#sleeping in the mailroom

[itscubetime]

Where were you on Friday the thirteenth /j

eating an potatoe

[punkshort]

A Christmas Miracle

Thank you anon for this prompt!

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Years of tension after a failed hook-up attempt with Joel boil over at your office Christmas party, but not in the way you expect.

Warnings: language, alcohol consumption, enemies to lovers, smut (18+ MDNI), hate sex that turns soft in the end because it's shortie writing this, fingering, unprotected piv sex, semi-public sex

WC: 4.6K

"Goddamnit, why did he show up? He hates shit like this," you grumbled to your friend, Tina, when the elevators slid open to reveal the latest batch of co-workers trickling inside the hotel ballroom your company rented out for their annual Christmas party.

Tina glanced over her shoulder, scanning the crowd of well dressed men and women before her eyes landed on the one in question.

"Who, Joel?" she smirked, turning back to you.

"Yes, Joel," you seethed. You bellied up to the bar to flag down the cute bartender for another martini. If you had to listen to Joel share horrible stories about his latest conquests, sales or otherwise, then you had to make sure you had a decent amount of alcohol in your system first.

"Oh, come off it. Why don't you just fuck him already and get it over with?" Tina joked. You gasped in disgust and covered your mouth.

"Do not even joke about that. Who knows what kind of diseases that sleaze-bag is carrying around."

Tina tossed her head back and laughed, the sound dancing in the air like music. She was one of the prettiest women in your office, but much to everyone's chagrin, she was recently married and officially off the market. But that didn't stop the men in your office from harmlessly flirting with her now and again for the ego boost.

"Nah, he's all talk," Tina said with a wave of her hand.

"Not true - Lainey in the mailroom slept with him two years ago, remember that fiasco?" you shot back instantly before taking a grateful sip from your glass. Tina raised a suspicious eyebrow at you and propped one hand on her hip.

"You're keeping track?"

"No," you replied defensively. You rolled a shoulder and shifted your weight before taking another sip. "I just remember her crying over it every chance she got. Couldn't eat lunch in peace for weeks."

"Uh huh, sure," Tina said, rolling her eyes. She scanned the room again, hips lightly swaying to the music while you sat next to her, determined to have a miserable night. "Didn't you guys kiss once, though?"

You groaned and squeezed your eyes shut. "Don't remind me. Worst mistake of my life. Thank god I didn't fall for his shit and go home with him."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because believe it or not, I had standards," you clipped. "I didn't want to sleep with him after a sloppy office happy hour. I wasn't dumb enough to put out the first time we kissed."

"Alright, so if you were into him enough to kiss him and potentially see him again, what the hell happened?" Tina pressed. You sighed and let your chin rest in your propped up hand. Tina hadn't worked at your company as long as you and sometimes it was easy to forget she didn't know the full history.

"He took someone else home from the office that night, instead," you muttered under your breath. Tina whistled and shook her head.

"Damn. Alright, dick move, you win."

"Told you. Ever since then, I can't stand being in the same room with him. He's such a smug douchebag, always trying to push my buttons and piss me off just for the fun of it. Like the whole thing was a game to him."

"But it wasn't a game to you," Tina said, slowly connecting the dots. You nodded sadly and took a long sip from your glass.

"Nope."

Tina's expression softened when she saw the look on your face. "I'm sorry. I had no idea-"

"It's fine," you said, cutting her off. "I'm better off. It didn't mean anything, anyway. It was just one kiss," you chuckled, trying to play off the hurt you still harbored somewhere deep down.

"But still-"

"Evenin', ladies," a familiar drawl came from somewhere behind Tina. You didn't need to look. You knew who it was.

"Oh," Tina said when she swiveled around and saw Joel standing against the bar. "Hey, Joel."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and adjusted his tacky red tie.

"Apologies. My reputation seems to have preceded me," he said, glancing once in your direction before giving her a dazzling smile and stretching out his hand. "What's your name, gorgeous?"

"Tina, and give it a rest, I'm married," she said, holding up her left hand with her massive diamond while shaking his hand with her right.

"That's a damn shame," Joel said with a flirty smile. You rolled your eyes and tossed back the rest of your drink but it didn't matter. You were essentially invisible. "He must be one lucky fella. He treatin' you right?"

"Fantastic," Tina replied, pulling her hand out from his grip before turning to you. "I need to use the restroom," she murmured. You stood to follow her but Joel stopped you.

"How 'bout you? You seein' anyone special?"

You huffed and shook your head. "Kiss my ass."

Joel howled with laughter before sliding onto the stool Tina vacated.

"If I recall, few years back I was willin' to do that and more, but you shot me down."

"Yeah, thank Christ for that moment of clarity," you grumbled. You swept your eyes around the room, pretending to lose interest in the man sitting beside you, but unfortunately you couldn't bring yourself to get up and just fucking leave.

Joel held up two fingers, signaling for the bartender in a frustratingly effortless way that set your teeth on edge and had your thighs pressing together.

"Whiskey, neat. And-"

Joel turned to you, waiting for your drink order, but you shook your head.

"I'm good."

"Shot of tequila," Joel told the bartender with an award winning smile.

You glared at Joel as the bartender walked away.

"Tequila? Really?"

Joel chuckled and swiveled in his stool to face you. "You thought I forgot what loosened you up that night?"

"You're a pig," you snapped, and you should have grabbed your purse and left, but your feet refused to move. "You're a pompous asshole who doesn't give a damn about anybody's feelings so long as you're getting your dick wet. I can't fucking stand hearing you walk around the office gloating like you're hot shit. Tell me, Joel," you said, leaning forward now that you were on a roll. "When you go home to your empty apartment at night, who listens to your bullshit? Hm? The fucking plants?"

Joel didn't say a word but you could tell by the look on his face that he was taken aback. For once you had the upper hand, and you weren't going to let it go.

"Enjoy this schtick while it lasts because one day you're gonna wake up and it'll be a thing of the past. One day, they'll hire a new Joel. Someone younger and hotter and probably nicer than you and suddenly you'll be all alone wondering where the fucking time went."

"You got a real mouth on you, huh?" he shot back. "Think you know a goddamn thing 'bout me? You got no fuckin' clue, sweetheart. But maybe if you gave me half a chance all them years ago, you'd know a thing or two."

You laughed, voice dripping with sarcasm as the bartender placed his whiskey and tequila in front of him.

"What are you saying? Do you even hear yourself?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at him. He scowled and took a long sip from his whiskey. "How the hell would I ever have known anything about you, Joel? Can't learn much about a person after a few drunken hours and a half-assed attempt at foreplay because let's face it - that's all you're willing to offer anyone."

As a last second attempt at a power move, you grabbed the tequila and tossed it back with a wince before slamming the glass onto the wooden bar top and grabbing your purse.

"Thanks for the drink. It's been lovely catching up," you sneered, then finally forced yourself to leave his orbit before you lost yourself completely.

You slid through the crowds of people mingling and laughing in the ballroom, eyes darting this way and that as you tried to either find Tina or the nearest exit. When you eyes began to blur with unshed tears and you were about to resign yourself to crying in the middle of your fucking office Christmas party, you felt a strong hand wrap around your bicep.

"C'mon, this way," Joel's deep voice murmured before hauling you in a completely opposite direction.

For some unknown reason, you let him lead you from the packed ballroom towards the stairs. It was quieter, the sound from the Christmas music dulled against the walls, the only people around to hear it were you.

"We need to set some shit straight, once and for all," Joel said when he pulled you into an empty hallway. From the looks of it, it was an area meant for the hotel staff. One door was labeled laundry and the other maintenance. The elevator bank was right there. You could have easily tapped the button and left, but instead you crossed your arms and defiantly scowled up at him.

"Yeah? This should be good," you told him. He growled under his breath and you had to stifle the primal reaction the sound caused between your legs.

"That night... the happy hour. When we... y'know..." he trailed off and you sighed dramatically.

"Yes, Joel. Unfortunately I remember."

"I didn't go home with anyone else," he said. You blinked, unsure if it was the alcohol or if you were truly losing your mind. Did he really just say what you thought he said?

"What?" you whispered.

Joel shrugged. "I didn't. I might've spread that rumor 'cause my feelin's were hurt but I didn't go home with anyone else. I only wanted you."

"Me?" you sputtered.

"Yeah, you," Joel repeated, annoyance lacing his voice. "You'd been drivin' me crazy for fuckin' months. Couldn't stop thinkin' 'bout you. Ask Harris, he'd tell you. I talked 'bout you non-fuckin'-stop. Then that night, I got 'nough liquid courage in me to make a move and, well..."

He trailed off and ran his fingers through his hair.

"You shot me down. Ruined all the confidence I had 'n left me heartbroken."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," you said. "I didn't want to sleep with you that night and you took that to mean I wasn't interested in you? At all? Did it ever occur to you some women don't sleep with men the very first night they're shown a little attention?"

"Did it ever occur to you I wasn't tryin' to sleep with you that night?" he shot back.

"Oh, please!" you exclaimed with a dry laugh. "'Lemme walk you home, baby,' and, 'my place ain't too far from here'." You snorted and shook your head in disbelief. "Don't try to rewrite history. I was tipsy but I fucking remember."

"I was worried 'bout you!" he practically shouted in despair. "You'd been drinkin' and I wanted to make sure you were safe! Goddamnit, I didn't expect you to freak out 'n fuckin' shove me in front of the whole damn bar!"

The more Joel talked, the more the pieces began to slide into place. Maybe you did misread his intentions that night.

"W-well... y-you still continued to sleep around with the entire office," you stammered, gathering yourself again and shaking off his bombshell. "You had sex with Lainey from the mailroom and god knows who else! You might not have gone home with someone that night, but who cares? It's obvious you were just looking for a quick fuck."

"There's that fuckin' mouth again," he grumbled angrily. "Yeah, alright. Fine! I slept with a few women but Jesus fuckin' Christ, what'd you expect me to do? You clearly had zero goddamn interest in me. I couldn't sit 'round and be miserable forever."

"I never said I had zero interest in you!" you exclaimed before you had a chance to catch yourself. But your admission was out there. It was too late, and Joel's eyes darted up to yours in surprise.

"What's that mean? You... liked me?"

"What is this, high school?" you scoffed, crossing your arms. When he just continued to stare at you, anxiously waiting for you to answer, you sighed and dropped your arms to your sides in defeat. "Yeah, fine. I like you."

"Wait, wait, wait," Joel said excitedly. "Like or liked?"

"Oh, my god!" you cried out before turning on your heel to storm back down the stairs towards the party. "I'm not doing this with you! I'm fucking not-"

In the blink of an eye, Joel snatched your arm and twisted you back around to crash against his chest. You gasped right before his other hand cupped your cheek and pulled you in for a deep kiss.

For one blissful moment, you let yourself forget it all. You forgot all the anguish you felt when you heard about Joel's latest conquests. You forgot about the way it felt watching him breeze around the office without a care in the world, completely oblivious to the way he hurt you. And you definitely forgot about the way you turned down a perfectly good date just two weeks prior because he wasn't what you were searching for and you fucking knew why.

