#tings watches the x-files for the first time

[qveerthe0ry]

Just watched the baseball scene in The Unnatural

I think after the first ball or two or three Scully probably could have swung without Mulder hanging all over her back. Just maybe.

Scully is the strongest goddamn soldier because if a man grabbed my hip like that it would have been OVER for me. Oh my god.

And vice versa. Scully giggling in my arms with her ass pressed against me? World’s biggest boner.

This was the horniest episode of The X-Files or actually any TV show I’ve ever watched. And it was just two co-workers playing baseball.

[purinfelix]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just an assignment,” you shot back curtly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did it hurt?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I feel it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Niki,” you sigh.

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

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

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

“Take it or leave it.”

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

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

[gold-onthe-inside]

contingency operations

n. def. - a situation requiring military operations in response to natural disasters, terrorists, subversives, or as otherwise directed by appropriate authority to protect US interests.

who? spencer reid (s7) x analyst!reader summary: when a former navy SEAL threatens your base of operations, your safety is the only thing on spencer's mind. content warnings: jealous and pining spencer, gun talk, spencer kind of manhandles you, spencer getting cockblocked by jj word count: 1.8k a/n: don't hate me, i didn't have his confession speech planned.

It’s not that far a stretch for you to be the first person he thinks of — while JJ’s negotiating with her DoD contacts to get them a look at a classified operation, he’s gone upstairs to look for you. Working in counterintelligence meant you had access to all kinds of information, whether that be domestic or international. Spencer carefully carried the cup of coffee, file pinned under his arm, aiming to find you at your cubicle, except you’re standing at another one, perched on the table while you talked to another person.

Spencer’s not the kind to get jealous, or so he thought, except the guy you’re talking to isn’t like the others who occupy the floor — he’s got broad shoulders and an easy smile, and at least if he was blond, he wouldn’t have been competition. He just had to be a brunet, charming to top it off. Spencer doesn’t know if he’s ever made you smile unless you were teasing him.

The longer he stands there, the more awkward he feels, and he eventually gets the nerve to knock on your desk and make you look up — an improvement to a year ago where he would have just pretended to look lost and leave. His stomach turns when he watches you place your hand on the guy’s shoulder, squeezing as you walk away.

“Is that a bribe I see?” you asked, the corner of your lip curling as you spied the coffee in his hand.

“Nope, it’s completely unrelated to the favor I came to ask,” Spencer said, earning a rueful look as you take it and sit in your chair.

“What do you need?” you asked, sipping the coffee that was made perfectly to your liking — he'd gotten to know your preferences better over the last year, spending more time together since the Doyle case. You'd been an escape from the suffocating emptiness of the bullpen, and he'd been good company when you had been barred from Penelope's lair for 6 months.

“Anything you might have on Dorado Falls,” Spencer said, his voice rising an octave in hope that you might help as you go through your files.

“And Pen can’t do this because?” you asked, pulling up your file directory.

“She doesn’t have clearance,” Spencer said, lacing his fingers together and twisting it in his nervousness. As expected, you turn your head to look at him.

“You want eyes on a classified op you don’t have the clearance for?” you asked, raising a brow at him.

“Yes?” He's got this puppy-eyed look, like when he asks if you have lunch plans, or if you want to see a 4-hour long sci-fi film that's only available in Russian.

“Reid,” you said with a sigh, rubbing your forehead. “I can’t just—”

“He killed 8 people in one day,” Spencer insisted in a hushed voice. “He’s got a U.S. General as a hostage, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” He watched your folded lips, your contemplative look, and he can finally take a breath when you turn your chair and acquiesce.

“You people are gonna get me fired one of these days,” you muttered under your breath, Spencer leaning over your shoulder as you find the file you’re looking for. “Navy SEAL operation, 2003, this what you’re looking for?” you asked, his breath fanning over your cheek, warm and coffee-tinged. If you turned your head, you could probably kiss his cheek — not that you would. But the thought crosses your mind as he nodded.

“That’s the one,” he said, and moved when you had to reach for the drawer, copying the file onto a clean flashdrive before ejecting it.

“I like my job, Reid,” you said, turning to look at him, which you could do forever with his coiffed hair and blue sleeves rolled to his elbows, paired with a grey vest. “If I get fired, you’re paying my rent,” you continued, pressing the flashdrive into his hand and his lips break into a smile.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he replied, closing his hand over the drive and leaving you to your work, and you watched him walk until he got to the glass doors, holding back a laugh as you watched him break into an awkward run for the elevators.

The next time he goes to your floor, he doesn’t bother waiting for the lift, running up stairs as fast as he can to get to you before the unsub does — even though it’s wholly unprofessional. He needs to be with his team, ready to talk down the unsub at a moment’s notice, but his focus shattered the moment he found out you hadn’t evacuated yet. Instead, you were focused on activating a failsafe program, in case anyone other than the members of your division moved to access the network on your floor.

“What are you still doing here?” Spencer yelled at you, almost skidding to your cubicle.

“Almost done, give me a second,” you said, gritting your teeth, fingers flying over your keyboard as you authenticate yourself. “Jesus Christ, I need to make this program faster,” you muttered and Spencer swears that if the unsub doesn’t kill you, he might.

“Really? There’s a Navy SEAL breaking into the building, and you’re thinking of more projects to work on?” he demanded, his hands pressed to his revolver.

“There’s a Navy SEAL on his way and you think a cowboy pistol’s gonna save you?” you retorted sharply.

“What do you have against my gun?” he asked, his voice rising in octave again.

“Uh, how about the reload for one,” you said. “What, do you carry around spare bullets in your pocket? Plus the recoil rules out rapid fire. What are you gonna do if you get pinned down?”

“I’m gonna keep you from getting killed,” he said, reaching out to grip your bicep. “You’re right, I don’t have the firepower of an uzi, what I can do is get us out of this room,” he finished, tugging your arm.

"Hold on, it's almost done," you muttered.

"No, I'm dragging you out of here now-" He said, but you just shrugged, still tapping away at the keys with only your left hand free.

"No, you can't," you said idly as you continued to work. "You haven't the strength to get me to move without cooperation, and I'm not leaving until I finish this."

“I-“ he opened his mouth, then closed it. What was he going to say? That you were being stubborn for the sake of it? That your life was more important than this task? That you should get up, and run with him? That he’d save you? He couldn’t voice any of those. You both knew them all anyway, and you’d be able to rebuff them with ease. “Just hurry, please.”

He leaned closer to you, trying to ignore the soft scent of your hair.

"Oh, well, now that you've told me to hurry," you responded dryly, turning your face to look at him, inches away from his. The proximity surprised him, but he barely had time to think about it before you were hitting return and taking your hand off the keys.

“Done,” you announced, standing up. “Time to run. Unless, of course, you want to argue about that too?”

"Can we?" he asked, pulling you along the corridor. "I do have a list of complaints about your recklessness."

"You have a list of complaints about everything," you retorted as he opened the fire escape door for you. You stepped through, Spencer closing the door behind you both.

"Your general attitude is up there," He admitted, running down the stairs and pulling you after him. "Your inability to keep yourself safe, your tendency to throw yourself into danger for the sake of a project—"

"Jesus Christ, Reid, if we find out a rogue operative is going to break in, you don't think we'd have a protocol for it?" you argued, frustrated.

"Yes, I believe the protocol is to evacuate," he reminded you, reaching the landing. He kept you close, though he'd never admit that it was to reassure himself.

"God, for a genius, you really are daft," you muttered, rounding the corner to another flight of stairs. "You think we'd just leave the entire network open for him?"

"No," he allowed, following your hurried footsteps. "But I don't think your life should be worth the risk. No data is worth you dying."

"Yeah, how about dozens of classified operations and cover identities that need to be kept under wraps?" you snapped at him. "I was doing my job, you're the one who came looking for me when you should be with your team."

"The team knows my priority is with you," he admitted, then immediately regretted it because that was information that he hadn't been planning to tell you.

You stopped in your tracks, staring at him. "What does that mean?"

His eyes widened and he backtracked. "The team knows that if you're threatened, the likelihood is I'll disregard protocol," he said. Well, it was the truth, even if it wasn't really what he'd meant. "We should keep moving," he said.

"No, you can't keep doing this," you demanded, pulling at his arm. "Every time, every time, you say this cryptic coded thing that I don't know what to do with. Just say what you mean, already!"

"I-I don't..." Spencer's heart was hammering in his chest, his eyes wide. The truth was, he wanted to tell you. He wanted you to know where you stood with him... but the fear of rejection would stop him every time. He was in love with you. He hadn't had the courage to admit it yet. His earpiece interrupts him, and for once in his life, Reid is almost glad to have his earpiece interrupt his thoughts.

“Reid, we’re seeing movement on the 7th floor, where are you?” JJ asked, her voice rushed.

"I'm in the stairwell with the most stubborn woman in the world," he said, looking pointedly at you as you scowled at him.

“Get back up here,” JJ replied. “We need all hands on deck.”

"I'm coming," he said, and looked at you. "So much for getting you out," he murmured. "If you run now, can I trust you won't go back to your desk?"

“Believe it or not, I have no interest in facing a 6 ft Navy SEAL,” you replied dryly.

"So that's a yes," he says, smiling despite his attempt to remain serious.

I'm in love with you, he thought, but he wasn't brave enough to say.

I don't want to lose you. He was even less willing to voice that.

"Don't stop running till you're out," he told you instead, his voice as firm as he could make it.

"Don't get killed by a SEAL," you replied, your sense of humor never failing you as you add, "Although, it would be a cool way to go out."

"I'm sure you'll be very smug about it at my funeral," he said, but neither of you were really smiling anymore. "I'll be okay," he promised you. "Get out of here."

You take one last lingering look at him, then started running down to the exit, leaving him behind.

It took him a full 5 seconds to start moving after you finally left, and the feeling of emptiness in his chest only grew with each step up the stairs.

He was in love with you, and he was determined to tell you.

Just not yet.

[fr0stf4ll]

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 8

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 6k

Trigger warning; //

notes; Yooo, hope that everyone is doing well ! New chapter and with a bunch of interactions (finally...) hihi. This weekend I'm trying to write as much as I can because I'm starting my apprenticeship on monday and knowing myself the only thing I will be able to do at home is sleep duh. Btw I'm supper happy to read you guys's comments on the last post I hope that you liked the previous parts. Well see you all soon. bisous bisous <333

Link; Part 7 or Part 9

Breathing deeply, you sank into the worn chair at your desk, a rare moment of stillness washing over you. The clinic was quiet for now, the hum of activity replaced by the distant murmur of Velaris’ Solstice celebrations. For the first time in weeks, you felt the weight on your shoulders ease, even if just slightly.

Earlier in the evening, as the streets had begun to fill with laughter and light, Elira had paused at the door before leaving for her own celebrations. She had lingered, shifting her weight nervously before finally speaking.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay tonight?” she had asked, her voice tinged with worry. “I don’t mind helping, even if it’s just for a while.”

You’d given her a soft smile, appreciating the concern in her wide eyes. “Elira, it’s Solstice. Go enjoy it. I can manage things here,” you’d reassured her, though you knew she wasn’t entirely convinced.

“But if you need anything—anything at all,” she pressed, her tone firm despite the slight tremble in her voice, “just send for me. I’ll come straight back.”

You’d chuckled lightly, resting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine. The cases tonight are likely to be minor—besides, you deserve to celebrate.”

Her smile had been hesitant, but she’d finally nodded, squeezing your hand briefly before stepping out into the bustling streets. Watching her go, you’d felt a pang of affection for the younger healer. She was learning quickly, but more than that, she cared.

Now, hours later, the streets of Velaris glimmered with festive charm. Strings of lights adorned every shop and home, and bursts of laughter echoed through the crisp winter air. The celebration’s warmth was palpable, even from the confines of the clinic. It was a stark contrast to the sterile quiet inside, where you had just finished stitching up a young boy who’d split his palm open while playing too close to a sharp edge. He’d been brave, though, and you’d sent him off with a small packet of sweets you kept for such occasions.

You exhaled and picked up your mug of coffee, savoring the warmth that spread through your hands. The clinic remained calm, as you had hoped, with only minor injuries coming through—nothing unexpected for a night like this.

The files on your desk called to you, and you opened the leather-bound notebook where you’d been outlining the major questions for the Dawn meeting. The room was quiet except for the scratch of your quill and the occasional distant crackle of laughter from the streets outside. The moonlight streaming through the window painted everything in a soft glow, and for a moment, the work felt less heavy, almost meditative.

After jotting down the last of your thoughts on the meeting agenda, you turned to the stack of parchment Madja had left for you before her retirement. The pages were filled with detailed notes on injuries and conditions she had encountered during her centuries of practice. Among them was a folder marked with the priestesses’ seal, its edges worn from years of handling.

Curiosity tugged at you as you flipped it open, revealing notes on rare conditions and ancient healing methods that had once been housed exclusively in the library. Some of the practices were ones you’d only heard of in passing, their descriptions invoking both fascination and a sense of awe for the healers who had come before you.

You made a mental note to consult with the priestesses in the coming weeks. Their knowledge would be invaluable for refining some of the techniques you were considering introducing to the clinic and possibly even the broader healing network across Prythian.

With a soft sigh, you leaned back in your chair, gazing at the notes scattered before you. It was moments like these that reminded you why you had chosen this path, despite its challenges. Healing wasn’t just about mending wounds or curing illnesses—it was about preserving hope, ensuring that even in the darkest times, there was light to guide people forward.

You took another sip of your coffee, letting the warmth settle in your chest. There was still so much to do, but for now, the night was calm, and that was enough.

The faint sound of the door creaking open pulled you from your thoughts, the familiar weight of responsibility snapping back into place. Setting down your mug, you rose quickly, your heart skipping at the possibility of an emergency. You moved through the clinic’s quiet halls, your steps soft yet purposeful, and turned the corner into the reception area.

The sight that greeted you stopped you in your tracks. Azriel stood just inside the doorway, his tall frame illuminated by the dim lanterns still lit for the night. His wings were tucked tightly against his back, and though he tried to maintain his usual calm demeanor, something about him seemed... off. His shadows swirled slower than usual, as if sensing his hesitation.

“Azriel?” you asked softly, concern

The night air was biting as Azriel soared through the skies above Velaris, his mind a whirlwind of emotions he couldn’t quite sort. He had nearly kissed Elain. Nearly. But the space between them had been filled with too much doubt, too much tension, and then Rhys had found him.

