#i was just shuffling through old files

[theartingace]

going through some old CR files and found this random dragon hidden in the layers and idk what was happening here but it's a vibe (and I like this dragon design but I'm not going to do anything about it)

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Do you use AI generators to compile or scrape this information?

no

[ssaalexblake]

like due to the new photo editor i am Definitely quitting making episode gifsets like that will make it impossible :/ 

[pathologicalreid]

wavelength | s.r.

in which your son ends up in the hospital on one of the BAUs busiest nights of the year

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst (hurt/comfort) content warnings: child in hospital with unnamed illness, seizures, pregnant!reader, boy dad!spencer, MRIs, head injury word count: 1.96k a/n: this is my little reid family from three's a family, but as usual, you don't have to read that one to understand this one. (it's one of the cryptic pregnancy ones so maybe keep that in mind lmao) - welcome back to the spencer reid dilf agenda, i missed it

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your thumbs enough to press the call button, tapping the green icon, you press your phone to your ear, listening to the rings as you keep your other hand on the bed in front of you.

Sniffling, Leo holds your hand in his much smaller one, “Mama?” His voice is little more than a whine, and you find yourself wishing he’d fall asleep while you wait for his turn in radiology.

“Yeah, lovey?” You whisper, squeezing his fingers gently as he looks at you with sad eyes.

His eyes were sad in a way that only a three-year-old’s could be, not quite understanding why he had to stay in the hospital, and continuously asking for his parents. “I don’t feel good,” he mumbles, his voice soft as he shifts on his side in the hospital bed.

Your shoulders slouch ever so slightly, trying not to show him how much of his displeasure you shared, “I know. I’m so sorry.” They were holding off on giving him more medication, but it just made him miserable.

Starting to wonder if they could just give him something to help him rest, you distantly hear your name being called, taking a moment to be confused before you remember that you called Spencer.

“Hey,” you greet a little breathlessly, “Are you working?” You move your hand, smoothing back Leo’s hair in an attempt to coax him to sleep.

You hear a shuffling of papers on the other end of the call, answering your question well enough before he responds verbally, “We’re just trying to finish a few things up before calling it a night.”

Bowing your head, you sigh, “Right, you have that senate review next week.”

Spencer groans at the reminder of the meeting, “And finding some of these files is proving to be difficult. I think Garcia’s just about had it, but we’re all starting to get to that point. Why the call? Not that I’m unhappy to hear your voice,” he clarifies. “Did Leo get to sleep alright?”

You falter slightly knowing that Spencer is already stressing about work, “Honey,” you start softly, “Leo’s alright, but I had to call an ambulance for him about an hour ago.”

“What happened? You said he’s alright?” He asks, fear changing the pitch of his voice.

Swallowing thickly, you watch Leo continue to fight sleep, his brown eyes watching you while you’re on the phone. “They think he had a seizure,” you whisper, keeping your voice down so that your son doesn’t catch onto your anxiety.

There’s a shuffle of papers on the other end, “Is he sick? Was it a febrile seizure?”

“Uh, no, hold on,” you flip through the pamphlet, “They called it a drop seizure when we were in the emergency room, and they did an EEG.” You explain, reading over the papers in front of you for the nth time.

Spencer talks to someone else in the room, hopefully letting them know that he has to leave, “What happened?”

Tears prick your eyes, and you look up into the fluorescent light to will them away, “I was just getting him ready for bed, and he went to go potty, and he just fell. He hit his head on the tub and I just… I panicked,” you admit the last part. “I was not very collected, and the 911 operator knew that,” you tell him, watching Leo’s eyes finally fall shut.

“I wouldn’t have been either,” Spencer assures you, “What hospital did they bring you to?”

Rattling off the name of the hospital, you risk assuming that Leo’s asleep enough for you to step back, enabling you to speak at a higher volume, “Can you leave work?” You weren’t even thinking about how busy the BAU was when you called, you were just thinking about getting Leo his dad. “They want to do an MRI, and he’s allowed to have someone in there with him, so he doesn’t get scared,” you explain.

“But you can’t,” Spencer needlessly reminds you.

A huff of frustration escapes your lips as you look down, eyes focusing on where your shirt catches on the soft swell of your lower belly. “No, I can’t,” you say miserably.

A nurse walks through the door, sparing a pitying glance at you, the pregnant mom whose toddler was in the PICU, before checking on Leo’s vitals. Spencer clears his throat, “I’m already on my way.”

You lose track of time, sitting in the reclining chair that lives in the corner of the PICU room, and memories of Leo’s first month of life start to flash in front of your eyes. He was a thirty-two-weeker, and he spent twenty-nine days in the NICU before coming home for the first time.

You felt like a failure then, and you feel like a failure now.

Tapping your fingers on your belly, you watch Leo sleep, his body curled up on the hospital bed and collodion stuck to his forehead. You remember finding out you were pregnant again, the overwhelming joy that mixed with the stunned fear like oil and water—Spencer had to remind you to breathe.

Something caught your attention, a small, high-pitched beep from one of Leo’s monitors sent a group of people flying into the room, standing around your son and listing off things that your fear-addled brain couldn’t comprehend.

He’s there when you stand up, Spencer stays at your side for all twenty-one seconds of Leo’s second seizure, watching as strength returns to his tiny body and his eyes open, “Mama?” His small voice calls out for you, afraid of being surrounded by doctors and nurses that he doesn’t know.

Slipping away from Spencer, you make your way back to the hospital bed, hovering over your son as you cup his cheeks affectionately, “I’m here, baby.” Hiding your face to wipe tears away, your fear that he still feels ill is only exacerbated by the fact that he doesn’t insist that he’s not a baby—he’ll always be yours, though.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you let him see past you, the way his eyes light up at the sight of his father, “Daddy!” He chirps, trying to reach out for Spencer.

“Hey, buddy,” Spencer says, his voice tight while he crouches in front of Leo, “Mama says you don’t feel good.”

Leo shakes his head, “I hit my head,” he recounts mournfully, “then we had to go in the loud car.”

Your husband frowns for a moment before he realizes Leo’s talking about the ambulance, “Did they tell you I get to go with you to get your tests done?” He warps the narrative to make the MRI seem like a fun activity—something they get to do.

“Can mama go?” Leo asks, tilting his head to the side slightly, leaning into you as he does so.

Gently, you wrap an arm around him, dressed in a pediatric hospital gown with all kinds of wires and electrodes attached to him. “Mama has to stay up here,” Spencer breaks the news to him, sparing you a sympathetic glance, “but she’ll be here when we get back. Then, we can tell her and the baby all about it.”

The baby won’t be able to hear outside voices until you’re much further along, but when Spencer tried to explain that to your toddler, the only response he’d gotten was Why?

As it turns out, even Spencer Reid has a limit to the number of questions he can answer, so you let Leo talk to the baby. “I’ll be right here when you get back,” you reassure Leo, taking a shaky breath when he wraps his arms around you.

He’s in tears by the time they come to get him, only willing to go to radiology if they let his daddy carry him there.

You’ve let go of the hope that this was all just a freak incident, but the looks that the nurses have started exchanging squashed that optimism immediately. Taking the opportunity to lie on the hospital bed, you try to reassure yourself—if Spencer didn’t seem worried, you shouldn’t be worried.

Though Spencer wouldn’t show his concern to you, he certainly wouldn’t do it with Leo in the room.

You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you’re woken up by something being set on your side, your eyes cracking open just enough to watch Spencer lay Leo down on the bed next to you. “Hey,” Spencer whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “I was trying not to wake you up.”

Cringing at the brightness of the room, you watch Leo as he curls into your side, “How did he do?”

“He was great,” Spencer says, gently ruffling the sleeping boy’s hair. “He fell asleep about halfway through,” he informs you, carefully pulling a chair up to the bedside.

You hum, making sure Leo is snug in his blanket before turning back to Spencer, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner.”

Spencer shakes his head dismissively, “It’s okay,” he whispers, mindful of the hour—it’s nearing midnight now.

Reaching a hand up to cover your mouth, you hiccup a sob, “I’m a bad mom.”

“You are not a bad mom,” Spencer responds quickly, peeling your hand from your mouth and taking it in his hand.

Your lower lip quivers, “This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been born so early.”

Spencer’s face softens, squeezing your hand comfortingly, “That wasn’t your fault. That was a situation that you didn’t have any control over.”

Deep down, you know he’s right, but your mom guilt that was on the surface level made the truth hard to see. “I couldn’t even hold his hand while he got an MRI,” you cry, small tears falling from your eyes.

“Honey,” Spencer murmurs, carefully wiping the tears from your cheeks, “You’re pregnant. Even more, you’re high risk,” Spencer reminds you as if it’s something you’re soon to forget. “There’s no way I would’ve let you in that room. You can blame that on me if you’d like.”

Leo shifts next to you, garnering your attention for just a moment before you turn back to Spencer, “I thought an MRI was better for pregnant women.”

Sighing, Spencer looks at you fondly, “Compared to a CT, an MRI is the better option if it’s medically necessary. Logically, I’m well aware of this, but I do find myself more protective over you these days,” he admits, eyes flickering down to your bump.

You bite the inside of your cheek, “I should’ve been watching him before he hit his head.”

Your husband dismisses your concern immediately, “We’ve been teaching him privacy, he’s proud that he gets to go potty on his own.”

“Why won’t you let me feel guilty?” You ask, frowning at him.

He hums in response, “Because you aren’t guilty. Your baby is in the hospital, and you might have some unresolved issues from when he was in the NICU.” He takes a deep breath, “and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re tired, and you have a lot of conflicting emotions and hormones that you’re struggling with.”

Leaning your head back on the pillow, you sigh loudly, “You know me too well.”

“I also know that our son loves you, and what happened tonight was not your fault,” he reiterates. “Whatever is going on with him, we’ll figure it out, okay? The four of us are going to be just fine.”

Pressing your lips into a thin line, you nod in understanding and listen to the soft whistle of Leo’s nose as he exhales. “We’ll be just fine,” you echo, intertwining your fingers with Spencer’s and preparing yourself for what’s bound to be a long night.

[cimmanonrowl]

Cyber Sex

You can only put up with so much as Aaron Hotchner's girlfriend. Busy office hours? Case files scattering your usually neat living room? Rescheduling appointments? Impromptu dates? Fine. But what about ovulating while he's out of town?

Pairing: aaron hotchner x writer!reader

Theme: smut heaven

Contents: age gap, soft dom!aaron, cam sex, daddy kink, dirty talking, powerplay: older man/younger woman relationship, squirting, guided masturbation.

The soft mattress of your shared bed dipped against Aaron’s weight. On a normal day, you would’ve greeted him excitedly downstairs. He’d gotten used to seeing you first thing with your curls tied in a messy bun, only wearing your skimpy underwear under his old and oversized Law School shirt; all with a warm, angelic smile on your lips as you hugged him tightly.

Tonight, however, was different.

When he stepped inside the bedroom, you quickly felt his hand on your waist, the pad of his thumb tracing soft circles on your bare skin. Another stifled sob escaped your lips at the contact. Your eyes already stung after hours of crying, blood rushing down your head as you were forced to swallow the lump in your throat.

You heard Aaron heave a deep sigh before cautiously inching closer to your trembling figure, your back facing him.

“Sweetheart…” His voice was quiet and rough, obviously twinged with exhaustion. “I know you’re awake, baby. Look at me, please?”

You scooted away from the warmth of his hand, letting another set of warm tears cascade down your cheeks.

“Sweetheart,” He called out softly, shuffling towards you. “I know you’re mad and I can understand why. And I know that I deserve it, but at least let’s talk about what happened.”

“Go away, Aaron.”

“Hmm?”

Instead of being offended, Aaron just pursed his lips. He carefully placed his big, calloused hand on your waist again, rubbing soothing circles on your skin as he silently watched you. His heart clenched at the state you’re in, fresh tears dripping down your face and straight to your pillow, your shoulders racking in a quiet sob.

“Darling, you know we won’t fix anything without having to talk about it. You have to tell me what you feel and help me fix this…” He urged gently.

The room was quiet for a moment, just the sound of the whirring of the AC and your wet sniffling could be heard on occasion. Your brain flew back to the memories of today’s events. Waking up early and excitedly preparing Aaron’s lunch, kissing him goodbye with his promise of taking an afternoon off from work for your date, you anxiously waiting for him to arrive at your book event, then spending the rest of the day all by yourself.

No reply nor callback from him, not even a single notice that he won’t be able to fulfill his promise. You even had to call Garcia to know that your dear boyfriend was called to an emergency meeting.

Your heart aches even at the mere thought of it.

Of course, you’re aware of the consequence of being with Aaron. When you introduced him to your parents, both of them sat you down and talked to you about the possible dangers of being with a Federal agent. The criminals he’d thrown in jail might get their revenge on him through you, or that you might be targeted as a mere collateral damage. The idea lingered in your brain— it still does every now and then, if you’re honest. But you trust Aaron with your life so much that you know even with those possibilities, Aaron will do his best to protect you.

But it was different when you told your friends about your new relationship. Ever since they’ve been vocal about their concern about your setup: Aaron Hotchner is a busy, busy man. They were worried about you being neglected, or for your efforts to go unnoticed and taken advantage of. Regardless, you fought for him and convinced them that as much as Aaron is a man with a high sense of duty, he is a good partner who always tries to spend as much time with you, with the little free time his job can ever offer.

And for three years, it was enough.

Just not for today.

You sniffed quietly, your voice hoarse when you spoke again. “I rescheduled three reservations since last week, Aaron. I had a book event today and you promised to accompany me.”

“I know, sweetheart…” He whispered regretfully, combing through his hair in frustration. “I’m sorry.”

“You always say that.”

You felt him stiffen at your words, and his thumb stopped its movements in accord. You could almost sense the dread washing over him. “I know, baby, and this isn’t what I wanted you to feel. So let me make it up to you, sweetheart. Work’s just been…”

“I don’t want to hear about your work right now, Aaron.” 

The pleading in your voice caught him off-guard. That was the truth. You’re too upset and pissed to listen to his work problems. And he knows that’s one of the things you loved doing. Normally, you’d let him vent out to you about the things that worried him, stressed him, or angered him for the day— and it usually ends with his cock deep down your throat or pounding in and out of your willing cunt.

But not right now.

He won’t even bother spending an afternoon to support you and your work. Why would you listen to him, right? Right.

After another beat of silence, Aaron nodded in understanding. “Do you want me to sleep on the couch, sweetheart?”

You quickly shook your head.

“I prepared—” You swallowed thickly, almost choking on your own tears. God, you missed him so much.

As much as you felt neglected and hurt by his recent actions, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop caring for him. The image of him spending his night cramped on a couch, and not being able to rest properly isn’t something you can easily stomach. Maybe you’re too in love it’s almost pathetic.

“Yes, sweetheart? What were you saying?”

“I prepared the guest room. S-sleep there.”

“Oh…” His words came out like a whisper, so comforting you almost let yourself melt into it. “Thank you, baby, but I’d like to stay here in our bedroom. I can take the couch if you don’t want me near—”

“Aaron.”

“Yes?”

He waited for you to continue, his warm hand continuously rubbing soft circles on your waist. 

“You’re getting on my nerves, Aaron. Leave me alone.”

As soon as he heard the words come out of your mouth, you instantly felt the subtle change in his grip; it turned firm and rigid. And you couldn’t help but bite your lower lip and expect whatever was about to come.

Aaron exhaled a little sharply.

“I don’t appreciate this attitude, little girl. I’m trying to talk to you.”

“And I just said I don’t want to talk!” You argued back, your voice still hoarse from crying, now raising a tad.

“Lower your voice down. I don’t want to start a fight.”

“Yeah, how noble of you.”

“Jesus…” He mumbled under his breath. Even with your back facing him, you can imagine the look of disbelief on his face. “I’m trying to solve this before this night ends but all I’m getting is this attitude.”

“If you don’t leave me alone, I’m leaving.”

“And where would you go at this late hour, huh?”

His challenging voice infuriated you even more. “I don’t know, some dude maybe. The one who can spend time with me and maybe fuck me—”

“Oh, so is that what this attitude is about? You’re so horny that you’re willing to knock on a stranger’s door and let him fuck you with his small dick, just to get back at me?”

“Whatever you say, old man.”

With a tender yet forceful grip on your waist, he was able to flip you on your back. You watched him as he stood, his hand quietly traveling down his belt and deftly unbuckling it.

“You don’t mean that, little girl.” He pointed out calmly, shaking his head a little. “I think we both know your pretty, little cunt was too ruined by my cock you won’t ever feel satisfied with anything else.”

“You’re so full of crap, Hotchner.”

He raised an eyebrow. 

“Am I now?”

“You’re so full of yourself. There’s a lot of guys out there—”

“Oh, really?” He tugged his necktie from side to side, loosening it before swiftly taking it off. You saw the glint in his eyes as he smiled at you in amusement. “Then why are you scrambling to remove your soaked underwear, sweetling? I thought there’s a lot of guys out there?”

Heat crept on your cheeks as your eyes wandered down your body. Your pink cotton underwear was already pulled down on your ankles, with an obvious wet stain on the fabric.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

Aaron smiled as he flicked his pointer finger, urging you to come closer. “How about I eat you out, make you cum over and over again until you squirt on my face? Would my little girl forgive me then?”

You scrambled on your knees, your plump lips shut as you shuffled closer to him. He chuckled softly as you glared at him with your rimmed red eyes. In his eyes, you look heavenly; your hair messy and tear-stained cheeks glowing with a soft hue of rose.

He ran the pad of his thumbs on the remnant of tears on your cheeks before placing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“You’re so pretty even when you’re crying, doll…” He whispered softly, his apprehensive eyes wandering all over your face. “But I hate making you upset. I’m so sorry I hurt you. Let me make it up to you, sweetheart.”

You sniffed with a nod, whispering. “Okay...”

“Okay what, sweetheart?”

“Eat me out, daddy…” You demanded in a soft tone, staring at him through your lashes, blinking almost innocently at him. “I want your tongue inside my pussy. Let’s see if I’ll forgive you after that.”

He smiled a little. “Oh, I’ll make sure you will, little girl. I will fuck you dumb on the balcony you’d be ashamed to face our neighbors.”

He pressed a sweet kiss on your lips, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek.

“Sounds good, daddy,” you smiled back, subtly rubbing your thighs in need.

Sunlight filtered into the room, casting a warm glow on the walls and floor the next morning. You stirred, feeling the warmth of the sun on your face and the coldness of the mattress. Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the light, your eyes quickly wandering around the room to look for Aaron who was no longer lying beside you. 

Instead, the sound of hurried footsteps and rustling clothes filled the air.

“Aaron?” You called softly, sitting on the bed as you stifled a yawn.

You turned towards the walk-in closet, noticing Aaron moving frantically around the room, already dressed in his work clothes. A frown unknowingly lidded your expression as you glanced at the bedside table, seeing that your digital clock displayed it was only 9 AM.

“It’s Saturday,” You couldn’t help but point out. “It’s your day off.”

Aaron turned to you guiltily. “I know, sweetheart. But Strauss just called; we got a case. I need to gather the team, you know how she’s been lately. With budget cuts and everything she’s complaining about.”

“Where are you off to this time?”

You watched his reflection as he effortlessly knotted his tie. He looked so good and professional you can’t even bring yourself to feel upset. From a short distance, you can smell his perfume and body wash. The sight was enough to stir your lustful thoughts and send tingles down your sore and well-spent cunt.

“You okay, angel?” He called out, watching you tentatively in the mirror. “I’ll be home in a few days, don’t worry.”

“You said you’ll take me out on a date later…”

Aaron took a deep breath, contemplation plastering his face. You listened to the sound of his footsteps coming closer, the morning sunlight enveloping you in its warm embrace.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorr—”

“It’s okay, Aaron. I understand,” You smiled in assurance, reaching for his tie to straighten it. “People need you.”

“I want to be here with you, too,” He pressed his forehead against yours. “I’m really sorry, angel. I’ll come home as quickly as I can then file for a leave. We can go on a vacation together.”

You hummed with a small smile. “Okay.”

“Just like that, sweet girl?” He laughed teasingly. “Oh. Is it because of last night? Did daddy remind you how he kept true to his words?”

You blushed at the question. “It’s too early for this talk, Aaron.”

“Well, I did tell you I’ll fuck you so good you’d be pliant on my wants.”

“I saw Mrs. Moore smoking on her balcony last night, she definitely saw us…” Your blush deepened. “I can’t face her ever again.”

Aaron’s eyes lit in humor, and he leaned down to press a quick, gentle kiss to your forehead. “What a whore you are, baby…” he whispered before straightening up. “I really have to go, angel. I’ll call you later, alright?”

You nodded, watching as he grabbed his go-bag and headed for the door. “Hmm. Come home safe and quick.”

“Will do, angel,” he replied, giving you one last look before disappearing down the hallway.

You spent the entire day working and tending to house chores. Aaron called you the moment they landed, assuring you once again that he’d be home as fast as he could. The house was quiet for hours, only the sound of your fingers occasionally hitting the keyboard lingering in the air.

Aaron’s office was cloaked in a soft glow of corner lamps. You sat at Aaron’s desk with your laptop open in front of you. The book you were writing was already coming to a climax, the cursor blinking on a blank document, waiting for words that refused to come.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair as you stared at the screen. You had been trying to write for hours, but the scene in your head just wouldn’t translate into words. It was as if the characters were mocking you, their actions vivid in your mind yet stubbornly silent on the page.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, tapping out a few words before deleting them in frustration. You leaned back in your chair, closing your eyes in an attempt to visualize the scene more clearly. Your characters were supposed to have a slow, intimate moment. But for some reason, all you can think about is Aaron’s tongue buried down your dripping cunt, his thick fingers pounding in and out, his thumb rubbing your clit; desperately chasing your high. 

Last night, by the third orgasm, you squirted on his mouth. And he happily lapped your release, whispering encouragement and how he’s so lucky to be able to please you. Then he fucked you near the balcony door, putting on a show for anyone to see.

Minutes crawled by and you found yourself browsing your laptop, scrolling through the locked folder you shared with Aaron, the one containing your sex videos. You eagerly scrolled down, your free hand rubbing slow circles through the thin fabric of your cotton underwear.

You settled with a video Aaron taken just a month ago. It was a close-up shot of his cock pounding gently, slowly, inside your cunt— his cum dripping out with every thrust. With a sharp sigh, you quickly removed your underwear and propped both your legs on the armrest of Aaron’s swivel chair.

You rubbed your clit in a teasing movement, watching the video with wide eyes. Arousal was slowly dampening your cunt which only triggered the pace of your fingers. Heat was slowly licking your skin, a coil tightening in your stomach, watching how Aaron was filling your pussy with his seed, almost too much that some of it spilled out after his shallow pounding.

“Look at this pussy, angel. Fuck. It’s so warm… feels like heaven…” Aaron moaned on the video, his voice rough, his thumb pressing hard circles on your aching cunt, making you clamp your legs a little.

“Moan louder, baby. I want to hear your pretty voice...”

You thrust in your middle finger in desperation, your eyes focused on your laptop screen. “Daddy… Oh my god…”

The camera focused on Aaron’s face as he caged his head in between your thighs. With his cum dripping out of your pussy, he gave your cunt a few teasing licks before finally slipping his tongue inside, moving it around with such expertise. As he continued tongue fucking your hole, his thumb was incessant on abusing your clit.

Once satisfied with your reaction: moaning like a whore and tugging on his hair, he thrusted in his cock once again.

“Daddy! D-daddy! I’m cumming!” Your hysterical moaning rang in the four corners of the room. “Gonna s-squirt. Fuck, daddy– yes! Yes, there, there! Oh m-my god, faster!”

“Oh, this spot right here, little girl?”