"I'm not some cheap, quick fuck," you panted when you pulled away for air. Joel had managed to turn you so your back bumped up against the wall. Your eyes slid shut and a soft moan escaped from your lips when he began to drag his mouth down the column of your throat.

"We can go fast or slow, whatever you want," he mumbled into your skin. Your hand connected blindly with his shoulder and gave him a forceful shove, making him chuckle. "I know what you meant. I don't want that, either," he said before straightening up so he could look at you. "I don't want this to be a one time thing. Never did. That's what I've been tryin' to say."

Your mouth opened and closed as you tried to come up with a response. The way things had changed so quickly left you scrambling to keep up, and although you couldn't deny the reaction your body was having to Joel crowding you aggressively against the wall, your mind couldn't give in as easily.

"I can't stand you," you growled before pulling him back down to your level. Your mouth crashed hungrily against his, chasing the taste of peppermint and whiskey on his tongue. You were so lost in the feeling of his surprisingly soft lips pressed against yours that you hardly noticed when his hand skated down your side. With a muffled yelp, he yanked you off your feet, using his broad body to pin you against the wall while his hand began to travel up the skirt of your dress. You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging to him with your legs curled around his waist so you didn't fall.

"Fuck," Joel groaned when his fingers brushed against where your underwear should have been had you not chosen to forgo them for the evening. You smirked against his mouth and grabbed roughly at his hair.

"Didn't want panty lines," you breathlessly explained.

"Yeah, can't have that," he murmured right before plunging his tongue back inside your mouth. At the same, his thumb grazed over the slit of your cunt, pulling a moan from you both.

"You like yellin' at me, huh? That why you're already this wet, baby?" he purred, nipping at your earlobe while his middle finger teasingly probed at your entrance. You dropped your head back against the wall with a thud, hips chasing his hand, eager for more.

"Shut up," you whispered, then gasped when he finally slid one long, thick finger inside you. Joel chuckled against your neck, curling his finger inside your tight heat every time he dove back in. Your chin was tilted towards the ceiling, eyes squeezed shut and mouth agape as he slid a second finger inside with ease. You were vaguely aware of your compromising position, knowing full well anybody could turn the corner or exit one of the rooms at any moment, but neither of you cared.

"Ohmygod, fuck! Keep going," you begged, rolling your hips as best you could with your legs wrapped around his waist. The palm of his hand began to slap steadily against your clit each time he thrusted his fingers into you, driving you to the edge embarrassingly quickly.

"How 'bout you talk a little sweeter to me if you want it so bad?" Joel countered, yet his hand never stopped between your legs. He pulled away from your neck to watch your face contort with pleasure, and when you opened your eyes to look at him, you saw the flush in his cheeks and the rapid rise and fall of his chest. You smirked amidst your gasps for air and rolled your hips faster.

"Why? I think you like it when I'm mean to you."

His eyes darkened a shade and his hand began to move faster, fingers curling and brushing against a spot inside you that stole your breath. His free hand was pressed against the wall next to your head for leverage, but his fingertips curled with the desire to grab you fucking anywhere.

"Least lemme hear you say my name when you come," he said through clenched teeth. And that defiant streak inside of you really didn't want to give him the satisfaction, but his skilled fingers were making short work of your resolve.

Joel got what he wanted. A few quick snaps of his hand had you loudly coming undone with his name on your lips. He laughed before shushing you and pressing his mouth tenderly against your own to keep you quiet while slowing the rhythm of his hand between your legs.

For a few minutes, you each forgot where you were and all the bullshit you were arguing about moments before. Joel kissed you so softly through your high that it had you melting against him. Your fingers were no longer tugging at his hair. Instead, you found yourself gently raking them through his dark brown curls almost affectionately while your tongues slowly danced together.

You gasped when he carefully pulled out his hand, breaking the kiss. With glassy eyes and swollen lips, you stared at one another while trying to catch your breath. It was almost too soft, especially with the way his eyes searched your face, desperately trying to figure out where things stood after what you just did. He was so fucking hard that his stomach hurt, but he couldn't tell if you wanted to take things further or if you were having regrets.

"So that's all it takes to shut you up?" he finally teased when the silence had gone on too long for his liking. You huffed and rolled your eyes before tightening your legs around his waist, tugging him closer. Joel smirked when his hips collided with yours and you felt the massive erection he had been fighting with for the past fifteen minutes.

"Hmm, no I don't think so," you breathed while allowing a hand to fall between your bodies. Your fingers brushed against the outline of his cock straining against his black dress pants and you grinned. "But maybe this will."

"Thank fuck," he groaned in relief. His breath instantly grew more shallow at the mere prospect of feeling you wrapped around his cock, but when you nimbly undid his pants and pulled out his throbbing length, his chest was practically heaving with anticipation.

"Easy," you murmured when he leaned forward, sinking his teeth into a sensitive spot on your neck. You relished in the way you managed to make him so weak with just a few strokes of his cock. His entire body had pushed forward, chasing your hand. You felt short of breath from the pressure of his body pinning you against the wall but you didn't make him move. You liked the feeling of his broad frame caging you in far too much to make him stop.

You lined him up with your entrance and pulled your hand away, but just as he began to press forward, a squeaky door opening and closing around the corner from your hallway made you both freeze.

"Shit," you whispered. Joel locked eyes with you and quickly shook his head, signaling for you to be quiet. Both your shoulders were rising and falling fast but your mouths remained clamped shut so your heavy breathing couldn't be heard by whoever was walking down the tile floor with high heels. You squeezed your eyes shut and turned your face when the footsteps sounded moments away from turning the corner, then by some miracle they stopped in their tracks.

"Oh dear, I forgot my phone," a woman's voice said softly to herself. You both began to relax when the footsteps turned in the opposite direction and finally disappeared all together.

"Jesus Christ," Joel laughed shakily. You smirked and wiggled your hips, impaling yourself further on his cock.

"Better hurry up," you told him with an arched brow after his eyes locked with yours in surprise. Then a slow smile stretched across his face, positively gleeful that almost getting caught didn't change your mind. With one swift thrust, he sunk inside you the rest of the way, pleased with the way your jaw silently fell open and your head tipped back against the wall.

"You told me to hurry," he reminded you as he began to move his hips. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as you hung on for dear life.

"Fuck... you..." you whispered with your eyes closed and brows knit together. Joel chuckled and nipped your chin.

"Yeah, baby, that's the idea," he grunted, snapping his hips faster. "Fuck, wish we had more time. Feel so fucking good."

"I thought you'd be used to - shit - thought you'd be used to quickies by now."

Joel grabbed your chin and stilled his hips, forcing your eyes open in surprise.

"Knock it off. Told you I don't want that. Not with you."

You were surprised to hear the seriousness to his voice. You fumbled for a moment with how to react before saying, "Guess we'll see about that, won't we?"

"Yeah, you will," Joel replied. He released your chin and began to move again before he added, "I'm a lot of things, a liar ain't one of 'em."

He sounded truthful, but it was difficult to reconcile what he was saying to what you'd been hearing over the past few years. But since time was of the essence, you chose to let it go. After all, how long could it possibly take for someone to grab their phone?

"What? Got nothin' else to say?" Joel chided. You could see the flush creeping up his neck and even a little sweat beading just above his collar. The urge to drag your tongue across his tanned skin was growing impossible to ignore, so instead of answering his question, you decided to lunge forward and do just that. He groaned and began to grind into you, the coarse hairs at the base of his cock rubbing against your clit fucking perfectly.

You whimpered and buried your face against his neck, doing your best to stifle your sounds as the heat in your belly grew once again.

"Just like that," you gasped into his skin, hands grappling at the back of his neck, trying to draw him closer. "Oh, god, Joel... I'm close," you whined. It was building up too fast after your last orgasm. Your eyes began to water the harder he ground his hips and you bit down harshly on your lower lip to keep yourself from crying out.

"That's it, just let go," he whispered in your ear. The intimacy of it sent a shiver down your spine. "Lemme have it. Say my name again, baby, please... I-I need it," he added, voice strained.

You lifted your chin so your lips could find the shell of his ear, moaning his name without your voice being muffled. What felt like just a second or two later, with your orgasm still rolling through you, Joel stilled and groaned softly into your shoulder, hips stuttering as he came.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he rasped as he pumped the last of his release deep into your cunt.

Panting for air, you slid your eyes shut and pressed your forehead against his. You felt his nose nudge against yours and you smiled before searching for his mouth and brushing your lips tenderly over his own.

"Look at you," Joel whispered against your mouth. "All soft 'n sweet now that you finally got fucked right."

"Do you ever stop talking?" you asked, trying to sound irritated, but the smile tugging at your mouth gave you away.

"You fuckin' love it," Joel said right before his tongue slipped past your lips with a groan.

The door around the corner opened and once again the familiar tap of high heels echoed down the hall. You sprung apart and hissed under your breath after Joel pulled out of you too fast.

"Sorry," he whispered while he tucked himself back into his pants and you adjusted the skirt of your dress.

You had just enough time to run your fingers through your hair and swipe a finger under your lip to catch any smeared lipstick when a woman neither of you recognized turned the corner.

"Oh! Good evening," she said after she slid to a halt. Joel cleared his throat and adjusted his tie before reaching for your hand.

"Evenin'... Dolly," he replied, squinting at her nametag. "My girlfriend's lookin' for the bathroom, could you point us in the right direction?"

"Of course! Sorry to say you've gotten yourself quite turned around. If you just go through those double doors there, you'll find the restrooms up the stairs and to the left."

"Thank you," you called out over your shoulder when Joel tugged you back in the direction of the ballroom. Once you were out of earshot, you dissolved into a fit of giggles, the sound making Joel grin ear to ear.

"Didn't take you for bein' such a naughty thing," he teased before holding the door open for you to step through.

"Yeah, me either," you replied with a little shake of your head. "You must be a bad influence on me."

"Care to join this bad influence for dinner tomorrow night?" he asked when he found his place back at your side. The ballroom was just on the other side of the wall. You could hear clearly now the drunken voices of your co-workers singing Christmas carols off-key.

"What, like a date?"

"Yeah," Joel said, grabbing your arm and spinning you around before you entered the room. "Like a date."

His dark eyes were sparkling as he gazed down at you. You noticed some of your lipstick had transferred under his ear and you grinned before using the pad of your thumb to swipe it away.

"Yeah. Okay. Let's do it."

Joel couldn't resist ducking down to your level for one more kiss, but it wasn't quick enough. To your left you heard a sharp gasp and you pulled apart to find Tina and two other co-workers staring at you like they just saw a ghost.

The tension was thick for a moment. Nobody knew what to say or do until finally Tina whooped and cheered before shouting, "It's a fucking Christmas miracle!"

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[yaekiss]

#Mailroom Open!　─ Hello Qi! I hope I am able to get this letter in before the cutoff 😖 May I send a love letter to yan!Jing Yuan, and have him address a Foxian!reader w gn nicknames?

