#like where else am i supposed to talk about this stuff

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Hi, I was wondering if I could request a fic?

So where I work irl next door is a beauty salon and it's called Doll and Dash and has a comically large digital clock that you can see from the window when you peek in and has a gurney bed type thing I guess that is used for doing lashes. One of the big things is on a sign in the door it says and I quote "for the safety of our dolls we don't take walk ins" I find this salon to be very creepy

Anywho, I was wondering if you could write about a beauty salon that is a front for whumper to actually turn unsuspecting whumpees into real dolls. Including restraints, gags, non con drugs, and all the whumpy dumpy stuff.

Hi Anon! I would absolutely LOVE to write this for you! I hope I did it justice, here you go!

Dolled Up

Whumpee stepped inside the beauty salon. They had made the appointment about a week ago, and they were hoping the session would give them a confidence boost that, according to Caretaker, they sorely needed. As they opened the door, a bell rang and a beauty tech came to greet them.

“Hello hello, welcome to Dolled Up!” the tech said, smiling brightly, “what’s your name?”

“Whumpee,” Whumpee answered, “am I too early?”

“Whumpee, Whumpee…” the tech searched on their tablet, “ah! I see you right here. No, you’re right on time, come back with me please. Whumper is all ready for you.”

Whumpee shyly followed the tech through a door and into what looked like an operating room. Someone else approached them.

“Welcome, Whumpee,” the person said, “my name is Whumper, and I'll be taking care of you. Won't you sit down?”

Whumper gestured to a padded gurney. Whumpee had never been to a beauty salon before, so they supposed this was normal. They approached the gurney and sat down on it.

“So, um, how does this work?” Whumpee asked.

“Oh it's just as the name implies,” Whumper said, snapping on gloves, “can I offer you a drink? It's on the house.”

Whumper held out a glass of some kind of sparkling drink. Whumpee hesitated.

“It’s non-alcoholic, unless you'd prefer that of course,” Whumper giggled.

“Oh, in that case.” Whumpee took the drink and sipped it, “thank you.”

“You're very welcome, my dear.”

Whumper set about taking facial measurements of Whumpee. Whumpee tried to hold still, but they were getting very tired all of a sudden. They found themselves swaying to the side. Whumper slid a hand behind their back and gently lowered them onto the gurney, repositioning their legs so that they were completely laying down.

“There we go,” Whumper said, “now we can actually get started.”

“Wha…wha did you…?”

“Your eyes are stunning, and your hair is gorgeous, as is your complexion. Your attire however… it needs an overhaul. No doll of mine needs to dress like this.”

Whumpee should be panicking, and they were trying to, but whatever they had just drank was keeping them calm and pliant on the gurney.

“Assistant, please get everything ready,” Whumper said.

The beauty tech- if that was even their profession- nodded and locked the door. They went to a closet in the corner while Whumper started to strap Whumpee down to the gurney. Assistant came back with a tray of various materials and instruments.

“S-stop-" Whumpee pleaded feebly.

“Dolls don't talk,” Whumper said, tapping Whumpee's nose.

Assistant held Whumpee's mouth open while Whumper sprayed some kind of adhesive foam inside. It bonded to every surface of their mouth. Assistant then held their mouth closed while Whumper smeared a strong, clear adhesive over their lips.

“Mm! Mm!”

“Shhh,” Whumper said.

They wheeled Whumpee into the next room. It was a giant walk-in closet, filled to the brim with different clothes and accessories.

“Something to match their eyes,” Whumper said to themselves, looking at all the different racks.

They eventually pulled out a beautiful, lacy blue dress with matching Mary Jane shoes and hosiery. They also grabbed some blue ribbons and little lacy gloves. As they did so, Assistant took Whumpee's body measurements.

“That outfit should be a perfect fit,” Assistant said.

“I know it is,” Whumper said, “get them out of those clothes, won't you?”

Assistant nodded, wheeling Whumpee behind a curtain. They produced a body suit that was perfectly matched their skin tone. They removed the straps keeping them in place, then started to change them into the suit. Whumpee tried to resist, and in their drugged haze they also tried to remove the gag, but they were unsuccessful on both counts.

The suit was adhesive on the inside, the fingers were sewn together, and there was just one single zipper on the back that only someone not wearing it could reach.

“Mmm!” Whumpee vainly tried to pull it off, but it was stuck tight.

“There there, pretty doll,” Assistant cooed, cupping Whumpee's cheek.

Whumper came back and fitted the new clothes onto Whumpee. Everything was somehow perfectly tailored to them.

Assistant applied makeup to their face, even going so far as to put lipstick on over the clear adhesive.

“Now, let's get you in your display case,” Whumper said.

Placing them back on the gurney, Assistant and Whumper took Whumpee down an elevator into an enormous basement. There waiting for them was a large box that looked like the ones old china dolls would come in, only this was big enough for a human to fit inside. In addition, the box had several padded cuffs inside.

Whumper lay Whumpee in the box. Whumpee could barely move enough to try and climb out. Assistant started fixing the padded cuffs to their limbs and torso.

“Mmm…” Whumpee protested.

“I think they're ready,” Assistant said.

“I agree. Let's get them packed up.”

The clear lid of the box was sealed shut. Inside the box there could be heard the gentle hum of a vent. It dispensed both oxygen and more of the drug into Whumpee's system. The box was loaded onto a rolling cart and brought into a storage room. Rows and rows of boxes lined the room, each with a very high price tag. Whumpee’s box was set down next to another “doll’s”.

“Don't worry little doll, we'll find the perfect owner for you,” Whumper said.

That was the last thing Whumpee heard before drifting off completely.

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Tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88  @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @electrons2006 @just-a-space-rabbit @telltaletoad

@sorry-i-spaced

[midwinterwings]

RULES OF BEING OTHERKIN #1

Being authentic and true to yourself is the only way you are 'supposed to be/act like' (insert entity). If anyone else disagrees it only tells you about them.

[findafight]

Au idea I'll probably never write:

Steve as seven au, BUT he escapes at the same time as El in season 1. They get separated after Benny's, when seven tells eleven to run and definitely kills a couple government agents to give her more time.

So the a plot of will being missing and Mike finding El? Standard canon except El is ALSO looking for her brother and is worried about him. She sees that he's mostly safe and tries to help find will but also insists she go to her brother soon.

B plot of barb and Nancy...idk I haven't really thought about how that'd work without Steve's kickback. Maybe they go to a party (like actual party not the five person hangout) together and get separated and no one notices barb disappear from the edge of the lawn. Idk

The C plot is seven, kinda bloody and definitely cold, wandering out into the middle of the street, and one Robin Buckley almost running him over with her bike. She immediately clocks "guy who seems pretty fucked up" about him, and offers him a ride to her house. But Robin has never been the most coordinated of people and biking with a(admittedly probably too skinny) teenage boy sitting in her package rack is hard, and combine that with a guy driving like the devil's after him, they end up swerving of the road.