And his High Lord had been merciless.

"If you need a woman so badly, Azriel, then go to a brothel. Don’t ruin someone’s life just because you can’t control yourself."

The words echoed in his head, each syllable sharper than the winds cutting through his skin. He knew Rhys was furious—and Rhys wasn’t wrong—but that didn’t soften the sting. He had left, unable to bear another moment of the suffocating tension in the House of Wind. Flying aimlessly, he let the cool air whip around him, carrying him away from his thoughts.

But the wind had a mind of its own, or so it seemed. It brought him to the clinic. His landing was quiet, deliberate, and before he could think better of it, he had pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The sight of you, moving purposefully through the quiet clinic, tugged at something deep inside him. When you spotted him, your expression shifted instantly from focus to concern.

“Azriel?” Your voice was soft, laced with genuine worry. “Are you alright? What are you doing here?”

He froze, his usual composure crumbling under the weight of your gaze. He tried to find the words, but they escaped him. All he could manage was a faint, “I’m fine.”

But you weren’t convinced. He could see the worry etched in your expression as you stepped closer, studying him as though he might fall apart at any moment. Before he could say anything else, you motioned toward one of the chairs in the small waiting area.

“Sit,” you said gently, your tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll make you something.”

He obeyed, sinking into the chair as though the weight of the world had finally caught up to him. He watched as you moved with practiced ease, preparing an infusion of herbs. The warmth of the cup pressed into his hands moments later was soothing in a way he hadn’t expected.

“It’s a mix of herbs,” you explained, your voice steady and reassuring. “Nothing fancy, just something to help calm you down.”

He nodded, taking a small sip. The warmth spread through him, dulling the edge of his frayed nerves.

“I need to check on a patient,” you said softly, already moving toward one of the rooms. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Azriel watched as you disappeared down the hallway, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He stared into the cup in his hands, the steam curling upward like shadows of his own making. He didn’t know why he had come here, to you, of all people. But now that he was here, he felt... grounded.

In the patient’s room, you checked on the man with Greyscale. He was still asleep, his condition stable, much to your relief. You took a moment to breathe, steadying yourself. You hadn’t expected Azriel to show up tonight, of all nights, and his presence was unsettling in a way you couldn’t quite define. Not unwelcome, but certainly unexpected.

When you returned to the waiting area, he was still there, lost in thought. You settled into the seat next to him, picking up the files you’d been working on earlier. The silence between you was comfortable, a shared quiet that didn’t demand anything from either of you. Gradually, you felt him relax, the tension easing from his posture.

Azriel broke the silence first, his voice low. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m doing here?”

You didn’t look up from your papers. “The clinic isn’t just for people who are bleeding or on the edge of death,” you said calmly. “It’s also for people who need a moment for themselves, or someone to listen. I’m not here to force anything.” You reached out, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder. A faint shiver coursed through you at the contact, but you ignored it. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here. If you don’t, that’s fine too. No pressure.” You ended with a soft wink, your tone light but sincere.

He stared at you, a faint trace of disbelief in his eyes. Rarely had he felt this peaceful around anyone. There was something about you—your presence, your calm, the quiet way you offered him solace without demanding anything in return. It was as though the chaos inside him stilled when he was near you.

For the first time in what felt like ages, Azriel let himself lean back in the chair, his grip on the cup loosening as the warmth seeped into his skin. Quiet, but profound, the moment stretched between you, offering him the calm he hadn’t realized he so desperately needed.

Azriel’s voice broke through the quiet, hesitant at first but gaining strength as he began to speak. He told you what had happened at the dinner, the almost-kiss with Elain, and Rhysand’s harsh words that had followed. As he spoke, his shadows swirled subtly around him, betraying the tension he still held onto.

You listened, your expression calm and steady, though the compassion in your eyes was unmistakable. You didn’t interrupt or react too strongly, simply letting him unravel his thoughts. When he finally stopped, his gaze drifted to you, waiting for... something. A reaction, perhaps, or judgment.

“What do you think?” he asked quietly, his voice tinged with something you hadn’t expected—uncertainty.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do I think?” you echoed softly, setting the papers in your lap aside. “I think...” You trailed off, studying him for a moment before speaking again, carefully choosing your words. “I think what Rhysand said was wrong. Definitely wrong.”

Azriel’s head tilted slightly, his brow furrowing as if he couldn’t quite believe your words.

You continued, your tone steady but kind. “You’re no such male as he implied. I might not know everything about your life, but from what I’ve seen—and the brief moments we’ve shared—you’re worthy of so much more than what you’ve been made to feel tonight.”

His shadows stilled for a moment, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.

You shifted slightly, leaning forward just enough to hold his gaze more directly. “As for Rhysand,” you added, your voice softer now, “I don’t think he meant to hurt you. People say mean things when they’re angry. That doesn’t make it right, but it also doesn’t mean he truly believes what he said. Sometimes emotions get the better of us, and we lash out.”

Azriel stared at you, his expression unreadable, but there was a faint glimmer of something in his eyes—gratitude, perhaps, or relief.

“Let it go for a moment,” you suggested, your tone gentle but firm. “Not forever, just... for now. Give yourself time to process, to breathe. Don’t let it weigh you down.”

He was quiet for a long time, staring down at the cup of now-cooling infusion in his hands. Finally, he nodded, almost imperceptibly, as though he was only just allowing himself to consider your words.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice low but sincere.

You offered him a small, reassuring smile. “No need to thank me. Just... don’t be too hard on yourself, Azriel. You deserve better than that.”

For the first time that night, he let out a slow, deep breath, as if some of the weight he carried had finally begun to lift.

Azriel stared into his cup, your words still echoing in his mind. The way you spoke—calm, measured, but full of unwavering certainty—was unlike anything he was used to. He hadn’t expected such kindness, nor had he realized how much he’d needed to hear those words: that he was worthy, that he wasn’t defined by the anger and disappointment he carried.

The silence between you stretched on, but it wasn’t heavy or uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that allowed thoughts to settle, emotions to ease. You had returned to your work, glancing at the papers spread across your lap while he tried to untangle the mess inside his head.

After a moment, he glanced up, catching sight of the faint lines of fatigue etched into your face. You were clearly exhausted, but you didn’t let it show—not fully, at least. There was strength in the way you carried yourself, a resilience that both impressed and unnerved him.

Azriel finally broke the silence, his voice low. “What about Elain?”

You froze for just a heartbeat, your hand hovering over the edge of a page before lowering it to your lap. There was no judgment in your gaze when you turned to look at him, but he could see the hesitation there, the careful consideration before you answered.

“Don’t get mad at me,” you began, your voice steady but cautious, “but this is just my opinion.”

Azriel’s shadows curled tighter, though he gave no outward reaction. He waited, letting you gather your thoughts.

He didn’t say anything, his expression unreadable, so you continued. “After I left the Night Court, I was in the Dawn Court for a while. I wasn’t doing well at the time, but I eventually started dating a male there. Things were great for a while—he helped me a lot, pulled me out of a dark place.” You paused, a faint smile tugging at your lips as you remembered those early days. “After about six years of dating, he proposed.”

Azriel’s eyebrows shot up, his surprise evident. “And?”

“I said no,” you replied simply, earning a look of shock that quickly morphed into confusion. “A few months before, one of my friends came to me and told me they had discovered he was their mate.”

Azriel’s expression hardened, a mix of anger and disbelief flashing across his face. “So you left the person you loved because they had a mate? Even when you knew you were together first?”

“Yes,” you said, meeting his incredulous gaze. “Even though I loved him. I didn’t want to be stuck in one court—I knew I wanted to travel, to see more of the world. And more importantly, I knew that his mate would bring him feelings and a love that I could never give him. No matter how much he cared for me, a mating bond is... something else.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his shadows curling tighter around him. “Did you regret your choice?”

You took a deep breath, your voice steady but heavy with the weight of honesty. “It was hard. Don’t think for a second that it was a choice I took lightly. When I left, I didn’t explain why. It wasn’t my place to tell him he had a mate. Maybe that makes me a bitch—I don’t know. But I left, and two years later, I was invited to their mating ceremony.”

Azriel’s eyes widened slightly at your words, but he didn’t interrupt.

“We talked about it afterward,” you added. “And while it wasn’t easy, we’ve remained close friends to this day. I don’t regret my choice, because I knew it was the right thing to do—for him, for his mate, and for me.”

Azriel’s expression darkened, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “I’m tired of suffering and listening to what everyone tells me to do,” he said, his voice low but sharp. “Why should I have to keep making the hard choices? Why does it always have to be me?”

You frowned, leaning forward slightly. “You asked for my opinion, Azriel,” you said firmly. “If you don’t like it, that’s not my fault. But I’ve been in your position. I made the hard choice because I knew it was what needed to be done.”

"My whole life i’ve tried to put people’s needs above mine, it felt natural. But now I… I don’t fucking know.” He took a short breath. “I’m so, so tired of everyone judging the single things I tried to do for me. And maybe for you leaving your male was what you thought was right but… she doesn’t love him, she doesn’t want their bond or whatever it is. Rhysand has Feyre, Cassian has Nesta, why did I didn’t get to have Elain…” He was looking at you with a sort of rage deep inside his eyes. 

You swalloed hardly and not a word could go out of your mouth. Before any other word could be spoken, the sound of the clinic door opening interrupted the tense atmosphere. Both of you turned to see a family entering—a couple with a small child cradled in their arms. The child’s cheeks were flushed with fever, their body trembling slightly as they clung to their parent.

“Please,” the mother said, her voice trembling with worry, “Our child has a high fever. Can you help?”

You stood immediately, your own exhaustion forgotten in the face of their need. “Of course,” you said, your voice calm and reassuring. Turning to Azriel, you gave him a brief, pointed look. “We’ll finish this conversation later.”

Without waiting for a response, you moved to the family, already assessing the child’s condition as you led them to an examination room. Azriel watched you go, his shadows swirling around him in agitation. For a moment, he considered leaving—but something held him there, tethered to the clinic and the healer who had just challenged everything he thought he knew.

You gestured for Azriel to head upstairs, your voice steady but kind. “Go to my apartment, it’s just up there. I’ll join you after I’m done.”

Azriel hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether to argue, but then he let out a long sigh and nodded. Without another word, he turned and made his way up the narrow staircase.

Once inside your apartment, the tension that had gripped him earlier didn’t loosen. Instead, it seemed to settle in deeper, coiling in his chest. He was mad—at the situation, at Rhysand, at himself. Most of all, he was furious with how he had reacted to you. You’d shared something deeply personal, offered him insight from your own life, and what had he done? Snapped at you like a petulant child.

Azriel dragged a hand down his face, his shadows swirling restlessly around him as he tried to push the regret aside. He knew he’d handled the conversation poorly, but the weight of everything—Elain, Rhysand, his own insecurities—had left him unraveling at the seams.

The soft rustling of feathers broke through his thoughts. Azriel looked up and found Ydle perched on the back of a chair, staring at him with what could only be described as birdlike curiosity.

The golden eagle tilted its head, its sharp eyes narrowing slightly as if assessing this stranger in its space. Azriel’s shadows, ever mischievous, reached out tentatively toward the bird, curling around its feet and wings. Ydle, not one to back down from a challenge, hopped off the chair and began chasing the shadows, snapping at them playfully.

For the first time that evening, Azriel cracked a small smile. The sight of the majestic bird hopping around your apartment like an oversized chick was ridiculous, and yet, strangely comforting. He let the shadows dance just out of Ydle’s reach, amused by the way the bird flapped its wings in mock frustration.

After a few minutes, Ydle seemed to tire of the game, retreating to its perch with a soft trill of satisfaction. Azriel sank into your couch, the faint remnants of his smile fading as his thoughts returned to the mess of emotions swirling inside him. His gaze wandered around the room, taking in the small touches that spoke of your presence—the neat stack of books on the side table, the soft blanket draped over the arm of the couch, the faint scent of herbs lingering in the air.

Despite himself, Azriel felt a strange sense of calm settle over him. This space felt like you: steady, warm, and unyieldingly resilient. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply exist there, surrounded by the essence of someone who, even in the face of his frustration and anger, had shown him nothing but patience and understanding.

But the regret remained. He had lashed out when all you had tried to do was help, and now, sitting in your apartment with nothing but his thoughts for company, he knew he owed you an apology.

Azriel leaned back against the couch, his shadows curling around him like a protective cocoon. He could hear your voice downstairs, soft and measured as you reassured the worried family who had come into the clinic. He didn’t know how he would find the words to make things right, but he knew one thing for certain: he would try. You deserved that much, and more.

For now, though, he waited, letting the quiet of your space soothe the storm within him.

The clinic had finally quieted after a small rush of patients, leaving you feeling worn and drained. It had been an exhausting night, but your mind lingered on the thought of Azriel waiting upstairs. After ensuring everything was in order, you climbed the stairs to your apartment, unsure of what to expect.

As you entered, the sight before you stopped you in your tracks. Azriel was fast asleep on your couch, his head resting lightly on the armrest, one hand draped over his stomach. His usually tense features were softened by sleep, the faintest crease between his brows still lingering as though even in dreams, the weight of his burdens followed him.

For a moment, you just stood there, taking in the sight of the infamous Spymaster in such an unguarded state. It was strange, almost disarming, to see him like this. You grabbed a thick blanket from the armchair and quietly approached, draping it gently over him. He barely stirred as you did so, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly under your breath.

“Surprising for a spymaster,” you murmured, a faint smile tugging at your lips.

Your gaze lingered on him, and an ache spread through your chest. He looked peaceful now, but you knew the turmoil he carried—the confusion and pain that had led him here tonight. And there, in his slumber, he still wore the invisible chains of everything weighing him down: Elain, Rhysand, and perhaps even the bond you knew existed between you.

No matter how hard you tried to ignore it, Azriel had a way of reminding you of its presence. Of him. Always there, always visible, but just out of reach. Attached to someone else in a way that made your heart twist painfully, even as you told yourself it wasn’t your place to feel that way.

Movement caught your eye, pulling your focus to the side of the room. Ydle, your loyal bird, was curled up near Azriel’s feet, his feathers tangling gently with the spymaster’s shadows. The sight made you smile, a flicker of warmth in the midst of your stormy thoughts. Trusting shadows and a loyal bird, both at ease in each other’s company—it was oddly poetic.