Your teeth sank on your bottom lip as you continued watching. Aaron suddenly took out his cock, slapping it against your clit with vigor. You eagerly watched how that pushed you on the edge. You squirted so hard some of Aaron’s cum dripped out, your legs trembling and tightening in so much pleasure.

The lewd sound of your wet cunt squelching was accompanied by your shameless moans. The video already ended on your screen but you can’t bring yourself to stop, too desperate to reach your incoming orgasm. Your fingers were already cramping in effort. God, how you wish Aaron was here to fingerfuck your pussy instead.

But a notification startled you out of your wits. Grounding you back to the reality that you’re actually fingering yourself in front of your laptop. You even forgot to block your camera.

The notification, luckily, was a FaceTime call from your boyfriend.

You quickly propped your legs down to the ground and fixed yourself. Trying to slow down your ragged breathing, you found yourself accepting Aaron’s call almost instantly.

“H-hi!” You greeted excitedly, combing your hair as you saw yourself on the screen. Hell, you looked fucked out. “Hi, love. Done for the day?”

Aaron’s eyes seemed to harden at the sound of your voice. His hair was damp as if he just got out of the shower. You can tell that he’s not wearing a shirt yet, beads of water cascading down his neck down to his chest.

“Yes, gorgeous. Am I interrupting something?” He prompted shortly, making you blush.

“N-no, not really… I was just writing…”

He hummed, shuffling on his bed. “Yeah, right. That’s exactly what I just saw, sweetheart.”

“What—” You frowned a little; until realization dawned on you. You quickly whipped your head in the direction of the CCTV. “Oh— you were watching?”

He chuckled softly, enjoying the look of embarrassment on your face. “You didn’t reply to my texts so I checked the security cameras on my laptop. And to answer your question, yes, dirty girl, daddy’s watching.”

“I’m sorry, daddy. I just missed you…”

“It’s alright, my love. I’m the one who should be sorry…” He assured you with an adoring smile. “Have you orgasmed yet, angel?”

You shook your head bashfully. “Not yet, daddy… you called so...”

“So it’s my fault again?” He teased, chuckling. “I can’t let my little girl not orgasm now, can I?”

You shook your head eagerly, unconsciously rubbing your thighs together as you listened to his mesmerizing, deep voice.

“Can you go back to your position earlier and show me your pretty cunt, little girl?”

You didn’t have to be told twice. You spread your legs in his command and propped it on both armrests, running your pointer finger up and down your wetness.

“I’m so wet, daddy. Was watching our videos…” You confessed sultrily.

A groan rumbled from Aaron’s chest with that. “I saw, baby. What were you watching exactly?”

“The one with— the one in the hotel. You shot a video of my pussy dripping full of your cum and you’re fucking me slowly…”

“I remember that…” He answered shortly, his piercing eyes focused on your fingers tracing slow circles on your aching cunt. “You squirted twice, didn’t you? One from daddy’s cock and one on my mouth. You taste like heaven, little girl. You’re making daddy hard.”

You blushed at his words. Aaron has always been good at talking in bed, he never failed to push you to orgasm with his dirty mouth. “Can I see, daddy, p-please?”

“See what, pretty girl?”

“You big cock, daddy, please? W-wanna see…”

“Rub your clit faster, baby. Go on…” He encouraged softly, palming his hardness through his sweatpants.

Carefully, he laid his laptop on the mattress, giving you a full view of him. Indeed, he was topless, and to your surprise, he was wearing gray sweatpants.

“Daddy…” You plunged in your middle finger, moaning at the sudden intrusion in your pussy. “I miss you. N-need you here…”

“I know, baby. I’ll be home quick,” He said assuringly, still rubbing the hardness outlining his pants. “I spent almost 4 hours fucking that pussy last night and I still can’t get enough. Fuck, angel, if only I can taste that wet cunt—”

A series of pained moans escaped your lips, adding another finger as you saw Aaron finally taking out his cock. With curious eyes, you watched as Aaron spat on his palm before rubbing the wetness on his veiny cock.

“D-daddy… Want your cock down my throat… then my pussy…”

You feel so wet the only thing you can almost hear in the room is the lewd squelching of your fingers assaulting your pussy. Aaron groaned at the sound.

“You’re so wet, baby. I want to suck on your clit as you cum from my fingers,” His eyebrows were tugged together in a frown as he matched the pace of his hand with your fingers. “Then I will fuck you with my big fat cock until you’re a drooling mess. Faster, baby. That’s it. Good girl…”

“Da... daddy!”

“Yes, angel. That’s it... faster, baby. You’re so pretty like that. God, look at that pussy, dripping and desperate to be filled...”

“Need you inside me, Aaron... want your cum...”

“You like that, baby? Like putting on a whore show for daddy?”

“I l-love it d-daddy… wanna p-please you always— oh god, Aaron!” Your legs trembled as you finally hit the spongy spot inside.

“Fuck… I want to pound that fucking pussy until it’s full of my cum…” His voice sounded breathless and restrained, throwing back his neck with his eyes closed to savor the dirty sounds you’re making. 

“O-oh! Want your cum inside… want you t-to breed me, daddy. Want your babies inside–”

“Fuck, angel. I’m not going to stop fucking you until you’re pregnant. Wait until I get back...” He moaned, thrusting on his fist hard and fast. “You’re such a good girl for daddy, baby… Cum for me, come on. Make me proud.”

Your vision blurred as your orgasm ripped through your body. You felt a wave of arousal leak through your pulsing cunt, squirting so hard it almost reached your laptop. Catching your breath, you clamped your legs together as your cunt clenched tightly around your fingers.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You’re going to be the death of me.” You heard Aaron mumbled quietly. And you could only giggle in exhaustion, voice too raw and fucked out to reply.

I suck at tagging, I know. As always, every thoughts and reactions are highly appreciated. Drink your water, babes, and slay!

[aventurineswife]

Hello! I was wondering if I could request Aventurine, Ratio and Dan Heng (separately) with a female S/O who never calls them handsome or hot because in her opinion that's overrated? And instead when she compliments their looks she always calls them something more poetic I guess, like "You're gorgeous", "mesmerizing" or just calls them pretty?

Please and thank you.

More Than a Pretty Face

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Romance, Fluff, Light Humor, Emotional Moments, Introspection.

Aventurine lounged on a velvet chaise in his opulent quarters, his earring catching the light as he idly shuffled a deck of cards. “Tell me, darling,” he said, flashing his signature smile, “on a scale from dashing to devastatingly gorgeous, where do I stand today?”

You chuckled from across the room, rolling your eyes as you adjusted a vase of desert lilies. “I’d say... clever. Maybe a touch insufferable.”

Aventurine’s smile faltered, replaced by a mock pout. “Clever? That’s all? You wound me.”

You turned to him, hands on your hips, your gaze warm but teasing. “Oh, come on. You don’t need me to inflate your ego. You’ve got mirrors for that.”

“True,” he admitted, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hand. “But a man like me thrives on compliments.”

You approached, your voice softening. “Then here’s one you don’t hear enough—you’re brilliant, Aventurine. The way you outmaneuvered those IPC board members today? It was genius. That’s why I’m with you. Not because of your looks.”

For a moment, his facade cracked, and the weight of your words settled over him. He reached for your hand, pulling you onto the chaise beside him. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

You smiled, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. “And you’re more than just a pretty face, even if you like pretending otherwise.”

Aventurine laughed, a genuine sound that filled the room. “Darling, you may be the only gamble I’ve ever taken that feels like a sure thing.”

Ratio was deep in thought, sketching out a complex theorem on his holographic tablet. You sat nearby, engrossed in a book, though your eyes occasionally flicked to him. The way the strands of his hair fell into his eyes, his intense focus—it was hard not to admire him.

“Something on your mind?” he asked without looking up, his sharp intuition catching your gaze.

You shrugged. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“How you’re... brilliant. And maybe a little intimidating.”

Ratio finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. “Brilliant, I’ll accept. Intimidating, though? That’s a first.”

You set your book aside, crossing the room to stand beside him. “You’re intimidating because you always seem so sure of yourself. Like there’s no challenge you can’t overcome.”

He leaned back in his chair, studying you with curiosity. “You could simply call me handsome, you know. It’s what most people resort to when they’re unsure how to express admiration.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Handsome is overrated. Plenty of people are handsome. But how many can look at a problem no one else can solve and find the answer?”

Ratio’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. “Flattery through intellect. Unexpected, but effective.”

You leaned down, brushing a kiss against his temple. “Good. Because that’s the kind of man I fell for—the one who challenges the universe, not just the mirror.”

Dan Heng sat in the archives of the Astral Express, organizing old data files with his usual quiet precision. You entered, carrying two steaming cups of tea. You set one beside him and took a seat across the table, watching him work.

“You don’t have to hover,” he said without looking up, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

“Who’s hovering? I’m just... admiring the view,” you teased.

Dan Heng’s gaze finally met yours, one eyebrow raised. “Admiring?”

You smirked, taking a sip of your tea. “What? You’re not used to me watching you?”

“I’m used to you avoiding words like ‘handsome’ or ‘hot.’ It’s... unusual.”

You set your cup down, leaning forward. “That’s because those words don’t do you justice. You’re more than that.”

His expression softened, the faintest hint of a blush coloring his cheeks. “More than that?”

“Yeah. You’re dependable. Thoughtful. A little too serious sometimes, but it’s part of your charm.” You reached across the table, taking his hand in yours. “You’re the kind of person people can rely on. That’s what makes you special, not just the way you look.”

Dan Heng’s silence spoke volumes, the weight of your words sinking in. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with genuine gratitude. “That means more than you know.”

You smiled, resting your chin in your hand. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me, Mr. Reliable.”

For the first time in a while, Dan Heng allowed himself a small, genuine smile. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[harryslittlefreakk]

my policeman

Summary: Harry is the police officer assigned to your case, though you are inexplicably drawn to one another 🤭 this will be the first instalment of a new series (if you guys like it lol)

Warnings: age gap romance, Harry is approx mid 40s and MC is early-mid 20s 🥰 smut!!

A/n: I hope you enjoy!! I really like this idea & the storyline so far for these two

You can join my taglist here! And my masterlist is here!! Happy reading 🫶🏼

“I need to speak to someone please, I’ve been mugged.”

You were panting, having run the ten minute journey to the police station from the bus stop. Someone had snatched the bulky work bag from your shoulder as you walked, then fled down a side street before you’d even had time to comprehend what had happened. Your natural instincts were to just run, and that’s exactly what you did. You ran until you stumbled through the police station doors, your heart still pounding with adrenaline.

“Styles!” the man behind the desk called out, an outstretched arm directing you to a closed door. You shuffled over, legs jelly after your spontaneous sprint. You weren’t sure whether to go through the doors or wait there, and the officer behind the desk had his back to you. But as you shifted awkwardly, the doors swung open, revealing possibly the hottest police officer you’d ever seen. He was old, older than you’d usually be interested in, but there was something about him. He was stocky and toned, grey streaks peppered through his deep brown curls. He smiled at you and extended his hand. "Officer Styles, but you can call me Harry.” Officer Harry Styles, the world’s sexiest police officer. You followed him down the corridor, into a tiny room with only a desk, a chair and a small sofa. It was cold and clinical, four grey walls lit by the same sort of lights you’d find in hospitals. It made you uneasy, but Harry’s eyes were laced with warmth as he looked over at you. "First of all, are you okay?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You whispered a quiet “yes”, your response barely audible, but Harry caught it. You felt vulnerable now, having been too close to danger and not realising it at the time. You’d lived in London for years, heard so many tales of rape and mugging but never experienced it yourself, or had it happen to someone close to you. You were lucky to only have your work bag taken and be left otherwise untouched, but you couldn’t help feeling shaken by the encounter. “I was mugged,” you told Harry.

“Did they hurt you?”

“No. Just took my bag.”

“M’sorry that happened to you,” he said. There was a slight northern twang to his voice, the kind that suggested he’d been in London long enough to start losing it, but been in the North long enough for the accent to be stubborn. “Did you get a look at them?” he asked, tapping his pen against the sheet of paper in front of him.

“No, they were already running before I turned around.”

“Where did it happen?”

“The bus stop near Florence Gardens, going towards the station.”

“What did they take? Any valuables?”

“My work laptop. And my lunchbox,” you told him, corners of your mouth turning up slightly at the thought of the thief finding your leftover pasta. “They were in my rucksack, I had my phone and keys in my pocket.”

“What does the bag look like?”

“Black, it’s leather. I can show you?”

You pulled up a picture on your phone and handed it to Harry, watching as he wrote down the details.

“Alright, give me 10 minutes to file this, okay? You’ll be okay waiting here?” He handed the phone back to you and stood up as you nodded, then strode toward the door, the glinting badge on his chest catching the light. You’d never had to deal with the police before, and always been a little bit scared of authority figures. But Harry was warm, he made you feel safe despite the circumstances that had brought you to the police station.

It wasn’t long before Harry was back, a thick puffer jacket now covering his torso and a huge tote bag slung over his shoulder. He reached out and gently placed a comforting hand on the back of your seat. “Come on, my shifts over so I’ll walk you home.” You smiled as you followed him out of the room, grateful beyond words for his company.

“Do you not have worse crimes to solve than my stolen lunchbox?” you asked him as you walked, somehow comfortable in his presence. “Not anymore,” he told you. “Been in the police for 25 years now. Did a lot of that but wanted to settle down the last few years, s’better for me like this.”

“Guess it’s nicer for your wife that you’re not out chasing murderers,” you quipped, earning a chuckle from Harry. "Yeah, m’sure she’d appreciate it if she hadn’t divorced me already," he said with a small smile. “I’m sorry,” you told him, glancing over to try to read his face. Truthfully, you were excited by the idea of him being divorced. It didn’t mean he was single, and it definitely didn’t mean he’d be into you, but it was one less hurdle in your mind. "It's alright," he said. "Sometimes things jus’ don't work out, you know?”

“Mm, I know. My flat’s just down here,” you pointed the way to Harry. He walked you all the way to the doorstep, staring up at the building. “It’s not the best area,” he told you. "Be safe, okay? If you need anything, or remember anything, don't hesitate to call," Harry told you, a touch of protectiveness in his tone as he took out his phone. He sent a text to your number so you could save his, then watched as you opened the front door. “Thank you Harry, for everything,” you smiled. “I’m only a call away,” he said, rubbing a hand on your forearm.

Jesus Christ. You collapsed against your front door as you got inside, heart racing from just a gentle touch. You’d get mugged every day if it gave you the chance to be around Harry more. The thought of seeing him again made your head pound, the fear and violation you felt earlier in the evening long forgotten.

Maybe it was a reaction to the weirdness of your evening, maybe it was a way to work through all the emotions you were feeling, but you found yourself reaching for your vibrator as you stepped out of your work clothes. Harry was all you could think about, his hands trailing down your body, his fingers pinching at your nipple, his mouth pressing hot kisses across your abdomen. You could almost feel him hovering over you, so close and yet not close at all. He would be authoritative, demanding you press the vibrator to your clit, his fingers beginning to pump inside of you as you writhed on the bed.

You were moaning into the ghost of his mouth, his nose brushing against yours as your core tightened, a rush of emotions filling you to the brim. It was too much, your toy working at your clit with the idea of Harry’s ringed fingers pounding at your pussy, your free hand gripping onto his loose curls. You were coming faster than you ever had, hips bucking as you screamed out his name.

It was borderline insane. Coming so fast and so heavily for a man you barely knew, crying out his name as if he were here, riding you through your high. You felt almost dirty as you chucked your vibrator to the side, too mentally preoccupied to even shower or eat before climbing into bed. You just wanted to dream of Harry, try to work through your delusions before you had to see him again.

—

Your thoughts of Harry came and went over the next few days. Your manager had suggested you work from home for a few days, your only route home from the office marred by your mugging. The four walls of your apartment felt too small, too closed in even before you had an imaginary Harry following you around. You’d tried to push him out of your mind, desperate to avoid a crush on a man you hardly knew. You did this all the time, it was a symptom of being chronically single. As soon as a man showed kindness towards you, you fell in love. Harbouring a crush on the police officer working on your case was bad news, and yet as you thought about him, his name flashed up on your phone.

“Hey, y/n. How are you?”

“I’m okay, you?”

“Better for hearing your voice.” You could almost hear the smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Listen, do you have time to swing by? Wanted to update you on a few things.”

“I can come now?” you offered. Working from home was slow, and you’d already completed your tasks for the day. So how could you wait any longer to see Harry again?

You looked over yourself in the mirror as you put the phone down, tightening your ponytail and smoothing a hand down the front of your top.

Harry was waiting in the reception area when you arrived at the police station, a big beaming grin sitting pretty between his dimpled cheeks when he saw you. Truthfully, he could have spoken to you over the phone, but he wanted an excuse to see you again. It was silly, childlike even, the way he’d racked his brain for reasons to call or message since he’d dropped you off at home a few days ago. He felt ridiculous, far too giddy over a girl far too young for him, but he couldn’t get you off his mind.

“We think we’ve located your bag,” Harry told you as he ushered you into the same room as before. “Really?” you squeaked. “It’s not 100% yet, but we have had a few more reports of thefts in the area. We’ve tracked down an address, and we’ll be going in this week.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you grinned, throwing your arms around him before your brain could stop you. Harry chuckled, wrapping a strong arm around your shoulders. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, before freezing. You’d both suddenly remembered where you were, who you were, and yet neither of you wanted to step away.

Harry gently squeezed you before saying, "It's all part of the job,” a small smile on his lips. There was something unspoken in the air as you stepped back, your gaze meeting his. “Sorry,” you muttered. His eyes were soft as he looked at you, reaching out to gently tuck a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

“You don’t have to apologise,” Harry told you, his lingering touch burning against your skin. You stared at each other wordlessly for a moment, tension heavy in the air, until a familiar call of Harry’s name broke the spell. You stepped further away from him, glancing down at the floor as the professional mask settled back into place on Harry’s face. “Thank you, Harry. I’ll see you later,” you smiled, turning your back on him.

—

You needed to distract yourself, arranging a last minute girls night to take your mind off of Harry. And yet, it was as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on you. The man you were specifically going out to forget was standing on the doorstep of your apartment building, hand poised to buzz your intercom as you opened the door. “Harry-” you started, unable to find any other, better words.

“Come to dinner with me,” he said, gaze trailing up and down your body. You were wearing your ‘good’ jeans, the ones that sucked you in in all the right places yet showcased your curves in all the best ones. You had more makeup on than he’d seen you in before, though your freckles and beauty spots still peeked through. The oversized leather jacket slung over your shoulders obscured the top half of your body, but Harry didn’t need to see any more to know just how good you looked. “Please,” he added, holding up a single red rose.

“Dinner with you,” you repeated, a little stunned by his offer. “Dinner.. with me. Should we say it once more for good luck?” Harry laughed. “Maybe once more,” you smiled, pulling your phone from your back pocket. need to cancel, something came up x you sent quickly to your best friends. “Where are we going?” you asked Harry, eyes locking back onto him as he walked back down the path. “In first, questions later,” he told you, unlocking his car and opening the passenger side door for you.

“You’re acting very murdery for a man of the law,” you laughed, sliding onto the seat. “It was a test, and you failed. Should never get in a strange man’s car,” he joked.

The drive was mostly silent, except for the rhythm of Harry’s fingers tapping against the steering wheel. You were suddenly nervous, mouth dry and heart pounding as you watched the city become a blur. The sun was starting to set overhead as you drove further from home, street lamps and homes beginning to light up around you. Harry glanced over at you, brows furrowed as he tried to read the emotion etched onto your face. “You okay?” he asked, resting a strong hand on your knee.

“Shy,” you smiled weakly. It had only just hit you that you didn’t know Harry at all, couldn’t even think of anything to say to cut through the silence. You wanted the evening to go well, wanted to explore the connection you felt with him. But if you stammered and stuttered all night long, you’d have to go into hiding before a future with Harry even became a possibility.

You watched him as he drove, brows knitted in concentration as he navigated the busy streets. You hadn’t even paid attention to what he was wearing before, and as your eyes wandered over his body, your jaw went slack.

Harry wore a loose white dress shirt that although slightly oversized, seemed to fit him perfectly. He’d left the top few buttons open, allowing glimpses of his toned physique. As he moved his hands around the steering wheel, the material of the shirt shifted, revealing intricate tattoos that adorned his arms and chest. You’d seen a couple on his arms, but the amount that littered the tanned skin of his torso made your heart race. With each tiny movement, his tattoos peeked through the fabric, muscles flexing underneath the inked skin. He was handsome in a way that was new to you, rugged and yet soft.

There was something about his age that drew you to him, his years on you more a challenge than anything. He clearly knew how to act and had no problems going after what he wanted, a world away from the men you knew who were all still stuck in their fratboy mindsets.

“We’re here,” Harry said, resting a gentle hand over yours to pull you from your daydream. He’d pulled up in front of a quaint pub. The bold blue exterior was littered with bright flowers in hanging baskets and window boxes. A crowd of merry customers had spilled out onto the pavement outside, the warm glow from the pub washing over them. “This is so cute,” you told Harry, following him through the open door. “Officer Styles!” a man called out from across the bar. Harry greeted him with a firm handshake, turning his ear to the man’s mouth to hear him over the music. It wasn’t long before he turned back to you, grabbing a hold of your hand to lead you up the stairs. “I did some work for the owner,” he told you, pulling open another door. “Don’t live far from here so I come often now. Good food and good views,” he smirked, stepping out of the way to reveal the scene set up for you.

The balcony was slim, only just wide enough to fit two small tables. One was set up for dining, a bottle of red perched among ice in the middle. The other was covered in candles, wax dripping around a beautiful bouquet in the centre. It was secluded and romantic, the dream setting for your first date with what could be your dream man.

You talked and laughed for what felt like forever, voice hoarse from giggling at Harry’s jokes. The sharing plates he’d ordered sat cold and forgotten in front of you both, almost empty glasses stained pink from the wine.

A hint of a smirk played on Harry's lips as his eyes trailed over yours. “Quickfire round, since I have a feeling you won’t let me kiss you until we know each other better. Family?”

“My brother’s younger, he’s in uni. Parents live by the coast,” you told him, heat rising through your core at the very idea of kissing him.

“My mum lives up north, got an older sister too. Hobbies?”

“I like painting. Don’t do it as much anymore but..” you let your voice trail off.

“But you’re going to paint me?” Harry grinned, turning his back to you and peering seductively over his shoulder. “Draw me like one of your French girls,” he drawled, a mocking glint in his eyes.

“Nuh uh. Got to answer or you’ll never get that kiss.”

“I don’t have hobbies. I like working out and like puzzles,” Harry shrugged.

“Typical old man hobby,” you laughed. Harry chuckled and shook his head. "Well, maybe I am an old soul trapped in a sexy young body," he replied with a playful grin. "Can't complain about that, right?"

You nodded, still amused by his choice of hobbies. "You’re right, I can’t.”

As your conversation continued, you and Harry discovered more and more about each other. Your dreams, fears, and your favourite childhood memories. You laughed and shared stories, the connection between you growing stronger with each passing moment.

“M’not ready to let you go yet,” Harry smiled, looking out over the river. It was almost totally dark now, the last rays of evening sunshine nearly vanished behind the horizon. You smiled back at Harry. “"I'm not ready to go either," you admitted, rolling your bottom lip into your mouth as you looked over him, taking in the beauty of the scene. He was the definition of a silver fox. You’d noticed heads turning as you left the pub, young (and older) women captivated by just a glance of Harry. Being the girl on his arm felt good, even if it was just for the evening.

“Let’s walk,” Harry told you, his fingers intertwining with yours. You strolled down the riverside hand in hand, chatting mindlessly. Harry shared stories of his childhood, his years working for a local bakery before he moved to London and joined the Met.