Eddie steps out, apologizes profusely, and offers them a ride. seven is sceptical, especially when both of them pause when he tells them his name, but does end up in the van. He finally gets a chance to breathe once they get to the Buckleys', and Robin gets him some leftovers.

He sits in front of the tv set to a blank station, tucks his head into his shirt instead of blindfolds, and tries to see El.

He sees her older, with flowers braided through long hair, laughing. Too far. He sees her with short curls, a patterned button down, eating something in a cone beside a mustachioed man. Too far again. He sees her tiny, scared, holding his own small hand. Not far enough.

Finally, finally, he sees her as she knows her now, mostly, standing beside a group of children and in front of a monster in a large room.

Eddie and Robin have no idea why their new friend? Has turned the tv on to static and is hiding in his shirt, but figure he's had a rough day. He pops his head back out, blood dripping from his nose, and grins, telling them he knows where his sister will be.

Anyways blah blah blah El sees where people ARE Steve sees where people have been/will be (based on where/who they are right now. Futura is constantly in motion etc).

Idk season 2 would happen very similar as canon minus stancy break up (they never date and are just friends) (also Steve tells Robin and Eddie he and El are safe and they pass it on to the kids) El finds Kali, Steve fights demodogs, etc etc.

But I want a (pre?) season 3 scene where Robin and Steve are hanging out as soulmates do, door closed because they are discussing Sensitive Subjects (gay shit) and giggling like schoolgirls. Hopper, in all his disappointed dad glory, opens the door and starts in on a rant about keeping the door open three inches.

Steve, bitch that he is, just tilts his head to the side and says "but that is for when we are with people we date. I am not dating Robin."

Hopper, not yet picking up what's happening, sighs. "Kid. It's about propriety. You can't be alone with Robin, because what if you do start dating. Then it's. You have to set an example for El!"(it would be a nice move bringing up Older Brother Responsibility, except...well.)

"but we aren't. I am dating someone else?"

"still need the door open three inches, pal. When El is home, at least"(El is almost always home)

"we do! And you complain about the loud music!"

"wait. Who are you dating? I thought Nancy was dating Jonathan still. She barely comes over." Hopper please pick up what Steve is putting down oh my god.

(hop has forgotten Robin is there and she is trying very hard not to make noise but Steve keeps meeting her eye sometimes because dear god. truly an iconic moment in friendship history.)

"yeah obviously. Eddie comes over all the time, though."

"what does Ed- oooh. Ah. I see. That's why you keep the door open even though he complains."

Steve nods like Hopper is the dumbest man on the planet. He might just be. "Yes. Because you said El had to and she asked why I didn't have to so then I started to leave it open when Eddie was over. At least Eddie doesn't laugh at you to your face"

"Eddie laughs behind my back?"

"he said you didn't know we were dating but I told him of course you knew, the door is open three inches."

Hopper clasps Steve's shoulders and looks him in the eye. "Steve, I need you to keep telling him that. And not mention this very awkward conversation we had."

"because he was right."

"he doesn't need to know that."

That's all I got lmao (also check the tag ramble I added lol)

[icewindandboringhorror]

I have found a beautiful perfect humble rock specimen that is light yellow with a weird dark yellowy brown lining, somewhat resembling a chunk of smoked gouda cheese... effervescent

[medicinemane]

Sometimes I feel like I'm going crazy

You have... very very very very very very very very smart people you know, and they're say something that not only isn't true, but literally is as opposite of the truth as it's possible to be... and you'll... gently inform them "hey, it's actually a bit more like this" and then they just kinda... go on saying literally the exact same thing

I'm not sure if it's just that... I often feel like I must be very bad at communicating, or people must just not notice/ignore a lot of what I say, but... I don't know

Like dearest friend, you've said something as absurd as... I don't know, it's hard to say without saying it, but honest to god about as absurd as saying the United States was a part of the USSR, that level of completely getting it backwards

...and it just doesn't seem to matter when I try to explain it... I legit don't even know if you read what I said

Really end up feeling like I'm going nuts sometimes

[here-there-were-dragons]

as a general rule, on average, if americans consistently complain about a food being conceptually weird, gross, and scary, then it probably tastes amazing. or at least inoffensive.

this is because in my experience americans for the most part (give or take a few exceptions by region) think eating literally anything other than beef, chicken, bread, eggs, peanut butter jelly sandwitches, ketchup, and disgusting cloyingly artificial brown sludge soda is insurmountably weird, gross, and scary.

[justewil]

guy with bad at talking to people disorder: wow i wonder why i find it so difficult to talk to people

[technicolorxsn]

love how there are pretentious video essays that just repeat the book and meander and ramble about house of leaves. it's what zampanó would have wanted. it is not, however, what I want

[zipstick]

when you want to learn how to act but the drama a level is only designed to teach you how to pass the exam

[fingertipsmp3]

I am once again sad that a person I bonded with in a dream is not real

[cainsau]

A Game of Updog || The Boys Imagine

(Platonic) Soldier Boy x GN!Reader Featuring: Butcher, Hughie

Summary: Set in S3E7. The car ride to Mindstorm is too quiet for your liking. You decide to spice things up by trying out the updog trick on good ol' Soldier Boy.

Warning: None, just silly stuff

"Do you smell that?"

Soldier Boy, who's sitting next to you in the passenger seat, looks at you weird and starts smelling the car, "What?"

Hughie does the same in the front seat, "I don't smell anything."

"Really? 'Cause it smells a lot like updog in here."

Hughie manages to keep himself from smiling, not that you can see it, but he knows exactly what you're trying to do and will not mess it up for you. Soldier Boy, on the other hand, squints at you in confusion, "What's-"

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Butcher interrupts, also aware of your trick, and is trying to stop it. "We are NOT on a fucking road trip to the Dolomites. Can i just have a tiny bit of peace while i'm driving?"

Soldier Boy raises his eyebrows at Butcher. He seemed fine with you and Soldier Boy talking just an hour ago.

"Sorry," you tell him, "It's just... i'm bored, and the car smells like updog."

There it is again, the word he doesn't understand. Hughie was kind enough to explain new words like bluetooth and internet, so maybe this is another new thing... or it's a sensitive topic to Butcher, judging by how aggressively he reacted. Soldier Boy opens his mouth to speak, but Butcher beat him to it again.

"Fine!" Butcher rolls his eyes, "If you can't shut up, why don't we talk about Mindstorm, hm?"

"Okay." You sigh, leaning back into your seat, then turns to face Soldier Boy. "Do tell us about him."

"Well, he can read your mind." He says, matter-of-factly.

You look at him, waiting for him to continue, but he doesn't say anything else. "Is that it?" You ask.

"What, don't you know him?"

"Nope," You shake your head, "I don't know much about him, or you, or any of Payback to be honest."

Soldier Boy seems surprised. He thought that his former team was popular. Perhaps the times have changed and the younger people are no longer taught about the predecessors of The Seven.

