” The words come out of your mouth slowly, cautiously. The high-profile murder case had been a storm cloud over the office since it had come through, making it the main thing that had plagued your mind – and your workload.

You knew the case like the back of your hand. A spree killer, William Temple, a married business man loved by many. Four different bodies, blunt force trauma to the head and stab wounds to the chest, evidence of sexual assault on low-risk victims. It had gotten media attention before the cops had even known what to do with it, making it a case that had to end in a guilty verdict. It was either that or letting him walk free with a God complex, believing that he could do absolutely anything with no consequences at all.

Unfortunately, there were always issues with high-profile cases. It put them under a microscope, all left under the court of public opinion before getting in front of the jury. His defense attorney would most likely use his charm to their advantage, playing him as a loving family man who couldn’t hurt a fly. Crowds would gather on the steps of the courthouse, either chanting for him to be released or for him to be locked away for good.

There had already been issues with the case. The defense attorney had buried you and Aaron in unnecessary motions, brought you in front of the judge about every single piece of evidence you had attempted to submit for fabricated reasons, along with asking for extraneous files that’d never be needed for the entirety of the case. After that stalling, in which they took the chance to put his good name all over the Internet, jury selection had taken over a week, too worried about his media coverage poisoning the possible jurors.

Finally, after what seemed like years of making an air-tight case, it was time for the case to proceed. Despite the judge granting Aaron’s motion of keeping the media out of the courtroom, a few things would definitely fall through the cracks, meaning everything you’ve pulled together evidence-wise had to be airtight.

“Are you asking me if I’m ready?” The prosecutor hums as he scribbles something in a file, glancing up through his eyelashes for just a brief moment before back down at his work.

“Are you?” You respond calmly, brow arching. It wasn’t like you to question Aaron - you often worshipped the ground he walked on as a prosecutor - but this case was practically half of you. You couldn’t bear to see it go the wrong way. “Do you think we have enough to prove he did this beyond a reasonable doubt?”

A sigh leaves his lips as he sets down his pen, chin tilting up until his focus levels on you, eyes wrinkling around the corners. “I know what my job is.” He reminds you evenly, challenging you with a twitch of his lip. “We have witness testimony putting him on the block of two of the kills, the expunged record of sexual assault, the testimony of his ex-girlfriend on his domestic abuse that shows his dislike towards women.”

You press your lips together as you sit down in the chair on the other side of his desk, crossing your leg over your knee. “Yes, but they have his wife. She’d be willing to perjure herself to give him an alibi, no doubt about it, we’ve seen it before. Also, you said it yourself, his record was expunged. That’s asking for the defense attorney to twist it into how he was wrongfully accused, how this is twice in a row. This man is charming people by just existing, Aaron, we have to come up with either more concrete physical evidence or a way to show the jury that he’s not the kind man he appears to be.” 

Realizing you might’ve overstepped, you clear your throat. “Sir.”

Clearing his throat, Aaron leans back further in his seat, long legs stretching out and splaying apart as he crosses his arms over his chest. He looks dangerous, holding the same focus and grit that you often saw displayed across his face in the courtroom, sending a soft flutter of butterflies in your stomach. Dark and determined eyes watch all of your movements closely, jaw set despite the seemingly relaxed state of his body, a tuft of hair draping over his forehead and his patterned tie just slightly crooked around his neck.

“What would you do?” He questions, keeping his face even. “You want to be a lawyer, don’t you? You’ll have to make these decisions for yourself. So, what would you do?”

You swallow, anxiety creeping its way up your spine. While he doesn’t look upset at your obvious overstepping, the conversation feels like a game of tug-of-war. Pull too hard, you risk anger. Let go, you risk kicking yourself for giving up so easily. “Bring in his wife and have her sit on the wrong side.”

The prosecutor’s eyebrows raise. You can tell you’ve caught him by surprise, watching as he shifts his weight and leans a bit closer to you in curiosity. “Why?”

“During the trial, Temple is going to keep to the calm, good guy demeanor that they’ve tried to paint him to be. His attorney is going to coach him into looking likeable, sophisticated, someone who would never kill anyone, much less four people. But, based on the evidence with his domestic abuse and all of his victims being women, you can infer that he has something against women who go against what he believes is correct.” You lean closer to the desk as you talk, being extra aware to hold the tense eye contact with him.

After a pause, you continue. “If his wife, who believes he has trained to obey his every command, looks to be deceiving him, the irritation will show. If he believes his only solace is his wife and that that one person is betraying him, his good-looking image would immediately be reconsidered by the jury when he snaps at you. If you press into him, explaining to the jury exactly why he looks so agitated and nervous, he will grow defensive, further proving your own point.” Your hands move wildly as you speak, growing excited as your idea spills out of your mouth.

Despite your excitement, Aaron stays in his relaxed position, bending his knees as he places his feet firmly on the floor. “That sounds too risky to make it our smoking gun.” He responds, head shaking just a smidge. “If the wife doesn’t agree or if he’s able to keep his composure, we’re right back where we are at this moment.”

The way he speaks, so easily dismissing you, makes irritation prick at your skin. Your idea is good. You know it’s good. It’s been done before, tactics used to sway the jury’s opinion over the defendant’s personality rather than the evidence laid out in front. At the end of the day, everyone held personal opinions about people – those ruled above any fact that someone could provide. It’s why celebrities are so highly revered despite the controversies painting the front page of magazines.

“Let me talk to the wife.” You thread your fingers together, cracking your knuckles anxiously. “I can get through to her. If Temple is the abuser we think he is, she’s been wanting to get away for a while, but hasn’t because of her kids. All I have to do is empathize and bring up her confidence. I can do it,” you insist, embarrassed by the slightly pleading tone lacing your words.

With a heavy sigh, like this conversation was unimportant, Aaron scoots his chair forward, elbows hitting his desk as his body leans towards you. “That’s not going to happen.” His tone is still even, cool, probably as an attempt to be reassuring while he crushes your idea beneath your nice shoes. “If his wife tells him or his defense attorney that we tried to turn her against him, the attorney will use that to their advantage to poison the jury and paint us as the villians. Every move we make has to be careful, I don’t need to remind you.”

Your lips part again to speak, however your words fall short on your tongue when he raises one hand, immediately silencing you. “Please. Focus on the other cases we have. I will work this case on my own and let you know if I need anything. As for the courtroom,” he takes a sip of the coffee you gave him, clearing his throat, “you are allowed to sit next to me at the prosecutor’s bench. To observe and learn, not to participate.” 

His focus finds you again, eyebrow raising in question. “Understood?”

The urge to let your irritation boil over is intense, causing you to bite at the inside of your cheek to silence yourself. The both of you are held in a tense staring contest for a few heartbeats before you nod, standing back up. “Yes, sir.” 

Without waiting for an answer, you turn around, heels clacking loudly against the tile floor as you rush towards your own office.

For the rest of your shift, you try to avoid Aaron as much as possible, dropping off files when he was away from his office and avoiding any meeting room he might be occupying. You’re annoyed, if not hurt, by his instant dismissal of your ideas. Usually, anything you suggested tended to be mulled over by him, accepted with a grunt of approval or denied with an explanation of exactly why. To be waved off so easily on the biggest case of your career so far was so annoying, so demeaning on the work you had put in in the year you had been working underneath him.

After finishing up all of your work for the day, long after the sun had set beneath the horizon, you immediately shut the door to your office before making your way back through the hallway, pulling your bag up higher on your shoulder. You are aware that you look slightly insane, chin tilted up as your feet thunk against the ground at an annoyingly fast pace, but it’s a price you’re willing to pay. You just need to leave the four walls of the office in order to simmer down the irritation before it turns into a grudge.

Unfortunately, you peer into every meeting room as you step by it, only to look directly into the eyes of Aaron. Across from him, you could only make out a mop of blonde hair, recognizing it as Mrs. Temple. Her shoulders are stiff as she keeps her focus on the prosecutor, having not noticed that his attention was now directed over her head. 

Quickly, you turn your attention away, heading straight for the exit. You weren’t supposed to work on the case anymore – it wasn’t your business what he was doing.

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮

Court days were always extremely stressful days. Every small thing mattered. What time you arrived, if you were too late or too early, what you wore and how you presented yourself. Even if you weren’t the person on the stands, or even one of the lawyers talking, you would be scrutinized. The last thing you needed was to embarrass Aaron.

Pulling your shoulders back, you practically strut into the courthouse, fingers curled around the handle of your briefcase. Your power walk is only stopped by the sight of Temple’s defense attorney, watching as a wicked smile curls on her lip, looking over at you and blocking your way. “I see Hotchner doesn’t have a very good hold on his dog, letting you walk around by yourself. Scared you’re going to embarrass him?”

You narrow your eyes as you look closer at her face, playing innocent. “Did you miss your Botox appointment? Or are you just stressed about how hard you’re going to lose this case?” Your head tilts slightly to the side, the corner of your lip threatening a smile.

Her brows raise in slight surprise at your bite, lips parting to respond, although she’s interrupted by the clearing of a throat. “Counselor. You best teach your paralegal some manners.”

Manicured hand raising, you’re ready to bite back again, only to stop short when you feel a tug on the back of your neck. Without you noticing, Aaron’s hand had slid up the space between your shoulder blades, his index finger curling around the hair at the nape of your neck and giving it a sharp, but brisk tug. The temporary pain sends a slight shudder down your spine, eyes turning towards him accusingly. Leaning down, he murmurs low enough for only you to hear. “Behave.”

You manage to keep your cool long enough for him to straighten his spine, looking back at the other attorney. “The only time you should be speaking to my paralegal is if you are requesting to speak to me. The only time you should be asking for me is if you are willing to discuss a deal. Until then, any conversation you have is not my business. See you in court.” His tone is authoriative and straight to the point, leaving no room for argument before his hand is on the small of your back, leading you away.

“I can handle myself.” You grumble, although you make no attempt to step away from him. You’d spend the next few days by his side in the courtroom, anyways, it wasn’t like you could avoid him. Plus, the warm feeling of his hand through your shirt was comforting the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You always had the worst anxiety on court days. Aaron usually poked fun at you for it – when it was lesser charges and not multiple counts of murder, that is.

He sighs as he opens a door to one of the conference rooms, guiding you in before shutting it. The room isn’t too small, enough to fit a larger table and a group of people, but it feels like he’s looming over you, taking up too much space. “You need to get yourself together. It is a stressful day and you don’t need to make it worse by arguing with the defense. Focus.” He crosses his arms over his chest, the act almost sinful with the way it makes his toned arms press against the fabric. “You aren’t speaking today, but I will be speaking a lot of words you spoke. You will be the one speaking in front of the jury soon enough, you need to take this time to learn, not bicker.”

The way he looks at you, dark eyes searing into your own while he scolds you, makes you feel small. Not insignificant, just small. You’re very aware that you are just one piece of this puzzle. You’re also aware that you are incredibly attracted to the stern version of Aaron Hotchner. 

Sighing, you shake out your shoulders, cracking your knuckle before nodding. “Yes, sir. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I just need you to make sure the best version of yourself is walking into that courtroom. And stop cracking your knuckles, it makes you look nervous. You can be nervous, but you cannot show it.” His brow raises as he stares you down before his hand finds the doorknob. “Are you ready?”

You nod, adjusting your blazer before grabbing your briefcase tighter. “Yes.”

Aaron nods back at you, opening the door. He holds it open for you to step out before following close behind, his shoulder brushing yours as you make your way towards the courtroom.

Once you’re in, you let every thought not regarding the case fall away. Instead, you go over the facts in your head. There wouldn’t be much today, other than opening statements, but it was vital. The opening statements were the jury’s first impression of your side – and one of the only things they’d actually remember. 

As you settle down at the prosecution bench, you take a quick look around the courtroom. There’s a few faces you don’t recognize, but they’re blurs alongside the faces you do know. The first victim’s kids, the second victim’s parents. It’s almost suffocatingly sad.

Your eyes raise again as the courtroom doors open, revealing Mrs. Temple and her two kids. You note the nervousness on her face, but you chalk it up to the fact that she was walking into a court session for her husband of a few years. That is, until you watch her saunter to one of the benches behind you, settling herself down on the wrong side of the courtroom.

Immediately, irritation prickles at your skin. Accusatory eyes find the side of Aaron’s face, which is perfectly settled and calm as he stares down at the pad of paper in front of him, scribbling notes after notes. If he feels your gaze, which you’re sure he does, he doesn’t react to it. 

Not one bit.

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮

The trial goes by quicker than expected. After Aaron cross-examined Temple himself on the stand, digging into all of the worst parts of him in the perfectly suave tone he saved for the courtroom, the defense attorney had practically begged for the plea deal you two had offered long before. It took a couple of days to actually settle the details, but then it was done. Over. Months upon months of work just for it to go away in a couple weeks.

Now, you’re back to normal life. Who knew how long it’d be until you got into another courtroom again, especially since you had been doing everything in your power to avoid him. It was childish, how something so simple had hurt your feelings, but you had never been one to let a bruised ego just get swept away.

You’re nosedeep in a pile of cases late at night, sitting on your desk for a new perspective with your leg crossed over your knee, when there’s a knock on the door of your office. Your head raises quickly, thinking it’s a prosecutor needing something urgent from you, only to take in the sight of Aaron. He’s obviously on his way out, his necktie loose around his neck and the buttons on his wrist and collar undone. You feel dumb for the way your heart flutters.

“Can I come in?” He questions, leaning against your doorframe.

“Depends. Are you going to steal my stapler?” You deadpan. The past couple of weeks, you haven’t been hiding your discontent, nor have you had any intent to. You did your work, you put in the hours and you weren’t outwardly rude – what would he do, fire you?

A shadow slowly looms over you as he steps closer, two palms landing on your desk on either side of you. His presence is so close, so sudden, that you’re automatically leaning back, eyes widening as you glance up at him. “Can I help you?”

“I didn’t steal anything.” Aaron starts, his brow furrowing as he looks down at you sternly. “You had a great idea and I decided to use it. I know I was a bit blunt when I dismissed it the first time, and I apologize for that. I should’ve told you when I changed my mind, and I apologize for that. But I’d appreciate it if you’d speak to me instead of acting like a brat for weeks.”

That word, falling off of his tongue so easily, mixed with the slightly dishelved look he was currently sporting, was enough to have blood quickly rushing to your cheeks, heat gathering there as you stared back at him. There’s a part of you that wants to argue, however you cannot get the words out.

The prosecutor must take your surprise for being upset, sighing as his shoulders fall. His head droops for just a moment, causing a strand of hair to come loose and drape over his forehead. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to make you feel any type of negative way.” He sounds the most sincere you have ever heard him – which was saying a lot, seeing as he spoke in a cool, collected cadence most of the time. 

Not wanting to make him beg for forgiveness, you find your words. “It’s okay. I probably was being a bit of a brat.” You admit, raising one shoulder in a shrug.