\\\______\\\\________\\\

To my dearest Scoundrel,

You are quite the terrible influence my dear general, are you aware of this? How am I supposed to resolve this trade agreement with our fellow Xianzhou flagships in a timely manner, when you have more or less conditioned me to take naps during most hours of the day?

Truly despicable of you really. And on top of that, your "parting gifts" you left on me are still very tender; very distracting from my work. Efficiency and diligence, I fear will be strangers to me during this trip.

Regardless, I hope you are doing well and are not causing to much trouble for the commission during my absence. (Please try to not stress Fu Xian too much, I don't need further distractions from her blowing up my phone because of your shenanigans.) Maybe if you are on your best behavior, I might even give you a reward. Perhaps even something of your choosing if you are especially well behaved~.

Before I sign off and leave you to return to my work, I have sealed a gift for you. Consider it...my own unique "parting gift" to you until I return to you. Which I know in our vast lifespans will be over before you know it my beloved.

-Sincerely, your sleepy vixen

(Enclosed in a small red and gold box, is a simple blue collar with golden accents and filigree with a note that says "wear it until I come back ;)" )

꩜ Letter Content: Dom! GN! Reader x Yan! Sub! Jing Yuan, no gendered terms for reader, Jing Yuan calls you "my tranquility", unhealthy obsessive relationship from Jing Yuan, lightly implied drugging, mentions of reader topping and edging Jing Yuan, quick mention of biting and blood, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ Delivery Notes: You have quite the roster of guards at the door of your hotel room huh? Looks like nothing's going to slip past them if they were chosen by Jing Yuan himself! ꩜ Wanna write a love letter yourself? Check out it out here!

As you return to your temporary quarters after sitting through a particularly arduous trade meeting, you’re alerted by your guards assigned to you (by none other than Jing Yuan) about a suspicious delivery left for you while you were away.

Inspecting the box, a laugh escapes you when you catch the ink paw prints of a lion stamped haphazardly on both sides of it. After explaining that this was a personal delivery from the Xianzhou Luofu’s Dozing General, it seemed to dissolve any remaining apprehension your guards had and they handed the box over to you. Thanking them for dutifully carrying out their work, you step into your room.

Your room is spacious, ridiculously so. Why would one person need such a massive room for themselves? It’s the kind that only a general could manage to procure. The open sliding window leads to a balcony that showcases the bustling lively environment of the streets below and a cool evening breeze fills the room. Settling down on the edge of the bed, you set the box in your lap.

Upon opening up your delivery, it seems that Jing Yuan had prepared a pair of gifts in return for you. The first of two is an intricate small glass spray bottle set within a satin-lined box. The small tag tied around it says, “Some of the fragrance that I often use. For you to spray on your pillows when you sleep. :3”

Spritzing a fine mist onto your wrist, the scent of your lover wafts from the area; not too strong such that it’s unpleasant for your keen sense of smell, nor too faint that it’s hard for you to pick up. The fragrance is soothing and familiar, a thoughtful gift that will no doubt improve the quality of your sleep, as evident from the yawn it draws out from you.

The second gift you retrieve from the box is a soft sleep mask in your favourite colour. Sliding it over your eyes, you find that the fabric is smooth against your skin and the mask manages to completely block out all light, fully blacking out everything. The elastic strap isn’t overly tight but secure enough that it ensures that the mask doesn’t slip off too easily. Perfect for tossing and turning. 

Finally, laid at the bottom of the box, is the reply from Jing Yuan, concealed in an elegant envelope. The quality is top-notch and flawless, and it’s sealed securely. Running your hand over the envelope, you feel the crest of the Cloud Knights embossed lightly on the surface. You break the seal and remove the letter contained within. 

His handwriting is steady and dignified, each and every brushstroke on the page graceful. At the end of his letter, is his own name seal, stamped in red ink. Jing Yuan’s reply reads:

“For my dreamlike haven,

My apologies, it seems that Mimi got its paws on the box while I was out of my office and left a couple of paw prints on the sides. Sigh, you should’ve seen how much ink I had to clean off the surfaces, truly troublesome. Perhaps it knew that the box was meant for you and wished to leave something for you as well, haha!

I have to admit, Mimi is not the only one missing you, my tranquility. I find myself looking over to my side to ask for your wise input on things, only to realise that you’re away. Fu Xuan laughs at me whenever I do this. :( 

It's just not the same to take afternoon naps without you by my side. Nothing is as comforting as your warmth in my arms, or for me to jokingly complain about the tips of your furry ears tickling my nose when we cuddle together. My slumbers are no longer restful when I can’t spend them with you, my tranquility.

The things I would do to have you next to me again. Are the marks and scratches I left on you still visible, my tranquility? Judging by how the ones you left on me are fading, I assume my parting gifts left on you are doing the same. Would you let me mark you up again, and won’t you extend the same generosity to me too? I yearn for your searing touch, my tranquility, for your fangs to pierce my skin and bring forth the vivid red beneath. Whenever I close my eyes, the only thing I can see is you, as if you linger in my every thought and dream.

Speaking of dreams, it seems that lately, my dreams have taken quite a raunchy turn. The starring role for all of them is obviously, you, my tranquility. You’d have me pliant and satisfying your every whim. In one, you had me bent over my office desk, fucking me hard as I rocked back against you. In another, you were edging me mercilessly, over and over again, until I could do nothing but beg helplessly for my release. That look you had in your eyes still sends a shiver down my spine. I’m hoping that soon, you can help turn these dreams of mine into reality.

Additionally, thank you for the collar, my tranquility. I’ve taken the liberty of adding a charming little bell at the front of it, I think you’d find it quite endearing. (And perhaps deserving of a reward? :3)

Do take care of yourself, or else I might just have to come and do it myself, haha. I’ll try to be on my best behaviour but no promises! I miss you dearly, my tranquility, come back to me soon.

Your rascal of a general,

- Jing Yuan -

P.S. Remember to use the fragrance on your pillows and the sleep mask!”

Rising from your seat on the bed, you pack everything back into the box before stepping into the shower to… cool off after reading Jing Yuan’s letter. In the bathroom, you find yourself relaxing as the water patters on your skin. Your ears flicker slightly whenever they pick up noise from beyond the locked door. A shout from the busy streets below, a soft sigh and the tinkle of a bell, the water splashing onto the floor around you.

Whilst clothing yourself, you lift your wrist to your nose and sigh when the scent of Jing Yuan has expectedly, (begrudgingly), been washed off. However, when you return to your bed, the scent of him still lingers, one that wasn’t here before. 

Your heightened foxian senses can just about make out where it’s concentrated the most, and it points towards your pillow. It’s saturated with the smell of him, to a disconcerting degree. Lifting it up, you’re greeted with the sight of the usual red ribbon he has tied around his hair.

The world falls silent around you.

He was in your room.

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[freelancearsonist]

el chico del apartamento 512

➔ Frankie Morales x gn!Reader - 1.6k

➔ There's a rumor going around your building about the resident of apartment 512, and you're eager to investigate.

➔ Rated PG-13 for allusions to sex but otherwise just some plain old fluff and fun. post movie canon wife and kid erasure sorry, takes place in colombia, both reader and frankie speak spanish and everything is translated.

➔ this is my entry for the Selena Drabble Challenge hosted by mi esposa @fhatbhabie <3 sorry i've been sitting on this forever hehe but i hope you enjoy

Frankie barely manages to pull himself out of the slump he’s in for the first year or so after the absolute disaster in the Andes.

He misses his family, misses his friends, misses his crew–his brothers. He tries to convince himself that it’s for the best, that it’s only a matter of time before those assholes who were in cahoots with Lorea come after him–that the people he loves will be safer and happier if he’s not around them when it happens. And most of the time he can block all that sadness and pain out by throwing his whole mind and body into the earnest construction job he picks up in this new town within this new country. But it catches up to him late at night in dreams and quiet whispers of intrusive thoughts; that he’s a coward for abandoning the ones that needed him most, that he could’ve done more to make that damned mission less of a disaster. That he could’ve come out of it rich and happy if he wasn’t such a fuck-up.

He wakes up screaming in the middle of the night, an ache so deep in his chest that it feels like he’s been shot. He clutches at his sternum and tries to catch his breath but he can’t. His body wracks with sobs and he knows he’ll never be okay again.

But somehow, he ends up okay anyway. Somehow, he falls back to sleep just to repeat the cycle the next day.

There’s a rumor going around amongst your neighbors that apartment 512 is haunted.

People hear things–weird things. Screaming, crying, banging–and always at the dead of night. And everyone swears up and down that they’ve never seen the guy who supposedly lives there. The people who say they have seen him get more dramatic with their descriptions every time–toweringly tall, shoulders that could stand up to a wrecking ball, hauntingly sad eyes and gaunt face. It’s like he’s a thing of legend–a story they tell their kids to make sure they behave. “Don’t run in the halls or the guy from apartment 512 will get you.”

You figure he’s probably just some guy who works long hours and likes to watch horror movies to unwind or something–not a monster or a ghost, just misunderstood. You haven’t seen the guy yourself, but you kinda like him anyway. The building’s certainly been a lot quieter since he moved in… well, everywhere except his own apartment, at least. 

You find yourself keeping a more vigilant eye out, alert to any face in the building that doesn’t look familiar. It seems kinda silly to want to see someone you don’t know, but you’re a little nosy and a little more than curious. If there’s some truth to the rumors that have been going around by the people who claim to have seen him, you want to find out for yourself.

It’s a completely ordinary night when you notice an unfamiliar face in the mailroom, and you have to do a double take. This stranger is handsome–tall and dark with shaggy brown hair and an even shaggier patch of stubble across his jaw.

He’s just standing there, staring blankly at a row of mailboxes, looking so… foreboding. You approach slowly, cautiously; part of you thinks you should just walk away and let this man do whatever he’s doing. But there’s a large, louder part of you that approaches with curiosity. There’s just something about him that draws you in, that makes you put on your best smile and ask, “Señor? Necesitas ayuda?” (Do you need help, sir?)

He blinks slowly, heavily, and then dark brown eyes flicker towards you.

“Oh!” He clears his throat and it’s like he’s coming back from an out of body experience–the color returns to his face, his eyes lose that glassy sheen, and his posture loosens a bit. He looks friendly now, sheepish even. He wrings his big hands and shifts on his feet, as if he’s been caught at a vulnerable moment. “Lo siento, estaba en la nube.” (Sorry, I was spacing out.)

“Está bien,” you tell him with your most disarming smile. “Andas buscando algo?” (It’s okay. / Are you looking for something?)

“No, solo estoy recopilando mi correo,” he rumbles before flashing you the most charming smile you’ve ever seen in your life. (No, I’m just getting my mail.)

He fishes through his pockets and finds a small silver key–and then he inserts it into the box labeled “512”.

“Tú vives en el apartamento 512?” There’s a strange air of reverence in your voice despite trying to hide it. This is the guy everyone’s been talking about, and he doesn’t seem nearly as monstrous as everyone tried to make him sound. (You live in apartment 512?)