"Oh, but it's because i used to be indifferent about these things, not because you're not famous." You assure him. "You heard it yourself, the things Homelander say about you."

"Right. Anyway," He shrugs it off, "Mindstorm can get inside your head too, so don't look him in the eye."

"Where am i supposed to look, then?"

"Anywhere but his eyes." He answers with a cheeky smile.

"Okay."

"And he's also kinda strong."

"Is he as strong as updog?"

"What's updog?"

"I don't know, what's up with you?"

Finally! The moment you've been waiting for! Your eyes sparkle with delight as you grin from ear to ear, celebrating the success of your little game.

Soldier Boy only stares at you, eyes furrowed and speechless, trying to process what just happened. Hughie is looking outside the window, failing to hide a little laughter. Next to him, Butcher groans loudly, mumbling curses under his breath.

[quantum1mmortality]

hihi! I saw your curly stuff, I love how you write him!! If it’s possible, nsfw headcanons for what turns him on? have a great day <3

Have I ever mentioned how much I love writing Curly? No? Well I am now. I love writing him. He's so awesome sauce, so boyfriend. My scrunkle

Tw/cw; lingerie, praise, mentions of masochism, accidentally almost wrote a one shot for the last one whoops lolololol, semi public sex IMPLIED

Not proofread

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

1; Lingerie

You guys can't look at me and tell me this man wouldn't go BALLISTIC for a nice set of lingerie. He makes good money at his job, good enough to be able to buy multiple sets of high quality, lacy lingerie for you to wear for him; then make you do a fashion show for him when you get them. Curly definitely comes off as a thigh guy, so he'd pick out all the sets with garter belts, specifically so he can slip his fingers under the seam and let go to see all that thigh movement. It actually drives him wild. Those sets can be pretty expensive, so hopefully he gets a raise soon since he's tearing apart every set he gets you.

2; Praise

I know it's overdone to say a character gets turned on by being praised but idc. This man has a praise kink and I will DIE on that hill. For anyone else, a praise to him wouldn't matter. He hears them constantly in his line of work, so at this point it's just noise. But from you? You like something about him? Oh no, he's hard. You could compliment him on the most mundane of things, say his uniform looks good on him and he's thinking about that the entire time he's at work. By the time he gets home, he's in genuine pain at how turned on he's been ALL DAY and not being able to help himself. He could, but he'd rather you do it. He's quite the masochist.

3; Titles

Imagine this; you're the wife of a well respected captain at Pony Express, and you decide to be a good wife and bring your beloved husband lunch. How sweet! You go to his department and call out to him, "Captain, I've brought lunch for you~" you giggle, drawing out his title. He looks up from.. whatever he was doing only to find you, holding a lunch box with a smile. Okay stop imagining, it's headcanon time.

Obviously the first thing he's going to do is thank you for lunch, he was famished. But after that, it's all blurry. It's like being with you has unlocked a bunch of new experiences for him, he never thought being called his title, the title he earned, would turn him on so much. It's like hearing it come from you was completely different from anyone else saying it. You ended up staying his entire lunch break and talking to him, only for your words to fall on deaf ears. He could barely even focus on what he was eating, let alone what you were telling him. Eventually he just had to excuse himself from the conversation, leaving you alone as he attempted, ATTEMPTED to satisfy himself. After a while he just gave up and went back out to where you were, told you the situation, and asked for your help. He was practically begging you, what were you supposed to do? Leave him there? No, you're a good wife. Of course you'd help him, right?

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

A/n; sometimes I forget I'm supposed to be writing hcs and accidentally lock in too much and go on little tangents. I'm suffering from success but it kind of fucks the vibe up ngl

[neroushalvaus]

Okay I am going to use the Somerton situation to talk about something that is very important to me. Following the discussion I have seen former Somerton fans being disappointed in themselves and questioning how they can ever trust another video essayist again. I have also seen some people being smug because to them Somerton was obviously unreliable from the start. As a person who also saw the "red flags" in Somerton, I would like to skip the smugness and talk a bit about what the red flags were to me.

Someone else has probably posted something similar and Hbomberguy's & Todd in the Shadows's videos touched a few of these points, but they didn't focus on them or how to spot these things. I think it is a good thing: I think it would have reinforced the idea that Somerton's fans were to blame for being lied to, and these youtubers didn't want to pin any blame on the fans. Also, some of the things I'm going to talk about were not by any means proof of him being unreliable, they were common tropes I personally associate with people who are bullshitting on internet. Think of it as something like spotting terfs: If you consider following a tumblr user and find out they have at some point posted "males will always be a danger to females no matter what they say", it is very possible that they are not a terf. Maybe they were having a bad day and were just wording their post badly – But you should probably search "trans" from their blog before following them, just to be sure.

So, the tropes in James Somerton's content that I consider red flags:

Lack of sources. This one may seem obvious and Hbomb talked about this in his video, but the lack of sources in his videos was outrageous. Video essays are called essays for a reason, they are not supposed to be just a guy talking about whatever comes to his mind, they should be well researched essays. Obviously video essays should contain one's own thoughts and interpretations and those do not need citations. But James Somerton didn't come out of the womb knowing everything about LGBT history, Disney and film theory, if he actually knew something about all this stuff, he should have learnt it from somewhere. There should be sources he could point to. It is very common that even when a video essayist doesn't tell you where they got all their information, they open their video by saying stuff like "when I prepared for this video I read the book Also sprach Zarathustra by Friedrich Nietzsche and this one thrilling blog post about lesbian cruising in 1960s Sweden". From what I've seen, James does not really do this. From watching his videos you could arrive to the conclusion that James Somerton does not read any books, he just knows everything. There are situations where people don't feel the need to add sources, like when the information is considered common knowledge or when the topic relates heavily to the essayist's actual academic field or profession. This is okay and very understandable, but can sometimes be dangerous, since if the video essayist markets himself as a marketing specialist, people are more likely to take his word for stuff that has to do with marketing, even without sources. It is understandable that in many situations an essayist may think "why should I cite a source? I know this thing!", but doing your research well is partly about checking if the information you are certain of is actually true. Also, as Hbomb pointed out, if you can cite a source, your audience can go learn more about the subject. It's not about anyone doubting you know your stuff, it's about learning. That's why well-respected video essayists usually cite their sources very clearly.