You straightened, glancing toward the window. The faint glow of dawn was beginning to peek through the curtains, painting the room in soft hues of gold and pink. The quiet serenity of the moment wrapped around you, and for a heartbeat, you let yourself sink into it.

But there was work to do. Always work to do.

With a quiet sigh, you turned and left the apartment, careful not to disturb Azriel or Ydle. The clinic was bathed in the soft light of morning as you descended the stairs, the hum of Velaris beginning to stir outside. It was a new day, and despite your fatigue, you were ready to face it.

Azriel’s eyes opened slowly, the soft morning light filtering into the room causing him to squint. His body felt stiff, his wings sore from being crammed into the corner of your couch. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the surroundings, and realized where he was. The scent of herbs and warmth of your apartment grounded him.

His gaze landed on you, standing on the small balcony with your back to him, overlooking Velaris. The sunlight framed you in a golden halo, your relaxed posture a stark contrast to the tension he often saw in others. You turned, catching the movement out of the corner of your eye, and smiled warmly at him.

“Hello, sleeping beauty,” you teased, your voice light with humor. “Sorry, I don’t think my couch is made for wings.”

Azriel let out a soft huff of amusement, rolling his shoulders to loosen the ache. “I noticed,” he murmured, his voice still rough from sleep.

You crossed the room and handed him a cup of tea, the steam curling lazily upward. “Here,” you said, your tone gentler now. “This will help with the soreness.”

He accepted it, wrapping his hands around the warm cup as he muttered a quiet, “Thank you.”

You gestured toward a small table in the corner of the room where an assortment of pastries and fruits had been laid out. “One of my healers dropped these off earlier,” you explained. “Feel free to eat something. I didn’t prepare it, so it doesn’t count as me playing host.”

Azriel’s lips quirked into a small, reluctant smile. “Noted,” he replied, his shadows curling faintly around him, still sluggish from his rest.

You leaned lightly against the edge of the couch, watching as he took a cautious sip of the tea. The quiet between you was comfortable, the sounds of the waking city below filtering in through the open balcony door. For a moment, it felt as though the weight of the world beyond your walls had lifted, leaving only this shared stillness.

Azriel’s gaze dropped to the steaming tea in his hands as if it held the words he was struggling to say. After a moment of silence, he spoke, his voice low and hesitant. “About last night… I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. You were only trying to help, and I—” He stopped, his jaw tightening as he searched for the right words. “I took my frustration out on you. It wasn’t fair.”

You shook your head lightly, offering him a small, reassuring smile. “Azriel, don’t worry about it,” you said, your tone calm but kind. “You were on edge. We all say things we don’t mean when emotions run high. I didn’t take it personally.”

His wings shifted slightly, the leather rustling as he sat up straighter. “But you should have,” he said firmly, meeting your eyes now. “You didn’t deserve that. You were sharing something deeply personal, and I threw it back in your face. That’s not... that’s not who I want to be.”

You tilted your head, considering him for a moment before replying. “Azriel, I understand where it came from. You’re carrying a lot—more than most can even imagine. And honestly, I think you’ve been holding it all in for too long.”

His shadows rippled faintly, curling around his chair before settling again. He let out a soft sigh, his gaze distant. “That’s no excuse. I shouldn’t let what’s going on with... everything affect how I treat others—especially you. You’ve been nothing but kind and honest with me.”

You crossed your arms lightly, leaning against the couch. “I’m not saying it’s an excuse,” you admitted. “But it is an explanation. You’re human—or, well, as close as any of us can get,” you added with a small smirk, earning a faint chuckle from him. “And you’re allowed to feel overwhelmed, frustrated, even angry. But you need to learn how to let it out in a healthier way.”

Azriel’s eyes searched yours, as if weighing your words carefully. “I’ve spent so long keeping everything bottled up,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Sometimes it feels like if I let one thing out, everything will come pouring out, and I won’t be able to stop it.”

You nodded slowly, your expression softening. “I get that,” you said. “Believe me, I do. But carrying all of that alone will only weigh you down more. It’s okay to let people in, Azriel. To lean on them when you need to.”

He ran a hand through his dark hair, the shadows around him flickering faintly. “I don’t even know where to start.”

You smiled gently, placing a hand on the back of his chair. “Start with the small things,” you suggested. “Like this—being honest, talking it out. It doesn’t have to be perfect, and it doesn’t have to happen all at once.”

Azriel looked at you, his expression softer now, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice sincere. “For listening. For not giving up on me, even when I make it hard.”

You straightened, brushing off his gratitude with a light shrug. “I’m a healer,” you said simply. “Fixing people—even the stubborn ones—is kind of my job.”

A small smile tugged at his lips, and for the first time that morning, the shadows around him seemed less restless. “You’re not just a healer,” he said softly, almost to himself. “You’re... more than that.”

The way he said it, the weight of his words, left you momentarily speechless. But instead of lingering on it, you returned his smile and gestured toward the breakfast spread. “Well, let’s see if you can be fixed with some food. Go on—eat something. You look like you haven’t had a decent meal in days.”

Azriel chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re relentless.”

“And you’re lucky I am,” you shot back, moving toward your desk to give him a moment to collect himself.

You went back downstairs, leaving Azriel upstairs to gather his thoughts while you prepared to welcome the healers who had arrived to replace you. The moment they stepped inside, you greeted them warmly, exchanging a few pleasantries and updating them on the clinic’s current status. The little chitchat helped ease the weight of the long night, and their presence brought a sense of relief—knowing that the clinic was in capable hands for the rest of the day.

In the meantime, Azriel came down the stairs, his steps slow but purposeful. He paused briefly, his gaze meeting yours. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low but sincere. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and made his way out of the clinic, his wings tucked close to his body.

Once the door closed behind him, you let out a quiet sigh, the exhaustion from the long night finally catching up with you. With the clinic in safe hands, you allowed yourself the rare luxury of retreating upstairs. The moment your head hit the pillow, sleep claimed you, pulling you into the deep rest you so desperately needed.

Azriel made his way back to the House of Wind as dawn broke over Velaris. He hadn’t joined Rhysand and the others for their annual day away from the city—something he never missed. But after last night, the idea of spending the day in their company felt... unbearable.

He arrived at the grand estate, its imposing yet familiar presence looming against the soft hues of the rising sun. The place was silent, save for the faint whistle of the mountain wind. Either the others were still asleep, or they had already left. The solitude suited him just fine.

Still clad in the attire he’d worn for Starfall—a tailored dark jacket with intricate silver embroidery and a deep teal shirt beneath—Azriel felt out of place. His clothes spoke of celebration, but his heart carried only turmoil. The silence of the House of Wind wrapped around him as he stepped inside, his boots echoing faintly against the stone floors.

He made his way straight to his chambers, his steps slow and heavy. The elegant finery he wore felt stifling now, a stark contrast to the state of his mind. Once inside his room, he closed the door with a soft click, the quiet cocooning him further. He shrugged off his jacket, tossing it onto a nearby chair, and unbuttoned his shirt with quick, impatient fingers. The fabric fell away, revealing scars and tension etched into his skin. Changing into something simpler—a loose tunic and comfortable trousers—he felt a fraction lighter.

Azriel let himself collapse onto the bed, lying flat with his wings spread out behind him. His mind raced, replaying the events of the previous night: Elain, the almost-kiss, Rhysand’s harsh words, and then... you. The memory of you calmly standing in your clinic, handling everything with a quiet grace that both impressed and unsettled him, lingered in his thoughts.

He hadn’t even known why he’d ended up at the clinic, but the moment he saw your concerned expression, a part of him had felt... anchored. And yet, he’d acted like a fool, lashing out when all you’d done was listen. Now, as the early light filtered through his curtains, he couldn’t shake the gnawing sense of regret.

A knock at his door pulled him from his thoughts. He frowned, reluctant to face anyone just yet, but forced himself to his feet. When he opened the door, he was met with Rhysand’s unmistakable presence.

“What do you want?” Azriel’s tone was flat, his face impassive.

Rhysand hesitated for a moment, his expression unusually somber. “Brother,” he said quietly, “I came to apologize for last night.”

Azriel leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. “It doesn’t matter, High Lord,” he replied, his voice cold and sharp. “I should have just listened to you.”

Rhysand flinched at the use of his title, the regret in his violet eyes deepening. “Azriel, don’t do this. I didn’t mean what I said.”

Azriel scoffed, his lips curling into a bitter smirk. “Didn’t you? You seemed pretty certain when you said it.”

Rhysand sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I was angry, Az. That doesn’t make it right, but—”

“No, it doesn’t,” Azriel cut him off, his tone icy. “But it doesn’t change anything either.”

For a moment, Rhysand looked like he might argue, but then he seemed to deflate slightly. “Where did you go last night?”

“Does it matter to you where I went?” Azriel asked, his voice low and dangerous. “Maybe I went to a brothel, like you suggested. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Rhysand’s eyes widened, guilt flashing across his face. “Azriel, I—”

“Save it,” Azriel said, stepping back into his room. “Go enjoy your little day away, Rhys. But leave me out of it.”

With that, he closed the door firmly, the sound echoing in the quiet hall. He leaned back against the wood, exhaling a shaky breath. For the first time in a long while, Azriel allowed himself to admit how deeply his emotions had unraveled.

He moved back to the bed, collapsing onto the mattress with a weary sigh. His thoughts drifted back to you—your steady presence, your unwavering calm. For a moment, he let himself cling to the memory, wishing he could hold onto that fleeting sense of peace.

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[reidmarieprentiss]

A Reid Christmas

Summary: A few Christmas prompts mashed up from this link !!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: holidays, fluff

Warnings/Includes: a kiss maybe..., this is sooo chesy

Word count: 4.4k

a/n: i am in a christmas mood and i want to spend it with Spencer Reid

main masterlist

The first time you stepped into the Behavioral Analysis Unit, you weren’t entirely sure what to expect. Despite your experience in Human Resources, this assignment was a significant departure from the typical office conflicts you mediated. Erin Strauss herself had requested your assistance in an internal investigation involving the BAU’s Unit Chief, Aaron Hotchner. Apparently, accusations had surfaced suggesting Hotchner had bent a few rules, presumably in an effort to protect his team.

You walked into the bullpen wearing your usual crisp blazer and pencil skirt, clipboard in hand, determined to remain impartial and professional. You could feel the tension in the air, a mix of curiosity and apprehension from the team as they watched you approach Hotchner's office. They were used to being scrutinized by external forces, but having HR conduct an investigation in their workspace was a new one.

Hotch, as they called him, was calm, collected, and unwaveringly professional throughout the entire process. You conducted your interviews meticulously, documenting every detail while observing the dynamics of the team. You spoke with Morgan, whose easy charm and casual demeanor couldn’t completely mask his wariness; with JJ, whose warmth was tinged with protectiveness for her team; and with Rossi, whose years of experience made him sharp and insightful. Emily Prentiss was direct but guarded, and Penelope Garcia was her colorful, effervescent self, despite clearly disliking your presence in their sanctum.

And then there was Spencer Reid.

Your first meeting with him was brief, almost rushed. He’d walked into the conference room where you were working, a stack of files in hand, his tie slightly askew. He apologized for interrupting, his voice quick and soft, as though he was already analyzing you and your purpose there. 

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he said, extending a hand. You shook it, surprised by the firm but gentle grip. “I, um, wasn’t aware we had a guest this week. Are you working with the team?”

“Not exactly,” you replied with a polite smile, offering your name. “I’m here conducting an internal investigation on behalf of Erin Strauss.”

His eyebrows raised in recognition of the name, but he didn’t say anything further. Instead, he nodded, offered a fleeting smile, and excused himself. It was brief, yet something about his presence lingered in your mind.

Over the course of the week, you caught glimpses of Spencer in action. He moved like his mind was always three steps ahead of everyone else, which, based on his IQ and eidetic memory, it probably was. You couldn’t help but admire his passion for his work, his encyclopedic knowledge of nearly everything, and the quiet, almost awkward way he interacted with his colleagues. 

By the end of your investigation, you’d gathered enough evidence to conclude that Hotch was innocent of the accusations. It was clear that his actions, while unconventional at times, were always in the best interest of his team and the cases they pursued. You presented your findings to Strauss, ensuring that your report was thorough and unbiased.

On your last day in the BAU, Spencer stopped by your temporary desk. He held a book in his hands, a slim volume with a worn cover.

“I noticed you reading during your breaks,” he began, his voice soft but clear. “You, uh, seemed to favor non-fiction, so I thought you might like this. It’s one of my favorites.” He handed the book to you, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment.

You looked at the cover and smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Reid. That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Just Spencer,” he corrected quickly, his ears tinged pink. “And, um, thank you. For, you know… being fair. To Hotch. To all of us.”

“It’s my job,” you replied warmly. “But you’re welcome.”

As you left the BAU that evening, book in hand, you couldn’t shake the feeling that your week there had been more than just another assignment. Meeting Spencer Reid had been… unexpected. You didn’t yet know how much that brief encounter would change things, but something about it made you smile all the way home.

The next Monday started like any other. Your morning coffee sat steaming on your desk as you sifted through a stack of paperwork, preparing for a meeting. Everything was perfectly routine until you noticed an envelope that hadn’t been there earlier. It was plain white, slightly creased, and unmarked except for your name, written in a careful, slightly curled scrawl that instantly brought a smile to your lips.

You picked it up, already curious, and slid a nail under the seal to open it. Inside was a neatly folded piece of stationery. The handwriting, now familiar after that week in the BAU, made your heart skip just a little. It was undeniably Spencer Reid’s.

You unfolded the paper, eager to see what he’d written.

Dear Y/N,

I hope this letter doesn’t come across as strange. I’ve never been particularly skilled at expressing myself in person, especially when it comes to matters that make me nervous, so I thought writing might be a better option.

I wanted to thank you again for the work you did with the BAU last week. You were fair, professional, and kind—qualities that are sometimes hard to come by in situations like that. It’s clear that you’re exceptional at what you do, and it was genuinely nice to have you around.

That brings me to the reason for this letter. I’ve been debating whether to write it all weekend, and if you’re reading this, it means I finally worked up the courage. I was wondering if you might like to join me for dinner sometime. There’s a little Italian restaurant near the Smithsonian that I think you’d enjoy. Of course, if Italian isn’t your preference, I’m more than happy to go somewhere else.