“Uhhh… sí?” He chuckles and looks over to you, and you can see the way his brow furrows at the look of shocked surprise on your face.

You realize you’re actually gaping open-mouthed at the poor guy, and you snap your mouth closed as soon as you see the little crease between his brows deepen. Not soon enough for it to go unnoticed, though–the corner of his mouth flickers up in a pseudo-smirk, and god he’s handsome.

“No hemos tenido la oportunidad de conocernos aún.” You look up at him and give your best, winning smile as you give him your name. There’s a strange, fluttery feeling in your stomach as his dark eyes meet yours–have you mentioned how handsome he is? (We haven’t had the chance to meet yet.)

“Mucho gusto,” he says with a smile. “Soy Frankie. Supongo que vives en el edificio también?” (Nice to meet you. / I’m Frankie. I’m guessing you live in the building too?)

“Oh, sí,” you say with a slight laugh. “No soy ningún tipo de acosador, vivo en el apartamento 526.” (Oh, yes. / I promise I’m not some kind of creep, I live in apartment 526.)

And then you catch his eyes dragging along your form, not even the least bit subtle, and you try your best to be nonchalant about the way you have to lean against the wall to avoid melting into a puddle on the mailroom floor; especially when you see those full lips of his curve into a smile, and you know he’s liking what he’s seeing.

“Nah, no creo que seas un acosador,” he hums–and there’s that damned smirk again. If you don’t get out of here you’re going to start drooling. (I don’t think you’re a creep.)

He grabs two letters from his mailbox, examines the envelopes, and then unceremoniously dumps them both into the trashcan in the corner with a mumbled, “Malditas estafas por correo.” (Damn junk mail.)

“Eso es lo único que recibo ahora también,” you tell him sympathetically. (That’s all I get anymore too.)

He brushes past you slightly as he moves to the door, and you get a whiff of distinctly woody cologne that makes your heart pick up a beat. You try to act normal and go to open your own mailbox, but he stops in the narrow doorway and leans against the jam to look at you.

“Te volveremos a ver aquí?” (Will I see you around again?)

You think the rumors about him were right, at least a little bit. He’s towering and imposing–he fills the entire doorway with ease. He’s firm and broad and sturdy and big. Maybe he would be intimidating to someone else, but all you can think about is climbing him like a tree.

“Sí. Puedes verme cuando tú quieras.” (You can see me whenever you want to.)

His eyes flicker indecisively for a moment, and then he draws his bottom lip between his teeth. “Qué tal viernes por la noche?” (What about Friday night?)

You try not to focus on how you want him to bite into you like that as you tell him, “Sí, eso sería perfecto.” (Yes, that would be perfect.)

“Perfecto. Te veré luego.” And then he flashes you that damned adorable boyish smile again before he retreats from the mailroom. You think he’s going to be trouble for you. (Perfect. I’ll see you then.)

The monthly building meeting is Saturday morning, and you’re glad to see Frankie’s decided to join in finally. Everyone throws curious looks his way as he walks through the room towards where you’re seated, but no one is curious or brave enough to ask who he is.

“Buenos días, querida,” he murmurs, discreetly ghosting a kiss against your cheek as he drops into the seat beside yours. There’s a hint of amusement in his eyes as they trail over your outfit: the same one you wore to dinner last night, the same one you picked up off his bedroom floor this morning and shoved on hastily to get to this meeting in time. (Good morning, dear.)

Before you get a chance to respond, your neighbor from across the hall plunks down in the seat on your other side.

“Escuchaste ese ruido anoche?” She asks, sounding more amused than annoyed. (Did you hear that noise last night?)

“Qué ruido?” You ask with a raised brow. (What noise?)

She smirks with satisfaction, like she knows something you don’t. And then she looks pointedly between you and Frankie. “Suena como si nuestro fantasma en el apartamento 512 hubiera conseguido un socio para él.” (It sounds like our ghost in apartment 512 got himself a partner.)

You nearly choke on your own tongue, but Frankie just chuckles raspily and wraps an arm around your shoulders. He learned all about the rumors from you last night over dinner, and he thinks they’re hilarious. Besides, they’ll die out soon enough anyway–he’s never slept quite as peacefully as he did last night in your arms–if he doesn’t feed them a little bit. And if feeding the rumors means keeping you moaning and groaning the way he did last night, he can’t say he minds it one bit.

➔ beta: @shakespeareanwannabe; dividers: @saradika-graphics

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[coneyislandbabey]

going to california. -> e. roundtree

WARNINGS: some swearing, alcohol, sappy shit, use of my own personal headcanon that eddie's full name is edwin.

SYNOPSIS: you move to Los Angeles, and are surprised to run into an old childhood friend. word count: 3,351

The heat was different in Los Angeles. Not like New York City, where you’d spent the last few years of your life; all humid, thick walls of wet air that cloy inside your lungs and make you hot from the inside out, relentless, merciless warmth even in the dead of night, even with the windows open laying naked on the bed. No, here the air was thin and dry, the egg-yolk sun warming but not ruthlessly so. You stepped out of the car, joints creaking, and swallowed up a great lungful of that thin bright air, felt the clean glare of the sun bouncing off the hot car and onto your face. New. Everything you’d been hoping for already. 

After graduating from your Pittsburgh high school a semester early, you had booked it onto a train to Manhattan about five seconds after your diploma was in your hands, getting a job in the mailroom of a newspaper and crashing on your cousin’s couch, sleeping only a few hours a night and spending every other waking moment writing or wandering the five boroughs sniffing out experiences to write about. Writing was your lifeblood, and it had been practically since you’d first learned how to hold a pen. You never knew exactly what you wanted to do with your life– where you wanted to go, what you wanted to see, where you wanted to end up– you only knew that you’d be writing the whole way through. And that’s what you did for those few years in New York. You wrote feverishly, a woman possessed. Your cousin complained daily of the little green desk lamp you kept on at all hours of the night, sitting in your sleep shirt with your notebook propped on the arm of the couch, fingers bruised from the ever-present pressure of pen against skin. 

It worked out for you, though. All those sleepless nights, accepting strangers’ invitations to parties in Brooklyn or Alphabet City or even the Rockaways, dropping acid in people’s basements or getting drunk on the subway, even rising in the ranks of your job at the paper until you were a real and true reporter: after a year and a half, you had a half-presentable essay collection and a publisher who wanted  to make your wildest dreams come true. And that was that; your essay collection was published a little over six months later, and every week it climbed higher on the best seller’s list. In the wake of your immediate success, your publisher wanted to start working on a second publication, another collection of essays or short stories or a novel, whatever you wanted, they just wanted your name on another book in their arsenal. You readily agreed, of course– this was the only thing you’d ever wanted to do. But you walked out of that meeting, and onto the streets of Manhattan, and all you felt was suffocation where there used to be inspiration. 

It wasn’t a surprise to anyone in the city who knew you, and therefore knew your more impulsive tendencies, when you told them you’d bought a shitty old car for a hundred bucks and were planning to roadtrip your way to L.A. You hadn’t been behind the wheel of a car since before you’d moved to New York, but you’d seen the old thing with the ‘for sale’ sign tucked into the dash and you knew you had to have it. Already the inspiration was pouring in; a novelized account of your roadtrip across the country and ensuing introduction into Los Angeles society. The idea consumed your brain until there was room for nothing else, until you turned right around on the sidewalk and bought the car then and there. You spent the next 24 hours on a goodbye tour, visiting everyone you had come to love in those last few years, and then your meager belongings were all shoved into the backseat of your new acquisition and you were sitting in the driver’s seat, hoping to god you still remembered which pedal was the gas and which was the brakes. 

You made it to the opposite coast after two weeks of seedy motels, eating roadside burgers with strangers, and climbing up to the roof of the car every night to lay out and see the stars the way you never could living in the city. And here you were, a week into your new Los Angeles life, having just spent most of your book earnings on buying a tiny, dilapidated house in Laurel Canyon with huge windows and the perfect little overgrown backyard for you to sit and write in. You felt it in your bones already, that this was where life would start to become important for you. 

***

You had met Brandi the day you moved in. She and a few friends lived in the house across the street, and being the only one home at the time, she came over to help you move your stuff in when she noticed you unloading the car in the morning. She had a golden California tan and big blonde hair, and the kindest smile you’d ever seen. She was your best friend five minutes after meeting her. 

“You have to come by tonight,” she said by way of greeting as she let herself in the front door. It was late afternoon, and you were stretched out across the couch on your stomach, editing something you’d written in your notebook on the road trip here. Old habits die hard. She worked as a cocktail waitress at The Troubadour, and in the few weeks you’d been living in Laurel Canyon, she’d tried to get you to go nearly every time she had a shift, to no avail. 

“I don’t know, Brand–” you started, flipping your hair over your shoulder shifting to face her. 

“No, man. Enough of this writing bubble thing you got going on. You’re coming out tonight,” she said sternly. You couldn’t help the laugh you let out– Brandi was spot on. Every time she asked you to go out, you told her you weren’t interested because you were trying to double down and polish up the road trip writing you’d done on the way here. “How are you supposed to– how did you say it? ‘Be inducted into Los Angeles Society’ if you never go out and see Los Angeles society?”

“Okay, fair point,” you responded, sitting up. “I’ll go tonight, alright? You got me.” 

Brandi grinned, clapping her hands together in delight. “Okay, Yaz and Lynn will walk over and get you and you’ll all drive in together, alright? And I’ll see you there.” 

“Sounds good,” you nodded. 

“That was a lot easier than I thought it would be. I’ll see you later!” With that, Brandi disappeared down the front steps just as fast as she’d arrived. You sighed, closing your notebook and falling back onto the couch. After your few weeks of relative seclusion, you were more than ready to get back out into the world and have some fun, and yet, there was something uneasy growing in your chest. Actually going out in the city, that meant really starting this new part of your life, and well, honestly, that was a little terrifying. Better to rip the band-aid off now instead of rotting inside the house any longer. 

***

A few hours later, you were dressed in a pair of bell bottoms and a sheer orange tie-front top with big bell sleeves, your makeup and hair more done and put together than they’d been in months. You observed yourself in the mirror one last time, before lighting a cigarette and loping down the stairs to where Brandi’s two roommates were waiting, equally glammed up, for you. You sat in the backseat of Yaz’s car on the way over, window all the way down and your chin resting on the sill. You were used to city sights, you knew your neighborhood and so many others in New York intimately, but L.A. was different, and so thrilling. 

The Troubadour was different from the clubs you’d frequented in New York, but it still held some level of familiarity, and you were hit with an unexpected pang of nostalgia when you walked in with the girls. You grabbed Yaz and Lynn’s hands and pulled them farther in, toward the stage where an upbeat band was in the middle of a song, and immediately began dancing, trying to shake off the more complicated feelings of being here in this new place. When the song ended, you whistled loudly for the band, who were packing themselves up and off stage, making way for the next one. 