You felt so much comfort and warmth as you listened to Harry. His stories painted vivid pictures in your mind, a glimpse into his past giving you some understanding of the person he was. As the two of you continued walking, the sound of the flowing river created a soothing backdrop to your conversation. The setting sun was casting a golden glow over your surroundings, and you couldn't help but feel a growing connection with Harry. It was as if time stood still, and the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you in that moment.

You found yourself opening up to Harry, sharing your own stories. He listened attentively, his eyes filled with genuine interest and understanding. It was refreshing to be with someone who truly cared about getting to know you on a deeper level.

As the evening progressed, the conversation shifted towards more lighthearted topics. Laughter filled the air as Harry recounted some of the funnier people he’d encountered during his career. His animated gestures and contagious laughter made it impossible for you not to join in. There was a boyish charm behind his manly facade, and the more time you spent with Harry, the more you realized how effortlessly he made you feel at ease. There was a natural chemistry between you, a connection that went beyond words. It was a feeling of familiarity, as if you had known each other for years.

As darkness began to envelop you, Harry gently squeezed your hand, bringing your attention back to the present moment. You both paused, eyes trailing over the other’s features under the moonlight. Harry tugged on your arm quickly, pulling you towards the wall. Your heart quickened as his gaze fell to your parted lips, his body gently pressing your back into the brick. The light cast a soft glow on his face, lust etched into every line on his face.

You felt as if you were floating somewhere outside your body as Harry leaned in, his warm breath mingling with yours. His lips brushed against your own, gentle yet filled with an insatiable longing.

You responded eagerly, your hands instinctively finding their way to his waist. The kiss deepened, becoming a dance of lust and unspoken desires. Harry's lips moved against yours with a hunger that matched your own, his hands roaming your body. It had been a long time since a kiss had ignited a fire within your core, and yet you were burning brighter with every touch.

The taste of him was intoxicating, warm wine, sweetness and desire on his tongue leaving you breathless. He pressed you further into the wall, your bodies molding together perfectly as if they were made to be intertwined.

It had started to rain at some point, though you were too consumed by the raw passion that existed between you to notice the soft raindrops running down your skin. All you could focus on was Harry’s tongue licking into your mouth, a silent promise of the yearning and desire that he felt for you.

He pulled your bottom lip into his mouth before you both pulled away, breathless and panting. The world slowly came back into focus, but the sight of Harry before you nearly made your heart stop. The rain had soaked through his shirt, the thin material now translucent and dipping and weaving over his toned abdomen. His curls were slick against his forehead, raindrops lingering on the end of his eyelashes. His jaw was tense as he looked over your face, one hand gently grazing your waist. He was mesmerising, powerful and yet vulnerable as he stood soaked through in front of you.

You reached out with a gentle hand, pushing the wet curls from his face. But just as your swollen lips parted to speak, the heavens opened above you. It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of water over you and Harry, raindrops pelting you from every angle. You looked at each other in shock, a laugh tumbling past your lips.

Harry grabbed a hold of your hand and ran, the sound of your footsteps slapping against puddles breaking the silence of the now empty streets. You were barely able to hold yourself upright from laughter, falling into Harry’s body as your legs carried you closer to the car. His grip tightened on your wrist, guiding you through the dark paths.

As you reached the car, Harry fumbled with the keys, his hands shaking from the sudden cold. You stood beside him, shivers of adrenaline running through you. The rain smacked against the roof of the car as Harry unlocked it, pulling open the door for you. Even in the pouring rain, he was still a gentleman. You slid in quickly, the sudden warmth fogging up the windows.

You sat in silence for a moment, eyes trailing over each other as you caught your breath. A smile played on Harry’s lips as he looked at you, his hand coming up to brush your sodden hair from your face.

—

There was no way you could sleep. You’d been tossing and turning for at least an hour, the ache in your core too much to sleep on. All you could do was replay the evening in your mind, wondering exactly how you ended up alone in Harry’s bed.

“Here,” Harry handed you one of his T-shirts and some pyjama bottoms. “Shower’s through there, get yourself warmed up.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead as you headed into the bathroom, a tiny sigh of disappointment slipping past your lips. You were desperate for him to join you in the shower, craving more of his touch. A night of stolen glances and gentle touches had you burning up even before the kiss, but after seeing what Harry’s mouth was capable of, you were dying for more of him.

As the water washed over you, all you could think about was Harry’s lips on yours. The hunger in his eyes before he kissed you, the taste of red wine on his tongue.

—

“Would you not get in trouble for this?” you asked Harry, hands wrapped tightly around the hot chocolate he’d handed you. “Maybe. But once we have your stuff back, the case is over. They can’t say anything then,” he shrugged, turning to lean against the kitchen counter. He got more handsome every time you looked at him, as if that were even possible. Now, standing there with his old man plaid pyjama pants and a T-shirt tight against his muscular frame, you were left pressing your thighs together to keep the heat in. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“Can’t sleep either, huh?” Harry smiled from the sofa. You almost jumped out of your skin at his voice, having tried your hardest to creep silently into the kitchen. He looked adorable, tucked under a thick blanket with his long legs squashed up at the end of the sofa. “Just needed water,” you told him, grabbing an empty cup from the counter.

“Why don’t you want to share a bed with me?” you suddenly burst out, turning on your heel to face him. You weren’t going to beg, didn’t want to whine, but the words came out before you could stop yourself. Harry chuckled, padding over to join you by the sink. He pushed a strand of hair out of your face, cupping your cheek with his free hand. Pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, he whispered, “come on,” his voice low and husky.

You followed Harry out of the kitchen and back up the stairs, watching as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He patted his legs, signalling for you to join him. You straddled his thick thighs, eyes fixed on his as he looked over your body. In only his t-shirt and your tiny panties, you’d never looked more delicious to him. “I didn’t share a bed with you because I try not to sleep with women on the first date,” he told you, slipping a hand under your t-shirt before holding your waist with a firm grip. “And I wouldn’t be able to resist if I were in bed with you.” His eyes came to rest on yours, his pupils blown under thick eyelashes. “You don’t have to resist, Harry,” you replied, your voice small, barely slipping out past your heart pounding in your throat. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, one hand toying with the curls at the nape of his neck. His hand moved further up your body, thumb running over your nipple.

“Y’so beautiful,” Harry cooed, pulling your t-shirt off in one quick movement. He sat back for a second, an arrogant smirk pulling at the corners of his lips as he gazed over you. Hunger was written all over his face, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine.

He leaned in, his lips soft as they brushed against yours. Gentle, yet fuelled by desire. His tongue moved around yours, a delicate dance that left you breathless against his mouth.

Harry’s hands roamed your exposed skin, tracing patterns of heat and need. His touch was electric, insatiable as he gripped and groped at every bit of skin he could reach. He moved with purpose, tracing the curves and contours of your upper body. Every touch, every stroke, sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

His lips left yours, trailing a path of fire down your throat, a trail of goosebumps left in their wake. His breath was hot against your skin, his lips smooth as he suckled and nibbled at the sensitive flesh.

You shifted slightly on his lap, his hard cock nudging at your folds through his pyjama pants. The room was filled with a symphony of whispered moans and ragged breaths as you rubbed yourself on him, the soft scratch of Harry’s pyjamas between your thighs only adding to your desire. You needed him in a way that transcended reality, a hunger that went beyond the physical. Your yearning was deep in your soul as Harry’s hands continued to explore you, his touch more than just a physical sensation. It was a language of its own, speaking unbridled passion.

He wrapped an arm under your hips, lifting you up just enough to slip his pyjamas down his thighs. His cock sprang up between the two of you, grazing your entrance. You whimpered as his tip touched you, your head falling onto Harry’s shoulder. He stroked a hand down his shaft, hissing as his thumb brushed over the angry tip. He started to move you, not expecting you to want to ride him, but you wrapped a firm hand around his neck and shook your head softly, pulling your face from his shoulder to meet his eyes. “Like this, Harry,” you whispered, shifting in his grip until his head lined up with your folds. You pulled your panties to the side, your juices warm against his head.

“You’re on birth control?” he asked, voice strangled as he resisted the urge to push into you. You nodded, sinking down slowly until his thick cock was deep inside of you, splitting your walls wide open. A deep cry fell from your lips as you stilled, his shaft throbbing as it settled into you.

“So fuckin’ tight, kitten,” he drawled, lips planting hungry kisses along your jawline. His eyes were fixed on the mirror behind you, watching his hand grip onto the curve of your ass. His free hand slid under you, easing you up ever so slightly. You could feel him everywhere, in your stomach and in your throat as he pushed deeper into you. Your walls were threatening to burst around his shaft, the size of his cock scratching an itch you never knew you’d had. It was pure ecstasy.

“Harry,” you whined, gripping him tighter as you pushed your hips upwards, starting to find your rhythm. The burn was white-hot in your core, tingles of pleasure spreading through your body as you bounced up and down on his lap. Your nails raked down his back as he fucked into you, deep whines and moans being pulled from your mouth every time Harry’s cock hit your sweet spot. His strong arm was guiding your hips up and down, his free hand still exploring your body as he pressed kisses along your throat. You still wanted more of each other, still searching each other’s bodies as if you had been starved of touch for years.

You were as close as you could be to him, your bodies melding together with every push of his hips. Your clit was rubbing against the fabric of your panties with every movement, every slap of your cheeks against his groin sending you further into your spiral.

“You’re mine, all mine, huh?” Harry mewled against your skin, his lips moving down to find your nipple. He sucked and licked around the bud, his lips swollen and hot. “All yours,” you whined, your orgasm creeping up on you after Harry’s dominant ownership. He held you tightly, your trembling legs heavy on his arm despite how light you felt. You were sure you could take flight in that moment, pleasure coursing through you with every buck of his hips. You threw your head onto his shoulder as you came, a strangled cry pushing past your dry lips.

Your walls tightened around his cock, his lips pressing a tiny moan into your skin. He flipped you over once your breathing slowed, the new angle pushing his cock deeper into you. Harry splayed a hand across your stomach, feeling where he was fucking into you. His eyes were dark as he looked down at you, watching the way your tits bounced with every rock of his hips. His thrusts started to get sloppier, his hips knocking into you harder as he came close to his high. You could feel him throbbing inside of you as he panted, jaw slack as he pulled out of you quickly. One hand stroked the length of his cock as he came, his come splashing violently all over your chest. You released the hand gripping his shoulder to swipe a finger through the puddle, licking it from your fingertip hungrily. “So fuckin’ perfect,” he drawled, chest heaving as he watched you.

You were more content in that moment than you’d ever been, silently thanking whoever had decided to steal your bag. If it was all an insane plan to get you here, covered in Harry’s come, you’d thank them every day for the rest of your life.

taglist: @sleutherclaw @slutforcoffein @harrysolaf @opheliaofficial07 @dragonslayersupremacy @nikkisimps @michellekstyles @im-an-overthinker @fangirl7060 @indierockgirrl @palmettogal508 @thereunion1d @hannah9921 @harryshotpocket @daphnesutton @tenaciousperfectionunknown @thegrapejuiceblues1982 @mema10 @annageeeezzzz @cicicavill7 @drewsephrry @tswiftsgf @ashleighsss @bikestyles @he6rtshaker @prettygurl-2009 @softestqueeen @jerseygirlinca @teammom4 @chesthairrry @golden-hoax @lilfreakjez @swag13r @cursingatdaylight @s-h-e-l-b-e-e

[ckret2]

In honor of the fact that this week we're back to present day, I present you a lovingly rendered illustration in which absolutely nothing of interest is happening.

Welcome back to that fic about human Bill Cipher being the Mystery Shack's prisoner, but like, it's a kinda chill prisoner situation now, chapter 79 (we updated the numbering). Nothing happens this chapter! They return from fishing, a goat bothers Bill, fish are deboned, Bill and Dipper experience a moment of common ground and hate it, Mabel misunderstands mermaid reproduction, Bill lies to Stan about Chinese philosophy, and Ford and Bill discuss the mysterious lack of pockets in women's pants.

I'm deliberately picking the most mundane parts of this chapter but seriously not a bunch happens this week. We're easing back into things after the roller coaster that was the Axolotl arc... and more importantly, we're setting up for next chapter.

####

When they'd parked at the shack, the Ramirezes got out of the truck with no trouble; but as soon as Bill stepped foot on the ground, Gompers was butting into his leg and bleating.

"Hey, what—?"

Gompers shoved his nose into Bill's palm and licked his fingers.

He jerked his fingers out of range. "Whoa, hairy. A little personal space. I had one snack for you, that's it."

Gompers stared at him reproachfully.

Well, if he wanted more, the nutrition pill Bill fed him before the fishing trip must not have had any ill effects. The pills passed the poison test; Ford hadn't been trying to pull the old "wrap a drug in cheese to sneak it down the throat of a dog or recalcitrant psych ward patient" trick.

Either that, or the pills were laced with something a goat wouldn't readily notice. Or Ford had only poisoned a couple and was willing to wait for Bill to do himself in at some random point in the future.

Bill decided to add the nutrition pills to his emergency supplies anyway. There might be a day when he'd need that food badly enough to risk it.

"Do I look like your private chef?" He pushed Gompers's nose aside. "Get outta here."

Gompers bleated petulantly and sulked his way toward the forest.

"Bill!" Mabel shouted at him from over the roof of Stan's car. "Why didn't you tell me you have a birthmark!"

"A—? What, you mean this?" He gestured in a line from his left shoulder to his right hip, following the path of the fatal wound that had cracked his soul in half. "Nobody told me I was supposed to!" Right, she hadn't had a chance to see the mark until the fishing boat got back, and then they were all distracted by the circling threat of taxpayer-funded eagles. She'd better not get fixated on his rebirthmark. Just talking about it made the cracked edges of his death wound itch beneath his shirt.

"It's cool! It looks like the Milky Way!"

Bill considered that. "Huh! Whaddaya know! I guess it kinda does." Just the thought that the crack in his soul was full of stars made it itch less. He smiled.

"I guess it's something you have in common with Dipper."

He stopped smiling. He caught Dipper's eye, they mutually grimaced, and Dipper tugged his hat down lower over his forehead and hurried indoors.

Bill said, "If you start calling me 'Milky,' I'll—" Well, he couldn't threaten to kill her, she'd never believe that. "I'll uncap all your markers and leave them in the sun."

"What! I wasn't going to, jeez."

As Bill caught up with Mabel—waiting for him out on the porch after the other adults had filed in—he distracted her from his heinous threat by poking her in the arm and saying, "Hey, I saw you make the catch of the day! Nice work, Shooting Star."

Her face lit up. "Yeah, look!" As they walked inside, she pulled out all her photos and shuffled through them until she found the one showing off her catch. "Isn't he amazing? He'd make beautiful baby mermaids."

Bill had just received a fleeting glimpse into a fantastical world inside Mabel's mind where mermaid reproduction was much more fascinating than it was in reality. He decided it would be a crime to correct her. "Boy, you're telling me."

He was trying to figure out how to casually work the suggestion that the golden trout was sacred to the Masons into the conversation when Mabel gave him a mischievous grin and said, "And I saw yooou talking to Wendy's friends. About yourself."

Bill's heart leaped into his throat. "You what? No you didn't. What?"

"Yeah you diiid! Telling them all about how you met the 'triangle guy'?" Mabel gave him the biggest most obvious wink in the history of unsubtle subtle looks.

"How...?"

"Oh yeah, didn't I mention?" Mabel said casually, examining her nails. "I'm psychic now."

Bill gaped at her as he mentally ran through all the possible timelines he knew of where Mabel gained psychic powers and tried to figure out which one they'd veered into. Had she gotten a wish out of the golden trout after all—?

She burst out laughing. "You bought it!" She stuffed the photos away, dropped onto the sofa, and pulled out her phone. "No, I'm in a group chat with Tambry. She's my meme dealer."

"Oh." Well, now he felt stupid. He knew about that meme chat. He griped, "You're playing dirty."

In response to this dire accusation, Mabel blew a raspberry. She held her phone up to Bill. "Look!" He sat by her to look.

Tambry had sent a message that read "u & ur bro looked sooooo cool out there (lol not)" accompanied by the video she'd taken of Mabel and Dipper trying to arm wrestle Bigflipper. Faintly in the background of the audio, Bill could hear Nate and Robbie talking: "Hey Robbie, think I could beat him?" "Pfff, no," then Tambry's much clearer voice, "Bet Wendy could."

And then his own voice, obviously talking twice as loud as the teens even though he was farther from the mic than Tambry: "Buuut anyway, yeah, I might've talked to the triangle guy a couple, several times."

Mabel's snicker drowned out Nate's response.

Bill shoved her head. "Hey, they're the ones that started talking about me! They were dying to talk about me!"

"Sure, Bill." Mabel elbowed him. "Hey, want me to see if I can get them to invite you to hang out?"

"Hmm! Is Tambry the kind of teen that isn't too proud to take advice from a 13-year-old?" Not that he didn't like the offer, but Bill could hardly accept Mabel's help if it would lower his coolness in the eyes of his budding worshipers.

"Oh yeah, she's fine! She commissioned matching gothy friendship bracelets for her and Robbie."

Then Tambry would probably go along with it. "Great. You're officially my agent now." 

"Yesss!"

The harder question was whether Ford would go with it. "Buuut let's hold off on arranging anything. I don't think my reputation would ever recover if they invite me out and I have to tell them I can't come out to play because I'm still grounded." He supposed if the teens ever met up at night, he could sneak out; but eventually somebody in the shack would desperately need to talk to him at 3 a.m., and once they knew he had a way to escape unaided he'd have no choice but to bail on the town and move in with his cultists before the Pines could lock him up again. His cult would be far more accommodating hosts—but that would set his progress back significantly. Besides, the self-professed Cipherwives were desperately clingy in a way that was only sexy for the first week or two before it started to get grating. He'd prefer to deal with them in short bursts.

"Right," Mabel groaned. "If you don't get out soon, it'll mess up all my plans!"

"Oh, yeah?" He was pleasantly surprised to hear she was up to some sort of mischief that needed his unique capabilities. "What kind of plans?"

"No kind until you're free." She frowned, chin in her hands. "How do we get them to okay you going outside more...?"

Bill could feel the muscles in one cheek work as his mouth twisted into a rueful half smile. "If I think of anything, you'll be the first to know."

####

"Heya, St—"

"Stay outta the kitchen," Stan snapped.

Bill froze with one foot through the doorway. "Whoa, you're really ramping up my food restrictions."

"No! I'm using a knife, I don't want you near it." He waved the knife demonstratively. He was currently deboning the fish they'd caught at the lake.

"Aww, so thoughtful of you! But you don't need to worry about me, I know how to handle myself around a knife."

"Uh-huh, that's what I'm afraid of."

Bill sighed loudly, leaned in the doorway, and crossed his ankles.

He watched Stan work for a couple of minutes. "Wow. You're so slow at this."

"Shut up," Stan said, squinting as he tried to pick the ribs out of his current fish.

"I'm falling asleep watching you."

"I'd like to see you do better!"

"I could do better! I could debone a guy in seconds."

"Ha."

"No knife. Just my bare hands."

"Ha!"

"Zhuang Zi wrote about the technique." Loftily, Bill added, "That's a Chinese philosopher, by the way, since I know  you don't know. See the trick is you've got to slide your fingernails into the gaps between the meat and the bone—"

Stan smacked down the half-deboned fish, gestured at it, and said, "All right. Then let's see you do it." He stared expectantly at Bill.

Bill stared back.

Stan kept on staring. He spread his hands. Well?

Bill said, "All right, get over here."

"Why?"

"So I can debone you, genius."

Stan paused, debating whether he was willing to call Bill's bluff and risk the possibility that he did know some kind of deboning magic; then he marched up to Bill, crossed his arms, and said, "All right. Do your worst."

Bill eyed him warily. "Fine. Hold on." He stuck the tip of his thumb between his teeth.

"What—what are you doing?"

Between gritted teeth, Bill said, "What do you think, Goofus? Getting a fingernail I can slide between your meat and bones." He pulled out his thumb to give it an irritated look. "Wow, this one's stuck on tight." Back to biting.

"Forget it." Knowing Bill, he really would bite off his own thumbnail just to prove a point.

"Too scared to risk it, coward?"

"No, I just need my bones today." Stan returned to the fish and resumed deboning. "Whaddaya want, anyway. Trying to get in the fridge?"

"No, I'm here about the fish." Bill pointed at the pile of discarded bits growing by Stan's elbow. "If you're not using the heads and spines, I want them."

Stan looked at him suspiciously. "What for?"

"Funsies."

"What?"

"Fun," Bill said, "sies."

"That's not a word."

"Fine. Secret esoteric demon purposes."

"Why would I let you take them for demon purposes!"

Maybe that hadn't been the best excuse he could have pulled out. He decided to double down on it. "Oh, so suddenly this household is prejudiced against demons?"

Stan could sense a looming stupid argument. He decided he wanted nothing to do with it. "Are you gonna use them to stink up the place?"

"Not deliberately."

"Are they for some... curse or hex or something?"

"Nope!"

"Are you gonna injure or kill anyone."

"I feel like I'm letting you down, Stanley! Tell you what, give me three minutes and I'm sure I can think of a way to murder you with a fish head."

"Just take the dumb things."

"So generous of you." Bill swooped in to scoop up the heads and spines (while Stan held the filet knife well out of Bill's reach) and, rather than ask Stan to open one of the cabinets for him, grabbed a couple of dirty bowls from the sink and a bottle of dish soap so he could scrub them himself. "Enjoy your fish mutilation! I know I will!"

He washed the bowls in the bathroom and half filled one with water—as much as it infuriated him, it really wasconvenient to be able to access the main bathroom without having to ask—and returned to his room. He tugged the console table from the wall to beside his sofa, set the bowls on it, and started picking the meat Stan had missed off the spines. (He wished he could still debone a man in seconds.)

He'd hardly cleaned a few ribs when he saw Ford ducking into the room a few minutes in the future. He sighed. Really? What did Ford want. Bill kept working as he awaited the arrival, but now he was irritated about it.

Footsteps trudged up the stairs; and Ford pulled open the curtain. "Bill—" Ford yanked shut the curtain. "Why! Aren't you wearing a top!"

"To make sure you never forget to knock before barging into my room again!" Bill pulled his t-shirt back on and called sweetly, "Come in."

Ford peeked through the curtain to make sure Bill had replaced his shirt and hadn't done something like remove his bikini bottom. Bill pretended he wasn't paying attention to Ford's reaction. He kept picking off meat as he said, "I'm still better dressed than you, at least." (Ford had pulled on the coat he'd retrieved from Bigflipper without washing it, and was wearing the one brown boot he'd fished out of the lake with one black boot.) "You smell like five different gallons of stink in a two ounce cologne bottle."

"Don't act like you care." Ford apparently concluded it was safe to re-enter. His face was bright red and twice as stern-looking as it had been the first time. Hilarious how humans' capillaries did that. His eyes caught on the bowl of fish bits, and he asked warily, "What do you have those for?"

Bill picked up one of the fish heads, made direct eye contact with Ford, popped out one of its eyeballs, and ate it.

"Oh." If Bill didn't know better, he would have thought Ford looked disappointed. (What, because he couldn't yell at Bill about using magic in the shack?)

"If that's all you wanted to know..." Bill gestured toward the stairs.

"No, actually. Just—got distracted."

"By what?" Bill batted his eyelashes. "Saw something you liked?"

Witheringly, Ford said, "You know I didn't." (Bill barked a laughed. Yeah, he did know.) "No, I uh..." He grimaced. "I needed to... ask for—information."

The smirk faded from Bill's face. "Oh. Did you." He returned his attention to picking flesh from fish bones. "Well, isn't that a shame! Because I'm not holding office hours. The professor's retired."

"It could affect you, too."

Bill rolled his eye spectacularly. "Fine." He flicked a needle-thin rib bone toward Ford. "State your case."