If this isn’t something you’re interested in, I completely understand, and I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Either way, I wanted to let you know that I enjoyed meeting you and hope our paths cross again.

Sincerely,  

Spencer Reid

You finished reading the letter, your cheeks warm and a soft smile tugging at your lips. The fact that he’d taken the time to write a letter—so formal, so earnest—touched you deeply. It wasn’t every day that someone asked you on a date in such a thoughtful way. 

You glanced at the clock, debating how to respond. After a moment, you pulled out a piece of your own stationery and began writing back.  

Spencer,  

Thank you for your letter—it was a lovely surprise to find it on my desk this morning. I’d be delighted to join you for dinner. Italian sounds perfect, and I trust your recommendation.  

Let me know what day works best for you. I’m looking forward to it.  

Y/N

(xxx) xxx-xxxx

As you finished the note, a small thrill ran through you. You had no idea where this might lead, but one thing was certain: you couldn’t wait to see him again. You tucked your response into an envelope, sealed it, and headed toward the BAU to deliver it personally.

The bullpen was bustling with activity when you arrived, the second you stepped through the doors, though, the atmosphere shifted. A few heads turned, and you could feel the curious glances of Derek and Emily as you offered them a polite smile and a quick “Good morning.”  

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you approached Spencer’s desk, your heart pounding against your ribs. He was seated, deeply engrossed in a stack of case files, his long fingers flipping through pages with a precision that somehow made you more nervous. The moment he looked up and his gaze locked with yours, you saw it—a flash of uncertainty in his eyes, as if bracing himself for rejection.

For a split second, you wondered if this was a mistake, if he would regret asking you out or if you’d misread the sweetness in his letter. But then you reminded yourself why you were here and smiled, a warm, sweet smile you hoped would ease his worry.  

“Hi, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice carrying just enough to reach him. He blinked at you, his lips parting slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe you were standing there.

“H-hi,” he managed, his voice just as soft, laced with nervous energy. His hands fidgeted with the papers in front of him, then quickly stilled when he realized he was doing it.

You held out the envelope, the edges of your smile turning playful as you added a wink. “I think this belongs to you,” you said lightly. The moment he reached out and his fingers brushed yours to take the note, you turned, leaving before the heat of his gaze and your own nerves could make you second-guess yourself.

As you walked away, you could feel his eyes on you, a sensation that made your stomach flutter in the best way. You glanced back briefly, catching the way his expression had shifted—his brows slightly raised, his lips parted in surprise, and the smallest hint of a smile beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth.

Spencer sat frozen for a moment, still staring at the envelope in his hands. Slowly, he opened it, his fingers trembling slightly as he unfolded the note inside. He recognized your handwriting instantly, and his eyes scanned the words with a growing sense of disbelief and elation.

By the time he finished reading, Spencer was grinning—an unrestrained, joyful smile that lit up his whole face.  

“Yo, Reid,” Derek called out from his desk, his voice breaking through Spencer’s trance. “You okay, man? You look like you just won the lottery.”  

Spencer quickly folded the note and slipped it into his pocket, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I—I’m fine,” he stammered, his tone betraying just how far from fine he really was.  

But Derek wasn’t buying it, and neither was Emily, who leaned over with an amused smirk. “Spill, Boy Wonder. What did she give you?”  

Spencer shook his head, a soft laugh escaping him as he stood, smoothing down his tie. “It’s nothing,” he said, but the way his smile lingered betrayed just how much it wasn’t nothing.  

As he turned back to his desk, his mind was already racing—planning, anticipating, and counting down the minutes until he could see you again.

—

The air was crisp, with just the right hint of winter’s chill, as you walked alongside Spencer toward the town square. The streets were lined with twinkling lights and festive decorations, a soft buzz of excitement filling the air as families, couples, and friends gathered for the annual tree lighting celebration. You had been looking forward to this for days, the idea of experiencing a classic Christmas event stirring a childlike giddiness in you.

Spencer, on the other hand, had been skeptical. When you’d first suggested the tree lighting for your date, he’d tilted his head, his brow furrowed slightly. “It sounds… kind of cheesy,” he had admitted, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“That’s the point,” you’d replied with a laugh. “It’s supposed to be cheesy. I never got to celebrate Christmas growing up. My parents didn’t believe in it, so… I want to see what the buzz is about. Please, Spencer?”

And how could he say no to that? The way your eyes lit up at the mere suggestion of the event made it impossible for him to resist. So here you were, bundled up in scarves and gloves, your breath visible in the frosty air as you made your way through the growing crowd.

The square was alive with activity, a large tree standing proudly in the center, its bare branches waiting to be illuminated. A choir sang carols near the base of the tree, their voices weaving through the laughter and chatter of the crowd. Vendors lined the sidewalks, selling hot cocoa, roasted chestnuts, and handmade ornaments.

“Let’s get some cocoa,” you suggested, tugging him toward one of the stands. Spencer let himself be pulled along, his long legs easily keeping pace with yours.

As you waited in line, he turned to you, his expression curious. “So, no Christmas growing up? Not even a tree?”

You shook your head, your breath puffing in the cold air. “Not a single ornament or candy cane. My parents thought it was frivolous. But I always loved the idea of it—the lights, the warmth, the magic. I’d watch Christmas movies and dream about what it would be like.”

Spencer’s face softened, and he reached out, his gloved hand brushing against yours. “Then I’m glad we’re here tonight. You deserve to experience all of it.”

You smiled up at him, grateful for his understanding. After getting your cocoa, the two of you found a spot near the tree, the anticipation in the crowd growing as the time for the lighting drew near.

When the countdown began, you turned to Spencer, your excitement bubbling over. “This is it!” you whispered, your eyes sparkling with joy.

He couldn’t help but smile at your enthusiasm, his heart squeezing in a way he wasn’t entirely prepared for. As the crowd shouted, “Three… two… one!” the tree came to life, thousands of lights twinkling in vibrant colors, casting a warm glow over the square.

You gasped, your face lighting up in awe as you took it all in. “It’s beautiful,” you said softly, your voice almost drowned out by the cheers around you.

Spencer wasn’t looking at the tree. He was looking at you, your expression radiant in the glow of the lights. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It is.”

When you turned back to him, catching his gaze, you felt a blush rise to your cheeks. The moment was perfect, the air between you filled with something unspoken but undeniable.

“Thank you for coming with me,” you said, your voice warm. “Even if it’s a little cheesy.”

Spencer smiled, his hand finding yours. “Cheesy isn’t so bad,” he admitted. “Especially if it makes you this happy.”

The two of you strolled through the square, your hands brushing occasionally as you walked. The festive lights cast a warm glow on the cobblestone paths, and the air was filled with the sound of carolers and the gentle hum of happy conversations. Your cocoa had cooled by now, but neither of you seemed to mind, too caught up in the magic of the evening.

Spencer pointed out the intricacies of the hand-carved ornaments displayed at one of the vendor stalls, his voice soft but animated as he explained the origins of some of the designs. You listened intently, charmed by the passion in his words, the way his eyes lit up when he shared something he found fascinating.

And then, as if the universe itself decided to add its own touch of perfection to the night, a soft flurry of snow began to fall. You looked up in surprise, a delighted laugh escaping your lips as the delicate flakes drifted down from the sky. The crowd around you buzzed with excitement, children darting through the snow and couples huddling closer together.

“The first snow of the season,” you murmured, holding your hand out to catch a flake. It melted instantly against your glove, but the chill lingered, making you shiver slightly.

Spencer tilted his head back, his gaze following the snowflakes as they fell. “It’s beautiful,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. His breath clouded the air in front of him, and when he looked back at you, his expression softened.

You stood there for a moment, the world around you fading into the background. The square, the lights, the music—all of it seemed to blur into a quiet hum as your eyes locked with his. The snow gathered lightly on his hair, and you couldn’t help but smile at how endearing he looked, standing there with a kind of wonder in his eyes.

“I think…” Spencer began, his voice tentative as he took a small step closer. “I think I’ve wanted to do this all night.”

You felt your breath hitch, your heart pounding as he reached out, his gloved hand brushing a stray snowflake from your cheek. The touch was gentle, his fingers lingering for just a moment before he let them drop.

“Then maybe you should,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly, but not from the cold.

Spencer’s lips curved into a small, shy smile, and he leaned in slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away. But you didn’t. You stood on your toes to meet him halfway, your eyes fluttering closed as his lips brushed against yours.

The kiss was warm, tender, and filled with a kind of sweetness that made your chest ache. It wasn’t rushed or practiced—it was soft and genuine, as though neither of you wanted to break the spell the moment had cast.

The snow fell gently around you, dusting your shoulders and hair, but you barely noticed. All you could feel was Spencer’s hand coming to rest lightly on your waist, anchoring you to him as the world seemed to stand still.

When you finally pulled back, the tips of your noses brushing, you opened your eyes to find Spencer gazing at you with an expression that made your heart skip. His cheeks were pink, whether from the cold or the kiss, you couldn’t be sure, but his smile was unmistakable.

“That was…” He paused, searching for the right word. “That was perfect.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound carrying in the crisp winter air. “It really was.”

Spencer reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his hand lingering for just a moment longer. “You, um… you’ve made tonight unforgettable.”

“So have you,” you replied, your voice warm. And as the snow continued to fall, you found yourself thinking that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something truly magical.

—

As the days turned into weeks and the holiday season picked up pace, you and Spencer began spending more and more time together. It started with casual dinners and coffee dates but quickly grew into a comfortable rhythm of late-night conversations, spontaneous plans, and shared moments that brought a new kind of warmth to both your lives. 

Spencer, ever observant and thoughtful, seemed to remember every little thing you’d said about wanting to experience Christmas the way you’d always dreamed. He took it upon himself to make this season unforgettable for you, and the results were nothing short of magical.

One evening, he showed up at your apartment with a small stack of DVDs in hand, a proud but slightly sheepish smile on his face. "I thought maybe we could have a Christmas movie night," he said, holding up the collection like a peace offering. "You mentioned you didn’t get to watch a lot of them growing up, so I picked out a few classics."

You couldn’t help but grin, already charmed by the effort he’d put into it. "That sounds perfect. What did you bring?"

As you flipped through the stack, your smile widened. There was It’s a Wonderful Life, Home Alone, Elf, and A Christmas Story, among others. But when you got to Die Hard, you raised an eyebrow and held it up with a laugh. "Seriously? Die Hard?"

Spencer adjusted his glasses, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "It’s set during Christmas. That technically makes it a Christmas movie."

"Oh, you’re one of those people," you teased, poking his side as he squirmed slightly under your touch. "I’m not sure I can agree with you on that."

He shrugged, a small smirk playing on his lips. "It’s a classic. You’ll see."

The evening was spent curled up on the couch under a cozy blanket, a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously between the two of you. Spencer had insisted on starting with It’s a Wonderful Life, claiming it was the quintessential Christmas movie. You had agreed, though not without playfully poking fun at his almost academic defense of its merits.

By the time Elf rolled around, the bickering had reached a friendly crescendo. "Will Ferrell as a grown man in an elf costume? Really?" Spencer asked, his tone skeptical but his eyes betraying his amusement.

"Yes, really," you shot back, grinning. "It’s hilarious and heartwarming, and if you don’t laugh at the ‘angry elf’ scene, I might have to reevaluate this relationship."

"Fair warning," he replied with a small chuckle, "I don’t laugh easily at slapstick humor."

But when the scene came, and Buddy the Elf called Miles Finch an "angry elf," Spencer let out a laugh so unexpected and genuine that it made you laugh harder just from hearing it.

"See?" you said triumphantly, nudging his shoulder. "I told you it’s funny."

Spencer shook his head, still chuckling. "Fine, you win this round."

The debates over Christmas movies became a running theme for the season. He swore by the timeless elegance of White Christmas, while you couldn’t get enough of the chaotic hilarity of National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. You both agreed, however, that Love Actually had its moments but was wildly overrated.

"Okay, but Die Hard is still the best Christmas movie," Spencer would insist every time, earning a dramatic groan from you.

"You’re impossible," you’d reply with mock exasperation, though the smile on your face gave away just how much you loved these little arguments.

Between the movie nights, the impromptu snowball fights, and the endless discussions over which holiday tradition to try next, Spencer was determined to give you the perfect Christmas season. And with every laugh, every shared glance, and every stolen kiss under the mistletoe, you couldn’t help but think he was succeeding.

—

The evening began with Spencer showing up at your door, his arms overflowing with bags of oddly-shaped gifts and rolls of colorful wrapping paper. His sheepish grin was enough to make your heart melt before the night even started.

“I may have overestimated my ability to wrap these on my own,” he admitted as he stepped inside, carefully setting everything down on your living room floor.

You arched an eyebrow at the assortment of gifts spilling out of the bags. “Spencer, how many people are you shopping for?”

“Not many,” he replied defensively. “Just my mom, the team, Henry… and you.”

Your face warmed at the last part, but you decided to tease him instead of letting it show. “Well, let’s see what we’re working with. But just so you know, if you’re terrible at this, I reserve the right to laugh.”

“I expected nothing less,” he quipped, his grin widening.

It didn’t take long for the chaos to unfold. Spencer’s approach to wrapping gifts was as meticulous as his research, but unfortunately, precision didn’t translate to skill. By the time he’d managed to tape one corner of a box, you were already stifling a laugh, your hand pressed to your mouth.

“What?” he asked, looking genuinely perplexed as he held up his first attempt. The paper was unevenly cut, the tape crisscrossed in random directions, and the edges bulged where they shouldn’t.

“It’s… it’s beautiful,” you said between giggles, your eyes sparkling with amusement. “A true work of art.”

Spencer rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself. “I don’t think art is supposed to be this lopsided.”

“Okay, okay,” you said, sitting down beside him and taking the gift gently from his hands. “Let me help you. Watch and learn.”

You walked him through the process, showing him how to fold the edges neatly and tape them discreetly. He tried to mimic your movements, but somehow his wrapping attempts still ended up slightly crooked. You didn’t mind, though—it was endearing, watching him try so hard.

“You’re too nice to laugh at me again,” he said after his third attempt, glancing at you with mock suspicion.

“Oh, I’m laughing on the inside,” you teased, nudging him playfully. “But you’re improving. Kind of.”