“Our next band is one we know and love here, give it up for The Six!” a silky-voiced man announced into the microphone before vacating the stage. In his place, a band made up of four guys and one blonde woman took the stage, setting up their instruments and getting ready. You cheered with everyone else in the crowd, though you weren’t familiar with them the way the locals clearly were. Within a few seconds, the guitars had struck up, and the front man was at the microphone, lashing out the first lyrics of a song. 

And you realized. No, you didn’t know them the way the locals did, but you knew them. The boys, at least. You recognized Graham Dunne first, that cherubic face and big baby blues the exact same as you’d last seen him in high school. Warren Rojas was behind him on the drums, unmistakable mop of curly black hair dancing as if it had a mind of its own on top of his bobbing head. The front-man, you guessed, was Graham’s brother Billy, just familiar enough to place the face despite never knowing the older boy back home. And, sure enough, there was Eddie Roundtree on bass. The last time you’d seen him, he was just a lanky kid with a guitar that he still gripped awkwardly in his too-big hands. (‘Not ‘too big”, you remember him telling you back then. ‘The rest of me just hasn’t caught up yet.”) He’d grown his hair out, you noted. Grown broader in the shoulders, too. His hands were no longer comically large, compared to the rest of him. He had such an easy command of the bass he was playing, so relaxed on the stage, like he belonged and he knew it. It was kind of hard for you to reconcile this version of him with the juvenile one you used to know. 

And they were good, too. You could see the way a group like them could become something great, something once in a lifetime. They weren’t there yet, but you could vividly see just how it could happen for them. Eddie Roundtree and the Dunne boys and Warren Rojas, all in Los Angeles at the same time as you, all of you so far from home. You couldn’t help the startled laugh that bubbled up and out of you. Lynn turned a questioning look on you, but you didn’t have time to turn and start explaining yourself before Eddie’s eyes swept your way, probably drawn by the laughter. Those brown eyes settled on your own, lazily, for a few seconds, before widening ever so slightly. His hands slowed, but never faltered, on the strings for just a second. Something zinged through your chest when you realized that he recognized you, too, even after all these years. 

You watched Eddie for the entirety of his band’s set. You couldn’t help it– his fingers dancing across the strings of his guitar were mesmerizing, and besides, you couldn’t get over the fact that this was the same boy from your childhood, that all of them were boys who’d slept through your shared classes, who had walked to your house after school to drop off your homework when you were home sick, who you commiserated with about running the mile in high school gym class. 

Brandi found you during the last song, pulling you into a hug and squealing about how happy she was that you actually came. Reluctantly, you tore your eyes from the stage and gave your best friend your full attention, allowing her to drag you back to the bar so she could buy you a drink. By the time you had a drink in hand, The Six’s set was over and a new band was coming on, so you stayed back by the bar even after Brandi had to leave you alone to go do her job. 

“I knew it was you, bluebird.” You whirled around at the nickname, coming face to face with Eddie. He was a few inches taller than you remembered, smiling down at you with a curious mix of surprise and something else swirling in his brown eyes. 

“I haven’t heard that nickname in years,” you laughed. “Hi, Edwin.” 

He groaned. “Nobody calls me that, woman.” 

“I always have,” you pointed out, arching an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, that’s true. What are you doing in L.A?” 

“Writing, mostly,” you shrugged. “I’ve got one book out and now the publisher wants another. You know how it is.” 

Eddie’s grin grew wider, if possible. “Glad to hear you’re still writing. I remember you back in high school, always carrying that notebook around that you’d never let anyone look at.”

You laughed, recalling the notebook yourself. You had treated that thing like it was your baby. “Yeah, well if you’re curious about my writing, you could buy my book and see.”

“First thing on my agenda tomorrow is to go out and get a copy,” he said easily, and you snorted. 

“Good, you better like it. And what about you guys? When did you get here?”

“Few months ago. We’ve been playing gigs at a few regular spots while we put together an album.”

“I want a copy of that record as soon as it comes out!”

“You’ll be the first one to get one outside of the band,” Eddie grinned. “Where are you staying?”

“I bought a place in Laurel Canyon a few weeks ago. It’s tiny, but still a hell of a lot bigger than the living room I was sleeping in in New York,” you laughed. 

“That’s where we are, too,” Eddie said, jerking his head in the direction of backstage. “And, New York? What have you been up to since high school?”

“Many things, Edwin, many things,” you grinned. 

Eddie stayed quiet, all soft smile and soft eyes aimed in your direction. You felt something long dormant start to shift in your chest. 

“I’m really glad to see you, bluebird,” he said after a moment, voice quieter than before. A sentiment just for the two of you to hear. 

You nudged his shoulder affectionately with your own. “Me too, Roundtree.”

“What do you say about us getting together some night soon? You can fill me in on this whole New York story,” Eddie suggested. 

“Only if you tell me how you all wound up here, doing this,” you responded. 

“Deal,” Eddie said, sticking out his hand to shake. You took it; his palm was warm and calloused beneath your own. 

***

“It was not like that!” you insisted through your laughter. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Roundtree.” 

Three nights later, and you and Eddie were sitting on your living room floor, bottle of scotch between you, very much on your way to being drunk and well into reminiscing about your shared high school days. He had shown up at your door a few hours earlier with a smile on his face, and the scotch and a copy of your book in his hands. You laughed so hard at the fact that he’d actually gone out and bought a copy of the book that you almost forgot to ask him how the hell he knew where you lived. Sheepishly, he told you that he’d seen you talking with Brandi and asked her after you left that first night. 

“I promise, birdy, Jimmy McKenna was gone for you for years. You drove the poor kid crazy because he would try to flirt with you all the time and you just never picked up on it,” Eddie explained through his own laughter. You sorted quickly through memories of the boy Eddie was talking about, and as what he said slowly clicked into place, you only began to laugh harder. 

“Oh, god,” you said, throwing an arm over your eyes. “I have always been such an idiot.”

“Not an idiot, just oblivious,” Eddie countered. “You were too wrapped up in your writing to notice anyone around you.”

“Not true! I noticed you,” you said defensively. 

Eddie’s eyebrows raised slightly, a split second look of surprise washing over his features before they settled back into that soft smile he always seemed to be wearing around you. He took another swig of whisky, humming. “Lucky me, then.”

You scoffed, trying to cover the way your heart stuttered with another drink of whiskey. “You were one of the only people I liked hanging out with back then, Ed. I liked stopping to watch you and Graham and Warren mess around with your instruments in the garage whenever I walked by. When I took off to the city, I really did miss you.” 

“Well, if it means anything, I missed you, too. We all did,” Eddie said. His voice was softer now, more serious, matching your own. “Nobody knew where you went, you were just gone when we got back from winter break.” 

“I just had to get outta there, you know?” you sighed. “I worked my ass off so I could graduate early. I had all these visions of the life I wanted to live, and it was so big. I was so focused on getting there that I didn’t even realize there would be anything to miss until it was all gone.”

“Yeah, I get what you mean. Don’t tell the guys this, but even now I sometimes miss Pittsburgh,” he admitted. 

“Me too,” you nodded. “I just keep collecting places to miss. Pittsburgh first, and now New York, too. I felt so suffocated there by the end, too, and now? Some nights I can’t even sleep because I’m not back on that awful couch in my cousin’s apartment, listening to the Manhattan traffic.” 

“Guess that’s life, right? You just keep collecting things to miss,” Eddie said. At some point, he had shuffled closer to you, both of you sitting with your backs leaning against the bottom of the couch. You leaned your head on his shoulder. “I’m really happy I don’t have to miss you anymore, bluebird.”

You looked up, and there were those eyes, big and brown and full of affection, so close. Looking right at you, right through you, like he could see all your guts and bones and thoughts and desires all at once. Riding the tide of whiskey-fueled courage and extreme affection you were feeling for the man sitting next to you, you reached out, palm against his cheek, and pulled his face to yours. The kiss was slow and languid, noses nudging softly against skin, Eddie’s mouth gentle against your own. His hand moved to rest on your hip, a warm and comforting pressure against your skin. 

When he pulled away, your breath catched at the sight of the silly little smirk gracing his face. “You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted to do that the entire time I’ve known you.”

“Oh fuck off Eddie, don’t tell me you had a crush on me in high school too and that’s just another thing I was too oblivious to realize,” you said, lightly shoving his shoulder. 

“Okay, I won’t tell you if you kiss me again,” he said, grinning.  Rolling your eyes, you grabbed his collar and pulled his face back to yours. You could feel his smile against your lips, which only made you want to hold him closer, to make up for all the years you’d gone without him in your life. 

[x-just-another-fanfic-writer-x]

Chapter 2

Summary: Continued bump ins leave you feeling a little awkward! But you finally learn his name.

Word count: 1.2k

It was three days later when you saw him again. After a long week at work, you stopped by the local corner shop desperate for a sugar fix. You both loved and hated your job. The amazing people there kept you tethered to the company, but you hated the pressure of your role. As part of the projects team, you inevitably were a decision maker. Over time, the pressures of making choices day after day then coming home to mother your boyfriend were getting to you. And no matter how healthy you tried to be, after a week of shit from work and him, you needed some comfort food.

You waited in line, not paying attention to the dark haired stranger two people ahead in front of the cashier. When he turned to leave, you awkwardly made eye contact and realised who it was. For a split second you wondered if you should smile, but his sullen demeanour made you avert your gaze. Though not before noticing his eyes flit down at the pile of junk food in your hands. You clutched the items tighter to your chest as he walked past, trying to ignore your embarrassment.

Ten minutes later, you dumped the bag of goodies onto your dining table.

“Babe, I'm home!” you called out into the apartment. Your boyfriend emerged from the bedroom as you emptied the contents of the bag onto the table. 

“What have you got here, little miss?” he asked playfully as he wrapped an arm around your waist from behind.

“Your favourites,” you replied, an impish smirk spreading across your face. Without fail, buying him food would always earn you brownie points. 

“Was work okay?” he asked, planting a kiss on your temple before he walked around to inspect the items. 

You shrugged. “Yeah, it was fine,” you replied, the white lie barely tasting bitter on your lips anymore. “You?”

“Stressful as ever,” he murmured. “Ooooh you got me the gummy bears!”

You smiled gently, “Yep, I got you the gummy bears." You mentally settled in for another evening of meaningless talk. The two of you ended up watching TV late into the night. Justin, the takeaway addict, ordered pizza and chicken wings. Despite tasting delicious, you knew it was a mistake when you struggled to fall asleep that night.

The next morning you woke early, still feeling gross from the previous night's fast food. Your boyfriend was sound asleep, but after waking up too much from going to the bathroom, there was no way you’d be able to get back to sleep now. So you decided to start your day and go for a jog, determined to burn off the extra calories. 

The air was fresh and crisp as you stood outside the apartment building doing some last minute stretches before your run. You were bent down touching your toes when, between your legs, you saw an upside down figure walking out the door. You quickly stood upright, hyper aware of the pose you were just in, and tried to nonchalantly stretch a different limb. You snuck a glance of the male- him again.