Lack of pictures and screenshots. This is about different kinds of sources again, many things on this list are kind of about sources. An example: When James Somerton made a video about JKR, he mentioned something about Rowling at one time saying that trans students in 30-50Feralhogs (or whatever the wizard school is called) could use magic to present as their gender. If this was any other video essayist, you'd expect a tweet to pop up, or something else confirming Rowling ever said this. Nothing pops up, obviously because Rowling didn't say this, but you can't see anything fishy in that because things rarely pop up in Somerton's videos. He doesn't show you court documents when speaking about a court case, he doesn't show you the comments apparently mad at him for implying the gay anime is gay when he is complaining about people being mad at him. There is a reason people show screenshots and tweets in video essays. When a good video essayist says JK Rowling has tweeted that all people who menstruate should be referred to as women, the video essayist shows the tweet so people know they are not making it up. If there were hoards of annoying bitc-- I mean, angry white women whining about gay sex in HuffPost articles or Somerton's youtube comments, he should have no trouble showing you those. Remember that you should not trust someone just because they show you pictures or screenshots. Pictures can be photoshopped, screenshots can be doctored. Many youtubers are aware that you listen to their videos while cleaning or while walking your dog and don't actually see the screen all the time, and some may take advantage of that by saying something like "and here she threatened to kill me" while showing a text message where someone said "die mad about it". A screenshot alone isn't much but you should demand to see the screenshot.

Passive voice. I am once again bitching about this. Somerton repeatedly says things like "it's been said that" or "it was common knowledge that" or "a legend says that" or "according to most interpretations". He doesn't say who says it, making it very hard to fact check and that seems to be his goal in some cases.

Relying heavily on anecdotes. Writing a dense, analytical video about film theory or history can be exhausting and you may want to pepper in little fun facts. However Somerton seemed to rely on these heavily; he can't just talk about how he has totally bought every lie told by The Pink Swastika, he also needs to tell a cute little anecdote about SS men forcing sexual favours out of men. He can't just tell a story about a court case, he needs to add in ridiculous stuff about the jury booing. This is what I mean by not all the things on this list being necessarily proof of someone being unreliable. Many people use anecdotes and little stories in their storytelling, it makes the videos flow better and it's hard to decide which anecdotes are valid and which are not. A source obviously makes an anecdote a bit more believable, but here are some things that instantly make me fact check an anecdote:

It's a bit too convenient, poetic or ironic. Sometimes real life is weirder than fiction but if an anecdote is "perfect" and has an amazing punchline and you could write twelve poems about it, there is a possibility it was invented by pop science books.

It assumes your political enemies are stupid. Dunking on conservatives, MRAs and transphobes is always fun and after you've seen a lot of this kind of content it's easy to believe anything about these people. You must resist the impulse to believe everything that may make your opponents look stupid.

The person telling the anecdote implies it is an example of a larger, systemic problem. You know what's worse than taking a random happenstance from human history or internet and basing an entire political theory on it? The said random happenstance being made up. You should in general be wary of people telling one story and explaining why it's an example of everything that's wrong in the world. We live in a huge world. You can always find a white woman who loves cute gays but hates the idea of Nick Heartstopper and Charlie Heartstopper getting nasty but that doesn't mean it's an indicator of a larger issue.

Simplifying complex issues. We all know that "only the boring gays survived the AIDS crisis, and that's why gays started to only care about marriage equality and military" is a horrible, insensitive thing to say, but you also have to think about it for like two seconds to realize that it can't be correct. It kind of reminds me of the "roe v wade caused the crime drop of 1990s" claim in Freakonomics. It sounds logical and simple, like a basic math calculation. Societal issues rarely are like that, though. You should never believe anyone who tells you about a huge societal shift and says it happened because of one thing and one thing only.

These were some of the things I noticed in Somerton's content that caused me to distrust him. I hope these were helpful to you and feel free to add your own "red flags" if you feel like it!

[antinitoniny]

anton as your affectionate bf: headcanons

this is so long help + it’s organized in sections 😁😁

💭 anton x fem!reader

💭 texts in pink: oc, texts in blue: anton

💭 fluff fluff fluff (and crack)

physical touch

- anton might be the humanized version of ‘physical touch.’

- hand always on ur back or around ur hips

- top of the head kisses

- fixing ur necklace or hair while you’re talking

- as long as you’re in the same room, anton can’t last a minute without physical contact.

- anton’s hand will always be on ur hip or around ur waist.

- he’s backhugging u like 30% of the day

- morning kisses. barely awake kisses.

- tracing anton’s nose while he’s sleeping (he’s actually awake so he’s giggling w his eyes closed)

- “TON I LOVE U BUT IT’S SO HOT. STOP HUGGING ME” “are we breaking up”

- waking up w his leg on you, his face nuzzled on ur neck, and his hand placed light on ur head — it’s a heavy morning.

- “can i bite you?” */stares at anton for 5mins* “is that a yes”

- imagine being against pda while dating a guy who'd tear up if you sit on the other side of the table at dinner? yea, anton.

- fav kissing spot: anton’s nose

- his fav kissing spot: */his nose bled while trying to answer the question

- you guys would last for 5hrs on the couch in silence as long as anton’s wrapped around you

down bad anton

- when he’s talking about his day but you’re rlly focused on what he’s saying so he got flustered all of a sudden “stop staring at me, you’re making me nervous” — “YOU’RE telling a story, where else am i supposed to look at?”

- suddenly smiling from ear to ear during breakfast because “1 year ago, i just thought you’re really nice to me and now i’m eating breakfast with you in our shared apartment” */insert anton giggles (and grumpy you ‘coz u js woke up & he’s talking non sense)

- smiling from ear to ear whenever he hears ur name in his group of friends. (would result to 1hr of anton yapping about how cute you were yesterday and the day before that, and two weeks ago)

- anton buying matching EVERYTHING. and giving them to you with a shy smile.

- matching rings, matching trinkets, matching bracelets, matching phone cases— told u, everything.

- “why are you hugging me all of a sudden?” “you’re the cutest i adore you so much” (you’re just eating bread)

- “hi, can we date with the intention of marrying you & having pets as many as you want”, “anton, we’ve been together for almost two years”, “oh, i thought i was being delusional”

- even on casual days, anton would send his newly made playlists for you.

- "i'm gonna take a nap" "okay, me too" "are you sleepy?" "no" "then why..?" "i wanna take a nap with you"

- anton taking care of you when you're sick. and you always feel bad. "baby, sleep somewhere elsee. you'll catch my fever" "i can't sleep without you next to me"

- "have i told you that i love you?" - anton says while eating dinner.

- anton having five story highlights with just you

- anton using a photo of the two of you as his profile photo in every social media platform.

- has two pouches of things that you MIGHT need in his everyday bag (thats why his bags r always gigantic)

- anton's really expressive. he's expressive but would get shy right after saying that he loves you.

cute stuff

- "they're cute, they're just like us" - anton w every single couple in a romance movie

- anton learning how to cook your favorite foods & baking ur fav pastries at home

- would always be on a facetime w u even in social events (he can’t function w/o seeing u)

- anton massaging u after a long week !!!

- handwritten notes :(

- anton writing post-its and sticking it on ur forehead while you’re sleeping whenever he has to leave early in the morning

- anton writing DETAILED handwritten letters for you every monthsary to tell u his favorite moments w u that month, to tell u that he’s proud of u for every single thing that u’ve done that month. he’s such a words of affirmation guy.

- anton not ordering a lot because he knows that u get full easily so he’ll get to eat ur leftovers anyway

- but anton would always make sure that you’ll eat A LOT. that’s why he’ll research a lot about the restaurant menus that you’ll eat in.