"Those government agents who were at the beach," Ford said. "The same ones that were here last summer. What do they want? Where are they from?"

Oh, them. No surprise that the humans were worried, though. Bill himself didn't know what could possibly have brought the eagles to town unless it was Trembley (which didn't seem likely to take them to the lake) or the portal (which Bill did not want them to meddle with).

Truth be told, seeing them made Bill nervous, too. "All right," he said. "I can tell you something about them."

"What?"

"You're wrong: they don't affect me too!" Bill waved cheerily at Ford. "Byyye! Leave." Truth be told be damned, who wanted to tell the truth?

"Oh, come on, you have to give me something," Ford said. "That's what you do. You—you taunt! Drop hints!"

"And look where that got me!" He gestured theatrically at his surroundings. "Stuck in a sack of meat on Earth's ugliest couch! When's the last time that giving you my knowledge benefitted me?"

Coldly, Ford said, "I believe it was when you conned me into building your portal so you could invade my universe."

"Yeah, see?" Bill said. "It's been over thirty years since I got anything in return for teaching you! Everything I've told you since then has been used against me."

Ford took in a deep breath, held it for a moment as he thought, and let a long, frustrated sigh out his nostrils. Humans breathed so expressively. "The last time you didn't share what you knew, you almost got us all killed by an invisible axolotl."

Bill fixed Ford with a sharp look. "Oh! So if I don't tell you what you want to know, you're planning to drag me on another forced march!"

Ford winced. Oh good, his conscience had finally kicked in. "No. I'm not."

"Great! Because I've decided if you ever do that again, I'd rather die and take my chances with the afterlife. And then we both get to find out whether I get my real form back."

"Noted."

"Got any better offers?"

Ford thought. He rummaged around in his pockets. "I haaave... Bigflipper's wallet?"

"Ooh." Bill eyed it. "Real leather?"

Ford flipped it open. "There's a stamp that says 'Vera Pelle'."

"Oooh, Italian leather," Bill said. "You speak Italian with a bad Latin accent, by the way."

"I didn't ask. Is this good enough?"

"Wallet with its contents?"

"Just the wallet, for starters." He flipped through the wallet's contents as he said, "We discuss the rest for more information." He saw something he apparently liked, made a little impressed noise, and took one of Bigflipper's cards to slip into his pocket.

Bill was loath to give Ford anything. But now that they were hopefully past the point where Ford felt like he had the moral high ground if he refused Bill's terms by dropping him in an ice cold bath tub, it might be to Bill's benefit if he could finally train Ford to expect favors for favors. "I can give you their department's name."

"If I have their name, is that enough information to find out anything useful about them?"

Probably not! "That's your problem, not mine."

Ford shut the wallet. "Either increase your offer or no deal."

Oh, the little snot thought he got to negotiate? "Eh." Bill shrugged. "What do I need a wallet for anyway? It's not like women's clothing has pockets to keep it in."

Ford sighed in frustration. "Do you even know who they are?"

"Do I know who they are?! Do you know who you're talking to? I've taken control of their secretary while she was getting her appendix out! I... Oh! Nope, you're not tricking me into that!" Bill waved Ford away. "Get out of here. I'm not giving you anything."

"Fine. Sorry I asked." Ford pushed through the curtain and left.

And was back a moment later. Bill stared at him expectantly.

Tentatively, Ford asked, "Does women's clothing really not have pockets?"

"They're either tiny or decorative."

"Really? Why?"

"So Big Fashion can sell 'em purses."

"Huh." Ford considered that as he let the curtain fall shut again.

There went Bill again, showing off how much he knew. "Hey—you owe me two bucks for that pearl of wisdom!" Well, he'd just refuse to tell Ford anything next time until he'd paid for the pocket thing.

He turned back to his fish bones. Now that Ford was gone and he wouldn't be interrupted for a while, he could actually get to work.

He cracked open the four fish skulls and carefully scraped their brains into the empty bowl; and then took the first of the spines he'd cleaned off, cracked open the vertebrae along the neural canal, and scraped the spinal cord into the bowl as well. He got to work cleaning the next spine off enough to retrieve its spinal cord.

In his true, proper, triangular form, when he was a being of pure energy unencumbered by mortal flesh and bone, he could invade and control anything with neurons. (Potentially, anyway. If someone else was already using those neurons, Bill had to get their soul out of the way before he could fully take over—but that didn't apply to four dead fish.) He'd had a little book made some centuries ago, in fact, that operated on the same principle: a book whose pages were made out of pulped and pureed human brains, so that Bill could remotely control the pages, see through them, and change their very contents. It was a masterpiece of necromantic magic; a human body disassembled and rebuilt—brain, spine, skin, eyes, blood, teeth—into an awful awesome tome; a miraculous product of interdimensional enchantments and alchemical science; and far and away the coolest coffee table book Bill had ever owned.

It had also been less than worthless. What a waste of perfectly good pulped brains. If he'd used them to print postcards to solicit mail-in political donations they wouldn't have been half as useless. He wasn't even sure what dimension the dumb book had ended up in.

Still. He kinda missed his cool, useless coffee table book. And even though a book of neurons couldn't do anything for him now, if he ever got back his possession powers (when, he reminded himself—when, when, when, not "if," when), it might be useful to have a book designed for that purpose already prepared. Maybe gifted to his cultists, so he could keep in contact with them?

And it would be really satisfying to turn one of Ford's own precious journals into another of Bill's puppets.

Once he'd retrieved all the spinal cords, he poured a little water at a time from the other bowl, mashing the brains and cords and mixing them into a thinner and thinner slurry. He had to make enough of this stuff to let him spread it across every page in Journal 4, but he wasn't sure how much he could dilute the neurons before there wouldn't be enough per page to let Bill control them. Usually he could just check by slipping right into the neurons and seeing if he had enough there to work with, but that wasn't exactly an option right now.

There'd be more brains later. For now, he'd just do what he could.

As he retrieved Journal 4 from its hiding spot, he mused to himself that things really were starting to turn around. A month ago, if he'd tried to drive Ford out of the room by doing something as simple as taking a layer of fabric off his torso, he had no doubt that Ford not only would have refused to leave, but might even have found some way to punish Bill for daring to try to weaponize his own body and the humans' taboos around it. But no—he'd immediately backed out of the room, and hadn't even tried to spout any tedious nonsense about not being able to trust Bill with as basic a privilege as privacy in his own room. Bill hadn't expected Ford not to argue.

Good news: it meant that the Pines were starting to subconsciously treat him like a person instead of like an animal, if they were now including him in their nudity taboo.

Bad news: it meant they were seeing him as human.

Well—take any silver linings you can find and ignore the clouds. The more they saw him as a human, the less they'd try to prevent him from escaping his human body.

Bill popped another fish eye in his mouth, glanced toward the future to make sure nobody would come by for a while, and started painting brains onto Journal 4's pages.

####

Thanks for reading, looking forward to hearing y'all's comments! Next chapter is the start of the arc y'all have been waiting for since like April last year: Bill Cipher seduces a government agent.

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (pt. 2)

—

Tw: N/A

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) - (Pt. 3 here)

(Masterlist/subscription post)

—

It was a beautiful morning. Somehow, against all odds, the sun was shining through the thick smog perpetually covering Gotham.

And Danny hated it.

He was in pain, he was exhausted, he was grieving, and all he wanted to do was sleep for at least a week.

In an act of celestial mockery, the sun shone regardless.

After around twenty minutes of tossing and turning in bed, trying to get back to sleep, Danny gave up and pried himself out of bed.

He stumbled through the hallway and into the living room, staring openly at every splash of color he saw in the small apartment. He hadn’t forgotten what color looked like in the time he was in the lab, but it was comforting to see.

Someone cleared their throat. Danny whipped his head around, eyes falling on a scrawny, gangly man sitting down in a worn armchair, hunched over a laptop. He was looking at him with a dull, bored expression.

Right. Scarecrow.

His escape.

The chase.

His mom.

“You look a lot less terrifying without the mask,” Danny blurted out, slapping his hand over his mouth. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t call my normal appearance frightening,” Scarecrow hummed, focusing his attention back onto the laptop, “that’s what the costume is for, after all.”

“Oh.”

After a brief moment of excruciating silence, Scarecrow spoke.

“You any good with computers, Danny? Hacking, and all that?”

Danny jolted. Scarecrow needed his help with something! This was great! Now, he’d have more of a reason not to get rid of him!

“Oh, uh, yeah! Not as good as my friend Tucker, but I think I’m pretty good.”

“And you’re familiar with the GiW’s systems specifically,” Scarecrow continued, beckoning him over. Danny complied, shuffling over awkwardly. “Right?”

“Well, I guess? My friends and I got into their stuff a couple of times before they…”

“Wonderful,” Scarecrow said, standing up with a stretch. He shoved the laptop into Danny’s hands and gestured for him to sit down on the couch. “Then you can hack into their system and extract whatever files you can find.”

Danny stared at the man like he’d lost his mind. He looked back at him expectantly.

Danny sat down.

“Yeah, I-I can do that. Tuck and I built a back door into their system ages ago,” he said, checking the screen. It was clear that for all the skills that Scarecrow had, hacking was definitely not one of them. “But, uh, don’t you have someone else that usually does this sort of thing for you? Not that I’m complaining!”

Scarecrow scowled, and Danny felt his heart fall into his ass.

“Usually, I do,” Scarecrow huffed, “but I chose to leave my most recent job with the Penguin early, so now there’s no way that he or Eddie will help me with anything until I make it up to them somehow.”

“Oh,” Danny said.

He had no clue whatsoever who Eddie was.

Danny got to work quickly, hoping that if he ignored the gangly man, he would leave him be. Luckily, he did just that, leaving to go work on something in another room.

Danny checked the laptop’s security before continuing Scarecrow’s progress, making sure that the GiW wouldn’t be able to grab their location.

It was…threateningly good. Whoever Eddie was, he had somehow crammed the functionality of a top-of-the-line PC into a tiny, beat-up old laptop. It almost reminded Danny of Tucker and his terrifying competence with his PDA.

Tucker.

Amity park.

Home.

Danny snapped himself out of his thoughts, tabbing back into the application Scarecrow had up and began to work his magic.

He had near full access to the entire GiW database within half an hour.

Mumbling out a quick thank-you to Tucker, he called Scarecrow over to appraise his work.

“Fixed up some food for you while you worked,” the rogue said, handing him a bowl of oatmeal, taking the laptop into his lap as he did so, “didn’t know how well you could eat, considering you’re recovering from… surgery, so I decided to stay on the safe side.”

Danny had no clue what this guy’s deal was.

He definitely did not tear up at the first genuine thoughtfulness he encountered in weeks, and he did not look away as he ate so that Scarecrow couldn’t see his face.

At least Scarecrow was too focused on the laptop to notice or care.

Or, maybe, he was just mercifully ignoring him.

Either way, Danny ate slowly, not wanting to make himself sick. He allowed himself to absentmindedly look around the room for the first time, taking everything in.

It was strangely homey. The space was filled with warm browns and yellows, a few splashes of color on the wall in the form of (obviously gifted) paintings. There was a beat-up bookshelf against the wall, clearly second-hand, filled to the brim with psychology books. On every available surface there was a different colored candle, all at different stages of use, clearly collected over the course of years.

Danny knew that the man next to him was a crazed, murderous criminal, but his home was oddly reminiscent of Jazz.

He was not about to cry.

“Danny,” Scarecrow hummed, snapping him out of his spiraling, “can you explain this to me?”

He looked over. The rogue was pointing to a new report, seemingly posted only a few hours ago.

Nodding, he took the computer into his lap, pouring over the contents.

He read the report again.

And again.

And again.

Danny swore loudly, crumpling like a wet paper bag, head in his hands.

“What?”

“It’s…” he swore again, glancing back at the laptop, “they…since you became liminal from synthetic ectoplasm, when we’re within about 500 meters of one another, our ectoplasm signatures resonate, and they can’t track us with any of their technology.”

“How is that a bad thing?”

“If we’re not that close to each other, they can track us down from anywhere in the world.”

Scarecrow went dead quiet. After what felt like the single longest minute of Danny’s life, he let out a truly exasperated sigh, slumping over in his seat.

“Yeah, me too,” Danny mumbled, utterly miserable.

“…I’ll have to move my plans back a little,” Scarecrow sighed, “I can’t drag an injured child with me when I attack the Gotham GiW base, you’ll just get in the way.”

“Oh come on,” Danny whined, “I can take care of myself just fine. Besides, Batman brings kids with him to do dangerous stuff all the time, and he’s fine!”

“Might I remind you that the second Robin died violently,” Scarecrow snapped, “and that Batman most likely has more traumatic brain injuries than all of the Gotham rogues combined. That really isn’t the winning argument you think it is.”

Danny paused, trying to think up some way to win the argument. Then, he realized what he had ignored before.

“Wait, Scarecrow, you’re gonna attack the GiW?”

“That’s the plan,” he nodded, “and call me Dr. Crane. I’m only Scarecrow when I’m in the mask.”

But,” Danny sputtered, “Sca—uh, Dr. Crane—that’s insane! The weapons they’ve got- they’ll rip you apart!”

“Not my first time,” Crane said, making Danny wince. “Besides, I have plenty of experience avoiding gunfire. I’ll live.”

“You…” Danny was silent for a while, trying to think of something to say, “fine, but you have to take me with you wherever you go. As soon as they see either of us on their radars, they’ll hunt us down.”

Dr. Crane sighed.

“…Fine. I need some time to plan anyways. Now, you’re going to help me download these files, properly format them, and send them out.”

“…Why?”

“Well, some of the other rogues might appreciate the heads up, and I’d quite like them to be indebted to me. Besides, I still need to pay back the Penguin for ditching him, and he loves knowing things that other people don’t.”

Danny paused.

“That’s an awful idea, no offense. If any of the rogues know our weaknesses, they—”

“Danny, we’re censoring everything. The only things they need to know about are the GiW specifically, and any sort of laws surrounding them.”

Danny snorted.

“You care about laws now?”

“Yes, because if we get taken to Arkham, they’ll hand us off to the GiW the moment they ask, and it’ll be completely legal.”

Oh. Danny had honestly forgotten that Arkham was an option.

“…Ok. I’ll help you. Who are we telling?”

“I don’t think you really need to know,” Dr. Crane said, the faintest shadow of an amused look on his face, “but I’ll humor you for now. We’re sending the files out to the Penguin, Riddler, Poison Ivy via Harley Quinn, Two-Face, and Red Hood.”

Danny nodded. He could live with that.

“Alright, then let’s get to work.”

—

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

Shaking (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: You have an anxiety attack in a public setting, but luckily, the doctor is there to help you through it.

Word Count: 2450

Warnings: Anxiety attack, mild cursing, mostly just ANGST and then comforting FLUFF

A/N: Wanted to write Spence comforting the reader during a panic attack. Fanfiction is better than therapy, right? At least, it’s cheaper! Also not my GIF

——

“You don’t want to just order it online?” Spencer asked as you walked beside him down the sidewalk. His longer legs would typically mean that he’d be several steps ahead of you, but he always slowed his pace so you wouldn’t have to strain to keep up with him. He also walked on the outside of the path because, let’s face it, he was a gentleman.

You shook your head. “No, I want the whole experience,” you said excitedly as you walked, your face lighting up in anticipation. You were on your way towards a local bookstore, where the third book in your favorite series was being released today. The bookstore was going to be packed, but you were so excited to be one of the first ones in the door, to get your hands on a physical copy. “I don’t ever do things like this, but it’ll be something I think about every time I look at the book sitting on my shelf.”

Spencer nodded, lifting his hand, his thumb and forefinger in an O-shape as he spoke. “Ah, the age-old concept of symbolic treasures. One of the main reasons why souvenirs are such a prevalent part of going on vacation. Did you know the tradition dates back to Ancient Egypt?”

You shook your head as you continued to walk with him. Your boyfriend carried on without fault. “As far back as 2200 B.C, Egyptian Prince Harkhuf traveled to what is now known as Sudan and returned with all sorts of objects to present to his father, the pharaoh,” Spencer explained. His words spat out quickly, compulsively, as though they had to exit his encyclopedic brain. “He brought back items such as incense, ivory, even the skins of leopards to show off to his father.”

“I had no idea,” you told Spencer as you neared the bookstore, smiling sideways at him. You loved it when he spouted off facts like that, like he had to get the information out or else he’d explode. He had confessed to you more than once before that most people found it weird or off-putting or even annoying, but not you. Rather, you loved learning new things. Whatever information he had to share with you was always relevant in one way or another, and it was just one of the reasons why you loved spending time with him - he made you a more knowledgeable, well-rounded person.

Before either of you could say much else, you’d reached the back of the line of the bookstore. You checked the time on your phone. The store would open in about fifteen minutes. The line stretched down at least a full block, from what you could see. Lots of people dressed like characters from the books, shuffling their feet in excited anticipation.

There were at least a hundred people in the line, and after a minute or two, a couple dozen more had filed in behind where you stood. You pursed your lips for a moment, scanning the crowd until your eyes met Spencer’s.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, inclining his head to the side.

You shook your head. “Nothing,” you said. “Just… lot of people.”

Spencer nodded understandingly, then reached down to take your hand. Your fingers twined with his and he squeezed his palm against yours. “I’m right here,” he reminded you. You didn’t love crowds. They always made you feel anxious, perhaps even a little claustrophobic. You and Spencer had gone to a fairly crowded French film festival a few months ago and there hadn’t been an organized line to enter; rather, it had been a cluster of people, all pressed together. And you had felt like you couldn’t breathe. Spencer’d had to pull you to a seat off to the side so you could catch your breath, and you’d missed getting a seat up front like you’d been hoping for.

Right now, you were okay, though. There were people in front of you and behind you, but they weren’t flush against you like they had been waiting for the film festival to open. And Spencer was holding your hand, and you were outside, with the cool, spring morning breeze hitting your face. It was fine. You were going to be fine. You inhaled deeply and exhaled, then nodded your head, feeling the anxiety dissipate. “I’m good,” you told Spencer, looking up at him.

Spencer nodded. He squeezed your hand once again before letting go, only so he could wrap his arm around your shoulders and tug you so you leaned against his chest. He kissed the top of your hair. “It’s going to be just fine,” he promised you, and you just smiled to yourself.

About ten minutes later, the store opened. You only knew that because the line started moving, and more quickly than you thought. You squealed in delight and matched the pace of the people in front of you, Spencer by your side with an amused grin on his face. He loved books just as much as you did, if not more, but this outing was definitely just for you. He’d read the other preceding books in this series (literally just because you asked him to and it took him an hour, tops), but he wasn’t a total geek for it like you were.

You finally made it inside the bookstore, a small business, a local place. You’d been inside several times before, but you hadn’t realized just how small the building actually was until you stepped in now. It was two stories, but everyone was tightly packed, with the people and the bookshelves crowding around you as you made it fully inside the store. There was even a line to go up to the second floor, like a queue at an amusement park.

There was little to no breathing room. Everyone was talking as they waited their turn to grab a copy of the new book, and the sound seemed to bounce off the walls and the ceiling and smack you right in the ear. The air felt thick despite the front door and handful of windows being opened, allowing the cool spring breeze to ruffle the pages of the paperbacks on display.

But it wasn’t refreshing. Rather, it was another stimulant that caused the neurons in your brain to fire even faster. You felt your palms get slick. You felt your heart start to pound, and your knees wobble as you shuffled forward in the line. What were you even waiting in line for? You momentarily forgot, blinking a few times before looking up at the man beside you. Spencer was engrossed in looking around the bookstore, the corners of his mouth quirking upward as he seemed to find something amusing. But when his eyes came full circle back to you, they were immediately filled with concern. “Y/N?” He asked softly, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You couldn’t even hear him. The sound of his voice just bounced off your brain, like you were trapped inside of cellophane. All you could think was trapped. I’m trapped. No way out. Stuck. Caged. Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.

You felt your breathing go heavy, and your eyes fill up with tears. Your cheeks were red, bright red, judging from how hot you suddenly felt. “Leave,” you managed to choke out, your voice coming out from your throat. It felt like your throat was lined with thorns, like the words you wanted to say kept getting caught.

Spencer nodded. “Leave? Yeah. Yeah, baby, we can leave,” Spencer grabbed your hand, tugging you along behind him as he murmured “excuse me, pardon me,” to the other patrons, to get through the crowd. Moving against the crowd was so much worse than standing still. All those eyes on you, seeing your red face and the anxious tears trickling down your cheeks. It was so embarrassing, freaking out like this is such a public space. Everyone thinks I’m a freak, you thought. Your anxiety became not about the crowd, but about your anxiety, about how you were being perceived. Your breathing picked up, quickened, and by the time Spencer led you out into the morning sun, you were fully hyperventilating.

The thoughts in your head were racing at the speed of light. You hated feeling nervous like this, but moreover, you hated that Spencer had to take care of you because of it. You felt like you had ruined the day because your head wasn’t on straight, because you couldn’t stand in a crowd of people and hear the cacophony of voices and tamp down your panic.

Spencer led you down the block, about twenty feet from the store, away from the crowd, and your breath was still coming out staccato, unstable as you looked down at your shaking hands. You were crying and hyperventilating and the whole world felt like it was spinning. Spencer kept his hold on your hand and stood in front of you, squeezing his palm against yours. His eyes, those light brown irises with little flecks of green, stared into yours. “Hey, Y/N,” he said, bending his knees so his face was level with yours. “Breathe with me, okay?”

You shook your head, your eyes clamping shut. You were so mad at yourself in that moment. You didn’t want to have Spencer take care of you, to have to drag you out of a bookstore because you were having a panic attack. “Baby, you’re trembling,” you heard Spencer’s voice laced with concern. “Look at me. We’ll get through this together.”

You opened your eyes slowly, and that’s when you realized your entire body was shaking. You looked into Spencer’s eyes and he released your hand so he could cup your face. His fingers anchored under your jaw, his thumbs rested on your cheeks, and his eyes were wide, full of worry, but his voice managed to stay soothing and calm. “Follow my breath, Y/N. Do what I’m doing, okay? In for four, hold for four, out for four.”

He inhaled for 4 seconds, and you tried to follow his lead, but you just couldn’t control your lungs. “It’s okay,” he assured you as your brows furrowed, presenting frustration. “C’mon, try again.” He inhaled for 4 seconds, and you managed to match him this time. “Hold for four,” you held your breath while Spencer counted. “And out for four,” you exhaled deeply. “Good, okay, let’s do it again.”

Spencer guided your breath for a few minutes, until you finally felt like you could do it on your own. And when you finally felt yourself coming down from the rush of panic that had sent you into fight-or-flight, you wiped at your wet eyes. “I’m sorry,” you croaked, and Spencer just shook his head.

“No,” he insisted, taking your hand and placing it on his heart. You could feel it beating through his long-sleeved t-shirt. “No, you don’t have to be sorry.” You rubbed your hand against his chest, finding it comforting as you hung your head. “Baby, look at me,” he requested, and you met his eyes.

“Please don’t ever apologize for having an anxiety attack, okay? For one thing, it’s not your fault. You can’t control the chemicals and waves in your brain and how your body reacts to situations,” Spencer began, his hand on top of yours that rested on his chest. You nodded, using the heel of your free hand to wipe away your tears. The crying was over, you were fairly certain, but god, did this suck. “You also should never feel ashamed for having a panic attack, Y/N. It happened, and we’re working through it. It’s a lot like boiling a pot of water, isn’t it?”

You let out a garbled sounding laugh and your brows furrowed. “How so?” You stammered out.