When the gifts were finally wrapped (with a mix of your expertise and his earnest efforts), you moved on to building a gingerbread house for Henry. Spencer was uncharacteristically quiet as he carefully held up the walls of the tiny structure, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“You’re doing great,” you said encouragingly, but when one of the walls started to tilt, you couldn’t resist stepping in. You walked over and gently placed your hands over his, steadying the gingerbread walls.

Spencer froze at your touch, his heart skipping a beat. He glanced at you, his eyes softening as he took in the patience and warmth in your expression. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with something that made your own heart flutter.

“Teamwork,” you said with a small smile. “That’s what Christmas is all about, right?”

“Something like that,” he murmured, still looking at you.

Once the house was haphazardly assembled—complete with a slightly leaning roof and more icing than structurally necessary—Spencer produced a box of ornaments and tinsel for your tree. “I thought we could decorate your tree, too,” he said, his tone hopeful.

The idea was sweet, but execution? Not Spencer’s strong suit. Within minutes, there was tinsel tangled in his hair, a rogue strand of lights coiled around his wrist, and more glitter on the floor than on the ornaments.

“There is tinsel. Everywhere,” you said, dissolving into laughter as you surveyed the chaotic scene. “I think you got more of it on yourself than the tree.”

Spencer pouted, brushing a strand of tinsel off his shoulder. “I guess I’m not very good at Christmas.”

“Aw, don’t be such a Scrooge,” you teased, nudging him playfully.

“I knew you were going to say that,” he shot back, but his faux irritation was betrayed by the smile tugging at his lips.

By the time the night ended, the gifts were wrapped, the gingerbread house was (miraculously) intact, and the tree was decorated—albeit slightly crooked and glitter-covered. But to you, it was perfect, because it was filled with moments like these: Spencer’s quiet laughter, his shy smiles, and the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at you. 

“You’re not bad at Christmas, Spencer,” you said as the two of you stood by the tree, admiring your work. “You’re just… uniquely festive.”

“I think I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said with a chuckle, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

And as you leaned into him, the glow of the tree casting a warm light over the room, you realized this was the kind of Christmas you’d always dreamed of—and it was all thanks to Spencer.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[totheblood]

shiver | s.r.

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: spencer would do anything for you, but doesn't understand why you have pulled away from him.

warnings: angst, avoidant!reader

a/n: gonna be so honest i wanted this to be a series but i ended up hating it like 2k words in so that's why the end is so good... if people like it i will do a part two but oh my god its so bad and rushed towards the end... but this one is for my avoidantly attached girlies!! i see u and i love u and i am also sorry.. reblogs, asks, and replies are so appreciated and encouraged! thank u kisses.. PLEASE SEND SPENCER REQUESTSS!!!

wc: 3.1k

"So I look in your direction But you pay me no attention, do you?."

The hum of the air condition rang through the bullpen as Spencer studied you from his desk. With your hand in your hair, absentmindedly reading files with your body slumped forward, you looked unbelievably and unmistakably tired.

 It was another late night doing paperwork from last week's case, and nearly everyone was running on caffeine and pure luck. Spencer had finished his work an hour, thirty four minutes, and eight seconds ago but he still found himself glued to his chair and taking on JJ’s leftover work. All so he could silently watch over you from his desk. 

He didn't quite understand his fascination with you. It was almost embarrassing how he hung onto your every word you said, willing to do any and everything you wanted him to. But it was more embarrassing that you never paid him that same attention. Well, that wasn't completely true when he first met you, but as the months went on he could feel your attention from him drifting. 

When you first started at the BAU last year you were shy and timid, but Spencer noticed the small chuckles that escaped from your lips at his complex jokes and how your eyes watched him as he spewed some random fact that the rest of the team groaned at. You used to hang onto every word he said, asking him follow up questions with your pupils dilated. 

It was natural how you gravitated towards him. He was the only one on the team remotely close to your age, and like you, he was a bonafide genius. But you always wanted to know more and he always wanted to tell you more. It was innocent and pure, the way he thought about you, until you started to pull away. 

Spencer knew the chemical reaction that occurs in the brain when someone who used to give you attention pulls away. It creates a pattern similar to drug addiction, something he was all too familiar with, and it had started to get all too familiar for him to know how to properly deal with it. It had reached the point where he was counting each glance you gave him, the small way the corners of your mouth quirked up when you spoke to him, and even to the point where he was keeping track of how many words you uttered to him daily. 

He tracked it too. Your conversations with him had been on a steep decline since February, and now in late May he found himself wondering what he had done wrong. He had known the path he was leading himself down was one he shouldn't continue, but he couldn't care. His brain was operating for him, and he was succumbing to his worst fears. 

His brain made any attempts to rationalize your behavior, none of which calmed his anxiety. Maybe he was too clingy, always opting to sit next to you on the jet, or partner up with you in the field. Maybe he had said the wrong thing, something that made you immediately sick of him. Maybe you started seeing someone. The last one bothered Spencer the most, but he couldn't understand why. 

Spencer did everything he could to convince himself he didn't have a crush on you. As juvenile as it sounds was as juvenile as he felt every time his cheeks tinged pink when you spoke to him. He tried to convince himself that he didn't actually ‘like’ you, he just was preoccupied with you. It was your behavior that triggered his attachment style, it wasn't that he liked you. 

And as much as he wanted it to be true, he knew it wasn't. He was infatuated the moment he met you. Spencer knew he could never forget anything, but he knew for sure he would never forget your face. He traced in his mind over and over again, the way your whole face lit up when you ate something sugary, how your eyes blinked up at him when you spoke, and how you would drag your teeth in between your lips whenever you were focused. He'd find himself finding any excuse to be close to you. 

Spencer had once made a vow to himself that he would never pretend to be stupid. Not for anyone, and especially not for a girl. Which is why he almost physically smacked himself when he pretended to not have read a book by Jane Austen just so he could have something to talk to you about. He had read her entire collection when he was eight, yet he still found himself agreeing to read it and tell you how he liked it. He never forgot a word of the book “Emma,” but he still found himself rereading it for you. That was how much power you had over him. A power you seemed to be unaware of. 

6 months ago - November

“So, did you read it?” you questioned, arm pressing into the hardword of his desk, eyes wide and waiting. He didn't notice you at first, which was a first for him, making him jump as he turned to face you. 

“I did,” he answered, lips in a tight smile as he set his pen down, “I still have no idea why everyone seems to love Mr. Knightley. He strikes me as being a bully. I liked Frank Churchill far more.”

“Please,” you scoff rolling your eyes, “Churchill, seriously? All he had were his good looks. He was a total ass!” Your use of ‘ass’ earned a genuine smile from Spencer, whos eyes lit up as he spoke. 

“He wasn’t the most sincere,” he starts, shaking his head, “but he still had a far better personality than Knightley. I’d sooner date Frank Churchill over Mr Knightley. At least Frank had a sense of humor.”

“That's true, I guess,” you agreed looking down at his pristine desk. All he had on it were closed case files and a framed photograph of him and the team on it. You weren't in it but you studied it quickly, noticing how Spencer stared a brunette in the picture. Whoever it was, he was looking at her like she held the world in her hands. You would be lying if you said it didn't sting. As if he could sense you deflate he sat up straighter, following your vision to the picture on his desk. 

“We have to take a new one-” he rushed out quickly, causing your eyes to snap back to him, “You know, one with you… in it,” He pursed his lips nodding as he spoke again, almost as if he couldn’t stop himself, “You know cause now you're part of the team and this picture is old anyways. From when I first started here and as you can tell, I look completely different and it's time I updated it.”

“Who’s she?” you asked, finger pointing directly to Elle’s face. As you spoke you watched for any clues that would give you insight on how he felt about her. 

“Oh, Elle,” the way he said it made him sound defeated, like he forgot that she was in the picture, even though you knew that wasn't the case, “she used to work here, but, uh, she left.”

“You guys were close?” you questioned him, eyebrows raised as you watched him glance over at the picture before leaning back in his chair and putting all his focus on you. 

“Yeah,” he sighed, “we were, but…” his voice trailed off, as looked down at his feet, “we're not in contact anymore. She hasn't really spoken to any of us since she left,” 

“Oh,” you sighed out. You wanted to be upset that it was obvious he was enamored with her, but you just felt bad. The way his whole demeanor changed as he spoke made you feel more upset than anything, “I’m sorry,”

“It’s okay,” his eyes darted back up to you as his tight-lipped smile reappeared. He glanced back at his desk, before turning his body away from you, “I, uh, have some work I should get back to, though,”

“Yeah,” you smiled, standing up straight as you prepared yourself to turn around. You wanted to say something, anything, but you didn't. You just turned around and went back to your desk, something stinging brewing in your chest. 

Present Day

Spencer thought back to that day, wondering if his change in disposition is what made you change. It rang through his head as he tapped his foot, eyes trained on you. He was lost in thought when your eyes snapped up towards him, making him flinch. You offered him a small smile but it hadn't reached your eyes before looking back down at your work. 

The interaction made him decide that it was time to go home. That him sitting and staring was doing nothing for him or you. Standing up, he slung his messenger bag across his body, goodbyes prepared on the tip of his tongue. As he was about to speak Hotch exited his office, eyes meeting sympathetically with Spencer’s as he entered the bullpen. 

“We have a case,” Hotch announced, “I need everyone in the conference room in ten.” 

As the team flooded into the conference room, Spencer hung back, watching as you collected your things and trailed behind the rest of the team with a stack of files in your arms. 

“Need help with th-” Spencer began, arms outstretched towards you.

“No,” you replied abruptly, “I’m fine.”

It came out colder than you would have liked, causing Spencer to shiver, purse his lips and head into the conference room with his head hung low. 

“Our first victim was 35-year-old Leonardo Ruiz,” Garcia started, remote in hand clicking to display the picture of the mutilated man with his hands bound by rope and publicly displayed hanging from trees. Almost instinctively you flinch. You know it's the job but it never gets easy seeing the images. The man's face was distorted, slashed repeatedly with a knife until he became unrecognizable.

“He was reported missing after failing to report to his shift,” another click of the camera to show the abandoned patrol car, with the door open, it was obvious there had been a struggle, “His patrol car was found 2 miles from where his body was found in Arlington, where there appeared to be a struggle. Ruiz was missing for approximately two days before his body was discovered.”

“There was no dash cam footage from the patrol car?” Rossi asks from his chair, leaning forward as Garcia clicks the remote again.

“Exactly what I thought, but here's the creepy bit: There is no sign of another person on the dashcam footage. He doesn't even mention seeing another person, you can't hear the struggle, in fact there is no audio on the footage at all. Because three days before Ruiz went missing, his dashcam footage lost all audio. He reported it to the department and they were going to look into it but they were unable to fix it before Ruiz was taken,” Garcia answers, sending a chill down your spine. 

“So this was premeditated,” you speak up, causing everyone to look at you, including Spencer. You were still finding your footing in the group, trying to be useful to the group without saying the wrong thing, “The unsub is patient, willingly waiting for a perfect moment to strike. Could be revenge,”

“You're on the right track, pumpkin,” Garcia starts clicking another picture onto the screen, “That leads us to our next victim, Detective Luther Hodges from a different precinct was abducted from his home, reported missing for two days before he was found in the same way as our last victim in a public park,” Garcia herself winces as she looks at the pictures of the body strung up to a children's playground, “However this time our unsub left a witness, Hodge’s seven year old daughter, Lucy,” 

“If he left her as a witness, it could mean that he used her as a way to get him to leave willingly,” Spencer started, eyes squinting as he viewed the screen, “or he’s simply… devolving,”

“You’re absolutely right, boy genius,” Garcia starts, clicking the remote again to reveal a final body, causing the group to gasp. On the screen was Federal Agent Angela Barnett in the same position as the others. “One of our own, Angela Barnett was taken from a grocery store she frequented, and only kept one day before she was found in this state.”

“He’s devolving and rapidly,” Hotch says, closing his file and standing up, “Garcia contact MPD and let them know we're coming,” he commands, causing Garcia to nod a quick “yes, sir,” before rushing out the office, “I want to be out of here in ten,” he instructs the group, resulting in nods as everyone stands and begins collecting their things. 

“Hey,” Spencer calls from beside you gently, his voice close to being a whisper, “do you want to ride with me? I just got this new audiobook on the evolving traditions of the Amish and Mennonites on the East Coast,” he offers you a small smile that you can't help but mirror. 

“Oh, uh,” you look down, you know you’ve been pulling away but you can't help it, “Yeah, that sounds… interesting,”

Spencer can't help the grin that spreads across his face as he nods gently, cheeks tinged pink as he picks up his bag from the floor, “Great, I’ll see you then.”

The car ride was awkward to say the least, Spencer glancing over at you every five seconds as you started out the window, watching the passing trees. You drowned out the audiobook, too focused on wanting the car ride to be over that you didn't notice when Spencer had cut it off. 

“Is everything okay?” He spoke up, fingers tapping at the steering wheel as he kept his vision focused on the road. 

“Yeah,” you sat up, looking over at him and scratching the back of your neck, “I’m fine,”

“Are you sure?” he asked again, “You’ve just been… different with me. If I did anything, I’m sor-”

“You didn't do anything,” you cut him off, “I didn't realize I had been acting different,” you lied quickly, earning a scoff from him, “What?”

“The amount of conversations we have daily has been on the decline since February, decreasing by 4 percent daily in the last two weeks,” Spencer let slip casually, his own tone colder than intended, “Hard thing to not realize, especially for someone like you,”

“Someone like me?” You questioned, arms crossing defensively across your chest. 

“Someone smart,” Spencer looked over at you, “And I’m not stupid either, by the way. I would appreciate it if you just told me you didn't want to be friends outside of work instead of avoiding me like I’m the plague.”

You were silent for a beat, looking down at your hands, fingers intertwined with each other. You never understood why you got this way, why romantic feelings caused you to turn in on yourself. All you wanted to do was run, jump out of the car, scream, so you did the next best thing, “I’d prefer if we kept our relationship strictly professional,” your voice came out quieter than you would have liked. 

Spencer felt his stomach drop as his breath caught in his throat. He ignored the stinging in his eyes as he cleared his throat, swallowing harshly before replying, “Okay.”

The rest of the ride was uneventful, Spencer turned back on the audiobook and you allowed the blood to rush to your ears, drowning out the rest of the noise. The night was much busier than anticipated, all law enforcement officers on edge with the rise of a serial killer that put targets on their back. 