You internally groaned, wondering how you managed to keep bumping into him. You continued to stretch for far longer than necessary, until he had walked down the road and out of sight.

Over the next two weeks, it almost became a habit. You began to worry the guy would think you were stalking him. You saw him in the corner shop again one Wednesday night; he walked in, his hair dishevelled from the rain, whilst you left with an impulsively bought tub of ice cream. You offered him a little smile which he didn’t return. Two days later he was in the complex’s lobby, a waft of his cologne hitting your nostrils a moment after he walked past. This time, he made eye contact at least, but neither of you smiled. At the weekend, you ended up crossing his path twice on your jog in the local park. You went home without reaching your desired goal, not wanting to risk seeing him a third time. When you saw him in the mailroom a few days later, the awkward silence was almost too much to bear.

You made eye contact with him, and smiled. You weren’t sure what to expect, but he held your gaze, and gave a small smile back.

“Hi,” you said tentatively.

“Hi,” he replied, before another uncomfortable silence.

“Are you… settling into the building okay?” you asked, gesturing absentmindedly around the room.

“It’s okay,” he shrugged.

“Well if there’s anything I can help with let me know.”

“Why would I need help?” he said, turning to face you more fully as he narrowed his eyes slightly. 

“Well your accent. You’re not from, um…” you cleared your throat uncomfortably. “The offer’s there, anyway.”

The man nodded, and you thought the conversation had ended, but he didn’t make any moves to leave. He just stared at you. His blue eyes were starting to make you feel uncomfortable before he finally looked down at the pile of letters in your hand.

"Gonna assume your name's not Justin?"

It took you a moment to realize how the hell he knew your boyfriend's name, AND that he was asking for your name. "Oh! No! No, it's Jess."

"Mine's Bucky."

"Short for Buckbeak?" you quipped, finding yourself mildly amusing. He gave you a puzzled look. "Harry Potter?"

"Never seen it. Short for Buchanan."

"Oh. That's not a first name?”

"No. It's not.” 

You looked at him, naturally expecting him to elaborate on what his first name was, but it didn't come. "Well… nice to officially meet you. Now I can stop thinking of you as ‘guy who lives down the hall’." Who I keep bumping into and promise I’m not doing it deliberately, you add internally.

He smiled tightly but remained hovering in the room. You weren’t sure what he was waiting for, but took it as your cue to leave.

“Well I will see you around, Bucky.”

"You too," he replied. 

You ended up spending the next half an hour worrying if he thought your comment alluded to the fact you kept bumping into him. And if he therefore thought you were stalking him. You were practically planning out ways to avoid the man by the time your boyfriend got home later that night.

“I officially met our neighbour,” you mentioned over dinner. 

“Which one?”

“The new guy down the hall. His name’s Bucky.”

“Like Buckbeak?” Justin asked. You smirked.

“That’s what I asked, but no. Just a nickname.”

“What’s he like?”

“American. Kinda stoic. Really blue eyes…”

“Really blue eyes, hmm?” he asked. You noticed the jealous glint in his eyes, and rolled your own.

“Relax, babe,” you gently chided. Though secretly, you kind of enjoyed it.

You only felt slightly bad about those eyes and the smell of his cologne being on your mind for the rest of the evening.

[holdinbacksecrets]

seventeen: chapter 1 to page 218

♡it’s a tuesday when you receive the keys to your new apartment. the city feels like a brand new book: edges crisp and vibrant, title alluring. the first chapter’s name keeps a spotlight in your mind, and he’s sitting in the lobby. he sees you with your suitcases. there’s three; they’re periwinkle. your mother sent them- the last package to arrive before your move. he’s on the phone, but he smiles at you, softly, like he knows the scent of waterfront landscape hasn’t yet embedded you, but it’s going to (jeonghan, jun, mingyu)

♡the life behind his door floods through the wood, through the light escaping from the crack just above the floor. you wonder how that happens. how a life is so radiant. you wonder for weeks. the thought keeps you busy on every elevator ride until your paths meet, and one focused gaze unravels understanding. a pool of brown, so inviting. a ring of golden hugs each pupil. you take a step forward as if a dive into them would hasten the journey to his heart, like it’s a possible option, entirely within reason. patience. be patient (hansol)

♡he’s moonlight, somehow. nothing else feels right. no other description melts into his name, into his aura quite the same. but he hates the darkness nighttime brings. he hates any moment clouds cover the glowing, guiding satellite. he hates the sky for reminding him of you. it never used to, not before his next door neighbor became his best friend, became his lover, became a craved, crescent disaster (minghao, seungkwan)

♡you gave pieces of yourself away every time he came inside. a leaky faucet. a squeaky door. he wondered if you even tried to fix the broken things. he wondered if they’re even bothersome, or if you’re lonely, seeking another in the space that can’t quite reach Home. there are too many corners it’s yet to seep into, but he’s a distraction. he hides the hollow spaces, sprinkles warmth before he goes. it lasts. you think of him, he lingers longer, and then you’re asking him back for more. he alters the pitch. his tone creates a welcomed depth. so yes, he helps: you’re baking again; you’re barefoot, drinking tea on the balcony each morning; you’re seeping into the corners, and it feels like home (seungcheol, joshua, chan)

♡there’s a spiderweb on your ceiling. you only know because you’re laying on the floor. you watched the fan spin spinning, ready for takeoff, and then your eyes shifted. the spiderweb is missing its dweller. you wonder where it’s gone. if it’s hiding, collecting supplies, letting tiny, spider-curiosity guide a spontaneous journey. you smile: you have a roommate. the smile sticks through your travels to the mailroom where you ask the man who’s always there on thursday evenings after dinner if he wants to see something. he lays beside you. he wonders aloud if this something is the ceiling fan. you giggle. his heart melts. you point to the spiderweb. “i have a roommate until you agree to live with me.” “can it keep my side of the bed warm?” “sleeping quarters don’t include my bedroom. did you hear that, little guy? we’re not as close as he and i.” “thank god. i was starting to worry.” “ mmm, predictable.” “…can i keep your bed warm tonight?” “the night of a snowstorm? absolutely.” (soonyoung, wonwoo, jihoon, seokmin)

[helenofsimblr]

Elita: The next day... Maisie sits in her office and then Francine and Sarah slowly walk in through the door. And stood before them, Sarah was terrified, Francine less so, after all, she had known Maisie from when she was a baby.

Maisie: Ah, the new starts, Francine, it's been a hell of a long… oh dear gods! Honey, did you even sleep last night? You’re not looking that wonderful you know, and this must be Sarah?

Elita: Francine just sighed at Maisie’s brutal assessment of her physical appearance. Sarah does not make eye contact and is immediately intimidated, nods nervously.

Maisie: Does she speak Francine? How the fuck did you pass your court roleplay modules if you can’t even talk to the bitch who’s gonna be signing your paychecks Sarah?

Francine: She’s just nervous Maisie, she’s good. Really. 

Sarah: I-I e-ex-excell i-in o-ob-obscure l-law, m-m’am. S-sorry.

****

Maisie: Sorry? Yes, you both ought to be. Honestly, what the fuck is this?  You look like crap, and you can’t even look me in the face! Francine, you have gained some serious weight too sweetie.

Francine: Well I’ve not been feeling so hot. And I stopped smoking two and a bit years ago… so… Probably that didn’t help my figure I guess and…

Maisie: Well that wasn’t your best idea was it?

Francine: Well Sarah has asthma and the smoke…

Maisie: Sorry darling, you’re confusing my passing interest for giving a fuck. I don’t. But you do look like shit, are you on drugs with that asshole boyfriend?

Francine: No! I’m not on drugs…

Maisie: And you Sanders, what massive failures can I expect from you?

****

Elita: Sarah looked as if she was gonna cry. 

Sarah: I-I c-can d-do b-better. I-I … 

Maisie: Shut up. Ok, well… shit… Here's what we’re gonna do… Sanders, straight away let me just say I don’t like you, and I think you don’t have what it takes here. You’re only here, because of her. And you’re only here chubs because your mom founded this firm with me. So, Sanders, you’re gonna be in the mailroom. Wait no.. that’s too harsh, I’m going to put you on conveyancing to start with, think you can handle that? That too hard for you? Don’t fuck it up.

Francine: Are you seriously hazing us Maisie? C’mon girl.

[preservationofnormalcy]

Oh Stars this'll be a long one, but I just don't know who to contact other than the Office about this. I saw an ad for y'all's business and even though I was raised by ex-Circle members, I've never actually been involved in the paranormal or whatever the acceptable term is these days.

So to start, I live in Seattle but was born off-grid in a time fold. Not a big deal, just not many visitors. Functioned like normal and we could leave whenever. Just couldn't let anyone in if iykwm.

Because I left for good, therefore severing my connection, I'm mostly unable to return. Again, no big deal, but it is a little strange to not be able to see Sir and Ma'am anymore. But a month ago I started getting heat flashes and coughing up blood. I'm an extremely healthy 26 year old, I don't think I've ever even had a cold. But then it got worse, and every time I coughed up that blood, I'd cough up letters. They said shit like 'return to the fold' or 'time is worked into your blood, do not let it spill.'

I've been unable to sleep or eat and I have started puking up boxes that I refuse to open. I'm so close to breaking down. I have no clue what to do and I live alone. Please help me Norm. I'll tell you anything you want about the fold. I'll be loyal to the Office forever, I'll even give you info about the Circle my parents spilled when they were drunk. I'll do anything, I just don't want to die, or become some eldritch horror. I haven't even finished nursing school. Please.

Hey hey hey, woah now. Let's not get carried away. You don't need to swear loyalty to anyone. And frankly I know about as much about the Circle as I care to know. Anything else and I'll start seeing the interdimensional eels. We probably have the fold on file, but we also have to balance people's privacy with their ability to commit temporal crimes.

This does sound serious, though. What I'm going to suggest is an observation period in one of our physical locations. If you're comfortable with it, we can get some Yellow Circle folks to monitor your condition.

I have a hunch that this may be a little....empty nest syndrome. Empty hatchery? Hm.

If your parents are the type to want you back in the fold, so to speak, they may be trying to communicate that to you, or effectively blackmail you back into it. We can try and get you on a Refusal of the Call list, but it may be too late for that if you're already having physical manifestations of the Call.

As for those boxes, please bring them when you come in. We have some Circle folks in the mailroom we can get to open them.

Hm. Your parents...last name starts with N? Something's coming to mind.

This one, uh....file it under P, puking up letters.

Don't look at me like that, Cold.

[adammyuu]

All the Furbys I’ve acquired throughout the summer!

I was mostly out of town so a lot of them have just been sitting in the mailroom, I finally picked them up today!

The bumble bee Furby for some reason came with battery still inside, so I would like to think he has been terrorizing the usps with lots of “ME SLEEP AGAIN”.

Most of them need a good scrub. I also just moved into a new apartment, which means I will have proper space to display my Furby! Stay tuned on the new Furby shelf.