“Well, you set the pot of water on the stove, right?” Spencer began, and you nodded. “And then when it starts to bubble, that’s your anxiety. Some sort of external stimulant - the stove, or, in your case, the overwhelming feeling of being in a crowd - is causing the water to bubble. And when the external stimulant increases in intensity, so too does your anxiety. And sometimes, yeah, the pot boils over.” Spencer shrugged like it was no big deal. “But then you just turn the stove off, grab a dishtowel, and clean up the mess. Problem solved.”

You cracked a half-hearted smile. “So in this metaphor, you’re a dishtowel?” You asked, curling your fingers around the fabric of his shirt.

“Technically, I think it’s a simile, but yes,” Spencer grinned as he looked in your eyes.

“But the book,” you sighed, looking back at the bookstore, which was still filtering people in and out slowly. The patrons leaving the store clutched their new copies of the book in their hands, grinning and taking pictures with their phones, laughing with their friends excitedly.

“Do you want to get back in line and try again?” Spencer asked, and you bit your cheek pensively.

“I don’t think so,” you said softly, defeatedly.

“That’s okay,” Spencer said. You loved that he wasn’t coddling you, he was just feeling it out, seeing what you were up for. “Do you want to get brunch somewhere and come back? Maybe the line will have died down by then?”

You nodded, your lips curling into a small smile. “Yeah,” you agreed. You realized your hand was still over his heart, rubbing at his chest. Your movement halted and you retracted your hand, but before your arm could fall completely at your side, Spencer scooped your hand up and kissed the back of your palm. “What if we come back and they’ve sold out of the book, though?” You asked as Spencer walked with you in the direction of one of your favorite brunch places, just a short walk from the bookstore.

“There are twenty-two independent bookstores in the D.C. metropolitan area alone,” Spencer rattled off. “If this one doesn’t have it, we’ll drive around until we find one that does.”

“What article did you read that told you how many bookstores were in D.C?” You asked. You often liked to challenge him by asking him to cite his sources.

“No article. I did a search on Google Maps last night,” Spencer explained.

“What, because you knew I’d freak out when we walked into this one?” You asked him.

Spencer shook his head. “No, just wanted to have a contingency plan in case our first stop sold out before we got there.”

“Always thinking ahead, huh, Boy Wonder?”

“Damn straight.” A smirk formed across Spencer’s lips.

You shook your head. “You’re the best dishtowel a girl could ask for.”

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Where to Run

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by @deansobssessedgirl

Synopsis: you’re on the run from the British Men of Letters, and you meet your big brothers for the first time.

Entering the United States unnoticed had gone better than you thought it would. As soon as you got through passport control, you dug into your backpack—the only luggage you had brought with you, and it contained all you owned—and pulled out two pieces of paper. You considered them both for a long moment—one, an over a decade-old letter with the name of a small city in black ink in the middle of it, and the other a list of cities, one circled in red.

The list would take you to a nearby Men of Letters bunker in Lebanon, and the letter…

The letter might just lead you to your father.

…

“And you’re sure we haven’t already been to this one?” Sam asked his big brother as they pulled up to a storage facility.

“Of course I’m sure. I would’ve remembered one so close to Lawrence,” Dean said.

“What do you think dad kept in here?” Sam questioned, his curiosity getting the better of him as Dean led the way to the right storage room.

“Who knows?” Dean shrugged. “Let’s just hope one of these works.” He jangled a small set of keys on a ring that John had left in the car—they contained a spare key for the Impala as well as John’s old truck, and several storage facility keys. Dean had thought that he and Sammy had been to all of John’s secret storage places, but after scanning John’s journal for the hundredth time, he caught sight of an address scratched in the corner of a page with a storage number.

“It’s this one,” Sam spoke up, grabbing the keys from Dean and trying a few before one finally worked.

The room was small, but packed full. Sam and Dean—after carefully scanning for traps—split up and began to go through their father’s things.

“Hey, I think this file cabinet’s locked,” Sam said from one corner. Dean lifted his head, but didn’t go to his brother’s aid, too busy going through a box of odds and ends.

“Or you just didn’t pull hard enough—maybe if you had any muscle in those noodles—“

“Ok, ok,” Sam interrupted with a scoff. He rolled his eyes, but didn’t dismiss Dean’s theory—he yanked hard on the file cabinet, and it jerked open in a cloud of dust. Coughing, Sam reached down to shuffle through what was inside. “Hey, there’s only one file in here.”

“Fascinating,” Dean said in a tone that said exactly the opposite.

“There’s a birth certificate inside,” Sam said, and suddenly his voice caught. “With…with dad’s name on it.”

“Dad’s birth certificate?” Dean asked, mildly intrigued.

“Dean…not dad’s.”

“What?” Dean was by Sam’s side before Sam had even seen him move.

“Y/N Winchester, born to John Winchester and…Jane Doe.” Sam frowned, his brow crinkling. “I wonder why dad would use his real name when the mother used a fake.”

“This can’t be real,” Dean insisted. “I mean…I know with Adam…but another one?”

“Let’s see,” Sam mumbled, putting the certificate inside and checking the rest of the file. “Pictures.” Sam held up a stack, which Dean immediately snatched from him. Sam ignored this, because he’d found his own details to focus on. “And letters.” Sam grabbed the first letter from a stack of dozens, and began to read. “Dear John…our girl turns one today…”

Dean tapped Sam’s shoulder and held up a photo of a little Y/H/C girl blowing out a singular candle on a pink cake.

Sam moved onto the next letter, skimming it.

“Dear John…I put Y/N in gymnastics because it’s the only way I can get her to work on strength training and endurance.” Sam’s brow crinkled in confusion, but he was distracted when Dean held up a photo of the same girl, a few years older, in a gymnastics leotard on a balance beam.

“What do you think she meant by training?” Sam asked. “Do you think she was a hunter?”

“Could be.” Dean shrugged. “Maybe that’s why she signed her letters Jane Doe.” Dean pointed to the bottom of the letter, where “love, Jane Doe” was written.

Sam was about to pull out another letter when his fingers froze on the paper.

“Dean…”

“Hm?” Dean asked distractedly, still going through photos.

“Dean look at this.” Sam flipped the paper around, and on the back of it was a watermark—an indicator of who made the stationary.

It was the Men of Letters insignia.

…

“Lebanon, please,” you said to the taxi driver. “I’ll direct you to a more specific location when we get there.”

The man shrugged, unbothered, and began the journey.

You desperately wanted to go to Lawrence in search for your father, but you had to be realistic—you hadn’t eaten all day, you were jet lagged and exhausted, and you needed a plan of action. You needed to recover and regroup, and you needed to do it in a secure location; you needed to feel safe. In fact, you were so wound up that you flinched when the radio came on.

“—o one seems to have any information on who is causing the recent string of murders. The chief of police has offered no comment, other than a warning that the people of Lawrence should stay indoors when possible, and be alert. But there’s no denying the oddity of the case—the mass murderer seems to have some kind of vampire ideologies, with each of its victims drained completely of their blood. In other news—“

“Hey, driver!” You called out, and he glanced over his shoulder to indicate he was listening. “I changed my mind. Take me to Lawrence.”

…

“It’s gotta be another djinn.”

Dean would’ve groaned if he didn’t have a mouthful of hamburger to swallow first.

“Not those again,” he said after a gulp of beer washed down the last of his burger. They’d finished going through John’s things—Sam taking the file of your pictures and documents with him—only to leave and stumble upon a case. Dean had wanted to stop at a diner on the way back home, but he hadn’t expected to walk past a news stand to see a paper with “vampire killer” written across the front. It took Sam less than ten minutes of reading the paper, as well as a little time on the internet, to render the paper completely wrong.

“It doesn’t fit with a vampire. No teeth marks, no signs of struggle, the bodies were found in a different location from where they were taken—it’s definitely a djinn.”

“Ok, so silver knife dipped in lamb’s blood.” Dean sighed. “We happen to have one of those?”

“I think we still have the one we used last time in the trunk,” Sam said.

“Then let’s get going.”

…

You picked up a machete after being dropped off by the cabbie, hoping beyond hope that the radio had been right (even if they were kidding) about it being a vampire—there were several monsters known to drink blood, and if it was anything other than a vamp then things might get tricky. Normally you would be more prepared, but it wasn’t like you could get your weapons through customs when traveling to America, and you’d had to travel light so you could move more quickly. The British Men of Letters worked quickly, so you couldn’t take any chances. And buying up strange kinds of weapons near an old Men of Letters bunker was definitely too high a chance to take, so all you could do was hope that it was a vamp.

You’d done so much research about Lawrence that you barely even have to wonder where the creature might be hiding out—while researching Lawrence, you’d almost automatically noted the places where a supernatural being might be inclined to hide, so all you had to do was see which one was closest to the bodies that were dropping.

Then you were ready to hunt.

…

“I’m telling you, this has to be it. It’s nearly equidistant to all the bodies, and it’s the perfect place for a djinn to hide out.”

“You don’t have to sell me on the location, I believe you,” Dean told Sam. “But you do have to tell me how to get there.”

“Turn right here…yeah, and a left at that stop sign, and then we’re there.”

“So are we just not gonna talk about it?” Dean asked after a beat of silence as he followed Sam’s directions.

“Talk about what?”

Dean scoffed. “I don’t know, maybe our little sister?”

“I don’t know what to say, Dean,” Sam sighed. “There’s no address anywhere in the documents or the letters, and we don’t even know her mother’s name, or if Y/N even goes by Winchester. Her mother used an alias, it makes sense that the kid would go by one, too. We have no reason to believe that she’s going by the name on her birth certificate, so we don’t have the first clue on how to find her.”

“Well it feels like we have to do something,” Dean argued. “I mean we don’t even know if this kid knows about dad—for all we know, she thinks he’s still alive. She deserves to know.”

“Why the sudden interest?” Sam questioned. “You didn’t seem all this interested when we found out about Adam.”

“That was different,” Dean sighed. “With Adam…Adam was just some normal, innocent kid who saw dad once a year for a baseball game and knew nothing about the life. This kid—Y/N—with the talk in those letters about training, and the Men of Letters insignia…she’s in this life, Sam, I can feel it. And since dad’s not around anymore…I think it’s our job to make sure she’s ok.”

“And I’d be happy to do that,” Sam insisted. “If only we knew how to find her. But for now, let’s do what we can do—take out this djinn.”

…

The sight of a car in the parking lot of the abandoned warehouse worried you—even if it was a beautiful car.

“Chevy Impala,” you mumbled to yourself. “67, I think.” You shook yourself, moving your mind back to the task at hand, rather than the conversation you were having with yourself. Hopefully the car here didn’t mean that its owners were anywhere near the warehouse—the last thing you needed was some innocent people getting in the way and getting hurt.

Seeing no one around, you hefted your machete and headed inside.

…

Dean gestured at Sam to be quiet as he peaked around a corner. Signaling that the coast was clear, Dean led the way through the warehouse, the silver dagger gripped in his steady hand. Dean was just signaling Sam to wait so he could check around another corner when—

“Hey!”

“Jeez—what?”

Dean stopped himself just short of cutting not a djinn, but a Y/H/C girl wielding a machete that was aimed at him.

“Hey, easy.” Dean took a quick step back, raising the knife and his hands in the air. “We’re not—“ Dean’s words died in his throat when he got a good look at your face.

“Dean,” Sam breather from beside him. “It’s—“

“No kidding.”

“What are you talking about?” You demanded, lowering the machete just a little bit. “Who are you guys, what are you doing here?” You didn’t want for an answer. “You have to get out of here, there’s a—“ your eyes fell to the silver dagger.

Sam’s gaze followed your own to the weapon in Dean’s hand before he looked back at you.

“It’s not a vamp,” he said, gesturing at your machete. “It’s a djinn.”

You lowered your machete completely.

“You’re hunters?”

Dean couldn’t keep the astonished smile off his face.

“And you’re Y/N Winchester.”

The machete was back up in an instant.

“Who are you?” You demanded for the second time. “Men of Letters?”

“Easy, easy,” Dean said, taking a step back as you advanced on them. “I’m not—“

“Guys!”

Sam’s warning proceeded the arrival of the djinn by a split second—just enough time for Dean to dodge the blow that the djinn tried to land on him.

“Hey!” Your call turned the attention of the djinn, who grabbed hold of your arm before you had the chance to move away. He twisted your arm behind your back until your machete was crashing to the ground and you were crying out in pain.

“Here!” Dean’s call came a second before the silver dagger was hurtling at your face. You snatched it up with your free hand and twisted it so it was facing the djinn a moment before you plunged the dagger into the djinn’s side. He howled with pain and released your arm, giving you an opportunity to spin around and stab again, this time in the neck.

The djinn went down without a sound, and the thud of his fall echoed through the empty room. For a long moment, only the sound of heavy breathing could be heard. That is, until Dean took a step towards you.

“Back off!” You yelled, raising the blood-soaked dagger.

“Are you serious?” Dean scoffed. “Hey, I just helped save your life.”

“I’m not going back!” You were starting to look panicked as you backed away from the brothers. “So-so just tell Lady Bevell, or Ketch, or Mick, or whoever recruited you that I’m done! I’m not a part of the Men of Letters, and I never will be!”

“Hey, hey, easy,” Sam soothed. “We’re not Men of Letters.”

“Then how do you know who I am?” You challenged.

“Because of John Winchester.”

Sam’s response froze you in your tracks.

“J…John Winchester?” The dagger was slowly lowering. “You know him? You know where he is?”

The hope in your eyes was like a punch in the gut to both brothers. However, it was gone in an instant and replaced with a harsh suspicion as you raised the knife higher again.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“That’s how we know who you are, kid,” Dean insisted.

“Here—“ Sam’s hand was halfway to his pocket when you pointed your knife at him and he froze. “Easy, ok? I’ll go slow.” He slowly reached in, and you relaxed slightly when he pulled out a small bundle of papers. “We’ve got letters that your mom sent to him, with some pictures.” Sam held them out, and you hesitantly took them, thumbing through the stack while occasionally glancing warily at the boys.

“They stop,” you mumbled.

“What?” Dean asked.

“The letters, they stopped…at least ten years ago.” You looked back up at the boys as you spoke. “Is…is there more, or…”

The despair on the boys’ faces spoke for itself. Your lip was already quivering as you tucked the letters away, still holding onto the knife but keeping it pointed down.

“Is he…is he dead?”

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. “About ten years ago.”

Sam could tell you were trying not to cry, trying to act like they hadn’t just ripped the rug out from under you.

“You know, I—I didn’t even know him—“ your voice cracked. “But I…gosh, I re-I really wanted to.”

You let Dean take the knife from you after he put a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Um, so.” You wiped your hand over your face, trying to brush away any stray tears as you tried valiantly to pull yourself together. “So how did you two…”

“He’s…he’s our dad, too.” Sam said. Your eyes widened slightly as you absorbed this information.

“Wait, you…were you…from his wife?”

“You knew about her?” Dean asked.

“Not really,” you admitted. “John…dad, he…he never liked to talk about his past, but he did mention his wife in one of his letters…he said her death was what made him become a hunter.” Your lips quirked up as you remembered. “He said if I ever saw a yellow-eyed demon, send it to hell for him.” Your eyes went back to Dean and Sam. “Is…is that how he died? Hunting demons?”

“Kind of,” Sam said. “It’s…it’s a long story.”

“What about you?” Dean said suddenly. “If you know Lady Bevell and the rest, and you know they’re here recruiting, then you’ve got something to do with the Men of Letters. Not to mention their insignia on the back of those letters.”

Just the mention of the Men of Letters had you on edge again.

“Maybe we should talk about this at a more secure location,” you suggested. “There’s an old Men of Letters bunker not far from—“ you cut yourself off when you caught the look between the two brothers. “What?”

“We know,” Sam said. “We’ve been living in it.”

Dean noticed your fingers twitch, as if you were thinking about reaching for a weapon.

“And I’m supposed to believe you’re not Men of Letters?”

“Our grandfather was one,” Dean said. “He left us a key.”

You seemed to consider this. Dean watched as your eyes got a faraway look, and he knew you were trying to remember something.

“Mom said that John was from a line of the Men of Letters. It was one of the ways she tried to get him to join.” You shook yourself of the memories. “Fine. I’ll go with you, but that doesn’t mean I trust you.”

Dean couldn’t help the way a smile twitched just slightly on his lips before he dropped it.

“Fair enough.”

…

You were quiet the whole way to the bunker, and although your brothers had questions they sensed you were tired and on edge, so they refrained. Dean kept glancing at you in the rearview mirror the whole way, and he was happy to see the way you slowly put your guard down—mostly out of exhaustion—as you relaxed into a light slumber.

You awoke with a start when Dean pulled into the bunker’s garage, the echo of Baby’s engine reverberating loudly.

“Home sweet home,” Dean crowed as you stepped out of the Impala. You didn’t say a word as he led you inside, but the moment the three of you settled down around the kitchen table, you finally started to talk.

“John met my mother on a hunt. She was just visiting America, vacation or something, but she happened to stumble on a case. They met…and well, I came along.” Both brothers noticed you skipping over the details, for which they were grateful. “But while mom was still pregnant she tried to convince dad to join the Men of Letters.” Sam noticed the way you kept switching between dad and John, as if you either weren’t sure what to say, or you weren’t sure what the boys were comfortable with. “He didn’t like the idea, and he didn’t want that for me, either. They fought about it, and mom left the country to go back to England. She was still pregnant…” Dean saw your fists clench and unclench as you blinked rapidly. “Dad, he…he never saw me in person. Any-anyway, she still wrote to him, and she let me read his letters. She said he deserved that much, at least. Dad was always telling me hunter things—I think he was hoping I’d end up a hunter, like him.”

“Why did you?” Sam spoke up. “I mean, if your mother raised you with the Men of Letters…”

“She kept a lot from me,” you said. “The…morally ambiguous parts.” At Dean’s strange look, you scoffed. “Ok, let’s be real, the straight up evil parts.” This got a grin from both brothers. “But she, uh…” the lightheartedness in the room was gone in an instant. “She died last year, and well…people stopped lying to me. I realized all the crap they really did, and I ran.”

“And what, they’re after you?” Dean questioned. “I mean it’s not like the mafia, right, I mean you can just leave.”

You nearly laughed out loud.

“I wish they were as sloppy as the mafia. No, you can’t just leave, especially not me—just because I’m a kid, doesn’t mean I couldn’t have over a decade of Men of Letters’ secrets stored in my brain. That’s why I came here, I…I wanted to find dad. To find family, protection.” You took a deep breath. “I want to be a hunter, not a Man of Letters.”

Dean found himself speaking before he even thought about what to say.

“Why do you have to be either?”

“What?” You said at the same time as Sam. Dean glanced between you before continuing.

“You’re just a kid—you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You don’t have to be either, you could be whatever you want.”

You blinked up at Dean, as though the thought had never occurred to you.

“I…I don’t…”

“Look,” Dean began. “Don’t decide just now. John may not be here, but we’re family too, kid. There’s an empty bedroom down the hall, you should get some sleep, get settled in…then maybe we could talk about this hunting stuff, ok? The important thing is, you’re safe here. Let’s just say we don’t like the British Men of Letters anymore than you do. They’re not getting in here, and they’re not getting to you. Everything else can wait for later.”

You felt a smile—a true smile—etching its way into your face for the first time in so long. You looked up at this man—your big brother—and you couldn’t help but feel that everything was going to be ok. Whether you decided to hunt or not, or whether the Men of Letters came after you, you knew one thing for sure—

You really had found your family.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe

[cherryxbooo]

May I please request a fic where the female reader is an FBI agent and former Marine who has a reputation for being tenacious and tough and she runs into the LAPD while working on a case, reuniting with Tim whom she has a passionate history with?

Just like old times

Summary: Y/N, an FBI agent, reunites with her former lover, Tim Bradford, while working on a dangerous case with the LAPD. Their chemistry rekindles, and after the case, their relationship is revealed, sparking curiosity among Tim’s coworkers.

Note: First of all, I want to thank all of you for all the support you showed me on my last few fics. It means a lot, thank you so much 🫶🤞Thank you for your request, I gave it my own little spin so I hope you like it! Enjoy 🤍

Reader x Tim Bradford

Genre: Fluff/tiny bit of angst (if you squint lol)

The police station buzzed with the usual chaos: phones ringing, officers shuffling through files, and the occasional banter to lighten the tension of their work.

But the air shifted when the captain’s door opened, revealing Commander Grey alongside a woman in an impeccably tailored suit.

The first thing people noticed about her wasn’t her striking appearance, though that was undeniable.

It was the way she carried herself; shoulders squared, gaze sharp, exuding an air of authority and control.

It was the look of someone who had seen the worst humanity had to offer and lived to tell the tale.

“Who’s that?” Jackson West muttered to Lucy Chen as they leaned against the edge of their desks.

“No idea,” Lucy replied, narrowing her eyes at the mysterious newcomer. “But she screams FBI.”

Angela Lopez walked up, crossing her arms. “She doesn’t just scream it, she’s it. Look at the badge on her belt.”

“Great,” Lucy said under her breath. “Another suit to look down on us.”

As the whispers spread, Tim Bradford entered the bullpen, his usual brisk and no-nonsense demeanor firmly in place.

His sharp eyes scanned the room, narrowing when he caught sight of the figure beside Grey.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Tim froze mid-step.

It was you.

The last time Tim Bradford had seen you, the two of you had been tangled in a mess of emotions.

It was a heated goodbye neither of you wanted but both knew was necessary.

You had been on the fast track, transitioning from your time in the Marines to the FBI with an ambition he respected but couldn’t keep up with.

He was a police officer with roots too deep to pull up, and your career demanded a level of movement and detachment that didn’t fit into his world.

The chemistry between you had been undeniable, volatile at times, but magnetic.

When you were together, it was like nothing else existed. But the breakup wasn’t ugly; it was bittersweet.

You’d left with mutual respect and more than a little unresolved tension.

And now, years later, you were back.

“Bradford!” Grey’s voice snapped him out of his daze. “I need you for this.”

Tim approached, his expression unreadable, though the quick flicker of surprise in his eyes didn’t escape you.

You tilted your head slightly, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

“Sergeant Bradford,” you said smoothly, your voice carrying the same confident edge he remembered.

“Agent Y/L/N,” he replied evenly, his tone giving nothing away.

“Wait,” Lucy whispered loudly to Angela and Jackson, “he knows her?!”

The case was a high-stakes operation that had everyone on edge. For months, the LAPD had been chasing leads on a sprawling human trafficking ring operating across state lines.

The criminals were highly organized, using fake businesses and offshore accounts to cover their tracks, and their connections ran deep, involving corrupt officials and dangerous enforcers.

Every lead the LAPD pursued seemed to hit a dead end. Frustration was mounting, especially for Tim Bradford, whose no-nonsense approach had been tested by the complexity of the operation.

The captain had finally called in a favor with the FBI, hoping a fresh perspective and federal resources could turn the tide.

That’s when they sent you.

When Commander Grey introduced you as the FBI agent assigned to the case, the bullpen had gone silent.

Your reputation had preceded you, not just as a skilled investigator but as a former Marine who was known for your grit and relentless pursuit of justice.

Tim’s coworkers were impressed, though they couldn’t help but notice the palpable tension between you and the sergeant.

“We’ve been tracking this network for years,” you explained during the initial briefing, clicking through a presentation of maps, photos, and suspect profiles.

“They use legitimate businesses,restaurants, shipping companies, as fronts for their operations. They’ve been moving people through LA under the radar, and we believe this city is a critical hub in their network.”

Lucy Chen leaned forward, studying one of the photos. “How are they avoiding detection?”

“Fake documents, forged permits, and insider help,” you said grimly.

“We suspect they have someone on the inside tipping them off. That’s why every move we make has to be airtight.”

Tim, seated at the back of the room, crossed his arms. “And what’s the endgame here? Arrest a few mid-level operatives while the bosses disappear?”

You met his gaze evenly. “The goal is to dismantle the entire network. That means taking down everyone, from the enforcers on the ground to the kingpins running the show.”