“Oh, you definitely were.” He stands up straight, removing his hands from their spots beside you as he shoves them into the pockets of his slacks. The air around you feels ten times cleaner now that he’s no longer in your space, although the feeling is bittersweet. 

Aaron is quiet for a moment, eyes flickering to the work on your desk and the ground before back at your face. “You’re the hardest worker here at this office and an essential asset to me. I didn’t intend to offend you and I never will.” His eyes glint with a hint of amusement, the familiar wrinkle on the side of his lips deepening with the ghost of a smile. “Can’t have my best girl leaving me in the dust because I wasn’t clear.”

“Now you’re just trying to flatter me.” You roll your eyes, standing up and setting the files in your hands on your desk. You’re trying your very best to seem calm and collected, although you’re admittedly extremely flustered. For someone who craved to be recognized growing up, you’d never been the best at taking compliments.

“Just a little bit.” He admits bluntly, a small chuckle rumbling in his chest before he turns his back to you, making his way towards the door. “Go home, take a break. Come in late tomorrow. We have a lot to do so I need you at your best.”

With that, he steps out of your office, leaving you to watch him walk past the glass and disappear down the hallway, ignoring the intense thudding of your heart against your ribcage.

You’ve got it bad.

[megalony]

Is She Okay?

This is my first imagine for Donovan Rocker from Swat, thank you to Anon for sending this idea in I loved writing it and hope to do a follow up soon.

I'd love to know what you all think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro

Swat Masterlist

Part 2

Summary: While (Y/n) is on restricted duties at Swat, she starts to feel unwell, but doesn't want to bother the team, especially her husband. But they have to race back to help her when they realise something is very wrong with her.

Enjoy.

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

(Y/n) dragged her fingers through her hair and closed her eyes for a few moments. She took a few deep breaths through her nose, exhaling through her mouth to see if it would do anything to ward off the headache building up behind her eyes like a storm.

The deep breaths seemed to work, until she opened her eyes again. Black spots danced before her eyes and a gasp caught in her throat when her sense of balance became distorted. She wobbled to the left, slumping against the doorframe that stopped her from going down to her knees on the floor.

She swiped the back of her hand against her temple and rolled her eyes from side to side until her vision came back into focus. While her other hand latched around the tablet she was holding and pinned it to her chest so she didn't drop it. The last thing she needed was to break any of the equipment here at work.

It took a few moments for her system to level out again and a tremble rattled through her body when she pushed off the wall and held herself up again.

Maybe these infrequent spells were signals that she needed a drink or something to eat, it was almost lunchtime after all.

Being on Swat meant that for the most part, (Y/n) was used to eating a balanced diet and the work outs meant she at least drank enough fluids throughout each day. But it also meant that sometimes meal times were skewed and forgotten if they had a big mission or if they had too many call outs during the day and not enough time to come back to headquarters and eat.

She was used to it. They all got used to the varied meal times after a while.

The baby was changing things now.

(Y/n) had done well so far not to be too weighed down by morning sickness, she was relatively untouched by that side effect. But for the last two days, dizzy spells had started to become a frequent friend and (Y/n) wondered if it was because she needed a bit of sugar or a drink to perk herself back up.

She dragged her hand down the back of her neck and dared to glance her eyes down, feeling a smile creep onto her face when she noticed her small bump.

"Don't do that again," She murmured quietly to herself, letting her hand wander down to her stomach for a brief moment before she tried to carry on walking.

Her head tilted to one side and she blearily stared down at the tablet in her hand, scrolling through the dreaded pages of information that was starting to blur before her eyes. Each word was jumbling up from the amount of files (Y/n) had been scrolling and reading through today, let alone the last few weeks.

She made a slow walk out of the computer room and advanced towards the gym. She wasn't too sure where she was going, just that she wanted to get away from all the screens that were making her feel worse. (Y/n) was used to being up and running about for over twelve hours a day, she needed to keep moving around headquarters rather than sitting doing nothing.

She scrolled through the pages, not really taking anymore of the information in, but she stopped when a familiar voice caught her attention.

"So it's true then?"

Her gaze darted up from the tablet and she paused near the boxing ring. A grin formed on her lips and she lifted her head when her eyes locked on Deacon walking her way. He had one brow raised and he moved his hand to point to her slightly rounded stomach.

They were on different teams, while Deacon was second in command on Hondo's team, (Y/n) was in Rocker's team. They didn't often get to work together, but that didn't mean they didn't have banter together and they were often found training and sparring in the gym in their spare time.

Deacon was someone who (Y/n) got along with and someone who never teased or chastised her for her relationship with Rocker. He never said a thing about her being on her husband's team. No one really made a big thing about it, but some people like to jest and it did get tiring, especially when people tried to say that Rocker might just give (Y/n) special treatment.

"Yep, you've lost your sparring partner." Her free hand moved to her hip as Deacon stood in front of her with a calming smile.

(Y/n) and Rocker didn't want to broadcast the news, but things spread quickly at Swat and it couldn't be kept under wraps. Not when (Y/n) had to tell the Commander immediately so she wouldn't be put in harm's way. Everyone on the team had to know why (Y/n) suddenly wasn't going out on missions with them and was reduced to staying back at headquarters.

And once their team knew, it was only a matter of time before the news spread around the rest of the teams and the officers here. Word seemed to have gone full circle and got to Hondo's team now.

"You getting used to life behind the desk?"

Restricted duties had never felt so boring.

(Y/n) had the baby to thank for that. No more missions. No more walking- or sometimes running- into dangerous situations. She could accompany officers on house calls and work with the police on any cases they were helping with, but even then she couldn't go to big scenes in case anything happened. (Y/n) was a helping pair of hands and that meant she was almost always staying here in the computer room.

She handled sensitive information, found criminal files, floor plans and maps, building plans. She contacted the judges for warrants and made all the boring phone calls so the rest of her team could go straight out on their missions.

"Not really, it's so boring."

A jolt ran through her system and she almost dropped the tablet in her hand when a strong arm suddenly bound around her waist.

She let her head flop back against Rocker's shoulder when she felt his hard chest press up into her back and a soft kiss pressed into the top of her hair. She couldn't help the way her lips curved up into a grin when she realised Rocker had his hand splayed out on her stomach and his thumb began to trace up and down over her shirt.

"I think the word you're looking for is safe." He corrected, speaking into her hair as he kissed her head again and his eyes creased into a smile when he looked over at Deacon.

They were always professional when they were on shift, they had to be. Rocker was in charge of the team and he couldn't be seen to be going easy or paying favourable attention to his wife. If that happened (Y/n) would be moved off his team and no one would trust him to be in charge if he couldn't remain neutral and fair.

But now that (Y/n) was behind a desk rather than out in the field, they could afford to be a bit more open with affection. A hug here and a peck there wasn't going to be seen as Rocker favouritising (Y/n). He could hardly do that when she wasn't allowed on any mission, she couldn't take the lead in a raid and she wasn't out there with the rest of them.

They didn't have to be strictly professional when they were here at base, no one batted an eyelid if Rocker wrapped himself around his wife and gave her a kiss.

(Y/n) hummed and nodded. Safe was the right word, but boring fit just as adequately.

"So, you're a person down."

"I had to draft in Jones to make up the numbers." Rocker glanced behind him but he couldn't see where Jones had wandered off to.

Rocker couldn't go into situations a person down, he had to have enough people so everyone had back up when they went into unknown, risky situations. He had been given freedom to pick anyone he wanted to join the team for a short while.

It had been made perfectly clear to Jones that this wasn't permanent, he wasn't going to be on Rocker's team for more than a year at most. The moment (Y/n) was ready to come back off maternity leave, Jones would be reduced back to one of the lesser teams they had for bank staff and in case of emergencies. (Y/n)'s spot was always going to be there for her.

Before her and Chris, they didn't have women in Swat so there was never a part in the contract about maternity leave. But they drafted in the same terms and conditions for a regular police officer. And (Y/n)'s spot would have to remain open for her after her leave because if not, then they would be discriminating against her.

"He's got nothing on sweetheart though, and her pretty face."

(Y/n) snapped her head to the right and looked over at Adam who was stood near the punching bag.

He was a joker, but he was only jesting, he meant no harm. Everyone on their team had started to call (Y/n) sweetheart after they heard Rocker let it slip one day at work. They were all so used to seeing Rocker be distant and controlled and a bit stern at times, so to see him be soft around (Y/n), especially at work, was a rarity.

"Glad to know you miss me." (Y/n) murmured back while she let her upper chest lean back into Rocker a bit more. And it caused his arm to tighten around her waist

"Least we still get to hear your melodic voice through the comms, right?" It wasn't as if (Y/n) was on leave yet, for the next few months they would just have to wait to see her here at base and hear her giving them directions and information through the radio.

"Careful." Rocker didn't look very impressed. They were still at work and this was (Y/n) Adam was joking to and about.

The smile on Adam's face dampened and he huffed, giving (Y/n) a brief look of contempt before he went back to beating the punch bag. He had been told, and he wasn't about to push the boundaries and get on Rocker's bad side.

When Deacon murmured "I'll catch you in a bit," and patted (Y/n)'s shoulder, she nodded and watched him head past them towards the kitchen.

(Y/n) found her mind drifting off again but static started to build up in her ears when her head started to fog up and she felt like all the blood was draining down to her toes. Maybe she needed to go and get a drink to see if that would make her feel any better. She had felt better when she was on eighteen hour shifts without a chance to sit down, than how she felt right now.

"Okay sweetheart, I-" Rocker started when he finally found the will to move his hand from her stomach that was always capturing his attention just lately.

But he paused when he tried to take a step back and when his arm retracted from (Y/n)'s waist, she stumbled back towards him. Both his hands reached out and he grabbed her hips, stepping forward again to steady her before she lost her balance and fell flat on the floor.

His brows furrowed and he leaned his head down to look at her in confusion. She hadn't been leaning that heavily on him, he thought she would have found her balance if he moved.

"You okay?"

"Yeah…" She took a second to find her footing and make sure she was properly on her feet again before she twisted her head to look up at him. "Just wasn't expecting my leaning post to move."

It seemed a safer bet than admitting to Rocker that she had gone a bit dizzy and lost her balance when he moved. If she told him then he would worry and there was no sense in that. Not when (Y/n) wasn't going out on any missions, she wouldn't be putting the team at risk. She was staying here, doing the boring tasks no one else wanted to do.

Her breath got caught in her lungs when Rocker cupped her chin and tilted her head back so their gazes interlocked. The way he arched a brow and his lips set into a straight line had her stomach fluttering with adrenaline and made her feel even more lightheaded than before.

He seemed to study her for a moment, making sure she was actually alright and there was nothing wrong that he should be worrying about.

"Hm. Well I've got a meeting with the Commander, then I'll see you for the briefing after lunch, okay?"

"Off you go, boss."

She stayed put as he pressed a quick but searing kiss to her lips and her eyes followed him as he headed off towards the corridor. Shoulders broad and confident and towering over everyone he passed.

A briefing, then more and more paperwork until all (Y/n) would be able to see were letters and numbers dancing before her eyes.

She would be fine, she would just be bored.

***

(Y/n) could feel another headache forming and she dragged her hand across her face, wiping off the beads of sweat starting to glisten on her skin.

She wanted to go home. She hadn't been on shift for that long and already she was feeling like she would be more use sitting at home than hanging around here. She could barely read the files she was so dizzy, it was taking twice as long when (Y/n) had to reread each line to make sure she was reading it correctly.

It didn't help matters that Rocker and the team were already out on a call, so it wasn't as if (Y/n) could go and take a break.

When the team was out, (Y/n) was their eyes and ears. She read the maps, she scoured through the files and she checked the building plans and gave them directions. She had to be here in the control room and she had to be ready at the computer in case the team needed any specifics.

Hearing Rocker's voice come through the radio was calming and it made (Y/n) feel a bit better. She felt useful when Rocker was asking her questions and involving her, and all (Y/n) wanted was to still be part of the team and do her job the best she could.

Leaning forward, (Y/n) pressed her right hand down on the table that had three different computers open with different files and building layouts displayed before her blurring eyes. She leaned her weight on her hand and bowed her head forward as she closed her eyes.

Her other hand moved from wiping her brow to cradling her stomach that was churning with adrenaline and the need to be sick.

She tried to brush her thumb up and down across her small bump in the way that Rocker had become accustomed to doing, hoping it might do something to calm her down and make her feel better.

(Y/n) quickly moved her hand from her stomach to her mouth and held her breath deep in her lungs, willing herself not to be sick. Not here, not when she was at work. When the mission was over, she could rip out the ear piece and go hide in the toilets until her team came back.

She took a few calming breaths when the sickness subsided and tried to stand up straight again, but she realised she was starting to shake. Why did she have to become dizzy now? Why couldn't this have waited until tomorrow when she had a day off? Or tonight when she and Rocker went home? Why when she was in the middle of a call?

"(Y/n)?"

"Hm?" She tried to tune back into the conversation and listen to Rocker and the team rattling through the speaker clipped around her ear.

"The building, when did construction start?" The slight hesitation in Rocker's voice silently told (Y/n) that he had already asked that question and she must have tuned him out while she tried to quench her sickness.

Her trembling hands moved to the counter and she leaned forward, squinting hard to look at the different computer screens to find the right one.

Why were they all so bright? Why were they a mix of hazy blue, brilliant white and tiny black letters that were almost indecisive? Why was it so hard to focus on what she was trying to read when only a few days ago she hadn't been having these problems or headaches of this magnitude?

"Two weeks ago." She knew her voice sounded feeble but she tried to take deep breaths and control each word. She didn't want Rocker worrying because worry caused distractions and they couldn't afford to be distracted, not in their line of work.

Twisting to look at the screen on her left, (Y/n) followed the little red dot that was bleeping every second and steadily moving forwards. It was the tracker on the jeep the team were in. She was keeping track of them, guiding them towards the building because she had a layout of the city and the traffic updates.

If there were any accidents or collisions or road works, (Y/n) would see them before the team and she could divert them a different way.

Her blinking eyes pushed away tears as she used her trembling finger to follow the little blinking dot and try to figure out how close they were to the building they were going to burst into.

"Turn left, Joe."

She arched her back out again and looked to a different screen once she heard him mutter a quiet but confident 'okay'. While Hondo had Luca as their dedicated driver, Rocker's team had Joe and he had a need for speed. He was their go to driver.

"Damn it- Rock, that's a one way street, I can't go that way." Confusion plastered across Joe's face and he slammed his hand down on the steering wheel.

Why had (Y/n) directed him the wrong way down a one way street?

He turned in his seat to lean out the window, hand clinging to the open windowsill as he revved the engine and put it into reverse. He sped down the street, hearing the tyres screech against the gravel as he spun to the left and got them back on the road they had previously been driving on.

They couldn't be doing that. (Y/n) couldn't be directing them down the wrong roads it would only cause delays and if he went the wrong way down that road he could cause a crash and get them all into trouble that they didn't need.