You spent a majority of the case avoiding Spencer, opting to partner with Derek on interviewing witnesses while JJ and Spencer built a geographical profile. When it was time to deliver the profile, you stayed back, only offering minimal input. 

Then, you found him: Jacob Raines. Jacob Raines had been a former police officer who was let go due to his use of excessive force and brutality. His rage and anger in turn got geared towards law enforcement, blaming them for his pitfalls. 

Garcia found an abandoned warehouse registered in his name in the outskirts of the city, where he was most likely keeping his victims before murdering him. The team dispatched to the warehouse, with you, Spencer and Morgan, entering first. 

You wouldn't have entered without backup if it wasn't for the sounds of screams coming from inside, and Spencer rushing in first. As if on instinct you followed after him, gun raised as you cleared behind him towards the screams. In the middle of the warehouse was a police officer still in uniform, tied to a chair with a tear stained face. She was crying as she plead for Spencer to untie her. As he worked to undo the knots you heard footsteps, causing you and Spencer to stand up abruptly. In front of Spencer was a 6 foot man, weapon raised and aimed right at him with his finger on the trigger. Based on the profile, you knew he would shoot and you knew he wouldn't think twice. He planned this, he knew the BAU would come for him and he wanted to take out as many people as he could. 

As if on instinct you pushed Spencer out of the way, a bullet aimed for his kelvar vest had made impact with your shoulder, piercing through it as you hit the cold concrete. Spencer was stunned but got up in enough time to take three shots at the unsub who had his weapon aimed and ready to shoot again. The unsub fell with a loud thud, but Spencer turned back to lean down next to your body that was growing increasingly colder. A puddle of blood had began to form underneath you and while it was clear it didn't hit any major organs, you were still bleeding out rapidly. 

Through the ringing in your ears you could here Spencer’s pained and rush voice signal over the radio, “Officer down, need medical, gunshot wound to the shoulder.”

His voice and hands were shaking as he applied pressure to the wound with his palm, as he urged you, “keep your eyes open,” he pleaded with you, “just stay awake until they get here,” he begged. But you were so tired, and your eyes were getting heavier, so you let them close. 

And everything went black. 

[margeoww]

She’s a Ferrari engineer and different people in the paddock can see how down bad Toto is for her every time they interact.

Downshift

back to my main masterlist

pairing: toto wolff x ferrari engineer (OC)

summary: toto wolff’s efficiency is legendary. His focus, unwavering. Until she arrives in the paddock as Ferrari’s newest engineer, and everyone starts noticing how he suddenly seems… distracted.

warnings: romantic tension, open ending

The paddock was alive with its usual hum of activity, journalists darting from one garage to another, engineers poring over data, and drivers engaging in last-minute interviews. It was a world of precision, discipline, and focus. Toto Wolff was the embodiment of all three.

Or at least, he had been.

The first meeting of the weekend started like any other: strategy briefs, discussions about weather conditions, and subtle jabs traded between rival teams. But today, something felt different. Toto wasn’t his usual commanding self. He wasn’t distracted by the numbers or even Christian Horner’s persistent prodding. No, his attention was elsewhere.

Her.

She was Ferrari’s newest addition, a sharp-minded engineer whose reputation for innovation had preceded her arrival. As she spoke, the room seemed to narrow, her words slicing through complex issues with ease. She didn’t just command respect, she demanded it. And Toto, much to his dismay, couldn’t look away.

—Wolff. —Horner’s voice broke through the discussion. —any thoughts?

Toto blinked, his focus snapping back. —It’s a solid plan. —he said quickly, his tone as measured as ever. But Lewis Hamilton, seated nearby, caught the faintest crack in his composure.

As the meeting ended and the attendees filed out, Lewis leaned in. —You good, boss? —he asked, his voice low. —You looked… distracted.

Toto straightened his tie, his expression impassive. —Focus on the race, Lewis.

But the day only got worse.

By mid-afternoon, the whispers had started.

—Did you see the way Wolff was watching her during the meeting?

—I’m telling you, he actually smiled. Toto Wolff smiled.

—Maybe he’s trying to poach her for Mercedes?

The rumors spread like wildfire, and Toto did little to dispel them. Every time he crossed paths with her, his usual cool demeanor seemed to falter. A second too long holding a door. A fleeting glance across the paddock. A barely-there smile when she passed by.

She noticed, of course. How could she not? She was sharp enough to catch the tension in his posture, the way his eyes lingered just a moment longer than necessary. And if she felt a twinge of satisfaction, she hid it well, burying it beneath a professional facade.

The real breaking point came during a rainy afternoon session. The rain had turned the pit lane into chaos. Engines roared, tires screeched, and mechanics scrambled to adapt. She was in the thick of it, crouched near the Ferrari garage with grease smudging her cheek as she adjusted a temperamental component.

Toto passed by, his stride slowing involuntarily. She looked up just as he did, their eyes locking for a split second. There it was again. That soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, the one that felt entirely out of place for someone as composed as him.

—Something caught your eye, Wolff? —Christian Horner’s voice interrupted, smug as ever. He was leaning against the Mercedes garage, arms crossed and a grin firmly in place.

Toto’s jaw tightened, his gaze flicking to Horner before he resumed walking. —Focus on your own team, Christian. —he said evenly, but the slight flush on his face didn’t go unnoticed.

Later that evening, the paddock had quieted, the storm outside matching the subdued atmosphere. She found herself alone in the Ferrari garage, organizing tools when she heard footsteps behind her.

—Toto. —she said without looking up, her voice tinged with amusement.

He froze, caught. —You’re very observant. —he admitted, stepping closer.

—I’d have to be, working in this world. —she replied, finally meeting his gaze. There was something playful in her eyes, a spark that set his nerves alight. —So, what can I do for you?

For a moment, he said nothing, his carefully constructed walls crumbling under the weight of her stare. Finally, he managed. —You’ve made quite an impression.

Her smile widened, slow and deliberate. —Have I? Because from what I hear, you’re the one making impressions, Toto.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The paddock had already done enough talking for both of them.

As he walked away, leaving her smirking in the quiet garage, Toto couldn’t shake the feeling that, for the first time in years, he was driving blind. And yet, he wasn’t sure he minded.

[bruisedboys]

bradley bradshaw x fem!reader — you’re worried about what bradley will think of your new haircut.

mutual pining, pre-relationship, fluff (very self indulgent since I got my hair cut this week xoxo)

You were feeling good about your new haircut yesterday, when it was freshly cut and styled and so super soft. Today is different. You know you look different and you can help but think different is bad.

You rake a hand through your short hair. “Does my hair look bad?”

Natasha and Bob both give you twin looks of incredulity. It’s not the first time you’ve asked it tonight. They’ve brought you along to the Hard Deck for a night of drinks with their friends and you can’t stop fussing over your hair. You won’t admit to them it’s because you’re harbouring a massive crush on one of their squad members and you’re worried he’ll think you look awful.

“It looks fine,” Natasha tells you, again, not for the first time. “You look pretty. Right, Bob?”

Bob hums, tapping his fingers on the wooden tabletop. “You look great, Y/N.” He gives you a look from behind his glasses. Confusion, a bit of suspicion. “Why are you worrying so much, anyway?”

Your heart stutters. “I’m not—“

“Phoenix, Bob!” Jake Seresin appears seemingly out of nowhere, sidling up to your table with all the charm of a prince. His eyes land on you and your new hair and he grins. “And Y/N. Looking good, sugar.”

He winks at you. He’s a huge flirt and you’d definitely be into him if it weren’t for another certain aviator.

You smile at him. “Thanks, Jake.”

The others, Payback and Fanboy, file in behind him. They both notice and compliment your hair, which is a good sign. Still, you know who’s coming next and you can’t help but curl in on yourself, taking a sip of your drink so you don’t have to see him as he approaches.

“Hey, guys!” Bradley Bradshaw appears, stupid Hawaiian shirt, sunglasses, moustache, golden skin and all. He’s tucking his glasses into his shirt so he doesn’t see you at first. “Hey— woah, Y/N.”

He stops short when he sees you. You lower your drink slowly, heart in your throat. Your knee bounces underneath the table.

“Hi, Bradley,” you say.

Bradley blinks. Blinks again. “Hi. Hey. I— you cut your hair.”

He says it like he’s never heard of a haircut before. You smile unsurely.

“I did,” you say, pushing a lock behind your ear as if that will help your case. “Is it bad?”

“Bad? No, it’s— it really suits you,” he says. If you’re not mistaken, he’s stuttering. Not only that, but unless you’re imagining it, he’s blushing. He stares at you, completely unaware of anything or anyone else, golden cheeks tinged pink. “You look really pretty.”

Your turn to blush. Heat flares behind your cheeks, burning into your smile. Pretty, he called you. “Thanks, Brad.”

Bradley seems to come back into himself, a lopsided grin creeping onto his face. He shoves his hands into his jeans pockets and smiles at you. “Hey, you’re welcome. Just tell me next time so I don’t have a heart attack, okay?”

What’s that supposed to mean? You open your mouth to say something, you don’t know what, but Jake’s southern drawl interrupts you.

“Bradshaw!” Both you and Bradley turn to see Jake at the pool table with the rest of the boys. “Stop flirting with Y/N and get over here so I can beat you. Again.”

Bradley rolls his eyes. “He’s lying, I won last week. I’ll be back, okay? Don’t go anywhere.”

You weren’t planning to. He flashes you a dazzling smile and then you watch him go, your heart thrumming with the sort of electricity you can’t ignore. You think you might burst. He’d called you pretty, said you’d given him a heart attack. You feel like your own heart’s about to give out, too.

Across the table, Bradley now well out of earshot, Natasha wiggles her eyebrows at you.

“Oh,” she says slyly. “Now I get why you were so worried about your hair.”

You groan and bury your burning face in your drink again. “Please shut up, Nat.”

You have a feeling she won’t.

[corroded-hellfire]

As You Wish - Eddie Munson x Reader, Part 6

A collaboration with the incredible and amazing @munson-blurbs 💜

Summary: It’s your first official date with Eddie, and what’s almost as exciting as that is seeing how the boys react to the news

Note: I will never get used to the kind comments and sweet words you send me over this series. It truly makes me so incredibly happy. I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Warnings: smut, p in v, mentions of oral, age gap, older!eddie, Eddie’s breeding kink should be a given at this point tbh

Words: 8.5k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Eddie knocks on the door of the trailer he grew up in, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking on the balls of his feet. It seems like an eternity before his uncle opens it, a huge grin on his face at the sight of his nephew. 

“Ed!” he says, holding the door ajar so Eddie can walk in. “What brings you back down to Forest Hills?”

“Can’t a guy just visit his uncle without needing something?” Eddie teases, leaning against the counter, careful not to get any grease stains on it. “I, uh, did need to talk to you, though.”

A concerned frown tugs at the corners of Wayne’s lips. “Y’okay? The boys good?”

Eddie nods, all-too aware of Wayne’s omission of Brittany. “We’re all fine,” he clarifies, “but Brittany and I are definitely splitting up. I filed the divorce papers, then she filed custody papers.”

“Shit,” Wayne mutters, rubbing his palm over his coarse gray beard. “‘M sorry, kid. This kinda stuff ain’t easy, even when you know you wanna end things.” He puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and squeezes. “You’ll find the right one for you.”

Eddie’s cheeks tinge pink, and he has to avert his gaze from his uncle. “I, um…I think I already did,” he sheepishly admits, massaging the back of his neck to relax his nerves. 

Wayne’s eyebrows shoot up, but he can’t say he’s all that surprised. “The babysitter?”

“How did you—”

“I may be an old man, but my eyesight is just fine,” Wayne jokes, “and I could see the way you looked at her at Ryan’s birthday party last summer. Like you damn near worshiped the ground she walked on.”

Eddie lets out a nervous chuckle and nods his head. “Yeah, that’s pretty much how I feel about her.” 

“She’s good with the boys,” Wayne says. “It was nice to see.” Nice for them to have a maternal figure who loves them is what they both think but don’t say aloud. 

“They love her,” Eddie agrees. He opens his mouth to continue, but his uncle cuts him off.

“So do you.” It’s not a question. It’s a knowing statement from the man who knows Eddie better than anyone. It didn’t take much observation for Wayne to see the possibilities of what could be. Of what are, now. 

“I really do,” Eddie answers. The lovesick expression on his face makes Wayne smile. He’s not seen that look on his nephew’s face since he was in high school. Even then, Wayne thinks, he didn’t light up quite like this. 

“Take it slow though, boy.” Wayne didn’t give a shit that Eddie was in his 30’s now; he’s still going to call him “boy” because he’ll be Wayne’s boy until the day he dies. “You don’t want to rush into anything. That’ll just be trouble for everyone involved.”

“I know,” Eddie says. “I, uh, actually want to take her on our first date this Friday.”

“Do the boys know?” Wayne asks.

“Not yet. But they will. I'm not going to lie to them about where I'm going and who I’ll be with. They get that from their mom, and I will make damn sure they know I’ll never lie to them.”

“Good man,” Wayne says with an approving nod of his head. “Can’t imagine their mom feels too keen about watching the boys while you go on a date, though.”

“To be honest, I wouldn’t give a shit how she felt about it. But fortunately for everyone, she’ll be out of town. So, that’s another reason I stopped by. Wondered if you could watch the kids. It’d be up at the house still since I’m staying there while Britt’s gone.”

Wayne’s face lights up. “You know I never need an excuse to spend time with my grandkids,” he chuckles. “Now I just gotta figure out what kinda candy I’m gonna get ‘em hopped up on just in time for you to get home.”

“You’re the best,” Eddie says gratefully, pulling his uncle in for a quick hug. “I owe you one.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wayne appears to brush off the compliment, but he’s beaming on the inside. Being a grandpa is his favorite thing in the world. “I’ve been meaning to stop by, anyway. Made a little something for those two rugrats.” He disappears into his room—what used to be Eddie’s room—and comes back with two of his woodworks: a miniature bookshelf with an R carved on the side, and a small box with an L on the lid. “Figured Ryan could use another place for his books, and Luke can put his Hot Wheels in here.”

“Someone just earned himself a #1 Grandpa mug for his birthday.”

“Hey, rugrats.”