The room fell silent, the weight of the task settling over the team.

As the precinct buzzed with the aftermath of the sting operation's success, the atmosphere began to lighten.

Officers filtered out one by one, their weariness mingled with satisfaction.

You were seated at a table with a pile of paperwork, methodically logging the details of the operation, when Tim approached, his face unreadable but his presence grounding.

“Looks like the big bad FBI agent has paperwork too,” he teased, setting down a mug of coffee next to you.

“Don’t think for a second you’re exempt, Bradford,” you shot back, smirking as you gestured toward his own untouched stack of forms.

“Or is LAPD above such mundane tasks?”

“Not a chance,” he quipped, pulling out a chair and settling beside you.

Your easy banter didn’t go unnoticed. Lucy and Angela exchanged a curious glance from across the bullpen, while Jackson leaned closer to Nolan, whispering something that made him grin.

Eventually, Angela couldn’t resist. She sauntered over, her arms crossed and an amused expression on her face.

“So,” Angela began, dragging out the word. “How exactly do you two know each other?”

Tim stiffened slightly, though he didn’t look up from the file he was reviewing.

“Work,” he said curtly, clearly trying to shut down the conversation.

You arched an eyebrow at his abruptness but decided to play along. “We’ve crossed paths before,” you said vaguely, keeping your tone neutral.

Angela wasn’t satisfied. “Crossed paths? That’s it? Because the two of you seem awfully... in sync.”

Lucy, unable to resist joining in, pulled up a chair.

“Yeah, it’s like you’re finishing each other’s sentences out there. Spill. Is this some FBI-Marine/army secret society thing?”

Tim finally glanced up, his expression a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “We’ve worked together before. End of story.”

“Oh, come on, Bradford,” Nolan chimed in, grinning. “You can’t just drop breadcrumbs and expect us not to follow.”

You exchanged a glance with Tim, silently communicating whether or not to indulge them.

His slight shake of the head told you all you needed to know: he wasn’t about to open up. Still, you decided to throw them a bone.

“Let’s just say Tim and I have some shared history in... high-stress situations,” you said, your tone deliberately cryptic.

Lucy’s eyes lit up. “Oh, like what? You were partners? Rivals?”

“Or lovers?” Angela added slyly, clearly enjoying Tim’s discomfort.

Tim shot her a sharp look. “Focus on your own love life, Lopez.”

“Oh, relax,” Angela said, waving a hand. “We’re just curious. It’s not every day we see you get along with someone.”

You bit back a laugh, deciding to rescue him. “It’s complicated, okay? And classified.”

That seemed to satisfy them... For now.

They dispersed, though you caught them glancing back occasionally, whispering among themselves.

Tim let out a low sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“Classified?” he echoed, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’re welcome,” you replied with a wink, returning to your paperwork.

Later that evening, when the station was nearly empty, Tim and you were left alone to tie up loose ends.

The earlier teasing lingered in the air, but now it felt like a private joke between the two of you.

“You think they’ll let it go?” you asked, leaning back in your chair.

“Not a chance,” Tim said dryly. “Lopez will probably turn it into a guessing game, and Chen will dig through every detail of my life.”

You chuckled. “They seem like a good group.”

“They are,” Tim admitted, his voice softening. “Annoying, but good.”

There was a brief pause, then he looked at you with a hint of a smile. “Thanks for handling that back there.”

You shrugged. “Part of the job, Bradford. I’ve got your six, remember?”

His expression shifted, something more serious flickering in his eyes. “I know you do. Always have.”

You held his gaze for a moment longer, the weight of his words settling over you like a warm blanket.

Then, with a faint smile, you nudged his stack of paperwork toward him.

“Now finish your reports, Sergeant,” you teased.

The morning after your arrival at the station, you found yourself in the briefing room, surrounded by Tim and his team.

The station buzzed with an energy you hadn’t felt since your days in the Marines.

As a former Marine turned FBI agent, you were used to commanding respect and navigating high-pressure situations.

Today, though, you were walking into a hornet’s nest.

Grey stood at the front of the room, the case details projected on the screen behind him.

“Alright, people, listen up. We’re working with Agent Y/L/N on this one, so I expect full cooperation.”

Your name was enough to draw a few looks, especially after yesterday’s whispers about your connection to Tim.

You stayed professional, though, your expression unreadable as Grey continued.

“The target is Ethan Marlow,” Grey said, gesturing to a mugshot on the screen.

A rugged man with a scar across his cheek and an unmistakable smirk stared back at the room.

“Suspected arms dealer. We’ve been trying to nail him for months, but he’s slippery. Last week, we got a tip that he’s planning a major shipment through the Los Angeles docks.”

You stepped forward, holding a remote to switch slides.

“Marlow’s operation is large, but he’s not untouchable. My team and I have been tracking his movements across state lines, and we believe his associates are using a shell company to smuggle weapons through legitimate cargo shipments.”

Lucy raised her hand. “Why not just hit the docks and seize the cargo?”

“Because Marlow doesn’t work alone,” you replied, flipping to a map that highlighted his network.

“His associates are just as dangerous, and if we spook them, they’ll scatter. We need to cut off the head of the operation. That means Marlow.”

Tim’s eyes flicked to you, his brows furrowing slightly.

He wasn’t used to taking orders from anyone, but he respected competence. And you? You radiated it.

Angela chimed in. “What’s our play?”

You glanced at her, then looked back at the team.

“Marlow’s hosting a private party at a nightclub downtown tonight. It’s our best shot at getting close to him.”

“Undercover?” Nolan asked, leaning forward.

You nodded. “Exactly. We’ve got a cover story and fake identities for two officers. You’ll mingle, gather intel, and plant a tracker on Marlow’s vehicle.”

Tim leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “And who’s going in?”

You paused, meeting his gaze directly.

“You and I.”

The room seemed to hold its breath. Tim’s lips quirked into a faint smirk, his demeanor calm despite the weight of your suggestion.

Angela raised an eyebrow. “Well, this just got interesting.”

As the team dispersed to prepare for the operation, you caught up with Tim in the hallway.

The sound of your boots echoed against the tiled floor as you fell into step beside him.

“Was that a problem?” you asked, glancing up at him.

He shrugged. “Nope. Just wondering how you managed to finagle me into this.”

A sly smile curved your lips. “Thought you’d appreciate the chance to dress up.”

Tim chuckled, low and warm. “You’ve got jokes.”

There was a pause as you both walked in companionable silence.

Memories of your past flashed unbidden in your mind, the long nights on stakeouts, the adrenaline-fueled moments of action, and the quieter times, when his touch was all you needed to feel safe.

“Remember the first time we worked together?” you asked softly.

Tim glanced at you, his expression softening. “Yeah. That drug bust in San Diego. You saved my ass.”

“You were pinned down,” you reminded him, smirking. “I didn’t have a choice.”

He shook his head, his voice quieter. “You didn’t hesitate. Not once.”

“It’s what we do,” you said simply, though your heart warmed at the admiration in his voice.

Tim stopped walking, turning to face you. “Y/N... what happened with us... back then—I never really got a chance to explain.”

You held up a hand, cutting him off gently. “Tim, it’s okay. We both had our reasons.”

“But you’re here now,” he said, his voice steady. “That’s what matters.”

For a moment, the unspoken history between you hung in the air, a tangible thread connecting the past to the present.

Then, the sound of a door opening down the hall broke the moment, and you both fell back into step.

Later that evening, you stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your earpiece and smoothing out the sleek black dress you’d chosen for the undercover op.

Tim emerged from the adjacent room, his suit perfectly tailored, exuding confidence. His gaze flicked to you, lingering a beat too long.

“Looking good, Agent,” he remarked, his voice teasing but low enough to send a shiver down your spine.

“You clean up nicely yourself, Bradford,” you replied, adjusting his tie.

As you rode to the nightclub together, the tension in the air was palpable, not the bad kind, but the kind that made your pulse quicken and your senses sharpen.

You exchanged glances, each silently acknowledging the trust you’d built through years of working together.

Inside the club, the operation went off smoothly, at least at first. You and Tim played your parts to perfection, your chemistry undeniable as you mingled with the crowd.

Marlow was sharp, but not sharp enough to see through your cover. It wasn’t until a hiccup in the plan, a sudden appearance of Marlow’s enforcers, that things took a dangerous turn.

The nightclub pulsed with the heavy bass of music, its dim lighting and crowded space creating an almost oppressive atmosphere.

You navigated the sea of people with ease, Tim trailing behind you as you both subtly scanned for your target.

Marlow was seated in a VIP booth, surrounded by his entourage, his laughter echoing through the space.

Tim leaned closer to your ear, his voice low and steady. “We’ve got eyes on him. What’s the play?”

You turned slightly, catching his intense gaze in the neon glow. “I’ll distract him. You plant the tracker.”

His jaw tightened. “You sure about that?”

“Tim,” you said, your tone firm. “I’ve done this a hundred times.”

“That doesn’t mean I like it,” he muttered, but he didn’t argue further.

Adjusting your posture, you approached Marlow’s booth with the confidence of someone who belonged.

His eyes flicked to you immediately, a sly grin spreading across his face as he motioned for you to come closer.

“Well, well,” he said, his voice thick with amusement. “Who do we have here?”

You gave him a coy smile, slipping into character. “Someone who heard you’re the man to know in this town.”

As you spoke, you felt Tim’s presence nearby, his movements precise as he maneuvered around the booth.

The tension in your shoulders eased slightly, until one of Marlow’s men, a bulky enforcer with a sharp gaze, stood abruptly, his eyes narrowing on Tim.

“Who’s this guy?” the enforcer barked, his voice cutting through the din.

Tim didn’t miss a beat. “Relax. I’m just here to grab a drink.”

The enforcer didn’t look convinced. Marlow waved a hand, his focus still on you. “He’s fine. Sit down.”

Tim used the distraction to slide the tracker beneath the table, his hand steady despite the close proximity of Marlow’s crew.

You kept the conversation light, your laughter carefully timed, your every move calculated to keep the target’s attention on you.

But just as you thought you were in the clear, Marlow’s phone buzzed.

He glanced at it, his expression shifting to one of suspicion. “Excuse me for a moment.”

He stood abruptly, motioning for his men to follow.

Your heart raced as you exchanged a look with Tim, both of you realizing the same thing: something was off.

As Marlow disappeared into a back room, you and Tim quickly regrouped.

“He’s onto us,” Tim said, his voice low but urgent.

“We need to pull out,” you replied, scanning the room for the nearest exit.

Before you could move, one of Marlow’s men appeared, his gun drawn. The tension in the air snapped like a live wire.

Tim stepped in front of you instinctively, his stance protective.

“Easy,” Tim said, his tone calm but authoritative. “We’re just leaving.”

The man didn’t budge, his finger twitching near the trigger. You acted quickly, your Marine instincts kicking in as you disarmed him with a swift, calculated movement.

The gun clattered to the floor, and chaos erupted.

Tim grabbed your hand, pulling you through the panicked crowd as more of Marlow’s men gave chase.

The music and flashing lights blurred into a cacophony of sound and color as you navigated the crowded dance floor, your adrenaline surging.

“Out the back!” Tim shouted, his grip on your hand firm.

You burst through the back exit, the cool night air hitting your skin like a shock.

Tim covered you as you drew your weapon, both of you taking defensive positions as Marlow’s men spilled into the alley.

Shots rang out, the sharp crack of gunfire echoing in the narrow space.

By the time backup arrived, the scene was secured, and Marlow’s operation was compromised.

You stood with Tim in the aftermath, both of you catching your breath as you surveyed the chaos.

“You okay?” Tim asked, his voice steady despite the adrenaline still pumping through his veins.

“I’m fine,” you replied, though your hands were still trembling slightly. “You?”

“I’m good,” he said, his eyes lingering on you. “You didn’t have to jump in like that.”

You gave him a wry smile. “What? And let you play hero? Not a chance.”

His lips twitched into a small grin, but the concern in his gaze remained. “You scared the hell out of me back there.”

Before you could respond, Captain Grey approached, his expression a mix of relief and frustration. “Nice work, Agent Y/L/N. But next time, let’s try to avoid a full-blown shootout.”

“Noted,” you said, nodding.

Back at the station, the air surrounded with residual energy from the operation.

As everyone debriefed, Lucy sidled up to Angela, her eyes flicking between you and Tim, who were standing a little too close for professional comfort.

“Okay, what’s the deal with them?” Lucy whispered.

Angela smirked. “I don’t know, but I’m dying to find out.”

Nolan, ever the curious one, joined in. “You think they’ve really worked together before?”

“Obviously,” Angela said, her tone teasing. “But there’s definitely more to it.”

Harper chimed in, her arms crossed as she observed from a distance. “They’ve got history. You can see it.”

As the group speculated, Tim and you shared a glance, both aware of the unspoken questions hanging in the air.

For now, though, you kept your history, and the rekindled spark between you, to yourselves.

Later that evening, after the precinct had quieted down, you and Tim found yourselves in the dimly lit briefing room, both reviewing reports from the operation.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable, it was thick with unspoken words, lingering tension, and the familiarity of years past.

Tim glanced up from his file, his voice breaking the quiet. “You were incredible out there today.”

You smirked, not looking up from your notes. “I know.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Still as humble as ever, I see.”

Setting your pen down, you met his gaze, your expression softening. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, his tone turning more serious.

“You scared me back there, you know. When that guy pulled the gun.”

“I’ve been in worse situations,” you said with a small shrug, trying to downplay it.

“Doesn’t make it easier to watch,” he replied, his jaw tightening.

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard.

You leaned back in your chair, folding your arms. “Tim, I’ve been doing this a long time. I know the risks.”

“I know you do,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But that doesn’t mean I’m okay with you putting yourself in the line of fire.”

“Funny,” you said, tilting your head. “That’s exactly how I felt about you the last time we worked together.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his eyes searching yours as if trying to gauge how much of the past you were willing to bring up.

Finally, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “And how did that work out for you?”

You gave him a pointed look. “Not great, Bradford. You have a way of making people care whether they want to or not.”

His lips quirked into a faint smile. “Same could be said for you.”

The words hung between you, heavy with the weight of everything left unsaid.

A few hours later, after the station had emptied out, Tim offered to drive you back to your temporary FBI accommodations.

The ride was quiet at first, the hum of the engine filling the space.

“Still driving this beast?” you teased, gesturing to his truck.

He grinned. “Reliable. Like me.”

You snorted. “Debatable.”

As the truck came to a stop outside your building, he shifted in his seat to face you. “Listen, I’ve been thinking…”

“That sounds dangerous,” you quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he reached for your hand, his touch gentle but firm. “I’ve missed you, Y/N. Not just working with you. You.”

Your breath caught, the sincerity in his eyes nearly undoing you. “Tim…”

“I know we didn’t end things the way we wanted,” he continued, his voice steady but soft. “But seeing you again… it’s like no time has passed. And I can’t ignore it anymore.”

You looked down at your intertwined hands, your heart racing. “Tim, this job… our lives… nothing’s simple.”

“I’m not asking for simple,” he said, his tone resolute. “I’m asking for you. Whatever that looks like.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, raw and honest in a way you weren’t sure you were ready for.

But as you looked at him, his expression equal parts hopeful and vulnerable, you realized that maybe you were.

The next day, you arrived at the station to find Tim waiting for you, two cups of coffee in hand.

He handed you one without a word, his fingers brushing against yours.

The small gesture sent a spark through you, a silent acknowledgment of the conversation you’d had the night before.

As you worked through the details of the case, the team’s curiosity about your relationship with Tim only grew.

Lucy, ever the inquisitive one, cornered you during a quiet moment.

“So,” she began, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. “You and Tim—what’s the story there?”

You smirked, taking a sip of your coffee. “You’ll have to ask him.”

When Lucy relayed this to Angela, Nolan, and Harper, it only fueled their determination.

During a briefing, Nolan couldn’t help but ask outright. “How exactly do you two know each other?”

Tim shot him a look that could wither a cactus. “Not your business, Nolan.”

Angela leaned back in her chair, smirking. “Interesting. Usually, you’re a lot less… protective.”

“Drop it,” Tim said, his tone leaving no room for argument. But the subtle way his eyes flicked to you didn’t go unnoticed.

Later, after the team had dispersed, you found Tim waiting for you by your car.

He leaned against it, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“You okay?” you asked, approaching him.

He nodded, then gestured for you to come closer. When you did, he pulled you into a quick, fierce hug, the suddenness of it catching you off guard.

Not expecting the cold, grumpy Tim Bradford to behave this way.

“What’s that for?” you asked, your voice muffled against his chest.

“Just wanted to,” he said simply, his tone soft.

As you stood there in the quiet of the parking lot, you realized that while the job might be dangerous and the past might be complicated, having Tim by your side made it all feel a little less daunting.

The next morning, you arrived at the station to find Tim already in the war room.

He stood in front of a large board covered with photos, timelines, and maps, his focus intense.

It was a scene you were familiar with, Tim Bradford in full mission mode.

“Morning,” you said, stepping inside with a coffee in hand.

He turned, his expression softening when he saw you. “Morning. Got started early.”

“I can see that.” You handed him a second coffee. “Figured you might need this.”

He took it with a small smile. “You know me too well.”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Old habits die hard.”

The two of you stood side by side, going over the latest developments in the case.

The criminal organization you were tracking was sophisticated, with layers of secrecy and a network of loyal operatives.

It was the kind of operation that required precision, patience, and trust.

“I think they’re using the docks as a secondary drop point,” you said, tapping a location on the map.

“We need to get eyes on it, but we can’t tip them off.”

Tim nodded. “Agreed. Harper and I can run surveillance. You and Nolan can follow up on the warehouse lead.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Nolan? You’re pairing me with a rookie?”

“He’s not a rookie anymore,” Tim replied, smirking. “And I trust him.”

“Fine,” you said, pretending to grumble. “But if he slows me down, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

Tim chuckled. “Noted.”

As the day progressed, the rest of the team couldn’t help but notice the easy rapport between you and Tim.

Lucy, always perceptive, leaned over to Angela as the two of you passed by.

“They’re definitely hiding something,” she whispered.

“Obviously,” Angela replied. “But what? They act like they’ve known each other forever.”

Harper, overhearing the conversation, chimed in. “Whatever it is, Tim’s not going to spill. You know how he is.”

“Yeah,” Lucy said, grinning. “But Y/N might be more willing to share.”

The three women exchanged a conspiratorial look before following you into the bullpen.

“So,” Lucy began, leaning casually against a desk. “How’s working with Tim treating you?”

You glanced up from your notes, arching an eyebrow. “Fine. Why?”

“No reason,” she said, feigning innocence. “Just curious. You two seem... close.”

“We’ve worked together before,” you said simply, refusing to elaborate.

Angela smirked. “And how did that go?”

“About as well as you’d expect,” you replied, your tone even.

Their curiosity only grew, but before they could press further, Tim appeared, his presence effectively ending the conversation.

He shot you a look as if to ask if you were okay. You gave him a subtle nod, and he relaxed.

Later that evening, the team gathered to finalize the operational plan. The stakes were high, if the operation failed, it could mean months of lost work and the possibility of the suspects disappearing altogether.

“The docks are our best shot,” Harper said, her tone firm. “But we need solid backup. These guys won’t go down without a fight.”

“I’ll take point,” you said without hesitation.

Tim frowned. “No way. It’s too risky.”

You met his gaze, your expression unwavering. “I can handle it.”

“I know you can,” he said, his voice quieter. “But I’m not letting you go in alone.”

The room fell silent as the tension between you and Tim became palpable.

The rest of the team exchanged glances but didn’t intervene.

“Fine,” you said finally. “But don’t slow me down.”

Tim’s lips quirked into a small smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The docks were dark and quiet, the salty breeze carrying a faint hint of diesel and seaweed.

You and Tim crouched behind a stack of shipping containers, eyes scanning the area for any sign of movement.

The operation had reached its climax, and you were at the forefront of the action.

“I count three guards near the north entrance,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the distant hum of machinery.

Tim nodded, his gaze sharp. “Two more near the warehouse entrance. Harper’s team is covering the perimeter.”

You adjusted your earpiece, your heart steady despite the tension. This wasn’t your first high-stakes operation, and you knew it wouldn’t be your last.

But there was something different about this one. Working alongside Tim brought a layer of intensity and focus you hadn’t felt in years.

“On my signal,” Tim said, his voice calm but authoritative. “We take out the guards at the north entrance first. Quietly.”

You nodded, your fingers tightening around your weapon. “Got it.”

As the seconds ticked by, you felt Tim shift closer to you. His shoulder brushed against yours, a subtle reminder that he had your back.

Despite the danger, his presence was grounding, a steady force in the chaos.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice low.

“Always,” you replied, a small smirk playing on your lips.

The operation moved quickly. You and Tim approached the guards with practiced precision, each movement coordinated and silent.

When the first guard turned, you stepped forward, delivering a swift and calculated blow that sent him crumpling to the ground.

Tim handled the second guard with equal efficiency, his movements smooth and controlled.

“Clear,” you whispered, signaling to the rest of the team.

From the earpiece, Harper’s voice came through. “Perimeter’s secure. We’re moving in.”

You and Tim pressed forward, making your way toward the warehouse.

The massive structure loomed ahead, its rusted exterior illuminated by flickering floodlights.

Inside, you knew the operation’s ringleader was waiting, along with the final pieces of evidence needed to bring the entire organization down.

As you reached the entrance, Tim glanced at you, his expression serious. “You good?”

You gave him a confident nod. “Let’s finish this.”

The air inside the warehouse was heavy with the scent of oil and metal.

Stacks of crates and pallets created a labyrinth of narrow pathways, each one more precarious than the last.

You and Tim moved silently, your weapons at the ready.

“Two o’clock,” Tim murmured, gesturing toward a shadowy figure near the back of the room.

You nodded, signaling that you’d cover him. Tim moved ahead, his steps deliberate and soundless.

He closed the distance to the suspect with remarkable speed, subduing him before he had a chance to react.

But just as the suspect hit the ground, the room erupted in chaos.

Another figure appeared, shouting a warning that sent the rest of the criminals scrambling.

“Contact!” you shouted into your earpiece, diving behind a stack of crates as gunfire erupted.

Tim dropped beside you, his expression tight. “We’ve got to neutralize them before they make a run for it.”

“On it,” you said, your adrenaline surging.

The two of you moved as a unit, covering each other as you advanced through the warehouse.

You took down one suspect after another, your training and instincts kicking in with precision.

Tim’s presence beside you was a constant, his sharp commands and quick reflexes ensuring that you were always one step ahead of the danger.

As the chaos subsided, you found yourself face-to-face with the ringleader.

He stood in the center of the room, a smug grin on his face as he held a gun pointed in your direction.

“Drop it,” you ordered, your voice cold and commanding.

The man chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t scare me.”

“You should be scared,” Tim said, stepping beside you. His tone was low and menacing, his weapon trained on the suspect.

For a moment, the air was thick with tension. Then, with a sudden burst of movement, the suspect lunged toward a nearby crate. But he didn’t get far.

In a flash, you and Tim fired simultaneously, your shots hitting their mark with precision.

The suspect crumpled to the ground, his weapon clattering harmlessly to the floor.

“Clear,” Tim said, his voice steady.

You nodded, lowering your weapon. The adrenaline began to ebb, leaving you with a sense of relief and satisfaction.

“Nice shot,” you said, glancing at Tim.

“Right back at you,” he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.

As the rest of the team secured the scene and processed the suspects, you and Tim stepped outside to catch your breath.

The cool night air was a welcome contrast to the stifling heat of the warehouse.

“That was intense,” you said, leaning against a nearby railing.

Tim chuckled, shaking his head. “Just another day at the office.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile crept onto your face. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re reckless,” he shot back, his tone teasing. “But I guess that’s why we make a good team.”