- anton brushing your hair every night

- anton letting you style his hair (once went to work w pigtails)

- reading together (and anton falling asleep on ur shoulder right after one chapter)

- SUNDAY RESET IS ANTON’S FAVORITE DAY !!! the everything shower, doing each other’s nails, cooking together, eating a homemade fancy dinner with candles, talking about your week, and ending the day with wearing couple face masks while watching a 2000s romcom movie.

- anton going with you to ur nail appointment and him sitting next to you for 2 hours.

- anton’s closet is basicslly your closet, and your closet is basically anton’s.

- you wearing anton’s clothes & anton wearing your watches and accessories in a daily basis

- gazing at each other in the midst of the crowd, exchanging warmest smiles

- anton running to you to carry you in a hug

- you mentioning that you like this specific cake ONCE in a casual conversation and anton buying it for you every night.

- “did you hear something?” “BABY STOP SCARING ME”

- when you wanna wear something revealing but you asked anton first so now he doesn’t know if he’ll be mesmerized with you or he’ll be offended that you think he won’t let you wear that

- anton waiting for you to come home til midnight because he wants to have dinner with you (it’s 12am)

- anton carrying your handbag / shoulder bag as if it’s his bag.

soft spots

- arguments w antons barely happen but when it does, it often ends almost immediately.

- anton’s always the one to apologize first. even though you’re at fault, anton makes sure to talk to you without making you feel invalidated.

- anton’s definitely a date to marry guy. which is why during deep talks, he’s always talking about the future with you.

- anton finding you crying. he won’t ask why, he’ll just hug you warmly til you feel better. once you’re feeling better, he’ll buy u guys pints of ice cream and watch your comfort movie in silence and in each other’s arms.

- imagine anton’s soft voice welcoming you home after a tiring day. "how was your day, my love?" anton asks, carrying your bag, gently pulling you to the couch so he can massage your shoulders while you spend 2 hours talking about your day.

- mornings with anton are always so warm. you're cooking your breakfast while anton's just hugging you from the back. his face buried at the side of your neck, while talking casually about your plans for that day.

[pitviperofdoom]

High School Time Travelers, Part 2

It's finally here! Follow up to this story.

***

“So. Spill. What the fuck is going on with you and Angelique?”

Raph fidgeted uncomfortably, and something within Erin roared out in protest at that. They were in her room, surrounded by her clutter and band posters and the stuff he kept at her house to keep his mom from throwing it away. He wasn’t supposed to be uncomfortable here.

Eventually, he took a deep breath. “I time-traveled last night.”

“I’m serious—”

“So am I,” he said wearily. “I woke up in a house I haven’t set foot in for years, across the hall from someone I promised myself I’d never talk to again. It happened, and if you’re stuck on that part then this conversation can’t continue.”

Erin got up and paced her room, kicking aside her backpack, nearly knocking over the guitar stand in the corner. “What the fuck.”

“That’s what I said.”

“What the fuck, Raph.”

“I didn’t mean to!”

The absurdity hit her instantly—he didn’t mean to time travel, as if they were talking about him forgetting his homework or getting in Monica Dillon’s way during passing period. She wanted to laugh.

But then she remembered some of the weird things Angelique had said—about friendships imploding, about college, about shit not mattering in high school, all with the easy certainty of experience.

“Prove it,” she said. “Can you do that thing where you predict what I’m about to say?”

“I’m not stuck in a time loop, dumbass, yesterday I was thirty-three!” Raph snapped. “I had to go through math class trying to pretend I still remembered my teacher’s name!”

“Okay, okay, Jesus.” Erin held up her hands placatingly. “There’s gotta be something.”

Raph sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I dunno. Anything meaningful and unchangeable I can remember won’t happen for a while, so if you’re willing to wait for the Trump presidency or the global pandemic, there’s that.”

“The what.”

“Wait, who’s president right now? It’s still Bush, right?”

Erin pulled a face.

“Next one’s Barack Obama, he’s gonna do two terms,” Raph informed her. “First black president.”

“Oh, huh. Cool,” Erin said faintly.

“Let’s see, what else, um… Balloon Boy? Has Balloon Boy happened yet?”

“No, what the fuck is Balloon Boy?”

Raph brightened. “Yeah, so at some point this family is gonna release like, a homemade weather balloon? Or something? And there’s gonna be this huge panic because they think their son is stuck inside it, but then it turns out he was fine and hiding in the basement the whole time and it was a hoax.”

“Okay, I’ll keep an eye out for that I guess?” Erin sat down again. “You’re seriously not fucking with me right now?”

“I mean, if you want, we could forget this conversation ever happened,” Raph offered. “Continue with our normal lives, while I keep under-reacting to devastating world events.”

“Christ, I don’t know.” Erin pressed her palms into her eyes. After a moment, she lifted her head again. “Wait a minute, we’re getting off track. What does this have to do with Angelique?”

Raph’s silence could not have been louder.

“Raph,” Erin said, a little desperately.

“First you have to promise you won’t be mad,” said Raph.

“Did you sleep with her in the—” Erin paused to do some arithmetic in her head. “—eighteen years between then and now?!”

“She’s my wife,” Raph blurted out.

Moments later, Erin’s mother knocked politely on the bedroom door. “Everything okay in there?” she asked. “That’s an awful lot of screaming for a Tuesday night.”

Erin continued howling into her pillow. “She’s fine, Mrs. Yokota!” Raph called. “We’re looking at—uh—creepypastas!”

“Creepy what?”

“Uh—crap, are they still called that?—like, ghost stories and stuff!”

Placated, she left them to it. Eventually Erin recovered enough to lie back and stare listlessly at the ceiling.

“Dude.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“What the fuck is your life?” Erin demanded. “How did that even happen?”

“We ran into each other at—so my friend Hazel got roped into being in their college roommate’s bridal party and dragged me along for moral support, and Angelique was in the same friend group but with like six degrees of separation from us,” Raph explained. “It took half the reception for her to recognize me because at that point I’d been on T for a few years, but the second she realized we went to the same high school she turned fishbelly-white, pulled me aside, and apologized for how much of a bitch she was back then. It was really awkward.”

Back then, he called it, even though for Erin it was still right now. “And you married her?”

“Like eight years later, yeah.” Raph ran his hand through his hair, not quite hiding the small smile that stole over his face. “She really turned over a new leaf.”

Erin was silent for a while, mulling over this new information, combining it with what she already had from that afternoon.

“Is your name still Raphael?” she asked. “She sounded really surprised about it. And I know you said you were just taking the name on a trial run, but you really seemed to like it. Not that there’s—you know,” she added. “I know that—just because I picked it, I knew you might not… you know. It’s fine, I was just wondering. If I should call you something else.”

“I did—I do like it,” Raph assured her. “But, uh, some stuff happened. My dad found me.”

Erin’s eyebrows shot upward. “Wait, really? What’d he have to say for himself?”