Eddie strolls out of his bedroom—former bedroom, and down the hallway. The muffled sounds of some animated movie he knows he’s seen before become louder the closer he gets to the living room. Both boys are sitting at a Scooby-Doo themed table and chair set that Luke had gotten for his last birthday. They’re sitting too close to the television, but Eddie decides to let that slide for now. As he gets closer, he sees the boys are drawing, peacefully sharing a single crayon box for once. 

“Yeah, Daddy?” Ryan asks without looking up from his art. Eddie picks the remote up off the couch and turns the tv off. Luke’s little head snaps up and his curls bounce as he swivels his body to stare in his dad’s direction. 

“Hey,” he protests.

“Just for a minute, calm down.” Eddie sets the remote down on the coffee table and comes to stand between the boys’ chairs. He’s not entirely sure what it is they’re drawing, but there’s a brown patch that Eddie thinks is the dog that Luke is always drawing and wishing for. Someday, pal. I promise. “I want to talk to you both about something.”

“What is it?” Ryan asks, scribbling furiously with a red crayon. 

“Hey, can we take a break from the drawing for a bit?” Eddie drops a hand to Ryan’s shoulder and his oldest son looks up at him for the first time.

“Why?”

“Just so I can talk to you for a minute.”

Ryan sets his crayons down and turns on his seat to face his father better. Luke copies his older brother’s actions and the brown crayon that was in his hand rolls towards the middle of the table. 

“Are we in trouble?” Luke asks.

“No,” Eddie says with a shake of his head. “I just wanted to let the two of you know that I have a date on Friday night.”

Both of Eddie’s sons just stare at him. For a moment, he wonders if he actually spoke out loud or just imagined it in his head. Luke seems completely unfazed by the news, like he just wants to get back to his coloring. Ryan, on the other hand, looks a little skeptical. Eddie was prepared for this reaction, but he knows that as soon as the boys know who his date is with, they’ll be jumping for joy—quite possibly literally. 

“A date?” Ryan asks. “Like, with a girl?”

“A lady,” Luke corrects. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, now truly getting nervous for the first time. Ryan continues to stare at him, and Eddie isn’t sure how to read the usually open little boy. 

“So,” Ryan starts, “does that mean we get to spend time with—”

“Grandpa Wayne is watching you.” 

“Why?” Luke whines, obviously bothered by the fact that someone who is not you would be watching them. That says a lot to Eddie because he knows how much they love Wayne. It takes most of Eddie’s nerves away, hearing that the boys’ first instinct was that they get to spend time with you if he’s going out. Actual excitement bubbles up within him and it’s almost impossible to keep the smile off of his face. A part of him almost wants to keep the boys in suspense—this is just too good. 

“Because,” Eddie finally says, “I’m taking her on the date.” 

Eddie watches their faces, eager for the reaction. Ryan processes the information first and lets out a gasp. Luke takes a few seconds longer, but then he’s standing up from his chair—knocking it over in the process—and his eyes widen as far as they physically can. 

“You two are going on a date?” Ryan asks, voice high and excited. “Really?”

“Really,” Eddie confirms with a chuckle. 

“Oh my gosh,” Luke gushes, his small hands coming up to run through his curls. “Yes!”

The obvious love and excitement these two have towards you only further solidifies an idea that has been floating around his head lately. That you and he were meant to be together. Eddie knew that his sons had a far better childhood than he had, but he could still see the struggles they had living with a mom who never cared like she should. Eddie tried to make up for it, but there’s only so much one parent can take on from the other. He’d wonder if it was some bad karma of his that his kids didn’t get to have the happy little family that Eddie always dreamed of. But now there’s you. And all three Munson men adore you to the moon and back. And what's crazier to Eddie is that you love him back just as much. The boys? Sure, they’re easy to love. But you love three of them as a whole. Eddie can’t wait to tell you how they reacted to this news.

“You guys are happy about this, I take it?” Eddie asks.

“Uh, yeah,” Ryan says, launching himself out of his chair and wrapping his arms around his dad’s waist. 

Eddie lets out an oof as the weight of his son knocks him back a step. But he’s quickly returning the hug.

“Our super-secret plan worked!” Luke says.

Raising his eyebrows, Eddie turns his head to look at his youngest son. 

“Secret?!”

“Okay, how about this?” You hold up a little black dress for your roommate to inspect. 

Jess tilts her head in consideration. “Too clubby,” she determines, and you roll your eyes with a dejected sigh. “Think…romantic but sexy.”

“Fine,” you grumble, rummaging through your closet. “Does this one pass the test?” You show her a floral lilac dress with a small slit up the side. 

“Perfect!” Jess determines, grinning as she grabs a pair of strappy wedges from the closet floor. “Wear these with that, and he’ll be putty in your hands.” She pauses. “Actually, he basically already is. But, still, you’re gonna look hot.”

Your cheeks burn at the compliment, as well as the thought of Eddie turning into mush when he sees you. “Yeah, yeah. Let me get dressed; this show ain’t free.”

“It is for Eddie!” she trills, but leaves and closes the door behind her. 

You finish applying your makeup just as Eddie rings the buzzer. “Jess, I’ll be back later!” you call out. “Thanks again for the wardrobe help.”

“No problem! Hope you get laid!”

Same, you think, opening the door to find your handsome date standing in front of you. “Wow,” you breathe out. He’s wearing a dark green button-down shirt, black slacks, and his signature leather jacket. His hair is pulled back into a low ponytail. Your palms become slick with nervous perspiration at the mere sight of him. 

“Wow, yourself,” Eddie smiles, pulling you in by your waist and kissing your lips. It starts off gentle, but he gradually deepens it, grabbing your ass and giving it a squeeze. “If we don’t leave now, I’m not gonna let you leave the bedroom,” he growls in your ear, punctuating his statement with a quick smack to the soft flesh of your bottom. 

“Let’s get going, then,” you say, grabbing his hand and leading him to the car. 

You’re filled with anticipation; the secrecy of the evening is driving you insane. “How long until we’re at this mystery location?” you ask, trying to keep your eagerness at bay. 

“Soon.”

“Okay, but what’s ‘soon’?” you press. “Like, five minutes? Half an hour?”

Eddie chuckles. “Jesus, you sound like Luke.”

Your jaw drops and you cross your arms over your chest. “Did you just compare me to your five-year-old son?”

“Are we there yet?” Eddie exaggeratedly mimics in a high-pitched voice. 

“I do not sound like that!” you protest through your giggles. 

“I do not sound like that!” he echoes, keeping the obnoxious tone. 

“Now who’s acting like a five-year-old?” you retort, laughing as he scoffs at you, putting your mind at ease. It’s Eddie, your Eddie, and no matter what he’s planned, you know it’ll just make you fall further in love with him. 

Eventually, Eddie pulls onto a highway, and you head in a direction you’re unfamiliar with. All it does is make you even more curious, but you know that Eddie isn’t going to be answering any questions. As if it’s his way of telling you not to say anything, he turns on the radio and fiddles with a dial until he comes to a song he likes. His hand doesn’t go back on the wheel, though. He reaches over and takes one of your hands into his own. Butterfly wings stir inside of you as he brings the back of your hand up to his lips. After pressing a few kisses to the skin there, he laces his fingers with yours and rests them comfortably on the center console between you. 

It feels like forever until you reach your destination. According to the clock on the truck’s dash, it was just under half an hour, though. Gentleman as always, Eddie comes around to your door to open it for you. He even offers his hand to you to help you out of the car. Once he’s shut the door behind you, he doesn’t let go of your hand again. Honestly, it wouldn’t bother you if he never let it go. 

The parking lot of this mystery date spot is pretty crowded on this Friday night. As the two of you get closer, you inspect the large red brick building. It’s old enough looking to be charming, but not derelict or decrepit. Green foliage adorns the outsides, a few benches every couple of feet—mostly occupied at the moment. The other people you see are dressed at the same level as both you and Eddie so the little worry that you’d be over or under-dressed finally fades away. 

Above the front door, there’s a white and gold sign that says “Scott & Ollo’s.” Eddie holds the heavy brown door open for you and, regrettably, you have to let go of his hand to step inside. You don’t have to go long without his touch, however, as he steps up behind you as soon as you both enter, his hands resting lightly on your waist. The first thing that you register is the music. It’s loud—not overbearingly so, but enough where you can tell its live music instead of a recording being played over the PA system. Next, you take in the waiters in their all black attire that are buzzing between tables covered in white tablecloths and an array of foods—that smell delicious, you also notice.

“Hello,” the hostess greets you and Eddie as you walk up to her podium.

“Hi,” Eddie says, keeping one hand on your waist as he speaks to her. “Should have a reservation for two. Under the name ‘Munson.’”

Your eyes are flitting around the space and Eddie watches you with a fond smile on his face as the hostess searches for his name. 

“Ah, here we are. Right this way, please,” the hostess says. 

Eddie once again laces your fingers together and guides the two of you through the decently filled restaurant. As you walk, you notice that the restaurant is arranged in a circular fashion, and that people at the tables keep looking in towards the center of the room. You try to crane your neck to see around some of the patrons, but you’re unable to see what they see. The hostess leads you down a few steps that lead down to another landing where tables are laid out. From here, it’s easier to see what has everyone’s attention. The middle of the restaurant has a live band playing and a dance floor that a few couples currently occupy. 

“Here you are,” the hostess says as she presents your table. She sets a menu down at each place setting as Eddie waits for you to sit in your seat so he can push it in for you. “Your waiter will be Harris and he’ll be right with you.”

“Thank you,” you say before she steps away. Now seated, you let your eyes take in everything a little bit more. The small lanterns on the middle of every table, some women looking longingly at the dance floor while the men they’re with look terrified of it. At the grand chandelier that hangs over the whole space, the crystals on it reflecting the light all around. “Eddie, this place is beautiful. Where did you find it?”

“A buddy of mine from high school proposed to his girlfriend here. I’ve never been but they both said it was incredible. So far, they’re right.”

“And are you actually going to dance with me?” you ask with a small giggle as you pick up your menu. 

“Getting to hold you close to my body while we listen to slow music? Hell yeah.”

You shake your head fondly at how unromantic he makes it sound; but you know that’s just him messing around. There’s no way he would’ve chosen this place to go if he didn’t want to have a romantic evening and dance with you. 

“Should we get some wine?” Eddie asks. 

“Sure, but you’ll have to order it.”

“Why would—oh, right,” Eddie says with a chuckle. “Sometimes I forget your age.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” you ask.

“I don’t really think of it one way or the other. You’re just…you. My person. Not my person who is twelve years younger than me, just my person.”

His words have your heart picking up speed, and it’s quickly pumping heat up towards your face. His person. It felt not too long ago you could only dream about Eddie ever saying that to you. 

Eddie lets out a soft chuckle and you look up to see what’s so funny. But he’s just smiling at you.

“What?” you ask.

“You haven’t stopped smiling since we walked in the door,” Eddie says. You hadn’t noticed, honestly. But now that he points it out, you can feel the tightness in your cheek muscles at the long-held grin.

“You just make me really happy,” you tell him, love practically radiating out of your every pore. Eddie sets his menu down and reaches across the table to take both of your hands in his own.

“Baby, you’re it for me. Always. Don’t forget that, okay?”

The only response you can give is a nod, as you feel the emotion welling up behind your eyes. After taking a moment and clearing your throat, you think you’re able to speak.

“You’re my forever.”

Harris comes and takes your orders: Eddie gets a New York strip, medium rare, and you choose the chicken florentine. They’re delivered on intricately garnished plates; so beautiful that you’re almost afraid to eat. 

“Been awhile since I’ve been to a restaurant that didn’t serve a Happy Meal,” he jokes, dragging his knife through the tender cut of meat. 

“At least you have your kids as an excuse,” you tease him. “Before that, you were just a grown man eating a very tiny pouch of fries.”

Eddie laughs, popping a bite of the steak into his mouth. “Speaking of those two,” he starts, “I told them.” About us, is what he doesn’t say, but he doesn’t have to. 

You offer him a nervous glance. “What…were they okay with it?”

“Oh, yeah. They were only upset that you weren’t watching them until I told them that you were my date.” He chuckles at the memory of their excited little faces, leaning in to add, “and did you know that their ploy to get us together was a secret?”

Clapping a hand over your mouth to keep your giggles from escaping, you widen your eyes. “I think we can cross ‘CIA agent’ off of their list of future career choices.”

“And professional poker player,” he agrees, running his thumb across the back of your hand. “But I really can’t believe my luck. Y’know, how much they love you, and how much you love them.”

“Of course I do,” you tell him. “Even if you and I weren’t together, I’d adore your boys. They’re great kids, Eddie. The best. Because of you.”

Eddie stands slightly to reach over and kiss your forehead. “I love you so fucking much,” he declares. Part of him wishes he had a ring so he could propose right now, make you his forever. 

Once you’ve finished eating, Eddie’s by your side and offering his hand. 

“May I have this dance?” he asks. He keeps his tone serious, but he waggles his eyebrows as he says it. 

“Such a gentleman,” you smile, placing your palm in his. You can feel every crease and callous, and you’re immediately overtaken with a sense of safety and belonging. “Of course you may.”

He leads you to the dance floor, taking you into his arms. Your left hand rests on his right bicep, and your right hand takes purchase in his left. His free hand is soon pressed to the small of your back so the two of you can sway impossibly close. 

The band plays the opening chords of “Something,” by The Beatles, and your face lights up with joy. 

“I love this song,” you tell him, adjusting your stance so your left hand can travel to the nape of his neck. 

Without missing a beat, Eddie says, “I’ll learn how to play it for you.” Shit, he thinks, I’d go home and figure out the chords right now if I wasn’t on the best date of my life.

You’re not totally convinced, tilting your head in disbelief. “Even though it’s not metal?”

“Only for you, my love.” His response is sincere, and you rest your head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. If you had to take bets, you’d guess that yours was beating in perfect tandem. 

After you’ve finished dancing, you both agree that you’ve worked off some of your delicious dinner and have room to split a decadent dessert. You settle on a piece of cheesecake with cherry topping and Harris serves it to you with two forks. Eddie tuts you when you go to take the first forkful, but when you look at him in confusion, he spears a generous bite of the dessert and holds it up to your lips. A bubbly feeling floats through your body as you open your mouth and accept it from him. It’s amazing how the littlest things Eddie does give you full body reactions. 