"Brooke street?" There was hesitation in (Y/n)'s voice which took the whole team by surprise and they shared odd looks with one another.

"What, no that's across town, what map are you reading, Rock?"

"Alright, give it a rest. Carry on ahead and take the next right, we're still on track." Rocker leaned forward and swatted his hand down on Joe's shoulder, a silent warning for him to let this go.

There was no need for him to get snappy with (Y/n), she had made a minor mistake and it wasn't going to derail the plan or cause any backfire. They were still on time and on the right road, they could take a different diversion. Rocker didn't want any of the team snapping and arguing with each other, much less arguing with (Y/n) when she wasn't even here and she was doing her best.

She was doing the job no one else wanted to do back at headquarters, they didn't have to give her a hard time about it.

"Do you have the building layout to send me?" Rocker looked down at the tablet in his hand and waited patiently for (Y/n) to send the document over.

He needed a visual of the inside of the building so they weren't going to get stumped or confused when they barged in. And they needed to know the emergency exits in case anyone inside tried to make a quick escape or in case any of them got delayed and had to find a different way out.

When an email popped up, Rocker opened it and started scanning through, but his head ticked to one side and his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Boss?" Adam leaned over to try and look at the tablet but he pulled back when Rocker sat up straight with a perplexed look.

"No, (Y/n) I need the layout-" He paused mid-sentence when he heard her murmur 'no' and something else that none of them could quite make out in the background.

What was she doing?

"Rock, you good?"

Each of them began to feel anxious when they didn't get a reply. This wasn't like (Y/n). She was usually on form with everything. And while she had been confined to headquarters, she had done them all proud and made it her mission to do the best she could. She was usually on hand with sending over information and she redirected them faster than Joe could comprehend or try to catch up.

She made jokes and she kept them talking and fed them information like she was a record that couldn't stop. She was great at her job, but she seemed off kilter today. Something wasn't right and it was putting them all on edge.

Rocker heard Joe mumble "Is she okay?" and he was glad he detected worry in his voice and not sarcasm.

"(Y/n) what's the matter?" A dark tone flooded Rocker's voice as a gritty edge cut along his words.

He knew his wife and he could tell there was something strange in her voice, it was like she wasn't giving them her full attention. Like something was going on back at the base that none of them knew about.

He rolled his lips together and moved his hand to cover his ear to try and listen better to the distant sounds coming through the comms. He could hear (Y/n) tapping something and after a second or two, he was sure she muttered 'it's broken'.

Had a piece of equipment broke? Had one of the computers crashed and that was what was causing the slight disruption and (Y/n)'s lack of focus?

When a quiet but nevertheless audible "Good," came through the speaker, Rocker let out a breath he didn't realise he had been holding in. Maybe she had fixed something.

"How many people are inside?"

"F-five… six…?" Her reply sounded more like a question and the broken fragments of answers made Rocker grit his teeth. What was wrong with his wife today?

"Which is it?"

Rocker's eyes snapped up to look at Josh and his look was one that could have killed. Something wasn't right and he didn't need the team getting impatient and rude with (Y/n).

"(Y/n)?" He couldn't help the edge of worry that slipped into his voice and he knew all the team could sense it. They could sense how he was holding himself with a bit more unease and a lot more tension and it was lowering his patience.

The words 'are you okay' were on the tip of Rocker's tongue and he was about to break and let the concerned side of him show until (Y/n)'s voice came through the speaker again.

"Six."

There was a bit more determination in her voice and six sounded about right for the suspects they had been informed about and were here to arrest. They didn't need anymore information yet and Rocker could see they were almost at the building now.

"Everybody out. Stay sharp, no heroics."

He had to push the worry to the back of his mind, but even as he climbed out the truck and headed to the front of the group, he could see (Y/n)'s image flashing before his eyes.

Was she okay?

***

The call out couldn't have ended a moment sooner. When the team were gathered back around the truck, Rocker took off his helmet and tilted his head back as his eyes fell closed.

He took a moment to catch his breath back and gather his wits and senses before he turned his attention to the ear piece wedged in his ear. He hadn't heard (Y/n) speak for a while, although that would be because the team had infiltrated the building and were giving their locations to each other. (Y/n) would only pipe up if something was wrong or she was going to give them some valuable information.

"(Y/n), let Hicks know we've handed the suspects over, and then I think you need to let someone else take over the comms."

Rocker did his best to control his tone and make sure (Y/n) knew he wasn't trying to reprimand her for anything and he wasn't angry. He was worried. Whatever happened during that mission wasn't normal, (Y/n) didn't sound well and Rocker needed her to go and take a break and let someone else guide them over the comms system for their next call out.

He waved at the team and pointed to the truck, a silent command for them to get inside so they could all head back to base.

"Hurts…"

"What?" A panic-stricken expression fell over Rocker's face as he bristled and stopped in his tracks.

Everyone heard it.

All of them heard (Y/n)'s frail, croaky voice through the comms and each of them frowned at one another and paused, straining their ears to listen for any sound or other words in the background.

"(Y/n)? Sweetheart talk to me."

No one commented about the nickname, they were too panicked to make light and joke of the word. Besides, that would have been normal over the comms anyway, there was no chance of being classed unprofessional over the line with a few nicknames or caring words here and there.

A jolt ran through them all when Rocker slammed his hand down on the side of the truck and clambered inside with Josh following after him.

"Get us back to base now." The words hissed past Rocker's lips while his back straightened and pressed up against the wall and his hands began to tap and clench over his thighs.

(Y/n) wasn't responding. She wasn't answering any of them, she had been acting funny and not seeming herself over the radio for a while now and she had just told them something hurt. She wasn't well and Rocker needed to get back to base as soon as possible and find out what was going on with his wife.

The ride back was as chaotic as it was uncomfortable. None of them spoke other than to whisper (Y/n)'s name through the comms and wait in vain to see if she responded. They all clung to the hand rails above their heads and felt like sardines being squashed about with the sharp cutting corners Joe was taking and the speed he drove to get them back. All with the lights blazing so other drivers on the road knew to get out his way.

They were in a hurry.

Before the truck was even in park, Rocker was throwing the back doors open and climbing down. His feet barely touched the floor as he bolted to the side door, swiping his keycard across to get himself inside as fast as humanly possible.

He unclipped his bullet proof vest and hooked it over his head, tossing it down on one of the work benches he past. He wasn't sure where he was heading. Would (Y/n) still be in the computer room? Would she have tried to go to the toilets if she felt ill? Maybe she had gone to the kitchen for something or to be out the way of others? Would she be in the locker room?

He had no idea, but his first instinct was to check the computer room because that was where she had to of been when they were on their mission. She had been feeding them information, granted, she had been confused, but she would of been in that room with the monitors and the GPS tracking system and the big screen.

His boots thundered against the floor as he skidded round a corner, almost crashing into Hondo on his way past. He waved a hand at the other team leader, barely sparing a glance his way as he rushed ahead and burst into the computer room.

His rabid eyes roamed around the room but his heart jumped up into his throat when he set his sights on his wife.

He could barely see her. (Y/n) was on her knees in front of the desk in the centre of the room. Her arms were hidden against her chest and her upper body was curled over her knees with her forehead tucked down against the floor. She looked like she was in some kind of safe position as if she were on an aeroplane about to crash land.

Rocker bolted forward and crashed down to his knees beside her. He didn't quite know what to do or where to try and touch her, he wasn't even sure if she was conscious or not.

"Rocker, everything alright in here?"

"Boss, is she okay?"

Hondo and the rest of Rocker's team crowded in the doorway, no one brave enough to step over the threshold and crowd the couple, but everyone desperate to see inside and find out what was going on.

"Someone get me a first aid kit."

When Rocker heard footsteps disappearing which meant someone had heeded his orders, he shuffled a bit closer to (Y/n). He did his best to wiggle an arm between her knees and her chest and with his other hand braced on the back of her neck, he carefully reeled her back up so they were level. He leaned forward to get within (Y/n)'s line of sight and he could of cried when he saw her eyes flutter and squint to try and focus on him.

"Sweetheart, talk to me. What's the matter, hm?" He brushed his thumb across her chin and tilted her head back when she tried to flop her head forward.

He could feel his jaw grinding down hard when he moved his hand to press against her forehead.

She was burning up. Sweat was trickling down her skin and coating her arms and Rocker realised she was subtly trembling. It didn't help that he couldn't be certain whether she had passed out and just come round again or if she had stayed conscious all this time.

"Felt dizzy, a-and drained." (Y/n) couldn't help but whimper when Rocker's hand left her temple and she found herself leaning forward, chasing his touch. She tried to flop forward into him but her breath caught in her lungs when his hand cupped her cheek and tilted her head back up to look at him.

"Since when?" The look in his eyes told her not to bother lying to him as he moved his thumb beneath her eye to see if her pupils were constricted or not.

"Two… maybe three days."

(Y/n) didn't like the way he shook his head at her or how his upper lip curled. She didn't have to say anything more for him to understand. She hadn't wanted to tell him or the team because she wanted to do her job, she wanted to be useful. She wanted to do whatever she could for the team and not be thought of as a burden or some kind of ornament. (Y/n) was very limited in what she could do, whatever was left for her to work on she wanted to do it efficiently.

And being a member of Swat meant they pushed through meager headaches and light dizzy spells that came and went. It meant being better than the average person, doing ten times more work and in harder conditions.

(Y/n) could hardly complain that she felt under the weather when she was barely doing anything at all.

"Here." Joe knelt down at Rocker's side and opened the first aid kit for him and he took a moment to take in (Y/n)'s condition and see how bad she was. Now he felt bad for being snappy over the comms earlier. Something was very wrong with her. She wasn't well and none of them had noticed soon enough.

Rocker kept his left arm around (Y/n)'s front and let her lean her left shoulder and cheek against his chest. He didn't mind propping her up, it was better than having her keel over on the floor again.

He grabbed the thermometer from the box and gently pressed it into her ear, but when it beeped, he could barely find the ability to keep breathing properly.

"Thirty-nine point five, she's burning up." That wasn't good. She had a fever and she was barely lucid. This meant a hospital visit.

When a quiet murmur left (Y/n)'s lips, Rocker leaned his head to the left and glanced down at her with an arched brow. "What, sweetheart?"

His nose crinkled and he huffed, both shoulders deflating when (Y/n) suddenly lurched over his arm and threw up. Both her hands reached up to cling to his bicep that was strapped across the front of her chest and she felt his other hand rubbing up and down her back as she coughed and threw up what little dinner she had managed to eat earlier today.

"Okay, we're going to the emergency room now. Let's get you up, sweetheart." Rocker didn't have a choice. If they didn't get her fever under control and find out why she was sick she was only going to get worse and he couldn't take that risk. Not when he knew a fever and an underlining cause could easily cause complications with the baby.

He kept his left arm around her chest and his right arm swooped down her waist to hold her hip. He pushed up from his knees and carefully reeled (Y/n) up with him and he nodded at Joe who leaned forward and took her elbow to try and help get her onto shaking legs.

Each of them could see that (Y/n) didn't hold the strength to keep herself upright and her head flopped onto Rocker's shoulder as she leaned more and more into his chest until her knees were almost caving in.

"I don't think she's walking out of here." Hondo spared a worried glance towards the couple before he flagged down Deacon. They had to go and tell Hicks what had happened and since Adam had the rank of thirty-David, he would be next in command until Rocker got back. Whenever that may be.

Rocker absentmindedly nodded and mumbled a soft "Up we go," as he unravelled his left arm from (Y/n)'s chest and swooped it beneath her legs instead.

He wasn't going to get far unless Joe helped him drag (Y/n) out of here and that wouldn't be fair nor dignified. The only option he had was to carry her out to the car and take her to the hospital.

It proved to Rocker that his wife really was in a bad way because if she were more herself, she would of protested him picking her up and carrying her anywhere in front of the rest of Swat. But she didn't make one grumble or remark. All she did was smother her burning temple against his shoulder and loop her arms sluggishly around his neck.

He had a feeling she would pass out before he got her to hospital.

Rocker ignored the eyes burning into him, the frantic stares being cast their way and the fact that every member of Swat stopped what they were doing to watch him carry his wife out of here. He had to get her to the emergency room and make sure she and the baby were okay.

"You just stay awake with me, sweetheart." He muttered softly against her temple as he twisted to the side and used his shoulder to push open the door leading to the car park. "You're gonna be fine."

[mellowsaturns]

in losing grip, on sinking ships (you showed up just in time)

BUCKY BARNES X FEM!READER

summary: when the avengers pick up unusual activity, they realize that not all of hydra was destroyed. one unidentifiable face sends the team into a frenzy but bucky knows it. he could recognize those eyes anywhere.

warnings: heavy angst, one sided enemies-to-lovers-ish, hydra!assassin!reader, hurt/comfort, happy ending, brainwashing, trauma, guns & knives, fighting, implied kidnapping of reader when young, all the feels, misunderstandings, poor attempt at writing action

wc: 4.7k

a/n: sorry it’s been forever but i hope my fellow buckyluvrs are still here <3 i actually wrote this a long time ago but never got around to editing until recently so i guess you can say this is (from the vault) ? inspired by the idea: what-if there was another winter soldier and bucky finds himself in steve’s position this time trying to get you back to him. anyways, i hope you enjoy this one :)

Bucky’s life was a never ending montage of gunfire and bloodshed. It didn’t matter if he was under the clutches of someone else, he still lived through the wars—the lingering smell of smoke and tang of metallic forever ingrained in his senses.

And just when he thought it was finally over—a glimmer of peace at last—it comes and steals that dream away from him.

Like deja-vu, he’s looking at faces that were once responsible for his pain.

On the screen, three Hydra officers stare back at him. All faces identified by Tony’s system. Alive. Last seen in the outskirts of some small country in Europe. Irrelevant low ranking officials that had managed to survive the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D and have been hiding and secretly continuing Hydra’s mission underground ever since. Low officials or not, it was one too many.

Bucky freezes in his spot when Tony swipes the screen. The billionaire goes on a rant saying this particular face cannot be identified, which was according to Tony, bullshit because his face recognition system is the best in the world. The rest of the team is arguing and flipping through countless files and internet archives. But Bucky knows. He knows that face and those haunting eyes that he still sees in his dreams.

“Buck,” a voice calls out. “You know her, don’t you?”

He looks up at Steve from his spot, his best friend's face worried and all knowing.

One thing about Hydra was that they were always prepared. They had backups and multiple plans ready, or else how would two heads take its place when one was cut off? Unfortunately for the world, Hydra managed to make another deadly assassin, one whose work was so discreet and nimble that even intelligence didn't know they existed.

You were a ghost story that lived in the shadows of the Winter Soldier. You were another one of Hydra’s prize possessions—less known, but just as deadly.

With Steve’s comment, all eyes are now on Bucky. A pregnant pause fills the air and he gulps before he confesses, “I wasn’t the only one.”

The room becomes tense. The war that they thought was over suddenly looms over like an unpredicted oncoming storm. “Jesus Christ, Barnes. You couldn’t have informed us about her earlier?” says Tony.