“That Mom ghosted him when she got pregnant because her side guy had more money.”

“Dude, fuck your mom.”

“Don’t fuck my mom, she’ll ghost you for money, weren’t you listening?”

Erin burst out snickering. “Fuck, sorry, this isn’t funny.”

“It will be in eighteen years,” Raph said with a wry smile. “Hindsight. Anyway, he found me in—he’s gonna find me in two years unless I reach out first. He’s a good guy. My stepmom’s pretty cool, too. And I have sisters? So that’s awesome. And yeah, he had this friend who passed away when he was younger, and he always wanted to name his son after him, but then Mom disappeared and he only ended up having daughters, so when he found me, it kind of worked out.” He hesitated. “I’m Damian. Damian Raphael Harker.”

“That’s such a cool name,” Erin sighed.

Raph—Damian—tilted his head back to grin at her. “Yours is cool, too.”

“Shut up,” she said fondly.

“No, seriously,” he said emphatically. “Your name is unspeakably cool.”

There was something odd in his tone, sticking up and catching like a loose nail. It bothered her, the same way something Angelique said earlier had bothered her.

“Hey, Ra—Damian?” Erin said cautiously. “Earlier, when Angelique sat down with us, she didn’t recognize me.”

“She does, don’t worry.”

“No, she didn’t,” Erin pressed. “It took her a second to realize who I was, and she stopped herself from saying why.”

Suddenly Damian looked deeply uncomfortable. “I, uh.”

She took a deep breath. “Was I dead in your time?”

“Wh-no! No no no no, of course not!” Damian looked horrified. “We played Pathfinder like last week, you’re not dead.”

“What’s Path—no, never mind. Something’s clearly up. If we just played whatever-that-is last week, and Angelique is your wife, then why didn’t she know who I was?”

“Uh…” Damian’s hands had worked their way deep into his sleeves. “You look different, that’s all. You kind of reinvented yourself in college.”

“Oh,” Erin said, momentarily relieved. Then— “Wait.”

“What?’

“Damian. You’d—” She hesitated. “If I was a guy, you’d tell me, right?’

“Oh my God,” Damian mumbled into his be-sweatered hands.

“Damian.”

“You’re... not...”

“You’d tell me, right?”

“See, I don’t know if I would!” Damian answered, in a strained high-pitched tone. “That’s—look. If you were a guy, that’s something you’d have to work out for yourself!”

“Damian, I swear to God.”

“I can’t crack your egg for you, that’s like violating the Prime Directive!”

Erin seized a pillow and started to buffet him with it. “You are such a nerd!”

“It’s your personal journey, you can’t use me to cheat!” Damian cackled, fending her off with a plush horse.

***

“Yeah I’ll get the banana split.” Angie bounced on the balls of her feet, eyes raking over the array of toppings. “Can you put caramel and chocolate sauce on it? And Heath bar pieces, chopped strawberries, and M&Ms.”

“Yeah, sure thing.”

It took all of her self-control not to press her nose against the glass as she watched them make it. Some small part of her balked at the sight of three huge scoops of ice cream and all the toppings, but she quieted it. She had a second shot at being a teenager, and that meant never taking her garbage disposal stomach and body made of rubber bands for granted ever again.

She hummed absently to herself, only to pause halfway through the tune. How did it go again? She tried repeating the first half, only to get stuck at the same spot. Oh, this was going to bug the crap out of her. It wasn’t like she could look it up, not when the song wouldn’t come out for almost ten years—

Her phone vibrated in her purse, and she checked it absentmindedly, zeroing in for a moment on the DAD displayed on the screen. After a moment, she put it back without answering. If it was that important, he could text.

Sure enough, her phone gave a short buzz. New text message—he hadn’t even bothered to leave a voicemail.

DADI need you to talk to your brother.

Angie checked her banana split’s progress with a glance, and replied.

lol why

DADHe’s not listening to me. We both know the courts favor the mother so if we’re going to beat her I need both of you on your A game.

Angie ground her teeth until her jaw creaked.

what do you need me to do

DADJust coach him on how to talk about her. You’re a smart lady, I know you can do it. He’s always getting scuffed up at practice, just have him say the bruises came from her. Throw in a drinking problem if you have to, just keep your stories straight.

why father dearest i’m surprised at youyou want me to lie under oath?

DADJust talk to him, will you? Keep your stories straight, don’t get too outlandish, and we’ll get out of this with everything we want. You’ll never have to hear the word no again, I promise.

ok daddy ill do my best!

DADGood girl. You’re the smartest girl I know. Smarter than your mom, smarter than her bitch lawyer. Love you!

“Order up!”

Angie brought her banana split to the table with the clearest view of the door. It took her a moment to decide how to begin, then nearly a full minute balancing equal parts ice cream, banana, and toppings in a single spoonful. She managed it in the end.

Mood lifted, she unlocked her phone again and made a call. “Heeeey, Anika.”

“Need I remind you that phone calls are billable,” her mother’s lawyer said dryly.

“Yeah, I’ll be quick, I have some incriminating text messages I think you’ll be interested in?”

The sound of rustling papers paused. “Go on…?”

“Dad just told me to lie to the judge,” Angie explained, twirling a thin ribbon of caramel around her spoon. “And to coach Eric to lie to the judge. I took screenshots.”

Anika cursed softly under her breath. “Thank you for telling me. Send them to your mom, okay? Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

The bell above the ice cream parlor door jingled, and Angie perked up as both Damian (Raph?) and Erin walked in. She waved them over, grinning when both pairs of eyes widened at her treat.

“That thing’s half the size of your head,” Erin pointed out.

“Sure is, you guys came just in time.” Angie nudged it across the table, along with the two extra spoons. “If we split it, I’ll have enough room for a milkshake chaser.”

“You’re a monster,” Damian said delightedly. “Oh shit, are those Heath bars?” He dug in without waiting for an answer.

“They’re peanut butter cups,” she said solemnly, once he’d taken a bite and could probably tell they weren’t. “I added them just to hurt you.” Damian rolled his eyes and dug his spoon back in.

Erin stared at her, probably still baffled by the gentle banter, but at least she looked more curious than infuriated, like instead of being suspicious she simply didn’t know what to make of Angie.

“So, you guys talked?” Angie asked carefully. “Are we… all good?”

“I think so,” Damian replied, shooting a cautious glance at Erin.

“You’re on thin ice,” Erin informed her as she helped herself to the chocolate scoop.

“Fair.” Angie didn’t remember Erin putting up quite as much of a fight, but then, it had been years when they’d reconnected before. This time around, it was still fresh.

“The ice cream helps,” Erin added, slightly muffled by the spoon in her mouth.

“Noted.” Angie paused, weighed her options, and shrugged. No harm no foul, probably. “Hey, you’re a musician, right?”

Erin swallowed. “Yeah, why?”

“And not just a performer, but you write music too, right?”

“Yeeaaah?” Erin squinted suspiciously. Beside her, Damian shot Angie a warning glare.