The banter felt easy and familiar, a reminder of the connection you shared.

As the night wore on, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the chance to work alongside Tim again, even if it meant navigating the complexities of your past and present.

But one thing was clear: together, you were a force to be reckoned with.

After the successful operation, the precinct was buzzing with activity. Arrests had been made, evidence was secured, and the team was riding the high of a job well done.

You and Tim lingered in the bullpen, going over the final report. The room had emptied out, leaving the two of you alone.

Repeating the same praises and compliments to each other.

“You were amazing out there,” Tim said, his voice low.

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” you replied, smirking.

He chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “So, what now? Back to the FBI?”

“For now,” you said. “But I’m sure our paths will cross again.”

“I’m counting on it,” he said, his gaze steady.

There was a beat of silence before he added, “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever worked with anyone like you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment?”

“Definitely,” he said, his tone warm.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment before he reached out, his hand brushing against yours.

It was a small gesture, but it carried a weight of unspoken feelings.

“Y/N,” he said softly,

“I know we’ve been dancing around this, but... I’ve missed having you in my life. Not just as a partner. As you.”

Your breath caught, his words sinking in. “Tim, I—”

Before you could finish, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was equal parts tender and passionate.

It was a moment of clarity, the past and present colliding in a way that felt inevitable.

When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours. “Tell me this isn’t just me.”

“It’s not,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions. “It never has been.”

While the road ahead wasn’t without its challenges, one thing was clear: together, you were unstoppable.

The next day, you found yourself back at the LAPD station, but there was an odd tension in the air.

You had already wrapped up your part of the case, and you were supposed to head back to the FBI, but something kept pulling you back to this familiar place, and to Tim.

As you entered the station, you couldn’t help but notice the curious glances from his coworkers.

You tried to brush it off, but the whispers had already begun. You knew exactly why. The mission was over, so why were you still here?

Nolan, Angela, and Lucy were at their desks, exchanging amused looks as they watched you walk by.

Their curiosity was palpable, but they hadn’t dared to say anything, yet.

Tim sat at his desk in the busy LAPD station, sorting through a pile of paperwork.

The usual hum of phones ringing, conversations about cases, and the sound of boots echoing in the hallway filled the air.

But none of it seemed to matter. Not when his mind kept drifting back to her.

Y/N.

You had been on his mind ever since their time together last night. The way your smile made his heart skip a beat, the way your laughter felt like a melody to him, everything about you seemed to ground him, even when the world was chaos.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching his desk.

He looked up, and there she was: Y/N. His chest tightened at the sight of her, and a smile spread across his face almost instantly.

You were standing in front of him, hands in the pockets of her jacket, looking at him with a soft but knowing smile.

You didn’t say anything at first, just took in the sight of him with those warm, familiar eyes.

"Hey," Tim said, his voice low and filled with affection, as if the word itself held a thousand meanings.

He stood up, his gaze softening when their eyes met.

Your smile grew, your heart fluttering at the sight of him. You were always struck by how effortlessly he seemed to make everything feel right, even on the busiest of days.

"Hey, yourself," you replied, your voice sweet, with a hint of playfulness.

Tim’s hand reached out instinctively, his fingers brushing against yours.

The simple touch sent a spark through both of us. It was as if the world faded away, leaving just the two of us standing in this quiet, intimate moment.

"You’re here early," Tim commented, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of your hand as you stood there together.

"I wanted to see you," you admitted, your voice a little softer than usual, a hint of shyness lacing your words. "I missed you."

His heart thudded in his chest, and without thinking, he pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you.

You melted into him almost immediately, your head resting on his chest.

Tim closed his eyes, the familiar scent of your perfume making him feel like everything was in place.

"I missed you too," he murmured against your hair. The words were simple, but they held so much weight.

He felt the warmth of you in his arms, and it made the stresses of the day feel like nothing.

You tilted your head back slightly to look up at him. His face was inches from yours, and you could feel his breath against your skin.

You loved how close you both were. There was something about being in his arms that made everything seem okay, no matter what was happening around us.

Tim’s hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin. "You okay?" he asked softly, his voice filled with concern.

"I am now," you replied with a small smile, your hand resting over his where it gently held your face. "Just needed to see you."

Your heart raced at the way he looked at you, so open, so trusting. He leaned down, his lips grazing yours in a gentle, lingering kiss.

It was tender, soft, like the kiss had all the time in the world.

When you pulled away, Tim let out a quiet sigh, his forehead resting against yours.

"I don’t want to let go," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

"You don’t have to," you whispered back, your arms wrapping around his waist, holding him close.

Tim smiled, the corners of his lips curling up in a way that only you could make happen. "Good," he said, his voice low and full of affection.

He kissed you again, this time deeper, the kiss filled with a hunger that had been building ever since you'd parted ways the night before.

You both broke away a few moments later, your faces flushed, breaths heavy.

Tim pressed his forehead against yours again, as if trying to ground himself in the moment.

"You’re everything to me," he whispered, the words sincere and full of emotion.

It was rare saying the Tim Bradford like this, all soft. But it was the best thing you've witnessed and you wouldn't change it for anything.

You closed your eyes, your hands gently brushing through his hair.

"And you’re everything to me," you said, your voice soft but filled with so much love.

The moment stretched on, neither of you wanting to move away, to break the peace that had settled between you.

You were lost in your own world, the chaos of the station and the responsibilities of your lives fading into the background.

It was just the two of you, connected, in your own little bubble.

Finally, Tim pulled back slightly, still holding you close. He smiled at you with a softness in his eyes that only you had the power to draw out.

"I’m glad you’re here," he said, his voice a little rough from the intensity of your shared moment.

"I’m glad too," you replied, your fingers tracing small patterns across his chest. "I’m not going anywhere this time."

Tim’s heart swelled with warmth at your words. He leaned down to press a final kiss to your lips, slow and tender.

It wasn’t about passion this time, it was about the connection you had, the unspoken understanding between you.

As you broke the kiss, you smiled up at him. "I guess I should probably let you get back to work," you said, a playful glint in your eyes.

Tim chuckled, but there was a hint of reluctance in his voice. "Yeah," he agreed, his thumb brushing over your cheek one more time. "But I don’t want to let go of you."

"Then don’t," you said softly, your voice filled with a quiet promise.

"Do you think the others suspected anything?"

"Oh definitely."

Meanwhile, the others were spying on both of you, their curiosity getting the best of them.

His coworkers froze, watching in disbelief through the glass window as Tim, usually stoic and reserved, wrapped his arms around you and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Oh, my God,” Lucy muttered under her breath, eyes wide. “Is that...?”

“I think that’s Y/N,” Nolan said, his voice trailing off as he tried to make sense of the situation.

“Bradford,” Lucy called out from far, unable to keep her curiosity in check. Storming into his office with the others close behind.

“Since when do you get all... affectionate?”

Tim glanced at them, his usual tough exterior slipping for a brief moment. He didn’t say anything at first, just held you there, savoring the moment.

You, however, were more than willing to answer their questions.

“You all have a lot of questions, don’t you?” you asked with a playful smile, glancing at Tim before meeting the others’ eyes.

Angela raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “We’ve never seen you like this, Tim. And you’ve been so secretive about everything. Who’s this?”

You looked up at Tim, the quiet understanding between you two enough to convey everything they needed to know.

“She’s my girlfriend, so I can do whatever I want.” Tim finally said, his voice firm, as if to silence any further questioning.

He didn’t give them much to go on but the simple truth.

The room went silent.

“Your girlfriend?” Jackson asked, his voice filled with disbelief. “Since when?”

Tim shrugged. “Not too long ago." Tim didn't want them to directly know that the two of you had just gotten back together.

“Not too long ago?” Lucy said, her jaw dropping. “And none of us knew? How... how is that even possible?”

Tim simply glanced at you with a soft smile, giving you the space to add something if you wanted.

You cleared your throat, still not entirely used to the attention.

“We’re private,” you said, your voice gentle but steady. “I’m not here for attention. Just... helping out with the case.”

Angela, ever the inquisitive one, tilted her head. “But you’re an FBI agent, right? What’s the deal with you two?”

You shared a glance with Tim before speaking, your tone calm and honest.

“We’ve known each other for a while. Tim and I have a history... and we’ve kept things private for a reason.”

Tim stepped in then, his expression soft but serious. “This is a personal matter. We’re not ready to share all the details. But Y/N means a lot to me, and that’s all that matters.”

The others nodded, though they still seemed a little stunned by the revelation.

After a brief pause, Jackson chuckled. “I guess that explains the... intimate moment earlier.”

Tim shot him a look, and you laughed, nudging Tim’s side playfully.

“Don’t worry,” you said, “We’ll make sure to keep it professional here. But the personal stuff? That’s ours.”

The others shared a mix of understanding and disbelief, their questions lingering in the air.

But before anyone could press further, you gave Tim a final, sweet smile.

“I should get going,” you said, your hand resting lightly on his chest. “I have work to do. But we’ll talk more later.”

As you turned to leave, Lucy caught your arm, her tone softer now, almost teasing.

“Hey, you’re always welcome to come by. It’s nice seeing Tim... happy. Maybe next time we’ll get to know you better, huh?”

You grinned, nodding. “Next time.”

With that, you left the station, feeling the eyes of Tim’s coworkers on you, but not in a bad way, just a little curious.

Back at your car, you smiled to yourself, the warmth from Tim’s touch still lingering on your skin.

You couldn’t deny it, everything was changing. But you knew you had Tim by your side, and that made it all feel right.

That evening, Tim greeted you at the door with a soft smile and a tight embrace.

You both had a quiet dinner together, sitting at the small kitchen table as you talked about your day.

“Thanks for letting me steal you away today,” Tim said, his fingers brushing yours as he handed you a glass of wine.

“Anytime,” you replied, your voice soft. “I love being around you, Tim. It feels like... everything falls into place when I’m with you. Just like old times.”

Tim leaned in, brushing his lips against your forehead. “Me too, Y/N. I couldn’t imagine my life without you now.”

The conversation flowed easily, and the quiet moments between you both were more than enough to make everything feel complete.

As you both relaxed into the evening, you knew this was just the beginning of something bigger, something that felt right.

And in the silence of your shared space, surrounded by love and the soft rhythm of each other’s breathing, you knew you’d navigate whatever came next together.

The end

[sturnsoupspoon]

kiss me thru the phone

matt sturniolo x reader smut .

matt can’t be there to help reader , so he reminds her of an old tape she can use to help jog her memory

warnings : smut , fem! receiving , sex tape , solo fem! slight soft dom matt. language.

italic writing = sex tape footage

-————☆——————☆——————☆————-

the lights were dim in my room . the only sounds heard being the shuffling of my body against my quilt and the taps of my acrylics on my phone screen.

the smell of cologne still attached to the fabric of my pillow case brings a smile to my face . he still wears it .

huffing in the smell i turn around to the other side of my bed . the cold sheets hug the skin of my arm as i throw my hand onto his pillow, missing the feeling of his chest rising next to me , missing the warmth of his skin and the soft fabric of his clothes . opening my phone app i press the recently dialed number , feeling the dial tone vibrate against my hand before it clicks off and i hear the familiar voice ring through the speaker.

“hey i was just thinking about you” matt’s voice spoke into my ear through the phone , his voice high , almost being able to hear the smile against his lips .

“what were u thinking about?” i reply as i get up from my pillows , sitting up and placing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“you know the usual , how i missed you , wondered when i’m gonna see you next , how hot your new post was on instagram is , how horny i now am , how pretty you are ….” he trails off , my eyebrows raise at that second to last one , letting a huff of air out through my nostrils , laughing in slight shock .

“hey what was that that last one ?” i say cutting him off .

“how pretty you are ? i feel like i say that a lot you shouldn’t be so suprise-“

i cut him off “no no. the other one , say that one again” i say quieter this time , now very aware of the prickling between my legs .

“i said …. how horny i am y/n , how hard i am from one photo of you . how much i wish i was there with you now , watching how easy it is to get you all worked up” he says slowly , every word making my heart beat quicken . every syllable making my legs press together more , squeezing the rising tension between my thighs. i let out a shakey breath as i lay back down . subconsciously my body arches back and my legs spread , the heels of my feet dragging along my bottom sheet as i situate myself .

“y/n ? you there sweetheart?” he says quietly , his voice soothing and soft .

“mhmm” i reply , in a trance as i stare at the ceiling, slowly biting down on my bottom lip as i bring my hand up to my chest , slowly trailing my nails across the skin on my breast . feeling my cold fingers move against the skin, forming goosebumps with their trail .

“you okay ? you went quiet there for a second?” he asks kindly , snapping me out of my trance slightly.

“fuck matt i need you” i breathe out , completely unaware of the way matt is loving this .

“i know you do , but i can’t come over tonight , so i need you to do something for me okay ?” he says with fake softness , his voice a calculated one as he waits for his cue .

“anything matt”

and there it is .

“i want you to open the file i know you have on your laptop, the one we made in august ? hmm. i want you to watch it . touch yourself where i touched you in that video, can you do that for me baby ?” he says , his voice now slightly croaky as he quietly talks into his speaker .

“mhm” i reply quietly, my hands already finding their way down to my shorts , past the fabric and onto the skin of my pussy.

“i need you words y/n , tell me exactly what your gonna do.”

i hault my hand as he speaks , a flush creeping onto my face at the tone of his voice. “ i’m gonna touch myself matty , i’m gonna watch the video we made together , im gonna relive it . fuck” i say as my fingers make my way beneath the fabric again , making contact with my sensitive clot for a split second.

“good girl , i’ve got to go now . but don’t be shy , send anything u want me to see” he says sweetly again , his dominant tone switching off again before the end tone rings , signalling him ending the call .

i open my hidden camera roll on my phone , finding the video very quickly. my hand lowers in my shorts before i wriggle out of them , watching the video play .

sounds of kissing is the only thing heard as matt slowly climbs on top of me . his jawline on the camera sharp and perfect as his tongue fights against mine . i moan softly as his hands brush my side , lifting my top up slightly, allowing his hands to snake up my shirt , cupping my breast as he continues to kiss me .

his lips move down to my neck , i throw it back at his touch allowing him a better angle , soft moans and sighs escaping my lips as he works my body the way he knows so well . kissing , sucking , licking all the spots he knows so well , eluding more pleasured sighs from me . my hands slip up his top and i take it off his body , his lips detaching from my neck as i pull the shirt over his head , before y it on the floor. i bring his face to mine again , taking control of the kiss now , my body attempting to roll against his as he pulls away from the kiss and lowers himself to my bare stomach, kissing the skin down to my underwear covered pussy . as he does this i throw my own shirt off my head , throwing it with his . the moment my shirt is on the ground , i feel my panties being rolled over my hips , down the my feet before i am lay bare in-front of him .

he spreads my legs , his muscles in his arms flexing as he holds them open , ducking his head to where i need him the most .

he licks a stripe up my folds , his saliva and my wetness allowing his tongue to slide to my clit easily , making a lewd moan fall from my lips at the contact . he wraps lips around my clit , placing a kiss to it before allowing his tongue to move over the sensitive bundle of nerves . my hand makes it’s way to his hair as he continues, my hips grinding up against him , my thighs trapping him between my legs as his mouth wraps around my pussy .

wet and lewd sounds along with soft moans and whispered “matt” ‘s are the only things heard now , my orgasm slowly creeping up on me as he places two fingers inside of me slowly, curling them into me .

my jaw falls slack as i feel this , my head throwing back into the pillows of his bed . my hand not in his hair grabs onto the headboard behind me , my nails digging into the fabric for some kind of relief as he shakes his head left to right violently.

“fuck fuck matt matt matt please” is all i manage to get our before both of my hands are in his hair , pushing his head down into my further as i reach my high , loud moans being pulled from me as he continues to push his tongue against my clit , riding out my high with me .

as i reach my high on the video i reach my high in real life , my phone falling from my hands as i grip the sheets of my bed , eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back into my pillow .

god even when he’s not here he still fucks me good .

-———————————-♡———————————-

tag list ?

[storiesofsvu]

One ask wasn't enough! So, how about these prompts, with Cabot?

"I can't sleep, can I stay here?" and

"Don't... I'm ticklish!"

Thank youuuu 🥰🥰

Thank YOU so much!! Here ya go!

Insomnia Strikes

Alex Cabot x reader (more implied than anything else lol) Warnings: mentions of anxiety/insomnia, I think that's about it. Just a nice little comfort one shot.

Being the natural night owl that you were, you never had any problems swapping shifts around when someone on the squad got roped into an overnight shift. You honestly didn’t mind it, you basically chilled alone, ate snacks, scrolled through your phone and answered a handful of phone calls that the desk clerk downstairs didn’t catch. It was a very rare occasion where something actually made its way to you prior to six in the morning and by then you were usually only on intake, passing it off to the day team before heading home. It was a nice little break from the chaos that the squad room and a courtroom normally were.

You spent the first few hours catching up on paperwork, finishing all the nearly late files, scrawling your signature across them before popping them into Cragen’s inbox. The squad slowly disappearing as late evening hit until only Olivia remained and you tossed a crumpled up piece of paper onto her desk, telling her to get out of there. You knew she liked to stick around as late as she could, not wanting anyone to really be trapped all alone in the building and she was quick to ask if you’d eaten dinner yet. You laughed, saying you had your breakfast before you came in and that she better get home to get some sleep. If she complained of being tired when you finally did have to call her in, you’d hold it against her. That finally got her going, giving you a warm smile as she wished you goodnight and finally left the precinct.

Once office lights began to flick off and the downstairs desk attendant clocked in things fell into a state of stillness, quiet and calm seeping through the air. Your paperwork was actually done, the most recent case you’d been working on waiting on the jury and you appeared to be free from actual work. So you started on the more mundane tasks, things that didn’t get done until you were on night shift. You started out by cleaning your desk, tossing out old receipts, crumpled up pastry bags, pencils that were so slivered down they couldn’t be used. Grabbing the collection of coffee mugs from the bull pen you headed into the break room, loading up the sink with hot soapy water to take care of the dishes in there. The cleaning crew usually came through around midnight, so you tackled the fridge, throwing out anything and everything that wasn’t labelled, had been in there for too long or seemed to be growing its own ecosystem.

After a very thorough hand wash, you wandered back to your desk, phone in your hand as you ordered some food for dinner, though maybe it was technically your lunch. Having no messages, calls or emails waiting, you pulled out your I-pad, sitting it on your desk as you settled back into your chair, pulling up your most recent binge. You were starting to get a little antsy twenty minutes in, your foot tapping against the floor over and over again. If it were day shift you’d usually caught a case or had to trek over to the DA’s office by now, but you were still just sitting there wishing you had an easier way to get your steps in. Your prayers were partially answered when the desk sergeant called up saying your food was there and you got to jog down the stairs to pay the driver before wandering back up them to your desk.

You ate a couple of slices, snagged a soda from the machine and set the box off to the side as you turned your attention back to the screen in front of you. The cleaning crew came and went, efficiently working through the space in no time, waving a friendly hello and then goodbye to you once they were finished. It wasn’t much later after that when you heard the shuffling of feet coming from the hallway and you glanced up, half expecting the desk clerk to be coming to take advantage of the vending machines. Your head tilted when instead you spotted Alex, loose leggings and a fuzzy sweater wrapped around her frame, hair messily tied back.

“Lex?” You greeted and her head lifted up, a small smile on her cheeks when she saw you. “What’re you doing here? Please don’t tell me you’re gonna have to go wake up a judge.”

“No.” She replied with a small huff, leaning over to press a kiss to your temple before pulling over a spare chair and dropping into it. “Tried your apartment first, neighbour said they saw you leaving for work late so I figured you were stuck on night shift.”

“And you thought I needed a babysitter?” You asked with a tease and she shook her head at you.

“Long day. I just wanted to make sure I got to see you at some point.” She yawned, her hands sneaking under her glasses to rub furiously at her eyes.

“You could’ve just called.”

She glanced up at you, a nervous look in her eyes as she chewed on her lip for a minute before letting out a breath, “I can’t sleep. Can I just stay here?”

“Yeah.” You smiled, reaching out to squeeze at her knee, “course you can. Did you at least try to sleep? Or were you still up on the couch pouring over case files?”

“I did.” She revealed with a sigh, “stared at the ceiling tossing and turning for almost four hours before I gave up. My brain just won’t shut up.”

“Did you take your meds?” You asked and she glanced up at you with a sheepish look on her face, softly shaking her head.

“I ran out on Monday; didn’t realize I was so low and I couldn’t get an appointment for a refill until next Tuesday. I took the anxiety one at eight and doctor’s orders say I can’t take melatonin with it, so I’m just kinda out of luck.”

“Shit.” You frowned, squeezing at her leg again, “next time we’ll make sure you always have an immediate refill on hand.”

“Thanks.” Her hand caught yours, squeezing it softly as she smiled across at you.

“You eat?”

“Wasn’t really hungry.” She shrugged, “had a granola bar.”

“How about you dig into this,” you tugged the pizza box from the other side of the desk, flipping it open in front of her and when the smell wafted over to she felt her stomach begin to grumble. “I’ll see what they have for tea in the break room.”

Leaving a kiss on the top of her head you left her to it, commenting for her to change the Netflix to whatever she wanted while you were gone. Digging through the break room you were pleasantly surprised to find a box of chamomile tea, turning on the kettle and brewing a mug exactly the way Alex liked it. When you crossed back into the bull pen she was curled up in the spare chair, your NYPD hoodie you normally stashed in the lower drawer of your desk draped over her lap as her hands played with the fraying cuffs.

A warm smile overtook your features as you placed the mug down in front of her, kissing her cheek again before reminding her to eat. With a tired sigh she finally leant forward, taking a slice of pizza, a pleased groan leaving her when she found it still warm.

She’d chosen one of your mutual favourite comfort movies, a classic rom com with no drama or terribly corny jokes set in the city you’d made your home. She ate her slice and sipped at her tea while she watched, relaxing into your side as she did so. You had to answer a couple of texts over the course of the hour but otherwise you were pleasantly occupied and comfortable. There were about five minutes left in the movie when she was fully slumped on your shoulder, you could feel her steady breathing and were certain her eyes had finally closed even if she wasn’t asleep yet. Your fingers poked gently at her side and she grumbled, flinching away from your touch without moving her head off your shoulder.

“Don’t. I’m ticklish.”

“Sorry.” You murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, “lets get you to the crib, you can get some actual sleep.”

“Come with me?” She finally looked up at you with sapphire puppy dog eyes and a pout on her lips. You smiled softly, letting out a breath of a laugh.

“Okay, but only ‘til you fall asleep. I am on duty after all.”

“Fine.” She scowled, yawning, her eyes still drooping as she reluctantly stood from the chair, your hoodie still curled in her arms.

Alex shuffled away to the bunk room, letting herself in and leading you to the bunk burrowed in the corner. You grabbed a couple of extra pillows and blankets, making sure she was more than comfortable, tucked in and relaxed as she curled up on her side face you. Perched on the edge of the bed you smoothed back her hair, tucking it behind her ear as her eyes fell shut again, letting out a content sigh.

“Thank you.” She murmured; her voice muffled by the pillow.

“Anytime baby.” You whispered back, fingers trailing across her cheek before you kissed her forehead.

By the time you’d sat upright she was out like a light, soft snores echoing through the small room and a small smile crept onto your lips. Pulling out your phone you quickly set an alarm so she would have enough time to get home and get dressed properly for the day before having to return to the DA’s office and quietly made your way from the room. You knew it wasn’t much, but it really was the little things, knowing that whenever Alex was fighting a bout of insomnia she found solace and relief in you, that no matter where you were, she would eventually be lulled into comfort and thus sleep as long as you were around.