“I thought,” he says, shifting his eyes onto the ground, “I thought she fell with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

Bucky couldn’t find you anywhere after he escaped their grasp. After he joined the Avengers, he tried once again secretly using Tony’s technology but it was to no avail—it always ended up being a dead end. And for that, he assumed Hydra had put you out of your misery the day they were caught.

But the face on the screen says otherwise. And suddenly, Bucky feels very guilty.

Steve clears his throat, “Well, they were picked up not too long ago heading north. If we leave now, we might be able to find them and stop them once and for all.”

Everyone looks at each other, debating on his proposal. “What the Captain said. Everybody, suit up. Quinjet leaves in ten,” says Tony.

On the jet, Bucky stares off into space but countless questions run through his mind.

Steve walks over and sits beside him. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” he asks, voice quiet.

Bucky sighs, “I just… I thought she was gone.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”

He looks up, wondering if he should tell Steve the truth. That he’s not brooding about the fact that he concealed you to them. After a moment, Bucky speaks up. “When we get there, let me handle her. Please.”

Steve didn’t know what kind of history Bucky had with you. But judging from the look his best-friend is giving, it’s more than what Steve could understand or even comprehend but he trusts Bucky and so, he gives him a nod. “She’s all yours.”

After scouting the area and tracing the location to a very hidden underground warehouse in the middle of nowhere, they split up. The warehouse was dark and dusty, surely abandoned, but Bucky knew better—it was their facade behind the most sinister of activities. Through the comms, Natasha announces that she has already taken care of all the troops in the West wing. Moments later, Sam reports that he has eliminated one of the Hydra officers. They wouldn’t last long. Hydra didn’t have much resources or time to rebuild—their current empire was weak, they were no match for the Avengers this time.

The only person Bucky��s truly worried about is you. The fact that he trained you, made you into what you were today already gave him the chills. He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore, but he was certain that you were still in that killer mindset that Hydra forced upon you.

Step by step, Bucky walks through the quiet hallway, the echoes of his footsteps the only noise. It’s cold here, he notices, which gives him flashbacks to those days in his dirty cell and the cryostasis chamber. Down a hallway to the next, round a corner and another, there wasn’t a single soul in the eerily Eastern wing.

But he spoke too soon, because seconds later, a garrote wire was around his neck. The swift invisible steps and the perfect pressure that was being used to quickly cut off his air supply was all too familiar. He knows this move, he taught this move. You’re here, and you’re dragging him backwards.

Before all oxygen gets cut off to his brain, he jabs his elbow backwards and hits you hard on the rib which releases the hold you have on him and sends you stumbling back. Bucky takes a moment to regain his breath but you’re on your feet again. He looks at you and for a moment he freezes, then you let out a sinister grin. “Nice to see you again, Soldat,” you taunt, before running towards him.

Bucky’s deflecting your punches one after another. Maybe he’s glad he was the one who taught you everything you know because your moves were predictable—if it were another person, there is no doubt they would’ve been on the ground with multiple concussions bleeding out already. You’re ruthless when you do a triple roundhouse kick on him. On the fourth one, he manages to catch your leg and twists it, sending you to the ground with a groan.

How familiar this scene was, Bucky thinks.

Some forty-years ago, Hydra brought a woman into the training room. There was no further instruction than to train you and that’s what he did. He could tell you were well trained already—compliant and pliable. You were good. And you were just like him, injected with a serum that made you a hundred times more efficient and stronger. In just under a year, Hydra would start sending you on missions. Sometimes with him, sometimes alone.

During training, the both of you would spar for hours, leaving each other bloody and bruised, but it didn’t matter to the overlookers, the both of you would heal in a few hours anyways.

Once you pick yourself back up, he pulls a gun out on you. “Stop this,” he commands.

You smirk, “You going to shoot me, Soldat? I want to see you try.”

He clenches his jaw. You continue to look at him, a dark look on your face that shows no sign of true recognition.

His thoughts are disrupted when you tackle him onto the ground. You kick his gun away and pin his arms down as you straddle him. “I’m going to kill you,” you declare, “I’m going to put a bullet through your head.”

When he looks up at you, your eyes are full of rage. Bucky doesn’t know whether that’s the brainwashed version of you talking or the actual you talking—maybe both.

“What are you going to do after you kill me?” he says, irritated. C’mon, please recognize me. “This is all that remains of Hydra. Half the troops are already dead. One of your new leaders is dead. In a few hours, Hydra will be no more. What will you do after that? What are you going to do after you kill me?”

“What does it matter? You’re my mission. I’m going to finish it.”

He groans at your stubbornness that was identical to his Soldier persona.

He says your name slowly. “Get off. You can walk away from this.”

You frown, but he continues, “I know how you feel. You’re feeling helpless.” He clears his throat, “There’s someone behind this version of you. I want to talk to her.”

“What are you talking about?” you utter in annoyance. “Stop stalling.”

He says that name again, with calamity and care. You want to rip out his tongue.

“Let me talk to her. Please.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about!” you shout, grabbing for the gun that’s strapped onto your waist. “Stop talkin–”

“I was in the cell next to yours. You liked the colour green. You were wearing white when we first met. You always wanted to visit Bucharest. You hated the leaky cold showers in the Siberian facility,” he rambles, trying to remember every single thing about you in a desperate attempt to get your attention so this version of you won’t shoot him in the face.

And for a moment, it works because your hand freezes on the grip of your gun. He takes that moment to flip you over, so you’re under him now, hands pinned above your head. He takes your gun and throws it behind him.

You snarl at him while trying to escape his grasp. “I know you’re under there,” he says. “Please, come through. Please talk to me.”

Your face scrunches in pain, not from him—he would never hurt you—but from the mental warfare that’s currently going on in your mind. You close your eyes as he speaks again. “Listen to my voice, you know me, don’t you? мой милая.”

My darling.

For a moment, your entire body tenses up and then you let out a painful breath. When your eyelids start to flutter open, he finally sees the eyes he came to know and rely on—eyes he came to love.

The both of you are looking at each other unblinking. A scene neither of you expected but always dreamt about.

You break the silence with a whisper of, “James?”

Bucky slowly nods at your disbelief. Finally, he thinks. But such respite doesn’t last long, because seconds later, you hook your foot under his and flip him over and escape his grasp.

There's darkness in your eyes and he can tell that the Soldate is back and the fighting resumes.

You’re chasing him down the twisting hallway and when you catch up, you grab his shoulder and throw a punch to his jaw. He stumbles back and then a voice comes through the comms.

“Just took down the second one.” Steve. “Bucky, how are you holding up? You’ve been quiet ever since we split up.”

He’s trying his best to block your hand, which now has a damn pocket knife. Your quick movements are starting to tire him out. Maybe he taught you too well, he thinks.

“Buck? Bucky. Confirm your status, right now.”

Groaning in frustration, he taps his earpiece. “I’m fine,” he grunts. A second later, “Shit!” he huffs out as you nearly slice his face.

“You don’t sound fine. Is she with you? I’m sending back up.”

“No!” he says, “Don’t send anyone. I can handle her.”

In truth, he’s struggling right now—your stamina has always been better than his—but he’s worried that you’re going to accidentally get hurt and even more agitated when people appear. His main priority was keeping you safe. Fuck the mission statement they talked about back on the Quinjet.

You’re angry—no, you’re extremely angry at him. It doesn’t take a genius to tell. It’s a mixture of pure rage from both the brainwashed and actual you.

He supposed he deserved it. You should be angry. Because for the longest time, it was you and him.

Other than turning you into a ruthless assassin just like him, an unexpected companionship also formed during those hazy in-between moments when the two of you weren’t frozen or on the metal chair getting fried by those machines—during the times when he was just Bucky and you were just you, two unfortunate innocent souls that shared the same suffering.

They weren’t pleasant moments. It was dehumanising. It was getting shoved into draughty cells with nothing but a blanket until it was time to train or time to embark on a mission. Luckily, your cells were next to each other and it made the endless nights a little more bearable. He was a little off-putting at first, but when he yelled at you to stop crying because they would torture you even more for it, you knew he meant well.

During your shared time together, glimpses of your true selves would seldom come up and you would tell each other about the little bits and pieces of a life once known. And the both of you would hold onto each other's memories and stories in case the other forgets.

And whenever they prep the two of you for the chamber due to there being no current missions for the time being, the two of you would look at each other—a look of longing with the secret squeezing of each other's hand before going under.

Despite the absolute awful situation the two of you were in at the time, the both of you were hopeful for the next shared moments together. Because even when all hope was gone, you had each other. And that was good enough for the two of you.

He misses you. So damn much.

“Shut up,” you mutter.

He didn’t even realise he said it outloud. “Well, I do,” he admits, his back hitting a wall.

“You talk too much, Soldat,” you say, creeping up on him. “I ought to cut your throat.”

“I’m sorry I left you with them.”

You halt in your steps and your jaw ticks. In a second, you pounce on him, your knife against his throat. He’s gripping your hand to stop you from continuing your job.

He says your name again. You’re pushing but he’s pushing back just as hard. “I’m sorry…” he repeats, “I’m so sorry.”

The desperation in his voice… You glance up at him slowly and he sees the pink forming in your eyes and your trembling lips. “What are you doing? What are you doing to me?” you whisper.

He sees the internal war behind your eyes once again. Bucky gulps for a moment before letting go of your hand, trusting that you won’t do any actual harm, and moves his hands so he’s cupping your face, firm enough so you’re forced to look at him. You look into his eyes for a second, then a minute, and for a moment, everything stops. Your breath hitches, because those eyes… those arctic blues… you know them. You fell in love with them many years ago.

A realisation washes over your face, one that Bucky doesn’t miss. You’re back.

The first tear falls. Then the second. “Bucky.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispers.

You let out a small cry before you press the blade harder against his neck, your grip a vice from his betrayal. He could feel the sharp cold metal pierce through his skin ever so slightly, but he doesn’t try and stop you.

“Give me a reason to not kill you right now,” you grit through tears. “You left me. You left me behind to rot alone. You promised me. You fucking promised,” you say, voice laced with venom and so much hurt.

Bucky’s heart breaks at the sadness of your voice. Because he did promise. There wasn’t much to do in the cells other than throw around false hope. But whenever he told you he was going to escape one day and that he was going to take you with him—it didn’t feel like false promises at all because it wasn’t, and you knew it too.

Until he broke that promise and left you all alone.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says, voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to leave you there with them.”

“I waited for you,” you cry. “Day and night I waited for you to come back. Even when they relocated, I waited for you because I knew you’d find me.”

You remember that day clearly. Everyone was in a frenzy when the death of Alexander Pierce broke out and that they could not locate the Soldat. For a moment, you could taste your own freedom because government officials would come anytime now and finally arrest all these criminals. But right when they came, a few Hydra officers managed to escape and took you with them, and when you woke up, you didn’t know where the hell you were. But even then you didn’t lose hope because James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes, the name you committed to memory, was going to come for you just like he promised.

Until days, months, and eventually, a year came with no sign of him.

You were angry at first, but it slowly turned into worry because what if something bad had happened to him? But what do you know? You were stuck in this building and only went out whenever they spoke those trigger words to you. And you were always under their watchful eyes, giving you no chance to even attempt an escape. Surely he would never break his promise to you so something must’ve happened to him, you told yourself multiple times.

But he was standing here right in front of you. Alive. We’re under attack, your handler said to you moments ago, Kill the Soldat before he kills you.

“You’re a liar. You never cared about me,” you hiss.

Sometimes, it got too much. But whenever reality was a bit too hard to endure, Bucky was there, always reaching his hand out to you through the metal cage, which you took and held tight. And it meant the world to you, that someone cared.

“All those moments, did it even mean anything to you?”

He uses this opportunity to pull your arms down slightly, knife finally away from his neck and his eyes start to sting from his own tears. “They meant everything to me. I care about you.”

You look up at him with a defeated expression and Bucky never wanted to punch himself in the face more. “Then why? Why didn’t you come back for me?”

“I did,” he chokes out. “When I escaped, the first thing I did was go back for you, but the facility had already been raided and there was no one there. I checked every inch of the building.”

Bucky had never felt so scared, because what if the government took you too? They would never understand—framing you as a villain even though that was far from the truth. But there was no news of your capture, so with a breath of relief, Bucky continued to look through other known Hydra facilities.

“I tried my best looking for you, but I also had to be careful because I was a wanted man at the time. When months passed by and there were no clues, I thought that maybe you had escaped. I was in Bucharest waiting for you. Remember how you said you always wanted to go there? I knew that if you escaped, you’d find me there. Even when you didn’t show, I never gave up. Steve… I think I told you about him once—he found me, he helped me and cleared my name. After that, I still searched for you but it all ended up being dead ends. And…” he pauses for a moment, “and so I thought you were dead. I should’ve tried harder. I’m sorry.”

He had mourned you and blamed himself endlessly for it.

He knows he should’ve asked for help, but instead, he took this task upon himself until it got too much—because that was the one thing he struggled with the most, asking for help.

When his side of the story finally comes to light, you break into a sob. “I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he says, “but please, drop the weapon and let me help you.”

You swallow hard at his confession. He never stopped looking for you. You didn’t even consider how hard it must’ve been for him after everything and yet you’re lashing out on him.

“How are you going to help me?” you say. “I’m a mess. All you have to do is say those words and I turn into a weapon.”

Twelve. Ember. Fragment. Nine. Academy. Order. Frigid. Yearning. Blue.

Those were your trigger words.

“I got you out of your trance, didn’t I?” he says with a gentle smile.

Hydra needed you to rebuild their empire and they relied on those nine words to do so. To them, those nine words were your greatest weakness but one of them, the last one, the one they liked to spit out in vexation, was also your greatest strength—your salvation.

Blue.

You think back, moments prior, when all he had to do was use his voice and all you had to do was look into the blues of his eyes. Hydra can repeat those words all they want, but Bucky would always be able to bring you back.

At that, your grip relaxes and the knife finally drops onto the floor, it’s noise ricocheting off the walls.

“There’s a place called Wakanda and I know someone there who can help you. Her name’s Ayo and she’s amazing. She helped me overcome my words.”

He brings his hands back up to cradle your face and you shutter at the familiar touch—at the calluses on his palms. “And I think you’ll like it there. It’s quiet and there’s so much… green.”

You let out a small laugh through your tears but doubt still fills your mind. “But… all the things I did,” you whimper, “I did such terrible unforgivable things. There’s… there’s so much blood on my hands.”

Sadness flares around his heart. It was all so familiar. He knows the feeling.

“It’s not going to be easy. God knows how long it took for me to believe that none of it was my fault. But let me be the first one to tell you,” he says, wiping your tears away with his thumb. “None of what you did was your fault. You were a victim.” He swallows a deep breath, “There are going to be days where it’ll be too much too bear and there are going to be nights where all those casualties will haunt you,” he admits. “But… but you’ll get there. Someday, you’ll learn to stop punishing yourself for something you didn’t do.”