[rvspecter]

ramble about each of ur suits ships for as long as u can (might result in a novel)

omg sweet anon asking about all my ships <3

ok so first i don't ship something because i want to see two ppl get married i don't do that. i'll ship it because i find it interesting/sexy etc

LET'S START WITH THE SEXIEST

jessica/harvey

-everyone sleeping on this ship makes me so mad. like they are so sexy!?!?!?!?!?? even when they banter they are sexy. THEY ARE TOTALLY FLIRTING?!??!?! anyways i particularly like when they fight for dominance which is basically every scene with them. oh and i like how she's taller than him in heels and how she stares him down like he's breakfast. SO WHY ISN'T THERE MORE FIC!??!? what i need is for someone to help me establish their backstory. like i know they fucked in a bathroom stall on the 53rd floor but i'm not sure when. was it when harvey was working in the mailroom? i feel like they are the hardest ship to write for actually and make believable. BUT I KNOW THEY FUCKED!!!!!

mike/harvey

-mike legit has harvey wrapped around his finger. if that boy said “hire me as a lawyer even tho ive only finished high school and then offer to go to prison for me when im found out” harvey would be like “how high”. i don't think anyone can argue that harvey loves mike

but to me marvey is an unrequited love story. idk what to say. mike doesn't love harvey. sometimes i don't even think mike likes harvey as a friend. that's how soured by s6+ i was. mike treated harvey like shit and harvey kept coming back for more. it was actually painful to watch. i read marvey and usually the stories i find believable r the ones where mike leaves with rachel and GROWS UP (even tho he's a 30 yr old man at the start of the show) and everyone's wounds have had time to heal. i can buy marvey getting together then. what i don't find believable are stories where mike is pining for harvey!?!??! i don't know what show that is. the guy literally couldn't get away from harvey fast enough. he gets out of jail and almost immediately fucks off to seattle with his wife and doesn't even tell harvey about it like??

when i first got into the fandom side of suits i really liked the romanticized version of marvey where they wud do ANYTHING for each other. but when i watch the show - this only goes in one direction

donna/harvey

-this is this ship i was rooting for when i watched the show the first time. the thing about them is their history and emotional connection. to me they are a single entity. they r partners and they have always been partners. u don't even get to talk to harvey without going thru donna - she is literally the physical border between him and the outside world

i love how they protect each other. harvey has never let anything bad happen to donna. it's a fact. he'd do anything to protect her and we see that. but here's the thing about their relationship - it's mutual. donna does INSANE THINGS for harvey like KEEP A DOCUMENT THAT SHE STOLE FOR OVER A DECADE ON THE OFF CHANCE THAT SOMEONE GOES AFTER HARVEY FOR CAMERON'S CRIMES. they wud do anything for each other and they both know it

i also love how highly they think of each other. we always see donna defending harvey. she defends him because she thinks he's a good person ("because ur worthy"). she's one of few ppl on the show who does. most ppl think of him as a dick and that group includes mike

the way harvey views donna is almost worshipful. he thinks she can do no wrong. “donna doesn’t make mistakes.” he trusts her completely. she's his compass. every success he has is a shared success. “we made partner.” he doesn’t even think he can be himself without her. and don’t get me started on how debilitating her moving 3 doors down the hall was for him

anyways tldr their relationship is a two way street. they love each other and they both know it. and i'm not talking about after they finally get together (let's not talk about s9). i'm talking about before. because even if they didn't know the other person wanted to be with them - they knew they loved them and would do anything for them

MIGHT AS WELL GO THROUGH ALL MY SHIPS

scottie/harvey

-s1 version of them was so fun! i wanted this to have been a long term friends with benefits type thing. when they became a couple i didn't like it because it was always her sacrificing stuff for him and not the other way around

sean cahill/harvey

THIS SHIP NEEDS MORE FIC. i was just thinking about them. sean tells harvey 'I MOVED HEAVEN AND EARTH FOR YOU ONCE BEFORE AND NOW THE WELL IS DRY' like sean was totally IN LOVE WITH HARVEY. it's crazy how much he did for him actually. like what did sean get out of it??!?!?!?!??! anyways they totally fucked while mike was in prison

travis tanner/harvey

they way i see them is travis is obsessed with harvey's hair and hands and generally thinks he's just a pretty girl he wants to get with. harvey is like eww no but also we know harvey likes fucking the competition. so i think they fuck on and off, after or before cases and it's very kinky because travis is a total freak in the sheets

LAST BUT NOT LEAST

cameron dennis/harvey

plz see this fic for details

[itscubetime]

Hi! You're cool!

OH MY MACKREL HIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!!!

YOU’RE SO COOL TOO :D

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Zoe's Reprise: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Summary: Rossi needs your help when a young girl brings a case to his attention, unfortunately, at her death. High School reunion invitations have gone out, and you receive yours, unfortunately.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

"I never teach my pupils; I only attempt to provide the conditions in which they can learn." - Albert Einstein

Today is an early day since you and Spencer can't sleep. Usually, you'd find something to do like play indoor mini golf or play some chess, but may as well come to work and get ready before everyone else comes in. Spencer is at his desk doing his morning puzzle while you get coffee for the both of you. You cap both cups and start to make your way to your desk when someone from the mailroom stops you.

"Are you Y/N?"

"Yes."

"This came for you."

You have to balance the two coffees in one hand in order to take the thick letter from the young man. Spencer notices you're struggling and comes over to take one coffee from you.

"What is that?" he asks when the young man walks away.

"I don't know. Nothing ever comes for me. Everything goes through JJ."

You set your coffee on your desk so you can open your letter. Inside is an invitation to one of your high school's reunions. Instead of keeping it the normal ten or twenty years since you've graduated, your classmates thought it'd be fun to make it a lucky thirteen years.

Thirteen years since you've seen some of the worst people you've ever met. You've seen a lot of criminals in your day, but nothing compares to high school girls and boys. They're ruthless, especially to someone with your abilities.

"It's a high school reunion invitation."

"What's wrong? You don't look too happy."

"I went to two high schools in Texas because my family had to move at the end of my sophomore year. The first high school I went to was in Dallas and then in Corpus Christi."

"So, what happened?" Spencer asks.

"I was a quiet kid. I didn't really join many clubs or stood out because that's not who I was. I got good grades but I was bullied a lot because of what I can do. I didn't have a lot of control over it like I do now.

"At my Dallas high school, I caught a teacher having sex with a student. I told the principal which got the teacher fired. When the whole school heard what happened, she became a laughingstock. She started bullying me, then her friends joined in, then the whole school and it got so bad that I had to transfer. I finished junior and senior year in Corpus Christi," you finish.

"Wow, I'm so sorry. Were things better for you at that other school?"

"In the beginning. No one knew who I was but then the same thing happened. I was more quiet than before, but I saw a kid in my class with bruises on his face. I knew he wasn't being treated right at home because all I could see was his father and alcohol bottles. I tried talking to him but people overheard. Once again, I overstepped. People hated me again until I graduated."

"Are you going to go to this reunion?"

"I don't know if I even want to. I'm afraid of what they'll say to me."

"That shouldn't matter. Who cares what they think?"

"You're absolutely right but I'm still scared. I'll think about it. If we have a case in that city at the same time as the reunion, then I'll go. If I do, then you have to be my date."

"I can do that," he smiles.

You kiss him quickly before heading over to Penelope's office with him. She, Derek, and JJ are in there to see the pictures of JJ's son.

"Ooh, let me see my godson!" you grin. JJ passes a few photos over to you, and your heart melts at how cute he is. "He's so cute! You really need to bring Henry over. We really want to babysit. You can sleep all day and relax and leave him to us."

"I did talk to him. We're going to make that happen," JJ chuckles.

"Yay!"

Penelope's phone rings, showing Rossi calling her from being on his annual leave.

"Is this David Rossi, the famous bestselling author David Rossi?" she jokes.

"What are you doing?" you ask over speakerphone. "You're not supposed to be calling on annual leave."

"I think it just ended."

"What do you mean?"

"Garcia, Cleveland police are sending you some files. Get JJ to distribute them to the team right away."

"What are we looking at?"

"I don't know yet. Just see if the team can find a connection with these crimes. I'll call you back in a few hours."

"Yes, sir."

"Back to work," JJ says and puts away her photos.

Zoe Hawkes was found dead this morning by a woman walking her dog. Her dog wouldn't stop barking until Zoe was discovered. Apparently, Zoe was at Rossi's book signing with the intention of talking to him about something, but you don't know if there is any other connection between the two of them.

Zoe was found next to her car with her keys still in her pocket, the car alarm was still activated, and there was no sign of a break-in. There was blunt-force trauma to her head and signs of strangulation. The murderer asphyxiated her with the scarf she was wearing. The motive must not be robbery otherwise her things would have been stolen. She had unused pepper spray in her purse, but you're unsure if she didn't want to use it or never got the chance to.

Local police went door-to-door to see if there were any witnesses but nothing came of it. Police theorize that Zoe was looking into murders that occurred in the area. Most recently, Kayla James was murdered and raped three days ago in a burglary-homicide, and they theorize that she was killed because she was snooping around the older case.

As the team gathers in the briefing room, Rossi is on the phone to give his input since he's in Cleveland right now. He has Zoe's laptop so Penelope can go through it, so while JJ presents the case, Penelope is working on getting access. JJ puts a map on the board with the location of all five victims, not including Zoe.

"All crimes are within a seven-mile radius," you note, "but all the neighborhoods are completely different. They range from poor to rich to industrial to residential."

"The physical locations are dissimilar but the operating zone's well-defined," Hotch adds.

"Okay, I'm in," Penelope says. She immediately looks at what she was looking at last through her search history. "The first thing she looks at is a crime column to probably stay current on her studies. The first three are the most recently opened documents she created."

"It looks like she was compiling empirical data about homicide trends in Cleveland," Spencer says. "Do you think she knew the killer?"

"I don't see any notes indicating suspects," Rossi says.

"Well, Dave, she's a criminology student. She's been taught to analyze statistics and apply theory, not investigate killers. Let's talk about what we know."

"Alright. Victim one is Travis Bartlett who was last seen at a gay bar," JJ lists. "He was shot at night in a park. Victim two is Lily Nicks, a thirty-four-year-old prostitute with her throat slashed. Victims three and four are June Appleby and Troy Wertsler who were shot in their car at a parking lot outside of a movie theater. Victim five was twenty-eight-year-old Kayla James who was killed in her home. She was bound with a bag over her head, and evidence of rape."

"The sixth victim was Zoe," you state.

"Victimology, weapons used, and COD are all different. It's hard to imagine it's even the same unsub."

"It can't be a coincidence that Zoe goes to Kayla James' house and gets murdered," Rossi argues.

"Alright, let's say it's the same killer. Does anyone see a pattern?" Hotch asks.

"With the first crime, the unsub shoots the victim. In the second crime, he rapes a woman and slashes her throat. With the third crime, he escalates to killing two people. By the fourth, he escalates even more to raping a woman, binding her, and suffocating her. It seems like every crime escalates to something worse. If it's the same killer, we can argue that there's a progression of violence with every kill."