“If I give you half a tune, could you resolve it?”

Erin was staring at her like she’d grown a second head. “Probably.”

“Great!” Angie hummed the earworm from earlier. “How would the next part go?”

Erin repeated it to herself, nodding along. After a moment, she said, “Probably like—”

And sure enough, there it was. The rest of the chorus’s tune came rushing back to Angie’s memory, and she breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Thanks! That was driving me nuts.” Angie returned to her banana split, ignoring Damian’s growing scowl.

Later, when Erin was in the bathroom and  Angelique was standing in line to order her promised milkshake, Damian dug his elbow into her side. “You’re not as slick as you think you are,” he muttered.

“What?” Angie said innocently. “I didn’t give anything away.”

“You just taught her half the chorus of a song she’s eight years away from writing!”

“I’ve planted a seed,” Angie insisted. “I’ve created a stable time loop.”

“That is not what you did and you know it.” Damian pursed his lips, clearly trying to stay annoyed with her. “I barely avoided spoiling her transition, and that’s after she asked me to my face.”

Angie grinned. “So you haven’t told her she’s a genderfluid punk rocker yet?”

“No. Because she’s not a genderfluid punk rocker yet.”

“And now, when she becomes one,” Angie said with a smile, “she’s going to look back on this day and laugh.”

[fluentmoviequoter]

Only Choice

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: You and Tim go undercover to catch a serial killer because you're the only choice.

Warnings: angst?, fluff, r wears a two-piece bathing suit and like halfway wears Tim's shirt, Tim and r makeout on the job (again)

Word Count: 2.4k+ words

Inspired by T-Shirt by Thomas Rhett.

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Hey, gorgeous,” Angela greets as she enters the bullpen. “We need to talk.”

Tim sighs as he squeezes his eyes closed. “Lopez, I’m not in the mood today.”

“Who says I was talking to you?”

Tim looks up, his brows pinched. When he sees Angela smiling at something to his right, he turns his head to follow her eyeline.

“Me?” you ask, pointing to yourself as your eyes widen.

“Yep,” Angela answers. “Wade and I need to see you in his office. You, too, Tim.”

“You said you weren’t talking to me,” Tim argues as he stands.

“I wasn’t. Now I am. So, Tim…” She looks at you and enunciates, “Gorgeous, you’re both with me.”

“Okay,” you agree slowly. “But Lucy owes me $50. Don’t let me forget that.”

“For what?” Tim inquires.

“I bet her 50 that Lopez doesn’t know my name. The gorgeous thing feels like conformation.”

Tim grunts under his breath, but inside, he’s not entirely convinced that’s the reason. Angela is incredibly kind and funny, but she doesn’t usually say stuff like that just because she forgot someone’s name. Officer, sure, but gorgeous has to have more behind it.

“I thought you were friends,” Tim points out as he opens the door to Grey’s office for you.

You shake your head and murmur, “Not yet.”

“What do you know?” Wade asks as the door closes behind Tim.

“Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell,” you joke.

Tim sighs, lays his hands on his belt, and counters, “Know about what?”

“The serial killer,” Angela answers. “Targeting attractive couples in LA county.”

Tim shakes his head, so Angela turns toward you.

“Uh, just that he’s killing couples who are supposed to be traveling and then dumping them in Angeles Forest. Right?”

“Precisely. He’s nearly impossible to find, though.”

“Meaning we have no idea where to look,” Grey fills in. “Without knowing when or how he works, we’re steps behind him.”

“So, you want to set a trap,” Tim guesses. “Use UCs to lure him in for another kill.”

“You’re so smart, Timothy,” Angela applauds sarcastically.

“Lopez.”

“You in?” Wade interjects.

“Wait, what?” you reply. “You want to send us in as the UCs?”

Tim shakes his head as you point between the two of you. Angela nods, and you purse your lips to consider it.

“Why not?” you decide with a smile. “I’m in.”

“Does it have to be us?” Tim inquires.

“Uh…” Wade pauses to look out of his office and around the station before he says, “Yeah.”

“Only choice,” Angela agrees.

“Gorgeous,” you whisper.

“And smart,” Angela applauds. “He’s got a type. Pretty couples. And… you fit.”

“Tim, she called you pretty, say thank you,” Grey teases.

“I didn’t say yes,” Tim argues.

“Is Aaron still here?” you ask.

“I didn’t say no either,” Tim interrupts, raising a hand to stop you.

You press your lips together and lift your hands in apology. Angela is trying to contain a laugh at Tim’s offended reaction to you asking about another man who could pretend to be your significant other. You’re not a couple, but Angela was right when she said you’re the only choice. If the killer is planning to kill again, he won’t be able to resist you and Tim together.

“Where are we going?” Tim asks with a dramatic sigh.

“Santa Monica,” Angela answers with a smile. “Pack your swimsuit.”

“Is it going to be this awkward the whole time?” you ask as Tim drives to the luxury hotel.

“No,” he answers shortly. “Just…”

“You’d rather be anywhere else?”

“Tell me your cover story,” Tim instructs, changing the subject. “Stop talking like a cop.”

You sit back in your seat and look out the window, catching glimpses of the ocean between the beachfront buildings as you recite the information Angela created for you.

“And we’ve been together for just over a year,” you continue. “I even got my nails done because I think you’re proposing this weekend, but I’m not supposed to tell you that.”

“Good,” Tim murmurs.

“Tim,” you begin again, your tone more serious as you look at his profile. “I’m sorry for pushing. I know this is weird.”

Tim shrugs. “Anticipated my next proposal would look a little different.”

“Ow,” you hiss, playfully rubbing your chest over your heart. “Oh well, at least Angela thinks I’m gorgeous.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, but I like messing with you.”

Tim rolls his eyes, but you see the tiny smile he tries to hide. You’re here for work, but at least the view is nice. Oh, yeah, the ocean’s pretty too.

After adjusting the straps over your shoulders, you step out of the bathroom and back into your oversized luxury suite (courtesy of the LAPD and a need to get a serial killer behind bars).

“You’re in a bathing suit,” Tim says as he enters the bedroom, slowing as he looks at you.

“Great observation, Bradford,” you reply. “Did you forget why we’re here?”

Tim shakes his head and turns away from you. “I’m just saying… you could’ve worn a one piece,” he murmurs.

“Spoken like a man,” you tease as you pull a coverup over your head. “Try using the bathroom in one of those and then tell me that again, Tim.”

“Guy at the bar has been staring at us since we walked in,” you inform Tim over the rim of your glass.

“Us or you?” he asks, discreetly glancing over your shoulder.

“What’s the difference?”

“It’s a simple question. Men stare at beautiful women, especially at the beach. If he’s interested in you, just because, he’s not our guy.”

You try to ignore how your heart rate speeds when Tim calls you beautiful, but it affects you.

By the end of the day, you’ve noticed two men who checked in after you seem to be hanging around wherever you and Tim are. It could be a lead, or it could be a coincidence. You can only hope you learn which before it’s too late.