And he vows that he’ll help you every step of the way.

You breathe out slowly, digesting all his words. “You can trust me,” he tells you, “I won’t let you down this time. I’ll be here.”

Blinking up at him, the small hesitant part of you so desperately wanted to say, “How can I trust you?” but his eyes were telling you everything you needed to know. Because it was filled with nothing but honour and truth.

He breaks away from you and reaches out his hand. An invitation. You stare at it for a while, then you slowly lift yours and brush your fingers amongst his before grabbing it tightly—a truce of sorts, a promise. He squeezes back in return, a loving smile on his face, just like all those nights many moonlights ago.

Your breath hitches when he pulls you into his embrace, your face burying perfectly into the valley of his chest. He wraps his arms around you in urgency, in fear, almost afraid you’ll slip out if he doesn’t.

“It’s over,” he mumbles into your hair.

Because two floors down an explosion erupts, finishing off the last remaining garrison of troops. Three hallways down, Natasha sets fire to a room that contained the other small red leather book that held those nine suffocating words written in Russian. Outside, the last Hydra officer attempting to flee falls to his knees from an arrow to the chest. And the only hope they had left to rebuild their regime was safely in Bucky’s arms.

He pulls away and uses his thumb to rub gently across your cheek, “It’s over. The war is finally over.”

Now that the worst is over, Bucky’s hopeful. There will be other conflicts to come, that was just how it worked, but this one, the one that held you and him underwater for years was finally over. War always took too much, but this time, it gave something back. Because among the ashes and ruins you came back to him, no more oceans in between.

“What do we do now?” you press nervously. You were taken at a young age and spent years in the Red Room before you were sold off to Hydra. Like Bucky, you’re in the wrong time period, there’s no one to go back to.

There’s so many things you could do, Bucky thinks. You can finally start living the life you deserved, the life that was taken from you too early. He’ll have to explain all this to his teammates but he knows they’ll understand. They treated him so well, there’s no doubt they’ll show the same kindness for you. Then, he’ll go with you to Wakanda, get rid of the words, maybe stay there for a while so you could heal—maybe show you the goats he took care of during his time there.

You’ll probably adjust to the 21st century better than him—you won’t need to start off with a flip phone, that’s for sure. He’ll make you listen to all the great records and watch all the movies you missed out on. There’s so many things he wanted to do with you. He knows you have no memories, no recollection. It didn’t matter, Bucky thinks, he would make new memories with you, ones worth cherishing and remembering. If you’ll have him, of course.

But first and most importantly, “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Then we can talk about it,” he says, rubbing the grime off your nose.

He grabs your hand and heads for the exit. But before he does, you pick up your knife from the floor and in one quick motion, you spin around and throw it. The knife embeds itself into the wall a few metres away, right next to a prying face. You stand in front of Bucky and stare at the intruder with a murderous gaze and Bucky’s heart races at the thought of you still wanting to protect him after everything.

The blond raises his arms up in surrender.

“Steve,” Bucky says from behind and you briefly recognize that name. You turn around to look at him and he meets your eyes, nodding. You relax your stance.

“Hi,” Steve says, voice slightly hoarse. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

Bucky scoffs at him, as if he wasn’t eavesdropping the whole time.

Steve looks at the both of you, then a gentle smile adorns his face. “C’mon, the rest are waiting outside for you both.”

You step forward. This is it. Freedom. A new life. Bucky notices your hesitation as you suddenly stop in your tracks. Intertwining his fingers with yours, he squeezes with reassurance. You take a deep breath, then the two of you follow Steve to the exit, leaving behind the smoke and memories of your old life.

Outside, the sun comes up slowly but surely on the horizon, painting the awakening sky a gentle warm hue of oranges and pinks.

A new beginning awaits.

[inaris-mage-of-storms]

Warning for alcohol use, vomiting, and swearing. Read on AO3.

--

When Scott dreams, he dreams of the sea.

Not a single soul would bat an eye at that. He's a pirate, after all, born and raised on an island. He wouldn't be surprised if one day someone cut him open and seawater poured from his veins instead of blood. The ocean is his home, and he knows that to his core.

What surprises him is that it isn't this sea he dreams of. It isn't this ocean that calls to him, whispering promises of safety and warmth. Instead, he dreams of a different island - if one could even call it that. It's tiny, smaller than any island he's ever seen in his waking life, with nothing more on it than an equally tiny hut. In his dreams, he sits in the shade of his hut with his feet in the water and feels at peace.

Danger is there, somewhere, but on his island he feels safe. His clothes are tattered and coral lines his pockets instead of gold, but he feels content. It's home, and it calls to him, and every time he wakes from that dream he aches with a longing for a place he's never been. 

He hates it. He can't get enough of it.

He wonders, leaning against a wall in the shadows of whatever alleyway he'd stumbled into, if he'll dream of it tonight. His head swims with every movement, and he thinks it's just as likely that he'll simply pass out until Cleo finds him and wakes him with a thorough scolding for leaving the tavern without them. You never know what's lurking in the dark, they had admonished him more than once. Rules only went so far, and it wouldn't take much for a dead-drunk Denholm to become a dead Denholm, if the wrong person found him alone.

Sometimes he dreams of Cleo, too. Like the island, they feel like home and safety. It doesn't surprise him, though the pallor of death that clings to them worries him. He wonders if it's an omen. It's why he normally never does leave the tavern without them, fearing for their safety as much as they fear for his. Sometimes he wakes up and has to reassure himself that there isn't a gaping hole in his best friend's ribs. 

He wonders if he'll ever find out why they're always dead in his dreams. He hopes he never does.

He dreams of a lot of people, and he wonders who they are. Scar is there, sometimes, with a grin that matches Cleo's, and he wonders why the swindler he's barely spoken to is in his dreams. He dreamed of Scar before he knew him, and it makes him wonder if he'll meet the rest of the strangers someday too. He wonders if he'll ever meet the red woman with the sharp grin and lonely eyes, or the blond man on the burning building. He wonders if he'll ever find out why his heart breaks every time he looks at either of them.

Most of all, he dreams of Martyn.

That surprises him more than anything else, that the man he disdains and who disdains him in return, is ever-present in his dreams of this home that doesn't exist. In his dreams, Martyn is wild and dangerous and beautiful. He's like that in the real world, too, but in his dreams that wild, dangerous, beautiful man looks at Scott with a softness he's never known and holds him with a gentleness that doesn't exist. 

He wonders if he'll ever find out why.

"Well! Look at you, crawling in the gutters in the middle of the night. Guess the golden boy has a human side after all."

"Dream of the devil," Scott mutters, getting a perplexed what? from Martyn as the man crouches in front of him. "Go away. I'm just resting a moment, that's all."

He knows he's not fooling anyone. His words are so slurred it's a wonder Martyn can even make out what he's saying, and he leans over to retch up what little bile has collected in the stomach that emptied earlier, but he'll die before admitting weakness to a Kestrel. Especially to this one. Why did it have to be this one that found him?

"You're an idiot," is Martyn's simple response, and Scott scowls at him. "Up you get."

"What? Wait - " Martyn tucks himself against Scott, one arm around his waist and the other pulling Scott's arm across his shoulders as he hoists him to his feet. "I told you, I'm fine! Just gonna wait here for Cleo."

"I mean, if you want me to leave you passed out in a heap for everyone to see what a mess you are come morning, I can do that," says Martyn, pulling him down the road. "I doubt Cleo's waking up anytime soon. Maybe I should leave you here. A little humble pie might do your prissy ass some good."

"You talk too much," grumbles Scott, and after a moment adds, "Now I want pie. Fuck you."

Martyn laughs. "Maybe when you're sober. Ow! Bite me again and I will leave you in the road, you little shit."

His thoughts are still too murky to come up with a witty retort, so Scott allows himself to be helped home by the man who hates him and feels like home. He can feel himself teetering on the edge of passing out, and knows he won't be dreaming tonight.

Shame. Martyn's gaze is soft and his hands gentle as he lowers Scott into bed, and Scott wonders if the man loves in the same way he does in his dreams.

"Stay."

Martyn looks surprised when Scott catches his wrist. "Geez, how much did you drink? Just because we look the other way when you sneak out of Sausage's room in the morning doesn't mean your mates will do the same for me sneaking out of yours. And you hate me, remember?"

"You hated me first." Scott's hold on Martyn slips away along with his hold on consciousness. "Don't hate you," is the last thing he mumbles, and he wonders if Martyn hears it.

He doesn't dream of the sea, not tonight. He dreams of Martyn saying I don't hate you either. He dreams of a hand in his hair and lips on his forehead, and wonders about the way a whispered I miss you sounds so sad. 

He wonders if he'll ever find out why.

}{ Part Two }{

[happy74827]

Fate’s Design

[Carlisle Cullen x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Not even fate can stop forbidden love. {GIF Credits: Pinterest}

WC: 2051

Category: Angst (with a side of fluff)

Can you tell I rewatched Twilight? 👀 Edward? Jacob? Nah, I’m team Carlisle all the way.

In all seriousness, this took me so long to write out since I’m in that stage of life where there’s no free time 😭

But, regardless, here’s a fic that no one asked for (and hopefully won’t mind 👀). So, uh… enjoy :)

『••✎••』

Funny, how the world works, how fate works.

The day you had first laid eyes on him, you could tell immediately there was something different about him, something... strange. Stranger than strange.

A simple hospital visit, a clumsy fall down the stairs, and here you were, stuck in a place of healing with the smell of antiseptics and disinfectant all around you. For a simple wrist sprang, being around deathly ill people who had no sense of common courtesy was the last thing you wanted to experience.

Still, it couldn't be helped, and so you endured. Endured until that one fateful encounter.

When the nurses brought him into the room, you couldn't help but stare. A young, handsome man who looked barely a few years older than you, pale, cold skin that reminded you of the snowy tundras, and bright eyes you swore turned gold in the light.

Strange, yes. Very strange. But a very good kind of strange, the kind of strange that was captivating.

Carlisle Cullen.

You couldn't help but smile as you thought of the name, as the memories came back to you. The first meeting, the second, and then the third. You remembered all of them, every single one, and the way your heart fluttered like a caged bird each time, wanting to break free.

How long had it been since that first meeting? Five months? Six?

You couldn't be sure, but it was enough.

Enough for you to know that you loved him.

How funny, how ironic, how cruel fate was, giving you someone to love and then making it impossible to be with him.

You were just an average girl with average interests and average talents who had a boring, average job that didn't pay much and was living an average life.

But you were human; he was not.

You were a creature that could live, grow, age, and eventually die while he was frozen in time, a beautiful, timeless statue with an old soul that lived a hundred years in the span of one.

You knew this, he knew this, and that was what held you both back.

Even though you loved him, even though when he looked at you, his eyes burned with the same emotions you felt, the two of you were still unable to come together.

You would’ve given up had it not been for your own stubbornness, your own will to hold on, to see this through to the end.

He was worth it, and you knew it.

And so, you decided it didn’t matter if your time with him would be short because you would spend it happily, without regret.

After all, a few months spent with him was better than none at all.

You found yourself storming into the hospital, pure determination set on your face as you went up to the reception desk and demanded to know where Carlisle Cullen was.

The nurse gave you an odd look but didn’t question you further, and after giving her the information she needed, she directed you to his office.

You were assured he was filing papers, so you didn’t bother with knocking. Instead, you barged in with the burning desire to make your mark, to make your presence known, to show him, without any doubt, how you felt.

You didn't care if he was startled by your sudden entrance, and as you approached him, he stood up, surprise written on his face.

"I’m done, Carlisle," you said, your tone final, a declaration. "I’m so done."

He tilted his head in confusion.

Your hands came to a fist as you rested them against his desk, eyes narrowed and burning.

"I'm done holding back," you said, voice steady. "If you don’t kiss me right now, I'll never forgive you."

Your name came out as a soft sigh from his lips, and you couldn’t stop the shudder that ran through you at the sound of it. The mellow, gentle tone that held your entire being was always catching you off guard, even after all this time.

It wasn’t fair; it really wasn't.

"Kiss me, goddamnit!" You yelled at him, the demand clear in your tone.

And, like always, he denied you. In fact, he practically told you to shut up in his own way by bringing attention that you were still… quite literally, in the hospital.

You didn’t care. It was obvious by the way you kept going at him, demanding he take action.

And then, a gush of wind.

Your eyes widened, and before you could utter a word, the door from behind slammed shut. Not enough to create a loud bang, but enough to get your attention, and when you looked over, his arm was extended out, hand resting on the door.

Just inches away from your head.

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up at him.

He was towering over you completely, and the proximity made your breathing hitch. His gaze was intense and golden, and it burned right through you like it always did. But you weren’t scared, not even the slightest bit.

This was what you wanted, after all.

So you kept silent and waited for him to make the first move. Any move, really.

A few seconds passed, and then, ever so slowly, he lowered his head. But he didn't lean down far enough, no. Instead, his face inched closer and closer to yours until, finally, all you could see were his eyes.

And all you could think about was his lips.

"As much as I want to," he began, voice soft and smooth. "You and I both know it's not that easy."

"Yes, it is," you retorted, stubborn. "You're just making it hard."

"I'm being realistic."

"Realistic? Really?" Your face twisted into a scowl. "Says the man who's not even human."

"That's precisely why," he said. "You’re…"

His voice quivered, just slight enough to be noticeable. It made your heart ache, and you were ready to interrupt him, to say that it didn’t matter; nothing else did.

But you stopped yourself.

It was only right to hear what he had to say.

"You truly wish to want… this? To give up the happiness of your future, the family you deserve, to be drowned in sorrow, all for me?"

His words were sincere, his voice quiet, and the expression on his face was one you could barely comprehend.

"Drowned…? Drowned?!" You echoed his words; brows knitted in a deep frown. "Carlisle, I'm already drowning! Right now!"

You paused, trying to calm yourself, but you could feel tears prickling your eyes. This wasn’t how you had imagined it going.

"It hurts," you confessed, voice low. "It hurts me that you don’t understand, that you think so little of yourself."

Carlisle's breath caught, and his lips parted in surprise, but you weren’t finished yet.

"It hurts me that you think I could ever be happy without you," you continued, your voice rising a bit. “Carlisle, I have found happiness in you. I am happy with you. The day we met, I was a wreck; my wrist was a wreck… everything was a wreck. But then you came, and now, now I'm happy. You make me happy."

The look on his face was unreadable, but it didn’t deter you from speaking your mind.

"Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you see that you’ll always be twice the man than any other human being out there?"

Silence.

He didn’t answer, and the longer the silence stretched, the more your heart hurt. Carlisle was a good man; he was. He was a good doctor, a good father, and, of course, a good-looking guy.

He deserved the world.

And if the world couldn't give it to him, you would.

"If you can't see it, then fine," you finally spoke, and it was almost a whisper. "Then I'll do it for you. I'll tell you every day. I'll keep telling you until it sticks."