"It could be an anger excitation offender getting more daring with each crime."

"I think I got something here," Derek chimes in and shows some of the pictures of the bodies. "Look at this: the slashes in the prostitute's throat are all shallow, unsure cuts. A telephone cord, rope, and duct tape were used on Kayla. It's like he couldn't decide how to bind her. Without a gun, this guy is inexperienced."

"Wait, doesn't the crime scene of the couple in the car remind you of anything?" you ask. "It looks like they were shot with a .44 Bulldog just like the Son of Sam used on his victims. The second crime reminds me of Jack the Ripper with similarities being it's a prostitute whose throat was slashed. Kayla was bound, tortured, raped, and suffocated with a bag over her head like BTK. Pen, what neighborhood was Travis found in?"

"At a park in the Kingsbury Run area."

"Zoe reminded me last night that Cleveland's most famous serial killer was the Butcher of Kingsbury Run. He found his victims in gay bars, shot them, and dumped their bodies there. Travis was last seen at a gay bar and his body was found in Kingsbury Park," Rossi says.

"This unsub is a serial killer studying other serial killers."

"See you in Cleveland, Dave," Hotch concludes the meeting.

He's heard all that he needed to hear.

Cleveland is a little over an hour away by plane, so you get there fairly quickly. Rossi didn't seem too anxious over the phone but when you see him in person, you can feel the guilt radiating off him in waves. Your heart feels heavy, there is a weight over your chest, and you feel uncertain about what you're doing. All of these feelings are coming from Rossi who is feeling them for Zoe.

"Are you okay?" you ask when you greet him.

"Why?"

"There's no reason to feel guilty, Rossi."

"Don't do that," he immediately shuts you down. "I don't need you reading me right now. Don't worry about it." He takes the team into one of the empty conference rooms that he's set up. "We'll get started on the evidence boards. Detective Dan Brady's our point. I'll let you all introduce yourselves."

Dan walks over and Hotch introduces the entire team.

"I know it may seem far-fetched, but copycat killers are not entirely uncommon. This one happens to be copying several different killers."

"If he's trying to be the butcher of Kingsbury Run, why didn't he cut up and mutilate the victims like the real guy?"

"That was seven weeks ago. He was just getting started. Beginning killers are often frightened of the crime itself. They're more interested in getting it over with as quickly as possible and fleeing the scene," Emily answers.

"He was just using the Butcher's ruse as a way to lure the victim to be alone with her. By the time he killed Kayla, he'd progressed. He came very close to copying all of the BTK's MO. He's reading, learning, and borrowing from others because he doesn't know who he is yet."

"Because of this, we think he's young and impressionable, maybe even a student. He's someone probably enrolled in criminology classes. Our technical analyst is going through the names of local students right now."

"Up to this point, changing his MO has prevented investigators from linking the crimes. That's why we need to work quickly."

"Are you sure about this?" Dan asks.

"It's not a coincidence that all of these random, violent murders in this localized area are copycats of serial killers."

"It's as if all the worst serial killers have converged on Cleveland. Every time he plans to kill, the murder weapon, the MO, and the victimology will all change. Detective, will you let your team know we're ready to give a preliminary profile?"

"Sure."

"Garcia found three male students enrolled in criminology classes with felony records," JJ says. "Before you say it, we don't need to interview them because one of them is studying abroad and the other two are in jail on other charges."

"Tell Garcia to check enrollment in online and correspondence courses and see if we have any luck with those parameters." Rossi leaves the room without a word. "Will you guys handle the profile?"

"Is everything okay?" you ask.

"Everything is fine."

Hotch leaves to talk to Rossi while Dan gathers his men and women to hear the profile. You want to go out there and help Rossi, but you're needed in here right now. Plus, Rossi doesn't want you to read him and you're respecting his wishes.

"We have six homicides in a seven-mile radius in east Cleveland," Derek gets started. "Now, this small zone indicates that he's a geographically stable offender. This type of offender is characterized as young, socially immature, of average intelligence, with psychopathic personality traits. They also usually live alone and have an antisocial nature."

"A serial killer's first murder is very telling. This unsub chose the MO of Cleveland's own butcher of Kingsbury Run for his first murder. The butcher isn't as well known as other famous serial killers, but he is a local legend."

"Because he picked the butcher to be first, we believe he's a native of Cleveland and probably grew up hearing stories of the Butcher. This is someone who is obsessed with serial killers. His computer will be filled with research on them. He'll have abundant images of murderers on his computer and possibly even snuff films. He uses these like pornography as they provide some sort of sexual release."

"Sorry to interrupt," JJ comes into the room. "There's reports of another body."

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[rose-in-a-fisted-glove]

@afanbeingatheart

I am proud to say that you are either 2 or 3 promotions out of date!

I forget if you knew about the promotion out of the mailroom or not, but I've had 2 more since! It's been a busy couple of years and I am now mid career professional!

...sadly still suffering from insomnia though

And nervous about the neurosurgeon tomorrow, which while ironic, does not help ths sleeping situation

[wordpimp]

Film silent awards

Working in a strange post office/mailroom trying to be an assistant to someone told me to find some letters to stamp on the box, M and E, but they stood for a city, floors are shiny in dept stores, they polish them at night, wonder if that's all automated now. We had a pusher. I helped them staple a box for christmas, flat and rectangular, human sized. A doll might have lived there right inside it. Tiny home mannequin. The staples kept popping out. The wrapping came off. She looked ok but we mangled it. Bandaged sleep is so tiring in september. The body wants to be up and lifted, to be held. Red and muddy. A linen cradle is a grave start. The word cloud reminded me of spit, so I spit in my mouth. You can too. I wanted to be soft like a woman, I want to be opened by a woman.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Ocean View

Fandom: Superfam, Batfam, DC Comics

Summary: A pair of shoes, a fragmented memory, and a collection of newspaper clippings.

An empty box of cigarettes, a second phone, and a beach house with locked rooms.

Chapters: 6/?

Characters: Laney Kent, Jason Todd, Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Chris Kent, Tim Drake

Relationship(s): JayLaney, Clois

Additional Tags: No Powers AU, No Capes AU, Secret Identity, Social Media, Romance, Angst

Chapter Six: Valentine's Day

Jason woke me up to breakfast in bed, and he'd washed my clothes. "Did you sleep at all?" I mumbled. He nodded.

"I fell asleep right after you. You went to sleep at seven o'clock, almost eight," Jason replied. He sat next to me in bed, and he ate some of my strawberries. "Eat your breakfast. You can wear whatever you want in the house." I ate my pancakes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

I showered and picked out one of the outfits he left lying around. I got dressed, and Jason met me near the front door. "Saturday?" Jason asked. I grinned.

I said goodbye to him and drove straight to work. I ran into my parents in the parking lot. "Morning, Mom and Dad," I smiled.

"I can't wait to hear all about your second date," Mom grinned. I never dated, so this was special for my mom.

Dad pushed up his glasses and looked over at me. "He made dinner, and we talked. Then he woke me up for work with breakfast," I whispered. Dad held the door for us as we all went into work. Mom sat down at my desk and fixed her makeup. Dad stood close by.

"How many more dates until you start calling him your boyfriend?" Dad asked. I grew quiet as I thought about his question.

"Ten. Let's make it a nice even ten dates before we start using that word. We're going out again on Saturday. So that'll make it our third date," I whispered. Dad looked at Mom, and she gave me a kiss on the cheek before going straight to her desk. "What's wrong?"

"And Christopher's birthday?" Dad asked.

"I never miss Kit's birthday. I was actually hoping I could talk to you about that," I smiled awkwardly, "Can we have his party at my place?" Birthdays were a big deal in the Kent family. They came second only to gotcha days. Hosting a birthday party was an even bigger deal.

I think it surprised Dad to see me taking that responsibility. "Do you want my help?" Dad asked. I nodded.

"I already have ideas," I whispered. Dad beamed. "Listen, I'm not going to mess this up. I promise."

"Lane, I love you so much," Dad whispered. I wanted to hug him. I really did, but I was afraid he wouldn't hug back. I chewed my lip and almost bit down out of shock when he embraced me. "I love you so much, and I see that you're trying." I held onto him and tried not to cry, but I couldn't hold back the few tears that forced their way down my cheeks.

I finally felt like I could breathe. "Can I stay the night?" I asked. He nodded.

"I'd like that... And I'm so happy that you're dating someone," Dad whispered, "Shame for some of the kids in the mailroom, though." I knew he was joking, but I couldn't help but be a little puzzled as I watched him walk back to his desk.

I thought it'd be a slow Friday, but Uncle Jimmy came back from his trip, and he was immediately called away to take pictures of a beached whale. Then, the new girl asked me to go with her to do a story about an older couple that was born on Valentine's Day. The car ride there was unbearably quiet. "So... Where are you from?" I asked. I really hate small talk.

"Muskogee, Oklahoma," she answered.

"Oh nice, I'm from Smallville, Kansas... We left when I was thirteen, but I was living there with my grandparents up until a week or two ago," I explained, "I lived with them for five or six months."

"I figured you were from somewhere else. You like it here?" the girl asked. I nodded. "I got here just a month or so before you came back. I'm just now getting used to it."

"It can be a lot on the senses... Sometimes I have to go back home just to get some quiet, so that doesn't ever really go away," I whispered.

"You date in the city?" she asked.

"Well, I date this guy who visits the city a lot. We just started going out, but I don't know if it's-. I used to live in this building," I whispered. We got out of the car, and the older couple buzzed us up. When we got up there, I recognized them both, and they recognized me.

I raised my shoulders out of discomfort. "How're you doin', kid?" asked the older man. I nodded. "We thought something happened to you. Maggie made me talk to the landlord, but he said you'd moved out."

"Yeah, I stayed with my grandparents for a little while. I'm back for now, but I live somewhere else," I explained, "I figured nobody would want me back in the building." I tried to laugh it off.

I was a horrible neighbor. Between the noise and the stray cats, I was surprised that they'd reacted kindly to seeing me. I let them do their interview while I took pictures. After the interview was over and I got in the car with my coworker again, she looked at me. "Why'd you move?" she questioned.

"Know how I said I go to Kansas to get away from the noise?" I asked. She nodded. "I'm the noise." We didn't say anything else for the rest of the ride back to work.

When I got back, my mom pointed to my desk. I saw a little heart-shaped arrangement of succulents and a note sitting on my desk. I sat down and read the poem attached to it. "I look for you in dreams/ In daylight's hours/ I fear I will never find you/ As you are in moonlit nights/ I only hope that when night's hour returns/ You'll bring sunlight back into my life." I touched the letter to my lips and smiled.

Mom came by and sat across from me. "What'd the note say?" Mom asked.

"He wrote me a poem," I whispered, "Mom, do you still love Dad the way you did when you first started dating?"

She gestured for me to lean in close, and she whispered, "No one starts out in love when they're dating. I wasn't in love at first, but I am now." I grinned. That was what I needed to hear. She patted me on my cheek. "Ten dates is quite a number. Eight more to go, right?"

"Right," I whispered.