“I’m surprised you’re making progress so quickly,” Angela says over the phone the following morning.

“I told you,” Wade says in the background.

“Anyway,” Angela begins again. “How’s Tim? Tolerable?”

Tim is looking directly at you, and though he can’t hear Angela, you still feel like he’s caught you talking about him.

“The usual,” you answer.

“Remember why you’re there, okay? Keep us updated. We’ve got officers everywhere.”

“Thanks, Angela.”

You end the call and sit down on the couch beside Tim. It’s more exhausting than you thought, the hustle and bustle of pretending to be an in-love couple that does everything together. You’ve already been to the pool, the beach, three restaurants, and the hotel lounge and cruised down the PCH.

Leaning your head against Tim’s shoulder, you look over the balcony railing and to the water, reflecting the first rays of sunlight peeking over the beachfront high-rises.

“Are they running the men from yesterday?” Tim inquires, making no move to create space between you.

“One of them checked out this morning. The other came back clean and his reservation was booked weeks ago,” you respond. “Back to square one.”

“You sound surprised that catching a serial killer in a place this big didn’t happen overnight.”

“Because it’s us!” you point out. “I thought we’d break some sort of record and have the cuffs on him, be back in our own beds already.”

Tim smiles and stretches his arm out behind your head. Another full day awaits you, but you’d be content to spend it here.

“Don’t turn around,” Tim instructs as you prepare to leave the upscale diner he found for breakfast.

You nod, complying as he leans forward to wave for the check. He looks across the restaurant as he sits back in the booth.

“I saw a guy by the pool last night. He looked over a few times, but that didn’t stand out then. He was still at the pool when we left the lounge,” Tim explains.

“And now he’s here?”

Tim nods. “He fits the profile. White, mid-30s, completely unimposing.”

“What do you want to do?”

Tim smiles and takes your hand as he answers, “I want to catch him.”

You both know that two sightings aren’t enough to arrest him, so take a good look at him as you walk to the bathroom and then leave to continue your plans for the day. Everywhere you go, you and Tim are on high alert, noting where he is or isn’t, what he’s doing, what he’s wearing, and anything else you may need to know if this is the killer you’re searching for.

“Wait, Tim,” you call, pulling him to a stop in the hotel lobby. “He’s never been in the hotel. He wasn’t inside last night, and we’ve been back three times. I don’t think he’s staying here.”

“Or he just thinks we’re coming right back out. He can’t lose us if he doesn’t leave the door,” Tim points out.

“Maybe,” you murmur.

“We should test it, though. He watched us from the pool last night. If he was staying here, why didn’t he just come in where he could see better, hear us?”

“How do you want to do this?”

“We could try to lure him in.”

You smile as another idea strikes. “Or we ask Angela to get us a room at a crappy motel.”

“Why?”

“Because no one thinks twice about who’s walking around. The rooms are practically public, he could follow us straight to the door.”

Tim smiles as he pulls you closer, playing the part of the perfect boyfriend. He makes it seem effortless.

“Let’s get out of here, baby,” he murmurs against your ear.

“He’s following us,” you whisper as you walk down the beach, nearing your new, faded-aqua motel.

“Metro’s waiting in the employee parking lot. Your call,” Tim replies, pulling you closer.

You stop, keeping Tim close before you loop your arms over his shoulders. Leaning up, you brush your lips over Tim’s jawline.

“We’re gonna have to put on a show,” you murmur against his skin.

Tim drops his head toward your shoulder and whispers, “Then let’s make it memorable.”

“Keep it down!” someone calls from a doorway.

You laugh against Tim’s mouth as he lifts you onto the next step. He holds you against his chest while he steers you backward toward the door. When you reach your room, you lean against the door, and Tim drops his head to kiss you.

“We really need to stop doing this,” you whisper.

“Absolutely,” Tim agrees, leaning in for another kiss.

He scrapes the key across the door, trying to unlock it while keeping his attention on you. You reach down, steadying his wrist as you kiss down to his jaw. The lock clicks and Tim bends to hook his arm under your hips before he pushes the door open. Kicking it closed behind him, Tim takes you inside and leaves the door unlocked.

“Take your shirt off,” you instruct as you pull your coverup over your head.

“Why?” Tim asks, already unbuttoning the linen button-down as you wait in your bathing suit.

You shake your head and turn on the outdated TV set before you walk to Tim’s side. Once his shirt is off, you slide it onto your shoulders and haphazardly button it.

“Lopez, get ready,” you say into your wire, still attached to the inside seam of your coverup.

Flipping your hair, you mess it up before raking your fingers through Tim’s. He watches you, unable to decide what he wants to see more: your hair messed up, how you move in front of the TV light, or how you look in his shirt. Before he can decide, someone knocks on the door.

You pull your gun from under the bed and ready it on the door as Tim stands against the wall, prepared to cut the shooter off before he gets all the way into the room.

“LAPD!” the Metro team outside yells. “Put your hands up!”

Three minutes and one gunshot later, the motel is quiet. The door opens, and Wade follows Angela inside, their eyes drifting between you, Tim and the suspicious outfit changes that have occurred.

“Ready to go?” Angela asks.

Tim looks at you, hesitating, before you answer, “Yeah.”

Standing behind a police car, still clad in your bathing suit and Tim’s shirt, you wait for Angela to join you.

“Anything you want to tell me?” she asks. “Friend to friend?”

“Do you even know my name?” you argue.

She says your name in answer, then leans against the back of the shop.

You exhale as you prepare to ask, “Why me and Tim? You could’ve picked anyone.”

“The truth? You were the obvious choice. We needed an attractive couple. But… you were also making the rest of us tired.”

“Tired?”

“The constant pining. The longing looks. It got kind of sickening. So, when the case popped up, I thought maybe it would give you a reason to deal with those feelings, however you wanted to do that.”

“It was a good plan,” you admit softly. “Except now I’m even more confused than before.”

“You want a ride?” Tim asks you, approaching the side of the shop you’re behind.

You look at Angela, and she nods enthusiastically. After you agree, you follow Tim to a car and wonder if this is the best or worst night of your life.

“I thought you said we needed to stop doing this,” you say against Tim’s lips.

He chuckles as he pulls back. “Then why are you leaning in for one more?”

You roll your eyes and hit the light switch beside you. At least he waited until we got inside this time.

“It really was the only choice, you know.”

“I do,” Tim agrees. “But I will make Lopez pay for meddling.”

“Sure. I for one am just glad we’re finally acknowledging that we have feelings for each other.”

Tim smiles as he takes your hand. “Maybe I can forgive her for tonight.”

“Maybe you can also cook dinner tonight.” You lead Tim to your kitchen, release his hand, and walk down your hall to change.

Not that an outfit change will erase the vision of you wearing Tim’s shirt from his head anytime soon. No matter what, you’re both thankful for Angela’s meddling, because it took you exactly where you wanted to be.