The corners of your mouth tugged upwards into a shaky smile.

"Even if I have to keep yelling at you."

He exhaled, and suddenly, he looked much more relaxed, and you realized that you had gotten through to him.

It made the tears that were gathering in your eyes spill over.

"At least I know you wouldn’t toss me aside when my personality eventually overpowers my looks," you mumbled, laughing.

"Toss you aside?"

There was a sudden, sharp edge to his tone, and when his hand came to rest under your chin, gently, carefully, your eyes shot up, staring into his own.

You didn't realize it, but the way you looked at him, the expression on your face, it made him see something different, something he never expected.

A woman who loved him. Truly, sincerely, deeply, and completely.

He couldn’t believe it, and yet, you were right there, in front of him, your eyes shining and reflecting nothing but adoration and admiration.

Your eyes were shining, but not with sadness, no, not anymore.

It was a beautiful sight, one he would remember for all of eternity.

"I'd be a fool to do that," he whispered, his tone sincere, and when his other hand came up, his fingers brushing over your cheek, a featherlight touch, he could hear your breath catch.

"A complete and utter fool."

You watched the smile grow on his lips, and it was so beautiful, it was unreal.

But this, the feeling of his hand on your skin, the coldness contrasted by the warmth of your own body, the gentleness of his touch, it was surreal.

"Carlisle," you murmured, and he was still staring at you, but there was a new intensity in his gaze. "Let me give you the happiness you deserve. Let me."

You took a small step forward, and his hand was still resting under your chin. You didn't dare move or speak again, not until you could read his face, the expression on his features.

It was difficult, however, and just when you thought he wouldn't say anything, he spoke.

"I can't guarantee the future or the happiness," he admitted. "Not for myself, and not for you, but-"

"But?" You couldn’t help but smirk.

"I can try," he answered. "For your sake, I'll try."

You should’ve expected the response after that, the speed at which his hand moved from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you forward, and his other hand, moving downwards to rest on the small of your back.

You should've, but you didn't.

All you could do was stare at him, your eyes widening, and just when you opened your mouth to speak, to say something, anything, his lips were on yours, and all the coherent thoughts left you.

You could hear the thumping of your heart, loud, thundering, and it drowned out all the other sounds around you.

He was gentle and careful, and the kiss was nothing more than a brief, feather-light press of his lips, but it was enough. It was enough to set your whole body on fire, to have you lean in, to have your hands come up, grasping onto his lab coat for dear life.

You could feel the coldness of his skin, but the taste of his lips was indescribable.

He tasted sweet, like vanilla, and the longer his lips were on yours, the more the flavor lingered until you couldn’t remember how your own lips had ever tasted.

When he finally pulled away, it was as if the world was spinning and all the strength left your body.

"We're not in the clear just yet," he murmured, his gaze still intense, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "There are many things we have to talk about and many things to work out, but-"

"Carlisle," you breathed out, your grip on his coat tightening. "Don’t talk. Just relish."

You leaned forward, and he did the same, his eyes fluttering shut, and as your lips connected with his, your mind was filled with a single thought.

This.

This was right.

It was perfect, and the world was a better place.

The funny thing about fate is that if two people are meant to be, no matter the time, the place, or the circumstances, they'll find each other.

The two of you were living proof.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Stolen Vows 1

Warnings: blood, violence, I am a dark blog and I write dark things.

Summary: Your wedding day is crashed by an unexpected guest.

Character: Kraven the Hunter

This is part of my wedding drabbles but will lead to other fun ideas.

As usual, I appreciate any and all feedback and enthusiasm. Please reblog and leave a comment. Love! 😍

You sisters fuss with your veil. You’re impatient. You’ve been all and dreading for longer. You are to walk the same plank your mother walked to your father. The promise made by another that you must keep. 

Important men toy with insignificant women. They move them like pieces on the board. For their wealth, for their legacies, for their most basic needs. For those who proclaim power, they hold little over a broom or even a brush. 

You have no illusions. You understand what is expected. You will do what you must and hope to find a sliver of content. Even just a corner to hid when you need. 

“Vlad is not hideous,” your mother mutters for the dozenth time. She’s still trying to coax you as if you ever had a say. 

“I hear his father is cruel,” your sister Myra tuts. 

“Any man in his position must have that reputation,” your mother insists. “To men, but we cannot say for how he treats his wife. Or his son. Have faith, have faith.” 

Cruelty is a scale. A word against a stike, a look against a slap. Yes, there could always be worse. They could always do more. 

“There will be no need for cruelty if you are dutiful. If you are the kind-hearted daughter I raised,” she comes to you as you turn, away from the tugs and tweaks of your sisters’ obsessive hands. 

“I hope he isn’t,” Salima says and squeezes your hand. 

You reach for your veil. It will be easier to hide. You cannot muster an ounce of happiness. You are not a joyful bride, just the promised one. 

Before you can pulls the layers forward, there is a startling boom. It shakes the house and your sisters cry out shrilly. Your mother hollers for them to calm and storms to the window. You follow and peer over her shoulder. The gates are consumed in smoke, black and twisting like a crow’s talons. 

“What is this?” She hisses under her breath. “Where is your father? Ozzy cannot do this.” 

“Ozzy?” Mira whines. That is to be your father-in-law. Why should he act against your family when this wedding is to join them? 

“It cannot be,” Salima argues. “I saw him earlier. He is here.” 

“That makes no difference--” 

There’s crashing through the halls. The curtailed screams and thrashing of metal, wood, and bodies. Unseen carnage making its way through the house, barreling up the stairs, bouncing against the plaster. 

“We must go,” your mother grabs you and your sisters follow her to the door. She sweeps out, dragging you away from the calamity as it gets closer and closer. Her grip is iron, her steps faster and faster. 

“Mother,” you murmur. 

“Hush and come. There is a way your father built.” 

She takes you around the corner as another man yelps in agony. What is happening? Why? You clack on your heels, your sisters treading on your skirts. You reach back with your free arm and they latch on. Your fear swells to tremours. 

“In,” your mother opens a door concealed by the body length mirror between standing vases. “Go and do not stop.” 

She shoves you through, your sisters after you. You turn to protest, “mother, you can c--” 

She slams the door and she is gone. Her footsteps go as you and your sisters search for a catch. There is no mechanism on that side. The uproar continues, louder and louder. 

“We have to go,” Myra insists. “We cannot...” 

You gulp as your lip quivers. In the dark, you silently exchange unseeing glances. You turn and continues forward, descending the twisting staircase, the walls so narrow that you must take them single file. 

You reach the bottom and follow the tunnel on and on until you hit a door. You feel along the edges and find a latch. You twist it back. It takes all three of your bodies to push the door out. You stumble onto the grass and your dress is stand by the mud as you land on your knees. 

You look back as you sisters sprawl next to you. The house is away from you, far above, as you’re beyond the trees outside the walls. By the river that flows through the ravine. 

Myra rises first, then Salima. You struggle amidst the layers. They help you up and you run arm in arm. You follow the river south, away from your father’s home. You must find Edgar. He will know what to do. 

There’s a long crack and the snap of a twig. You stagger back as a shadow ripples in the air and you and your sisters watch the branch fall before you, blocking your path. You cling to them as a figure lands on his feet and crunches down the bark until the whole thing snaps. 

The man’s eyes are as yellow as an animal’s. His hairline and nose are smeared in blood, his hair thick with it, curling at his chin. He tilts his head with a wolfish curl of his lip. He steps off the branch as his tongue pokes out under his teeth. 

Your sisters whimper. You heave and bring them close. “Please,” you plead. 

The man comes closer and closer. It cannot just be him. He cannot have done this alone. You look around, expecting others to appear. They do not. 

“Please, please, we are only women,” Myra quivers. 

He prowls forward as he ignores her plea. His eyes are on you. She moves to stop him and he flings her aside. Samira snivels, “please, don’t--” He shoves her to the ground and stops before you. He looks you up and down. 

“It is your wedding day, yes?” He smirks as his eyes blaze. “Who am I to disappoint the bride?”  

He offers his hand. You look down at it, the blood along the lines in his palm, the callouses. You peek down at your sisters. He could do worse to them. And to you. 

You put your hand in his, “after all, no groom could be disappointed in you.” 

[valeisaslut]

Undercover desire Pt.2 - mdni (+18)

clic to read pt.1!

⚢ pairing: Secret agent!Ellie Williams x Secret agent!Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖

ෆ synopsis: You and Ellie were here to complete the job—not to get tangled up in each other. But after barely managing to escape, the tension ignites into something far more dangerous. The real threat isn’t the mission anymore… it’s what happens if you give in. Either way, it’s going to explode. 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭑ word count: 5.7k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

♱ content: enemies tu lovers, smut!!, dom!Ellie, sub/switch!reader, scissoring, fingering (r! receiving), oral sex (r! receiving), cum eating, hair pulling, pet names, VERY UNREALISTIC PLOT LMAO, lots of cursing, blood, bombs, use of firearms, violence, helicopter?? . MINORS AND MEN DNI!!! 𖥔 ݁ ˖

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ Heyyyy! Sorry to keep ya'll waiting but pt.2 is here and is here for GOOD, i got a little excited with the plot and felt i was in a movie, so sorry if it a little very unrealistic. English isn't my first language, so if there's some misspelling or writing mistakes I will be happy to receive constructive criticism <3 𖥔 ݁ ˖

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The narrow hallway led to a larger room, dimly lit by a soft emergency light. The walls were lined with metal panels, covered in pinned-up documents, while monitors flickered with data in Russian. In the center, a table overflowed with files.

Your heart pounded.

This is it.

This was the information you had been chasing. The secret experiment that justified every bullet dodged, every high-speed chase, and every dangerously close call with Ellie. This was the mission’s objective.

You rushed forward, grabbing one of the files just as she did the same on the other side of the table. The words Проект кордицепс (Project Cordyceps) were printed on the first page.

"This is even bigger than we thought" you murmured, flipping through the documents.

“Since when do you speak Russian?” Ellie asked, watching you read through the files with ease.

“Looks like someone didn't finish reading my file and skipped the mandatory Russian course.”

“Sorry, know-it-all. I just kept reading until the part where it said your specialty was firearms.” She said, but now looking up at you with a serious expression. “...So, what is it about?”

“Bioweapon experiments with something called Cordyceps. Looks like they’re testing this kind of fungus on human subjects, and it causes them brain infection." you said grimly. "This isn’t just research… it’s fucking extermination."

A noise in the hallway made you freeze. They were footsteps, and they were coming towards you quickly. You locked eyes with Ellie, and just as you turned to the exit, the door bursted open. In seconds, she grabbed the documents and stuffed them inside her jacket.

Before you could react, a guard stormed in, gun raised. A shot rang out.

But it wasn’t aimed at either of you.

The bullet struck a security pipe above your heads, releasing an unknown gas into the room.

Your lungs burned instantly. With blurry, stinging eyes, you barely managed to see that the only exit was blocked. No time. No options. The gas overwhelmed you in seconds, dragging you under. The last thing you heard was the dull thud of your own body collapsing on the floor.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Your consciousness returned in waves, like a distant echo filtering through the pain and confusion. Your head throbbed with a dull, pounding buzz, and when you tried to move, a harsh tug at your wrists made you groan. Tied.

The material was thick, rough against your skin. Rope or some kind of industrial binding—tight enough to cut off your circulation if you struggled too hard. Your wrists were secured firmly to a pipe along the wall.

You opened your eyes, quickly scanning the room. A single flickering light in the corner barely illuminated the space. The concrete walls were bare except for a single metal door. No furniture, no windows, nothing that hinted an easy escape.

Great. You ended up in a damn makeshift cell.

The cold from the floor seeped through your clothes, but then you noticed a warm pressure against your back. A musky forest-like scent seeped into your nose, surrounding you.

Ellie.

As if this couldn’t get any worse.

Your breathing was shallow as you tried to ignore the way your legs were tangled with hers, the way your heartbeat—fast, intense—drummed against your chest.

"Look who finally decided to wake up." Ellie's voice was a rough whisper, hoarse from dryness.

Even tied up in a cell, with her wrists bound, she still manages to sound smug.

You clicked your tongue, the metallic taste of blood lingering on your lips.

"You’ve got to be fucking kidding me." you muttered.

You tried moving your arms, but the rope only tightened against your skin. Worse, it pulled you even closer to Ellie.

"Stop moving." she grumbled, barely hiding her exasperation.

"Stop breathing in my ear" you shot back, feeling heat creeping up your neck.

"Kinda hard when you’re practically on top of me." There was an unmistakable hint of amusement in her voice, which only made your irritation spike.

"This is so stupid." you sighed.

After a few minutes of silence in which you continued trying to think of every single way to escape, you heard her teasing voice again.

"You know," Ellie mused, her soft laugh vibrating against your chest. "When I imagined you being tied up with me, I didn't exactly imagine it like this."

A smirk curled on her lips. "But hey, I’ll take what I can get."

"Can you stop being annoying for just one damn second?" you hissed in a low, threatening whisper, tugging hard against the rope.

Yours and Ellie's wrists were bound separately, and that didn’t make things any easier. You tried pulling once again, but all it did was tangle your legs with hers even more.

"Yep, that’s not getting you anywhere." she said, obvious amusement in her tone.

You shot her a glare.

"Got any better ideas, genius?"

She leaned in just enough for her lips to graze the edge of your jaw. A shiver ran down your spine.

"You sure you wanna hear 'em?" she murmured, her warm breath ghosting over your skin.

You clenched your jaw, ignoring the way your pulse betrayed you, racing under her touch. You knew exactly what she was doing—getting a kick out of watching you lose control. Like always.

The door creaked open, halting whatever the hell was going on between you two. Heavy boots echoed against the concrete, followed by a second pair—lighter, but just as menacing.

The first man to step inside was tall, dressed in a black jacket buttoned up to his neck, a thin scar cutting across his left cheek. His sharp, dark eyes swept over you both with the cold precision of a predator sizing up its prey.

The other man, shorter but with the rigid stance of a trained soldier, lingered near the door, a gun resting against his thigh.

The taller stopped barely a foot away, his presence dominating the room with an eerie kind of calm—more unsettling than any threat or outburst could ever be.

"Two foreign spies in my base? Now that’s unexpected." he muttered, his deep voice laced with sarcasm and a thick Russian accent.

Your jaw tightened. You tried shifting forward, but the rope bit into your wrists.

"I have no idea what you’re talking about."

The man let out a dry, humorless chuckle, like he’d just heard the worst joke of his life.

"I'm curious..." he said, crouching slightly and resting his hands on his knees as he studied you both with the slow amusement of someone who enjoyed crushing things under his boot.

"What is so interesting about our project that you both walked straight into your own deaths?"

Your mind raced, searching for an escape, a distraction—anything that could give you an advantage. Before you could come up with a response, Ellie spoke in that deadly, indifferent tone of hers.

"If we told you, you’d have to kill us."