________________________

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[kaiijo]

A GATHERING OF CLOUDS — BLADE

content: fem! reader, angst, bittersweet/open ending, generally follows the clouds leave no trace mission but i’ve taken some liberties, spoilers for post-xianzhou arc, reader is one of the ten stonehearts and goes by ‘tourmaline’ notes: this story mission broke my heart 

You sigh as you read through the massive file your department head dumped on you. From what you’ve skimmed through, it seems that there’s a problem you’ll have to arbitrate on the planet of Venovia regarding the building of their Quantum Collider. The problem is simple, really, just a matter of the neighboring planet refusing to grant clearance for the collider — did this report really have to go on for over seventy pages?

You’re about to flip to the next page when there’s a knock at your door. “Come in,” you call, eyes darting across the text in front of you. 

“Well, you look like you’ve got your work cut out for you,” Topaz says as she walks in, sitting down in the chair in front of you. 

You snort, looking up at her. “No rest for the wicked, I suppose. Yan Shilou gave me this yesterday and said a resolution had to be proposed by the end of the week.”

“Three days away, then. Better get on it!”

“I would be working on it now if someone wasn’t distracting me in my office,” you say but your voice lacks any irritation. 

Topaz laughs a little, “What? You don’t want me to say bye before I head to Jarilo-VI?”

“Aeons, that’s right! I forgot!” You open up the bottom drawer of your desk and root around, finally feeling your fingers brush against what you’re looking for. You pull it out and hand her the box, wrapped in a cream-colored paper and secured with an orange ribbon. 

She opens the gift, finding a pair of dark gloves identical to the ones she usually wears, but you explain, “There’s lined inside. Belobog’s eternal freeze is nothing to joke about.”

“Wow!” She slides them onto her hands and says, “Thank you! They’re so soft inside!”

“It was my pleasure!” You smile at her and you two chat for a little before she gets up to leave. There’s a knock at your door before she can and you beckon the person to enter. 

Your assistant shuffles in, apologetically glancing between your mountain of paper and Topaz. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I can come back—”

“Don’t worry, I was just about to leave,” Topaz says and she wiggles her fingers at you as a goodbye, disappearing around the corner. 

“Mail’s come in.” He hands you a small stack of letters, keeping one in his hand. You motion at it in question and he says, “This one’s odd. There’s no return address or any indication where it came from.”

He leans over to give it to you and you slice it open with a dagger-shaped letter opener. Your assistant eyes it and says, “I always forget to tell you how cool that thing is. It’s so well-made!”

Your finger runs over the grooves of the handle. Even though the metal is cool, you swear you can still feel the warmth of the forge and of the hands who crafted it. You turn it over in your hand and finally manage to reply, “Thank you.” 

You know it sounds flat and strained so you instead busy yourself with the letter. There’s no visible ink when you slide it out of the envelope but as you unfold it, the words materialize into a message written in swift, decisive strokes. 

It has been a very long while, hasn’t it? I hear you’re going by Tourmaline now. It suits you, as does your high-ranking position in the Talent Motivation Department of the IPC — you always were a mediator. I know you have run off to the farthest corner of the universe to leave behind what has transpired. But in accordance with our old vow, I invite you once again roam our lands of past, drink in celebration and recount our great adventures.

You think your heart has stopped and your eyes examine the words over and over again. You forgot that your assistant is still in the room. He clears his throat hesitantly and asks, “Are you alright, ma’am?”

You suck in a deep breath and plaster a mask of smile on your face as you answer, “Yes, I am fine. You’re dismissed. And thank you for bringing in the mail.”

He casts you another worried look but says no more, nodding and exiting, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. You don’t realize how much you’re trembling until you pick up the note to read it one last time, the thin sheet shaking too. 

You scoff as your eyes fall on the final sentence and you scoff. As if vows meant anything to them. 

Your stomach churns and there’s a sting behind your eyes that you haven’t felt in years, yet you’re reaching for your phone and reserving a starskiff to the Xianzhou Luofu before you know it. 

“I believe that’s checkmate,” you said, grinning triumphantly as Jing Yuan froze, eyes darting across the board, trying to find a way out. 

“There’s always a way out,” he huffed, hand hovering over one piece, then another, then another.

You replied, “That’s not how chess works.”

He glowered at you and Jingliu sighed, standing behind Jing Yuan to gaze at the board. “You should have moved your knight here,” she said, pointing at a square. “Then you would have beaten her in three more moves and avoided the capture of the queen.”

Jing Yuan didn’t answer, still surveying the board. Dan Feng rolled his eyes at your friend’s fruitless determination. You laid back, delighting in the light mist of water that sprays from the surrounding waterfalls. You loved Scalegorge Waterscape — it was rare to find somewhere with so much nature in the Alliance. “Wait,” Jing Yuan said and you sighed dramatically. He continued, “What if—”

A low gravelly voice sounded behind you. “Give it up, Jing Yuan, she has bested you again.”

You tilted your head to the source of the voice and smiled again, big and wide, heat sparking through your body when he offered you that signature smirk. Baiheng dashed ahead of him, waving the large bag of food they had picked up. He sat down beside you, long lithe fingers reaching over to brush a stray piece of hair from your face.

“Miss?” You jolt awake with a tight feeling in your chest. Your starskiff driver is turned around in his seat and staring at you. “We’ve arrived.”

“Oh!” You scramble to give him his credits and you climb out, stepping onto the Xianzhou Luofu for the first time in seven centuries.

Central Starskiff Haven is as busy as you remember, bustling with passengers embarking and disembarking from various spacecrafts. Merchants hawk their wares loudly, tourists slowing down to peruse as residents quickly rush past. 

You weave in between the crowds, the familiar smells of berrypheasant skewers and songlotus cake making your mouth water. Despite your anxiety, your heart swells as the sights and sounds and smells around you. You begin to make your way towards the next starskiff terminal when you hear footsteps approaching rapidly from behind. You tense, steeling yourself when you feel a hand on your shoulder. A voice breathes out your name in disbelief and your own eyes widen at the familiar sound. You turn around. “Yukong.”

She stares at you, repeating your name once more. A tentative smile appears and she says, “It’s been a while.”

“It has. How have you been?”

“Well, all things considered.” She hesitates and says, “A lot has happened since you left.”

Your stomach churns with guilt and you force out an answer: “You know I had to get away. After everything that happened—”

“Yes, I know.” She cuts you off and you can hear the betrayal leaking into her otherwise stoic tone. She squares her shoulder and asks, “What are you doing back?”

“I…” You debate telling her the whole truth but, perhaps against your better judgment, you don’t. Instead, you say, “I need to meet with Jing Yuan.” It’s not a lie, technically, but Yukong knows you better and from the way her lips purse, you can tell she doesn’t believe you entirely. 

“The general is not at the Seat of Divine Foresight at the moment. He’s dealing with matters concerning a prisoner right now.”

“I see.”

Another silence. When Yukong breaks it, you expect her to inquire further but she says, “You don’t have your bow on you.”

It makes you smile slightly. “I do, just not so conspicuously now.” You gesture to an intricate band around your wrist. 

“I’m surprised. You never would have parted with it before.”

“Things change.” Your eyes flicker over her and you ask, “Do you remember when I gifted you your first bow?”

It makes her smile a little too. “Yes. It was far too big for me. Baiheng laughed and laughed that day. I still have it.”

“Really?”

“It’s at home, hanging on my wall.”

“I figured you would have disposed of it, given everything…”

She sighs, “I thought about it but I couldn’t part with it. No matter what has transpired over these many years we’ve been estranged, you are still my bow master.” You don’t get a chance to reply before Yukong says, “I have to return to the Palace of Astram.”

“I understand.” You tilt your head up and look at the clear blue sky. Perfect flying weather. You look back at her. “Perhaps we can catch up some other time.”

A pause, then she nods. “I would like that.” Turning on her heel, she moves to leave, but over her shoulder, Yukong says, “Until next time, master.” Then, she melts into the bustling crowd and disappears among them. 

With a heavy exhale, you decide to go to Scalegorge Waterscape. You board a starskiff and head for Scalegorge Waterscape. It’s not a long journey at all but it feels interminable. Your heart pounds against your ribcage when you land, the sand soft under your boots as you disembark.

You can see the looming columns in the distance and you push down your nerves as you walk towards them, passing by the statue of your old friend. As you approach, a young boy with a blond ponytail walks past with a group of Cloud Knights flanking a man. The boy eyes you suspiciously and he’s about to question you when the man in custody says, “I presume you’re a part of the reunion.”

You don’t answer, brushing past both swiftly and silently. You see Jing Yuan first, his eyes meeting yours resolutely. He calls your name, voice low. The three others turn to face you and your heart stops. 

Jingliu, wearing the same blindfold covering her eyes that she had when she escaped the Xianzhou. Dan Feng, or rather, his reincarnation, gazing at you with a spark of recognition in his eyes as he reaches into the fog of his mind for memories of you.

And him. Yingxing, though, you don’t think he’s going by that name anymore. No, he’s taken on a different moniker, one befitting of the life he now leads. Blade, a Stellaron Hunter, a weapon for the Slave of Destiny. 

You force your feet to move, dragging you forward until you stand between Dan Feng — or whatever name he goes by now — and Blade. Jingliu starts to move now, her steps precise, and she stops in the center of your circle. “And so,” she begins, “everyone is present. I never thought the High-Cloud Hexad would be able to gather again in the same place after hundreds of years.”

You watch her intently as she continues, recalling the promise you all made so many centuries ago. No matter what happened, you would all gather together and share a drink. You remember that day with too much clarity, how Baiheng grinned when she suggested it, bright and beaming like the sun. You remember clinking your cups together to toast the vow. Those days feel so distant, so unattainable now. 

“How sad that Scalegorge Waterscape remains empty while the world continues to turn. Some of us have been reborn,” — her eyes slide over to Dan Feng’s reincarnation — “while others have been denied death.” Her head pivots towards Blade, addressing him still when she says, “Some have become criminals.” 

Then, she faces you. “And others have never stopped running and lost their souls along the way.”

Your hands clench into fists and you bite your tongue to stop from retorting but you know all too well how the IPC is viewed by much of the galaxy. Maybe you hoped that you would be regarded as one of the good ones. Maybe it’s just been denial on your part. 

Regardless, Jingliu is as she has always been, her words as sharp and accurate as ever. Your fingers brush over the band around your wrist that contains your bow.

“There are also those,” she says, peering upwards, “who can no longer fulfill their promises. And in the end, our friendship is no more. Soon, I will be shackled and tried. This will be the last you see of me. This is why I sent out the invitations before departing, hoping that everyone would be gathered here for my final farewell.”

Then, she utters the words you have heard time and time again in your sleep, in dreams and nightmares that never seem to end. 

“Of six people, three must pay a price.”

She’s still speaking but her voice fades into the back of your mind as the sound of your blood roaring fills your ears. You feel cursed, sometimes, as a long-life species, doomed to live and remember and suffer. 

You almost think Baiheng’s fate was the kindest of them all, unburdened of guilt and heartache and memories. 

And just as soon as you all gather, Jingliu soon begins to dismiss you. She and Jing Yuan discuss where she will be detained and as they turn to leave, Blade interrupts. Coldly, he says, “Before you leave, you still owe me my due.”

It’s all too clear what he wants. Your stomach drops at his request and finally, you really look at the man who used to be the man you loved. One of his hands is gloved, the other wrapped in bandages. There’s a bandage around his thigh. Another twined at his bicep. 

Your heart cracks. How much pain and suffering has he endured? How long has he begged for death and an end, felt the slide of a sword or the bullet of a gun, just to regrow again and return to the same agonizing cycle?

When Jingliu refuses to draw her sword against him without provocation, Blade draws his, an ancient, broken sword you’ve seen countless times when it was brand-new. One that has been shattered and pieced back together over and over again, just as its wielder has been as well. 

You hear Jingliu’s dreamy voice float above the clanging of metal. “Their faces still linger before my eyes, like a bygone dream.” As they begin to duel, your head spins and memories you’ve buried deep down in the recesses of your heart and mind break through their confines and seep into your bones. 

Baiheng’s loud laugh, ringing up to the stars as you walked the streets of Aurum Alley. Jingliu poured you a cup of tea as you caught up at her home. Jing Yuan fell asleep against your shoulder as you all sat together on a sunny day. Dan Feng’s exasperated voice called for you to slow down. 

Jingliu continues: “I thought those joyful days would flow indefinitely before us — like a Xianzhou lifetime.” Blade lunges for her, the tip of his sword skimming close to her face, intentional in its avoidance. Instead, it slices her blindfold and it flutters into the wind. 

You entered Yingxing’s workshop in the Artisanship Commission. Swords, daggers, and other weaponry lay around the shop, some cooling in water, fresh from the forge; others hanging on the wall. You found him hunched over his workbench, scowling and grumbling. 

You crept with quiet steps to him, tapping his shoulder. Yingxing whirled around furiously, expression softening slightly when he saw you. “What are you doing here?” he asked. 

“You promised you’d meet up with me an hour ago and when you didn’t show, I figured you’d be here.” You tried to peer at his workbench, but he moved in front of you, broad shoulders blocking your view.

“What’re you working on?”

“Nothing.”

“You were just huffing and puffing, Yingxing. That doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“It’s nothing worth your time,” he replied, standing up to usher you to the door, but he didn’t anticipate your quick reflexes, and you skirted around him. 

On the workbench sat a small ring. It was gold, dented and misshapen, so different from Yingxing’s regular work. “Don’t—” he started as you reached for it, turning it over in your fingers. 

“Who’s this for?” you asked, stomach turning at the thought of it being for another. 

“Nobody.”

You plastered a smirk on your face to hide your simmering jealousy. “Is it for that pretty shopgirl who always gives you an extra berrypheasant skewer for free?”

“No,” he grumbled.

“What about the girl—”

“It’s for you,” he said. “For your birthday next week.” 

“Oh!” Your heart swelled and you bit back the grin that threatened to break out. “I’m sorry I ruined the surprise. It’s beautiful, Yingxing.”

“No, it’s not. Discard it. I will make you something better.”

You reeled back from him, cupping the (jewelry) protectively in your hands. “I love it! It’s already perfect!”

“It’s sloppy.”

You frown at him defiantly and slide it on your finger with ease. “It’s perfect.”

“In what way?”

“Because it came from you,” you said. “Because it’s thoughtful and kind and I love it, and I love you.” The minute the words left your mouth, your stomach dropped. It was out in the open now — the feelings you had been dancing around for months. Your unspoken pining finally made tangible with words.

He went still. “You love me?”

You laughed weakly, desperately fighting the anxiety clawing up your throat. “Isn’t it obvious?” When he didn’t reply, you began to say, “Forget I said anything��

“No,” he said. and then with one stride, he closed the gap between the two of you, lips crashing against yours.

Jingliu leaps into the air, sword aimed precisely and lethally. “Yet, dreams…” she says, “...will eventually fade — like clouds from the sky.”

You remembered when you had found out what Dan Feng and Yingxing had done, tampering with the Ambrosial Arbor and committing one of the most grievous of sins. You remembered how it felt like your heart had been ripped out when you heard of their fates, of Dan Feng’s forced reincarnation, Yingxing’s wicked immortality wrought by mara and his banishment. How you had sobbed and screamed and tore apart your shared home with Yingxing before your legs had given out and you sunk to the floor in despair and betrayal and hopelessness. 

You left the Xianzhou Alliance soon after, packed up in the middle of a cold, gray night and disappeared. You couldn’t stay, not in the home that reminded you of him or on the fleet that reminded you of them, of everything. You were adrift for a long time before Diamond found you. 

You watch as Jingliu drives her sword into Blade’s chest, the force sending him sprawling. She yanked it out of him, no blood spurting from the wound or flecking her blade. He lay there for minutes before jerking, eyes flying open and gasping for air. He sits up then stands quickly, and he says nothing further to her. 

As Dan Feng’s reincarnation goes to speak with Jingliu, then Blade, and Jing Yuan (Dan Heng, you hear Jing Yuan call him), you cautiously approach Blade. He’s looking out into the distance of Scalegorge Waterscape but he turns when you stand beside him. 

There’s no greeting, not that you expect one. He asks, “What do you go by now?”

“Tourmaline,” you answer. 

He just continues to stare at you. Then, Blade’s eyes flick down, settling on your neck. He points at the ring that you wear on a chain around your neck. “This,” he says. “What’s this?”

Your heart aches. He doesn’t remember. Of course, he doesn’t; the mara fragments his mind. You’re sure it’s familiar to him, which is why he’s asking, but like Dan Heng, he does not have all his memories from your former life. “You— Yingxing made it for me.”

“It’s ugly.”

You can’t help but scowl at him and there’s a sense of deja vu as you snap, “No, it’s not.” It’s perfect because it came from you. Because you crafted weapons and armor and things that were meant to be sharp and lethal; you were unused to making something meant for softness and love and you did so anyway for me. 

Blade doesn’t react. The breeze passing through rustles his long, dark hair. He’s as handsome as ever and you hate it. You hate this. You hate Jingliu for orchestrating this. You hate yourself for coming. And you hate him, this stranger who wears your beloved Yingxing’s face but will never be the man he once was. 

You don’t even realize that there are tears rolling down your cheeks until you feel hands, strong and calloused from years of work the owner of the appendage can only remember in fragments, cup your cheek. His thumbs wipe at your tears but when your eyes meet him, he freezes, eyes widening ever so slightly as if he can’t believe he’s doing it himself, a subconscious instinct driving him. A memory of what was. 

You expect him to withdraw swiftly but his hands are slow, fingers skimming your skin gently as if trying to savor the feeling and engrave it on their tips. They reach your chin, falling away. Blade’s arms hang at his sides and he’s still. 

Then, he turns away and begins his journey out of Scalegorge Waterscape. He casts one last long look at you over his shoulder, expression unreadable. Something swims in his crimson eyes that you can’t discern. You want to say it’s longing, maybe even something affectionate, but the man you loved is long gone. You can’t read this stranger. 

You blink and he’s vanished before your very eyes. It leaves you, Jing Yuan, and Dan Heng alone. Dan Heng says quietly to you, “You were the bow master of the Luofu.”

You offer him a sad smile. “I was.”

“Where are you going from here?” Jing Yuan asks.

“Back to Pier Point,” you respond softly. “I have matters to attend to for the IPC.”

“I see,” Jing Yuan says. “I would invite you to stay but I know it’s a selfish request.”

“Another time, General,” you say. “When I return again, we’ll meet up once more.” You address Dan Heng: “And you?”

“I’ll return to the Astral Express.”

“Ah,” you say wistfully, “a Trailblazer. It suits you.”

He gives you a nod and a small smile, and you say, “Goodbye, Jing Yuan. Goodbye, Dan Heng.”

You make your way back to the starskiff, still dutifully parked where you left it. As you climb inside, one last lingering memory drifts into your mind. 

“When I die,” Yingxing said as he held you close, curled around you protectively, “promise you won’t forget me?”

“Why are you talking about this, my love? Planning on dying anytime soon?”

“It is something to consider. I am not a long-life species. So promise me when I am gone, you won’t forget me.”

You gaze up at him, “As if I could ever forget about you.”

You massage your temples. This Quantum Collider nonsense is more of a headache than you anticipated. “Mail’s in!” Your assistant waves a stack of envelopes at you, placing them on your desk before taking his leave. 

You sift through the pile — bills, forms you had to sign, scam letters about an overdue warranty… 

You pick out one envelope in particular. It’s red among a sea of white and you slice it open with your letter opener. The note you pull out only has a few words on it: a time and a place. There is no sign-off or official signature. All that is at the bottom was the Xianzhou character for the word ‘blade.’ 

[forlorn-crows]

Hi, so I had a thought bumping around my head about rain or dew, I'm not picky and I can see either of them doing this, sending mountain a picture of them mid orgasm because why wouldn't they torture him like that? What mountain does about that is up to you

😘

you know that gifset going around of dew's little chest heaving when he breathes really hard on stage? yeah, i think he would use that to his advantage >:)

Steam follows his feet from the bathroom, trailing across the old tile and wisping across the hall. Mountain sighs as he returns to his room. He steps directly into a warm patch of setting sun, and he stretches like a lazy, contented cat. His bed sings its siren call to him, drawing his loose, tired body into its freshly-washed blanketed clutches. 

The earth ghoul lets out an oof as he hits the mattress, groaning with delight at its comfort. Somehow, it feels the most comfortable after a long day of manual labor. He’s starfished out, eyes closed, for no more than thirty seconds before his phone buzzes on his bedside table. 

Mountain grumbles. Blindly reaches for his phone and brings it to his face. Two notifications from Dew fill the screen.

fire lily: video file [118MB]

fire lily: drop something big guy? 😏

Mountain squints at the screen. Huh? He unlocks the phone and taps on the Messages icon, pulling up Dew’s contact. Brain power at close to zero for the day, he clicks Play on the video without really looking at it. 

The video opens on Dew’s face, flushed and screwed up in pleasure. Sweat beaded on his forehead. The corner of Mountain’s shirt, the one he chopped wood and raked leaves in all day, is tucked between Dew’s teeth, and the wet schlick schlick sound of his cock being jacked sounds off-screen. Holding the phone in one hand while masturbating with the other. 

“Fuck, you—” Mountain pauses the video and drops it, eyes as wide as saucers. He furrows his brow, craning his neck to look at the pile of dirty clothes he had deposited at the door. Huh. Indeed, his shirt was missing from it. Where would he have dropped it and not noticed? Did Dew actually come into his room while he was showering and steal it? Lucifer, how long was he in the shower? Or did he just—

His face snaps back to the phone, now semi-dimmed but still paused on Dew’s half-smug, half-pleasured face. Mountain’s brain goes fuzzy, already tingling down south. He rewinds the first few seconds and presses play once more.

Video Dew repeats his smirk, top fangs showing over the fabric of Mountain’s shirt. His eyes blow wide with mischief and desire as his hand flies over his cock. 

“Fuck, you smell so good,” he grits through his teeth. He’s panting, little chest heaving and shoulders lifting with each breath like they do when he gets overwhelmed, close to cumming. “Couldn’t help it.” 

Mountain throbs hard against the mattress as he watches Dew’s eyes flutter, unfocusing for a moment before returning to look at the camera with a hitched moan. The sound of his hand on his cock grows more frantic, his other hand getting shaky as he works to keep his face centered in the frame. Dew’s eyebrows twitch upwards. A little nn-hn sound soaks into the t-shirt. 

“Oh,” the earth ghoul breathes. His jaw stays dropped, and the hand not holding his phone unconsciously grabs at the sheets. 

The sleeve of Mountain’s shirt, damp with saliva, slips from Dew’s mouth. Fabric disappearing completely off screen. He cranes his neck a little to look down at himself, and Mountain can hear the shwish of fabric being rearranged, shuffled about. “S-seven hells,” he keens, head falling right back down. There’s no more sounds of a hand sliding over pre-cum-dampened skin, but the motion of Dew’s arm remains unchanged, signaling to Mountain that he’s bunched up his dirty shirt to hump against as he winds the band of his pleasure tighter and tighter. 

Dew’s breathing grows quicker, more ragged, filled with little uh uh’s as his eyes fight to stay open. A line of drool dribbles from Mountain’s mouth unnoticed, hitting the back of his hand as he watches Dew’s face open, growing lax as his eyes roll back with a long, low groan. The video blurs as Dew presumably hits Stop and flings his phone away, depriving Mountain from watching him finish. 

“H-oh, Belial.” Blood rushes to Mountain’s dick so fast that he doesn’t even have the option to get up and do anything about his secondhand ruined orgasm. Though the fire ghoul resides a mere twenty steps down the hall, Mountain shoves his pants down and props his phone against the pillow, humping at the bed as if Dew were beneath him.

All he can do is groan into his own arm when he soils his fresh bedding with a load far bigger than it should be.