The leader’s dark eyes settled on Ellie, a slow, twisted smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Ah… such a mouthy little bitch. Don’t get your hopes up—I’m going to kill you both anyway."

The air in the cell grew even heavier, thick with the weight of his threat. The flickering light above casted long, trembling shadows on the concrete walls, twisting his silhouette into something monstrous-like.

Ellie sighed, tilting her head like she was about to yawn.

"What a pity. I was hoping you’d at least offer us something more interesting."

"There is no deal. You rats stepped into the wrong place. And now, you pay the price." His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "Tell me—who sent you? Who else knows you're here?"

You rolled your eyes.

"You really think we’re gonna tell you?"

The man sighed, straightening up as he gave a small nod to one of the guards. The soldier obeyed, pulling a knife from his belt and stepping forward.

"I wanted to do this the easy way... but you didn't give me much of a choice."

Ellie glanced at you from the corner of her eye, something dangerous sparking behind her gaze. Then, she smirked. A small, deliberate gesture. She gave you a subtle nod, waiting for your signal.

Without hesitation, you nodded back.

Screw the "trust no one" rule.

In a blur, Ellie lurched forward. The movement almost looked choreographed—she caught the knife between her boots before the guard even had a chance to react, locking the blade between her feet with lethal precision.

"What the—?!"

The scream barely left his lips before Ellie twisted sharply, driving the knife deep into the man's flesh. A howl of pain filled the cell as he stumbled back, clutching his wounded leg, blood spilling onto the concrete.

She used the chaos to her advantage, yanking the rope she was tied up with brutal force. It snapped, finally freeing her. With animal precision, she slammed her forehead against the leader’s face in a vicious headbutt. A sickening crack echoed through the room, followed by a muffled grunt.

In less than two minutes, she had taken them both down.

And you thought she couldn't get more attractive.

"You still got the files?" you panted. There was no way you were leaving empty-handed.

Ellie sliced the last of the rope on her wrists, then slipped a hand into the inner pocket of her jacket with infuriating calm. She pulled out just the corner of the gray file, smirking at your expression.

"Those idiots were dumb enough not to check me properly." Her voice was mocking, but her eyes gleamed with sharp satisfaction.

After a few seconds under her piercing gaze, your expression shifted to a clear Well? What are you waiting for?. It was obvious—you expected her next move to be untying you.

"You know…" she murmured suddenly, mischief curling at the edge of her lips, "You look pretty good all tied up. Maybe I should just leave you like this."

You rolled your eyes.

"No time for jokes, Williams. Cut them. Now."

Ellie tilted her head slightly, lips curving into a half-smile.

"I love it when you get all bossy."

With a quick flick of the knife, she sliced through the ropes in one smooth motion and helped you get back to your feet.

The wounded guard had just enough strength left to throw a clumsy punch in your direction, but you were already waiting for it. You dodged easily, shifting to the side before driving your elbow straight into his jaw. Out cold in one strike. Without hesitation, you grabbed the gun from his belt and leveled it at him.

"Damn, princess." Ellie muttered, genuinely impressed.

The wounded leader managed to get back to his feet, blood dripping from his nose, but his expression remained eerily composed. Then, without a word, he reached out and slammed his palm against a button on the wall before you could stop him.

The deafening blare of an alarm tore through the air like a blade. In the distance, the echo of hurried footsteps pounded through the hallways.

Reinforcements. You cursed under your breath.

“Fuck! we need to get out of here!”

“Yeah, and fast.” Ellie replied, starting to run with you.

The lights flickered violently, casting erratic flashes against the concrete walls as you sprinted at full speed. Behind you, the shouts of injured guards mixed with the thunder of boots closing in. The blaring alarms drowned out everything else, turning your escape into an unbearable countdown.

“Ellie, the door!” you shouted, pointing at the hatch at the end of the hallway.

She didn’t hesitate, bolting towards the exit. You pushed yourself to follow, but not before raising the gun and firing straight at the control panel on the wall. Sparks erupted in a bright burst before everything plunged into complete obscurity.

The darkness was your salvation.

Chaos turned into confusion. Amidst the yelling and stomping of boots, you both ran blindly, guided only by instinct. The emergency doors bursted open with a loud clang, and a rush of freezing air slammed against your faces.

And then, you saw it. The heliport, glowing under the blinking tower lights. And more soldiers waiting for you.

Ellie skidded to a stop, panting.

“Tell me you’ve got a plan.”

You grinned.

“It really shows you didn’t finish reading my file.”

Reaching into your jacket, you pulled out a small metal cylinder. One last explosive. Without a second thought, you hurled it straight at a fuel tank.

A sharp whistle. A flicker of fire.

And then—the explosion.

Flames roared in a blinding flash, consuming the platform in a wild dance of destruction. The shockwave rocked the ground beneath you, and the screams of soldiers were drowned out by the deafening blast.

But there was no time to worry about the damage. You grabbed Ellie by the wrist and shoved her towards the helicopter waiting at the edge, it's engine roaring defiantly against the chaos.

“Get in!”

Ellie moved quickly to the control panel, starting to pilot with remarkable expertise. The helicopter lurched into the air, wobbling like a wounded animal before steadying. Below, the enemy base shrank into a mess of lights and tiny silhouettes, their shouts drowned out by the deafening whirl of the rotors.

The helicopter managed to elevate high enough to start the getaway, speeding as fast as posible away from the base. Taking a deep breath, you slumped back against the seat, your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

But the victory only lasted a few minutes.

A gunshot slammed into the side of the chopper, metal groaning under the impact. The entire structure shuddered violently.

“Shit!” Ellie cursed, gripping the controls as the helicopter rocked dangerously. "They hit us!"

Another shot. A deafening bang.

An after that, the sickening feeling of freefall.

The alarms shrieked in a piercing wail as the tail rotor burst into a storm of sparks and fire. The horizon tilted, the world spinning into a blur of flashing lights and black smoke. The helicopter spiraled out of control, a flaming projectile plummeting toward nothingness.

Gravity yanked at you both like an impatient executioner.

Ellie snapped her head towards you, her mind quickly flashing the only possible way of surviving.

“There's parachutes!” she barked, yanking hers from under the seat and tossing you another one without hesitation.

Flames clawed through the cabin, devouring every last breath of oxygen.

“Move!” you growled, fighting against the wind as you made you way to the open door.

With trembling hands, you strapped on the parachute, the searing heat creeping up your back. Ellie was already at the edge, short hair whipping wildly, her lips curling into that adrenaline-fueled smirk as she briefly winked at you.

“See you down there.”

And she jumped.

There was no more time to think.

You sucked in a breath and jumped after her, just as the helicopter erupted into an inferno of fire and twisted metal.

The shockwave hit you like a punch, sending you spinning wildly through the void. The roar of the explosion faded behind you, replaced by the deafening buzzing of the wind tearing your ears. The night stretched below—an endless, dark smear of unknown terrain.

A few hundred meters from the ground, you yanked the parachute cord. A violent jolt ripping through your body as the canopy snapped open, slowing your descent in an abrupt, stomach-turning tug. The air rushed past you, the world tilting as you spiraled downward.

Somewhere in the shadows under you, Ellie was falling too.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You hit the snow with a heavy thud, the impact rattling through your entire body. A shiver ran down your spine as the freezing air bit through your soaked clothes. You sucked in a sharp breath, trying to calm the adrenaline still surging through your veins.

You were alive.

A few meters away, you saw Ellie under the faint glow of the moon. She unfastened her parachute with precise movements, her boots sinking into the snow as she pushed herself up. With an annoyed grunt, she brushed the snow off her pants.

"I’m never getting in a chopper with you again." she muttered, not even bothering to look at you.

"Oh thank you, I’m glad you’re alive too." You rolled your eyes, fingers numb as you struggled with your harness. "Where the hell are we?"

Ellie glanced up, scanning the landscape with a serious expression. Despite the darkness, the silhouette of distant mountains loomed against the cloudy sky, surrounded by an endless stretch of snow covered pines. No signs of civilization. No lights. No roads.

"Screwed." she declared, hands shoved into her pockets like she had seen worse.

You sighed, rubbing your arms in a useless attempt to warm up.

"We have to find shelter before we freeze out here."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

After what felt like hours trudging through the snow, you both stumbled upon an abandoned cabin on the edge of the forest. The place was barely standing—shattered windows, a sagging roof—but the walls were intact, and there was enough scattered wood inside to build a decent fire.

The flames casted a flickering orange glow, sending shadows dancing across the worn out wooden walls. As the fire grew, the warmth slowly eased the tension in your muscles.

"We don’t have enough supplies, but we should stay here for the night." Ellie murmured, her voice low beneath the crackling fire. "In the morning, we’ll look for signal and call the agency for rescue."

"Sounds like a plan." you said, letting silence settle between you.

Then, her voice cut through it.

"C'mere."

You eyed her warily.

"Why?"

"You're freezing." She shrugged, her expression unreadable, patting the floor beside her like she didn’t care whether you accepted or not.

You hesitated. But in the end, you moved closer.

The heat of her body was immediate, wrapping around you. As soon as you sat beside her, Ellie draped an arm over your shoulders, pulling you in until there was barely any space left between you.

"Don’t get any ideas" you muttered, but the frantic beat of your heart betrayed you.

Ellie let out a low, lazy chuckle.

"Too late"

The air between you shifted. It wasn’t just the cold, or the exhaustion, or the comforting warmth of the fire. It was something else. Something dense, something dangerous.

Ellie turned her head just slightly, close enough to study you up close, her green eyes tracing your features in silence. When her gaze lingered on your lips, the air suddenly felt heavier.

Your breaths mingled in the sliver of space between you. The fire crackled, casting golden light across her freckled skin.

How can someone look this damn good after nearly dying fifty times?

"You're still shaking."

Ellie’s voice was a low whisper, rough around the edges, laced with something that felt like a challenge.

"It’s the cold."

Not even you believed that.

She smirked, that infuriating curve of her lips that somehow made you want to strangle her and kiss her at the same time.

"Liar." she murmured, her gaze not wavering in the slightest.

Then, without warning, her fingers brushed against your cheek, agonizingly slow. At first, her touch was cold, but as her fingertips traced the line of your jaw, her skin grew warm against yours. Every movement was deliberate, as if she was committing every inch of your face to memory.

"I can think 'bout other ways to warm me up tho." you murmured, voice laced with defiance.

Ellie’s eyes darkened, her brow lifting ever so slightly before she moved.

"Oh yeah?" her low voice vibrated against your skin.

Before you could react, she had you pinned against the wooden floor, effortlessly trapping you beneath her. Her fingers ghosted over the fabric of your shirt, tracing a slow, deliberate path to your waist.

Your fingers instinctively gripped the fabric of her jacket, trailing along her back. Without realizing it, you’d drawn her even closer. Too close.

Your internal thoughts started shouting you to stop this. That it was highly prohibited.

You are an agent. She's an agent. You are obliged to be strictly coworkers through the entire mission. Nothing more.

"This is against the rules, Ellie..." you whispered against her lips, feeling the warmth of her breath mix with yours. "The agency doesn’t allow—"

"Fuck the agency."

Not even a second after saying that, she closed the mere inches of distance between you.

The world shrank to the feeling of her mouth on yours. There was no rush in her kiss—just a slow-burning intensity, a calculated game where every movement seemed to study you, test you. A declaration of war and surrender all at once.

You stopped caring at all. The inner thoughts suddenly ceased and faded away like they never existed.

Your hands slid down her back as you melted into the kiss, feeling her tense muscles beneath the fabric of her clothes. You sighed into her mouth, fingers gripping her jacket and taking it off without hesitation, pulling her down until she got fully on top of you.

Tilting your head slightly, you caught her lower lip between your teeth, biting down with teasing softness.

Ellie let out a low, dark laugh—almost predatory.

"You’re a damn problem, you know that?" she murmured against your neck, her voice deeper than usual, laced with that mix of amusement and danger that drove you insane.

"And you're an even bigger one." you shot back, a smirk tugging at your lips before kissing her again. You both knew you were crossing a line that had been threatening to break for far too long.

It had already been broken.

Now, all that was left was to enjoy it for as long as you could.

Her lips left yours only to travel along your jaw, trailing downwards with a softness that made you hold your breath—like she was claiming every inch of you without even taking your clothes off.

Your hands moved desperately along her back, taking off her shirt until it hit the floor with a dull thud. You couldn't help the soft gasp that left your lips when you saw her naked chest– freckled, pale, and absolutely breathtaking.

Ellie’s hand shamelessly slipped under your shirt, her cold fingertips tracing the curve of your spine, moving agonizingly slow before gripping your waist with enough force to make you arch into her. Her other hand found your thigh, gripping it firmly as she shifted to wrap your legs around her hips.

"You’re way more fun when you’re not fighting back." She muttered against your skin.

"Shut up."

"Make me." she challenged with a fiery look before biting down and sucking the curve of your neck.

Before you could respond, she lifted your shirt over your head and tossed it aside. You couldn’t have cared less where it landed. A slow, deep sigh escaped her lips as her gaze roamed over your bare torso, lingering on the thin barrier of your red bra.

Her hand slid went slowly down your back, already working to take off your bra as well. She lifted her gaze, silently asking for permission. The moment she caught your slight nod she unclasped it in one swift, fluid motion. The garment slid down your shoulders, and you moved your arms to let it fall completely.

"You’re fucking perfect." She bit her lip in anticipation before lowering her mouth back to you.

Her lips latched onto your breasts immediately, her tongue circling one of your hardened nipples slowly. With your hand tangled in her hair, you pulled at it roughly, making her groan against your skin.

While her mouth stayed busy, her hands slipped inside your pants, forcing your legs to part even wider for her. You bit your lip, trying to suppress a gasp when her fingers brushed against your clit through your panties.

As her lips moved back up to meet your pulse point, a broken moan escaped your lips as she sucked harshly on the sensitive skin in a way that made you shiver.

"No marks…" you murmured shakily, feeling Ellie huff against your neck in annoyance.

Logic spoke for you in that moment, but if you'd listened to your desires, you would’ve let her mark your neck with hickeys until it was completely purple.

"Why not?" She pressed another hot kiss against your pulse. She almost sounded like a pouty kid being told she couldn’t have what she wanted.

"Isn’t it obvious?" you whispered. "I can’t just walk into the office covered in hickeys right after a mission with you. It would give us away."

"Jesus, just let go for once…" she murmured, brushing her nose against yours. "Stop worrying so much, those dumbasses won't even notice."

Any response died on your tongue when Ellie kissed you with a burning intensity, the pressure of her lips turning into slow, teasing strokes of her tongue against yours. Her knee slipped between your thighs. You gasped, and she only deepened the kiss, as if she’d been craving this for years.

And before you could notice, her hand pinned your wrists above your head.

"Now, you gonna stop telling me what to do?"

The sound of your zipper opening made your breath hitch. Your back arched, and partly to give her more access, partly because this felt so damn good that you needed more. More of this, more of her.

And when Ellie yanked your pants off and tossed them aside without even glancing at them, a wave of heat shot straight through you.

The look in her eyes was completely predatory.

You were wearing red lace panties, and they matched the bra.

And only now you realized how obvious you must look.

"Ah… you knew this was gonna happen" Ellie accuses, taking them off quickly and giving your wrists a slight squeeze. "Fantasizing about your mission partner, huh? Such a dirty little thing..."

"I'm sure I'm not the only one here that has." you said, fighting back, but not denying it. There was no point in doing so.

She released your wrists and grabbed a fistful of your hair in her hand, tilting your face up to meet hers and giving it a slight pull.

"On that we agree…" she says in a husky voice.

"' 'Cause you don't know how much I fantasized 'bout fucking you, beautiful."

Jesus. fucking. CHRIST.

You let out a shuddering gasp as a shiver went through you like thunder, and the ache in your core became even more unbearable.

"Be a darling and spread your legs." She says as she releases your hair. You comply without complaint, your thighs spreading quickly.

"Atta girl... just like that..."

You don't have to see Ellie's face to feel the smug pride radiating from her as she sees how wet you are.

"Fuck, baby... you're soaked..." She says lowly as presses her finger on your swollen clit, delighting at the strangled gasp you let out.

Her gaze intertwines with yours, and in just a second, she slips two of her fingers inside you, causing you to let out a loud surprised gasp. She starts slowly, but before a few moments she increases the speed.

"Oh God! Ells-" you moan as she bends her fingers upwards to reach that sweet spot inside you that dissolves you in pure pleasure.

She moves her mouth down your body, leaving a wet path in her wake until she stops between your legs. She kisses your inner thighs teasingly, and when you let out a needy moan, her lips wrap around your aching bud and suck. Her tongue caresses your sensitive nerves as her fingers continue ravishing you.

You let out a squeal of pleasure, immediately covering your mouth with one hand to muffle the high-pitched noises. Ellie doesn't cease her relentless stimulation, and it is not long before you bite down on your palm, coming undone around her fingers.

She helps you through it, letting your hips buck against her mouth as your orgasm courses through your body, before gently withdrawing her fingers. Trembling, you prop yourself up on your elbows.

Ellie, with a dark look in her eyes, watches you from between your thighs. Her lips curl into that arrogant fucking smirk that you want to punch out of her face and drives you insane at the same time.

She lifted her fingers, glistening with your arousal, and slowly slipped them into her mouth. Your lips parted as you watched her through your lashes, your eyes dark with lust.

"You taste so goddamn good..." She murmured lowly. Her gaze didn't drift once from your eyes as she sucked every drop, leaving them completely clean.

You could come again right now just because of that.

"This doesn't end here, doll" Ellie murmurs as she moves up your body again to kiss you. You moaned against her lips when you savored your own taste in the kiss.

"I never said I wanted that..." You whisper against her lips, reaching up to pull her hips down to meet yours.

Ellie hisses, moving to remove her pants and grey boxers before pressing her soaking wet center against yours. She moaned as her clit made contact with yours and it wasn't more than a minute before she pressed herself against you and began to grind her hips.

"Fuck, Ellie!" you moaned, closing your eyes in pure ecstasy, the sensation of your center grinding against hers and your clits clashing together making your eyes roll back. It was so good you felt like you were losing your mind.

Nothing mattered anymore. Fuck the agency. Fuck the rescue. Fuck the whole thing.

You wanted to stay inside that haze of pleasure for the rest of your life if possible, here, tangled up with her.

Next to the same infuriating agent you couldn't stand from the start, but now had you right where she wanted—legs open and moaning like her bitch.

The twists and turns of life.

"Shit, shit, please Ellie… I'm gonna…”

You moaned as you pulled away a little to catch your breath. You both were a panting mess, grinding against each other harder and harder.

"Let go f'me…. I'm 'bout to cum too… "

You moved your hips against Ellie, both movements losing rhythm and becoming erratic. The knot in your stomach tightened, and in less than a second, everything went white around you as you let out a strangled moan.

She let out a choked gasp and squinted her eyes tightly, being completely washed over by the orgasm and burying her face in your neck. She immediately wrapped her arms around you, grabbing you before you fell to the ground and hurt yourself.

"Shhh… I've got you…"

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Several minutes later, the fire was slowly dying down, leaving the cabin wrapped in a warm dimness. Your breathing was still uneven, but the silence between you remained thick— and neither of you dared to break it.

Ellie still hadn't moved away completely. Her fingers lingered on your skin, tracing lazy patterns along your waist, as if her body refused to accept that the moment was over.

“That was…” You tried to say something, but the words died in your throat.

You felt the cold creeping back in, dragging reality along with it.

“Don’t overthink it. Just go to sleep” Ellie cut in. Her expression was serious, but her eyes were a whole different story, a glisten in them that you never saw before.

She pulled away slowly, but not entirely. Like a part of her didn’t want to. Like she wanted to stay right there, where the warmth was still bearable and the distance minimum.

But in the end, she did. She rolled onto her side, her back facing you, her body stiff, tense.

The cabin fell into complete silence, except for the occasional crackling of the fire. The air was still heavy, thick, as if the moment hadn't really ended.

Ellie turned onto her back, staring at the ceiling, her expression neutral. You kept staring at her, and the way her chest rose and fell a little too quickly gave her away.

“You’re not gonna sleep, are you?”

She let out a quiet, amused laugh, still not looking at you.

“I don't know. Maybe I’ll stay up until you say you regret it.”

“And what if I don’t regret it?”

This time, she did turn her head. Her eyes studied you in the dim light, as if trying to figure out if you were serious. Then, in a quiet murmur, she spoke again.

“Then we’re screwed.”

“Yeah. We definitely are.”

Ellie smiled. Just a small curve of her lips, but a smile nonetheless. She didn’t say anything else, just shifted and reached out for you. She slipped her fingers between yours, entwining them with an ease that proved this wasn’t just the adrenaline, or a escape from the cold, or lust. It was something more.

“…Do you regret it?” you whispered softly, not daring to look at her.

Ellie was quiet for a second before answering.

“You want me to be honest? …No. Not at all.” She lifted your chin gently, forcing you to meet her gaze. “I’d do it all over again—every second of it, exactly the way it happened.”

A brief silence hung between you as her words sank in, then a soft, amused laugh escaped your lips.

“Did I just hear you say something sweet? Where’s Ellie and what have you done with her?”

The teasing was nothing but a flimsy shield, barely covering the overwhelming relief that washed over you at her answer.

"Aaaand you just had to ruin the moment." she grumbled, giving your hand a light squeeze. "Now shut up and sleep, princess."

She didn’t say anything else—just sighed and reached out, pulling you against her, her hand firm on the curve of your waist. You closed your eyes as your mind raced, unsure what to think.

You knew this changed everything—made it messier, riskier. That it would put your jobs, your dynamic, everything on the line.

But when you opened your eyes again, hers were already on you, gleaming in the darkness. And for just one damn second, something unspoken burned there. Something that made the fall inevitable.

Something that told you this was far from over.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <333): @st0nerlesb0 @willurms @vahnilla @mancyw1214 @rxreaqia @laceyxrenee @antobooh @tittielover-420 @annoyingpersonxoxo

(if you wanna be added to my permanent tag list, comment or dm me and i'll add you!!!)

OHHH MY FUCKING GOD NOW THATS SOMETHING I REALLY ENJOYED WRITING.

Hope ya'll enjoyed and I'm SUPER grateful for every repost, like or share you wanna give!!! :D

(sorry again if there's any spelling or writing mistake)

[p0orbaby]

Could you write something about reader having surgery? Leah worrying about her & getting super stressed out x

-

Leah’s pacing. Of course she is. She’s wearing the trainers that squeak on the hospital floor, the ones you begged her to throw away three months ago. “They’ve got character,” she said then, like that was a reasonable argument for keeping footwear that sounded like an off-brand comedy gag every time she took a step. Now, the sound feels like a metronome for her anxiety.

She’s also muttering under her breath, something about waiting rooms being designed to drive people mad. “Why is there always a random fish tank?” she asks no one in particular, gesturing at the gurgling monstrosity in the corner. “Like, is that meant to be calming? Watching a clownfish swim into a plastic castle?”

Kim, who you bullied into babysitting Leah while you’re in surgery, hums noncommittally and sips her tea. It’s the worst thing she could’ve done because it prompts Leah to snap, “You’re too calm. Why are you so calm?”

“Because it’s a routine procedure,” Kim replies, her tone so even it borders on condescending. “She’ll be fine, Leah”

But Leah doesn’t look convinced. She crosses her arms, leans against the wall, then decides against it and resumes pacing. “Routine doesn’t mean risk-free,” she mutters. “What if they mix up her file with someone else’s? What if they give her a kidney transplant instead of fixing her knee?”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?” Kim asks, barely suppressing a laugh.

Leah whirls around. “Anything’s possible, Kim. Hospitals are chaos. I’ve read articles”

Kim just shakes her head and goes back to scrolling her phone, clearly regretting agreeing to this.

Leah’s still fidgeting when the surgeon finally appears. The man is smiling, calm and professional, but she doesn’t let her guard down. Not even when he says, “The operation went smoothly. She’s in recovery now”

“Define smoothly,” Leah demands, squinting at him like he’s lying. “No complications? No close calls? You didn’t drop anything inside her, did you?”

“Leah!” Kim hisses, mortified.

The surgeon, to his credit, only blinks. “She’s fine,” he repeats, clearly accustomed to this brand of hysteria. “You can see her shortly”

Leah doesn’t wait. She marches down the hall like she’s storming the pitch, the squeaking of her trainers echoing behind her.

When she reaches your room, you’re half-conscious, propped up in bed with a silly-looking hospital gown that does nothing for your dignity. Your eyes flutter open at the sound of her trainers, and you manage a groggy smile.

“You’re here,” you mumble, your voice sluggish from the anaesthetic.

“Of course I’m here,” Leah says, pulling a chair up to your bedside. “How do you feel? Do you need water? Ice? A lawyer in case something went wrong?”

You blink at her, too out of it to process her rambling. “I think they gave me morphine. I feel amazing”

Leah exhales sharply, her hands twitching like she wants to touch you but isn’t sure where. “Good. That’s good. You look… fine. A bit pale. But fine”

“Thanks,” you slur. “You look sexy”

She finally smiles, though it’s small and a little wobbly. “You scared the hell out of me, you know”

You try to reach for her hand but miss by a mile. “Sorry. Love you”

Her expression softens, and she takes your hand, squeezing it gently. “Love you too. Just… don’t ever make me do this again, yeah?”

“No promises,” you mumble, already drifting back to sleep.

Leah stays by your side the entire time, even when the nurse comes in and politely asks her to stop squeaking her trainers against the floor.

[victoria-grimesss]

2 ideas!

One, I loved your soap w secretary girlfriend! What about something similar for ghost and konig?

Two, what about a COD fic where the lights go out and you are stuck in the dark together? 😘 any character you want!

masterlist

->Paring: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader & König x Fem!Reader

->Words: 0.8k

->A/N: MDNI! These are so fun to write!!! Also adding that wonderful 'idea of the stuck in the dark' fic to the list ;)

Sure, Ghost and König are both big strong military men. They're intimidating and stoic. Tall and broad but they both love their secretary girlfriend differently.

Ghost:

He's a brute. Large and broad and dark. How you became accustomed to him was more comical than anything. One complaint report landed on your desk for him to pick up, which he never did. His training methods were.. less than desirable.. which you can imagine just looking at him and how he just stands and stares, barking commands.

34 total complaint reports from the newest training group landed on your desk, making a rather annoying pile. None of the complaints would ever be resolved, Ghost's training method is foolproof. So, you walked down the hallway, papers in hand and a scowl on your face straight to that man. You slam the door open to the training yard your heels sounding extra loud. Your stocking covered legs and short skirt is the view of the century out here.

"Lieutenant Riley, your complaint papers have occupied an annoyingly large space on my desk. Please be better about picking them up from now on." You shoved the papers into his chest and storm away. Simon was putty in your hand from then on.

--

He would stand arms crossed in your doorway as you helped the others. Waiting patiently, his stare dark and unwavering.

He loves to watch you work. Your soft hands filing the papers expertly you know every little place where everything goes. He sees how the guy you're helping out checks out your ass as you stand. He shoulder checks him on his way out and then he stands at the front and center of your desk, and you look up through your lashes at him.

"Can I help you Simon?" You ask him in a sultry voice as you reapply your lipstick.

"Yea. I can think of a couple things."

--

Your panties are around one ankle, your heels barely hanging on to your feet as your legs are wrapped around his hips and he's ruthless with his thrusts. You're on lunch and he took you to the file room, you're on a dusty old desk that's only used for storage. All the contents thrown to the ground as Simon couldn't wait any longer to be inside you.

"Fuck, you love this yea? Fuckin you right here panties round your ankle you can hardly focus on me."

He's right your head has been long spinning and your eyes struggle to stay focused. He drives himself into your wet heat so hard and rough your hair has become a half up half down mess in the process.

"Grippin me so fuckin tight love, maybe I start coming down every day, feed you my cock on your break. Would you like that, look at me when I'm talking to you."

Simon frequently rips your stockings when he's gripping your thighs, especially when he cums.

"Fuckin hell love you're a fucking mess dripping on me like this, going to cum deep inside you then you'll go back and sit all pretty at your desk with me dripping out of you. You want that love? Yea you do."

Simon is a ruthless lover, he can be sweet too. When he's not confined by a 30-minute lunch break window of course.

--

König:

König is top dog, the big guy on the ground. So you see him often. You'll keep track of his appointments and meetings, bring him food and coffee when he works late nights and eventually, he invites you to share a meal with him. After that he keeps calling you back to his office.

König is an older guy and his knees aren't all that good honey so be a doll and help him out. You'll get down on yours and wrap those pretty lipstick coated lips around him and his mouth is watering just watching you take as much as you can.

He's found that he has a certain fixation for the lipstick you wear and sometimes requests you wear certain colors for him when you go down on him. He loves the way it leaves rings around his cock and he'll stroke your hair as he speaks to you.

"Taking me so well mein liebling, you see that last ring of lipstick you left on me? Let's try to get even lower this time, you're a good girl I believe in you."

You'll take as much as you can, and when he finally trains his little secretary to take all of him he cums as soon as your lips meet the base of him leaving red lip marks on his skin.

And when he's feeling especially needy he'll call you into his office and have you straddle him. He'll kiss your neck as he takes off your heels, he knows how expensive they are, I mean he did buy them for you, so he undoes the little straps with care and sets them on the floor.

He'll caress you with his big hands and have you ride his thigh hiking your skirt up your hips so he can rest his hands behind his head and watch you moan and sob on top of him.

"You look so beautiful like this mein liebling, you're leaving quite the wet spot on me this time. How many times should I make you cum like this before I let you ride me."

He's cruel when he wants to be but it's all in good fun. He's spoil you afterwards.