Once the cheesecake is devoured and the bill is paid (which Eddie snatched up the moment it hit the table cloth), Eddie offers you his hand and you walk out of the restaurant and into the chilly evening. There are no clouds in the sky, revealing the black canvas dotted with tiny diamond stars and a luminescent moon. You’re so busy taking in the view, you didn’t even realize Eddie shrugged out of his leather jacket until he’s draping it over your shoulders. It’s pure instinct to clutch it tighter around you, wanting Eddie’s scent and essence as close as can be. 

The band can still be heard outside, muffled, but clear enough to tell that they just started playing Elvis Presley’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” The two of you are approaching the first row of cars in the parking lot when Eddie tugs on your hand, pulling you to a stop next to him. Before you get the chance to open your mouth and ask what’s wrong, Eddie wraps one arm around your waist and tugs you up against his chest. He takes your left hand in his right and laces your fingers together as he begins to sway from side to side.

“Wanted one more dance with my girl tonight,” Eddie mumbles, giving you a warm smile. 

“Dancing in the moonlight? Who knew you were such a romantic, Munson,” you tease. He leans in and nips at your earlobe, causing you to giggle. 

“You would’ve thought you’d caught on by now,” Eddie retorts, giving your hand a light squeeze. Letting your eyes slip closed, you lean in and rest your head against the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. 

“This is perfect,” you say, tone dreamy and light. 

“You’re the best dance partner I ever had, Sweetheart.”

The words bring a smile to your face, and you press a light kiss against Eddie’s throat before looking up at him. “Hey, can I tell you something?”

“Course baby,” he replies, his hand that’s on the small of your back tracing patterns over the material of your dress. “You can tell me anything.”

You pick your head up and look at him from beneath your eyelashes. “I’m not wearing any panties.”

That’s all Eddie needs to hear before he’s taking you by the hand and tugging you to the car. 

“Slow down; I’m in heels!”you protest between giggles, but Eddie is not about to waste precious seconds that could be spent inside you. 

You assume he’s going to drive home as fast as he can, which is why you’re more than confused when he opens the back door instead of the front. He slides in and pats his lap with a mischievous grin. 

“In your car?” you balk teasingly, already ducking into the vehicle and draping a leg over his. “Eddie Munson, you’re a little horndog.”

He doesn’t deny it; he simply closes the door and bunches your dress to your hips. You certainly weren’t lying: there are no panties to be found. He inhales sharply at your perfect pussy on display like this for him, and his burgeoning erection twitches behind his fly. “Fuckin…holy shit,” he manages, letting his middle finger graze your glistening folds. “And already wet f’me, hm? Was it my dance moves?” He gently bites your earlobe, and you shiver at the sensation. 

“Was…just you, baby,” you breathe, bringing your lips to his neck and trailing kisses along the side. His hands grip your bare ass, and you use the leverage to grind against the seam of his pants. “What’s got you so worked up?”

Eddie fumbles with his belt buckle, finally unfastening it with a relieved sigh. “‘S you. So fucking gorgeous, and all mine.” He whimpers when your fingers brush up against the outline of his cock while you unbutton his pants and tug down his zipper. “Tell me ‘m yours, please, baby.”

“You’re mine,” you whisper in his ear, taking in the new sensation of his cotton boxers on your throbbing clit and rubbing yourself against it needily. “All mine, only mine.”

Instinctively, Eddie finds your hole and slips a finger inside. “Bounce on it,” he instructs, pouting when you shake your head. “Whas’ wrong?” Shit, he thinks, was car sex a bad idea?

But you chase away his worries when you tell him, “Need more. Another finger. You’re too big for just one, Eddie.”

He happily obliges, making you feel full in the second-best way he knows how. With that, you take what you need, holding onto his shoulders as your pussy grips his thick fingers. He’s plunging them in and out of you as you ride them, the two of you working in perfect tandem to bring you to your release. 

Eddie knows every last inch of your body like the back of his hand, and he curls his fingers slightly to drive you over the edge. 

“F-Fuck, ‘m coming!” you moan, and it must be louder than you realize, because Eddie laughs and lets out a sshh. 

“You’re gonna get us caught, pretty thing,” he warns you, but he doesn’t slow his pace. “I’ll have to tell the cops that I just couldn’t help myself; ya looked too damn gorgeous tonight. Had to be inside you.”

The thrill of being discovered has your orgasm crashing over you, and you cry out Eddie’s name as it hits. He removes his fingers from your pussy, popping them in his mouth and swirling his tongue around to lap up your slick. It’s enough to nearly make you cum again. 

“Gotta feel you,” he mutters, taking his cock out of his boxers and into his hand. Pre-cum leaks from the tip, and if you had more room, you’d lean down to lick it off. “Gotta feel you around my dick, sweet girl.”

“Mhm,” you squeak out, aligning yourself over his length and sinking onto it. Inch by inch, you take him inside you as he stretches you in the most delicious way. The thick vein that runs from base to tip is heaven against your walls, and you steal a second to just feel him before you start moving. 

His hands grasp your waist, sinking into the plush of your ass as he helps you ride him. “Thas’ perfect,” he growls, nodding as you bounce on his cock. “You make me feel so damn good. We were made for each other, I fuckin’ swear.”

The tempo is slow at first as you ease into it, trying to balance the fullness within you and the newest setting for your trysts. Gradually, you pick up a bit of speed, and he matches it, balls slapping against you. 

“I love you,” you tell him, adding the promise of, “I’ll always love you.” You brush his hair from his face and kiss him passionately, tongue brushing his. When he pulls away for a breath, he gives your lower lip a little bite. 

“I’ll always love you,” he swears. “Always, always, always.”

You can feel how close he is, and you’re right there with him, so you pull the trigger. “Prove it,” you murmur. “Fuck me so full that your cum drips out of me. Or maybe I’ll keep it inside me and get nice and knocked up for you.”

A string of swear words leaves his lips as he spills into you. “Oh, fuck yes, holy fuckin’ shit. Wanna get you pregnant, y’gonna look s’good havin’ my babies.” He presses his hands into the plush of your thighs. “Cream my cock, baby. Show me who makes you cum.”

Just a few more bounces is all it takes for you to cum again, flopping against his chest as you take big, heaving breaths. 

“Can’t believe I scored on the first date,” Eddie jokes, and you bite his shoulder in retaliation. “Ow!” He rubs the spot dramatically. “C’mon, baby. Let’s get home, yeah?”

“Don’t wanna move,” you mumble, smiling as Eddie chuckles and kisses your scalp. 

“Faster we get home, faster we can fuck on a nice, cozy bed,” he murmurs, trailing a fingernail up and down your arm. “And I can go down on you like a goddamn gentleman.”

The next morning, you’re barely awake and pouring yourself a cup of coffee in the kitchen when two rambunctious boys burst in.

“You’re here!” Luke cheers—which sounds more like shouting, this early in the morning. You and Eddie had talked about how it might look having you in the house when the boys woke up. But you figured they wouldn’t ask questions, and if they did, Eddie was ready to provide a long explanation on how something was broken in your car, and he couldn’t work on it while it was dark outside. 

“Hi,” you say, voice still groggy from sleep. You shuffle over to the table and take a seat. A Munson boy takes a seat on each side of you, and you let out a chuckle. “Can I help you?”

“How was it?” Ryan asks.

Shrugging your shoulders, you bring the Garfield coffee mug up to your lips and take a sip. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Oh, come on!” Luke whines. It’s hard not to smile and play it cool, so you just take another sip of your coffee.

“What is all the racket?” Eddie walks into the kitchen, the palm of his hand rubbing at his right eye. He’s wearing blue plaid pajama pants hung low on his hips and nothing else. You know there’s nothing beneath them because you watched him put them on as he rolled out of bed. He had tossed you a pair of his sweatpants to put on since you’d only been wearing a pair of panties and one of his old t-shirts. 

“Daddy!” Luke calls, making Eddie wince at his volume. 

“Take it down a few notches, kid.” Eddie ruffles his youngest son’s curls before walking over to pour himself a cup of coffee. 

“How was the date?” Ryan asks, eyes looking back and forth between you and Eddie. 

“Date?” Eddie asks. He walks over and takes a seat at the table before taking a casual sip from his mug. “Did someone go on a date last night?”

“Luke, you had a date?” you tease, poking him in the ribs. He gives an overdramatic roll of his eyes and runs his hands down his face.

“No! You two did!” he says.

“Oh, that’s right,” Eddie says, looking at you now. “I do remember seeing you at a restaurant last night.”

“You guys are the worst,��� Ryan sighs, slumping down in his seat. It makes both you and Eddie chuckle. 

“It was a wonderful date,” you tell them, deciding to end their misery. Now that they sense they’re going to get some answers, the boys are very alert and paying attention. It reminds you of how your childhood dog would react when you asked her if she wanted a treat. 

“Was Daddy a gentleman?” Ryan asks. Eddie scoffs, as if insulted by the insinuation that he would be anything but. 

“Of course he was.” 

“What did you eat?” Luke asks. Leave it to him to ask about the food.

“I had steak,” Eddie says. “And…other things.”

Heat comes to your cheeks at the way he eyes you over the brim of his coffee cup. Giving him a light kick under the table knocks the smug smirk off his face, though. 

“Like potatoes,” Eddie says, though you expect it’s more to appease you than anything. 

“Ryan said I look like a potato,” Luke adds. 

Coffee almost shoots out of your nose, and you have to quickly cover your mouth so you don’t spray the table with joe and creamer. This was life with the Munson men. Unpredictably hilarious and quite honestly the best thing you’ve ever had in your life. 

“You don’t look like a potato,” Eddie responds.

“He did as a baby!” Ryan rebuts. 

Eddie rubs his thumb and index finger over his eyebrows as he lets out a sigh. “It’s too early for this,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Are you going out again?” Ryan asks, and you’re thankful for the subject turning back on track. 

“I don’t know,” you muse, tapping your fingernails against the porcelain mug. Both Ryan and Luke frown at your response. “I haven’t been asked yet.”

“Daddy, ask her!” Luke chides. 

“Pretty sure I did ask,” Eddie says, raising an eyebrow at you. You know what he’s referring to, but panting out “fuck, when can we do this again?” while you’ve got his dick down your throat doesn’t count. 

“Did you? When?” You smirk at him, backing him into a corner. Now he has no choice but to ask you properly. Eddie’s eyes narrow at you, and you can practically hear him saying you’ll pay for this later. 

“Fine,” he grunts. He takes another sip of coffee before setting the mug down and clearing his throat. “My darling, would you like to go out with me again?”

It feels so infinitesimal to be asking for a second date. This is something teenagers do in high school, not adults with someone whose body you’ve already memorized or when you’ve already declared you’ll love them forever. But it makes the boys happy to hear and he does want to take you out again. 

“I would be honored.”

Your reply still causes Eddie to break out in a beaming smile and reach across the table for your hand. Happily, you lace your fingers with his and don’t even notice the two boys watching with glee. 

“Can we come?” Luke asks.

“Luke,” Ryan groans, “that’s not a date, then.”

“Did you kiss?” Luke asks, ignoring his older brother. Suddenly, Ryan is leaning on the table, eager to hear the answer as well. You see the heat you feel in your face reflected in the pink of Eddie’s cheeks.

“Boys—” Eddie starts before being interrupted by both of them whining.

“Daaaaad!”

“Come on!”

Trying to stifle your giggle, you give Eddie a nod to let him know it’s okay with you if he tells them. Receiving your signal, Eddie nods his own head in reply and shifts in his seat.

“Yes, we kissed.”

Both boys cheer; Ryan throwing his arms in the air and Luke dancing in his seat. You laugh in amusement as you watch them. The fact that they’re almost as happy as you are about you and Eddie being together warms your heart in a way that’s new. It feels as if a new compartment of your heart has been unlocked and all of this love is flooding into it. 

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says, trying to calm the boys back down—even if he’s still grinning himself. “We’re all going to the Harrington’s today, so after breakfast I want you both to get dressed.”

“Uncle Steve’s?” Luke asks. “Why?”

“For a play date.” Eddie shrugs and rises from his seat. “More coffee?”

“Yes, please,” you tell him. He picks up your mug and presses a kiss to the top of your head. Neither boy misses the act of affection, and it feels like a surge of adrenaline spikes your blood. You’ve always been so careful not to let the boys know what’s going on between you—ever since that very first night. But now, getting to be so open about it, knowing they’re going to start seeing you as their dad’s girlfriend instead of their babysitter…it’s a lot. It’s not bad, but it’s a bit overwhelming. 

“Yeah,” you say, shifting in your seat under their gazes. “You can play with Theo and Natalie for a while.”

It doesn’t escape your notice how Ryan flushes at the mention of Natalie’s name. You force yourself to bite back your smile but make a mental note to bring it up to Eddie later.

“Alright, Munson’s,” Eddie says as he places your coffee mug back down in front of you. “What do we want for breakfast?”

“Pancakes!” Luke says.

“Daddy burns those,” Ryan reminds him. 

“Good thing I’m here,” you say, standing up from your seat. 

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to do that,” Eddie says, ghosting a hand against your waist. 

“I want to,” you tell him. “Sit.”

“No, let me help you at least.”

“Okay,” you agree. “Can you help me get everything I need together?”

“Course I can.”

Ryan nudges Luke across the table. The younger brother raises his eyebrows in question. Ryan nods his head in the direction of you and Eddie. Luke turns his head to see the two of you moving in tandem to get things out of the cabinets that you’ll need. You share passing words, gently touching or brushing up against one another as you work. It’s so domestic and comfortable for the two of you. But to Ryan and Luke, they’ve never seen something so peaceful. An activity as simple as making pancakes was a potentially explosive event in their lives up until now. It’s the first time both Ryan and Luke are realizing this is how it’s supposed to be. It’s meant to be, “can you pass me the flour?” instead of, “Jesus Christ, where did you put the goddamn pan?” like they’re used to.

The boys stay silent, just watching you and their dad help one another and him make you giggle. It’s possibly the warmest moment they’ve ever felt in this house. Ryan has the sudden urge to hug both of you, but he doesn’t want to interrupt the moment and have it stop. Luke watches in awe at the easy smiles you and Eddie give one another, never shooting the other a glare when they aren’t looking. It’s happy and it’s soft and it’s warm and tingly in a way he didn’t know existed. He’s never been so happy to have to wait for food to be made. 

“Luke,” Ryan whispers, never taking his eyes off of you two.

“What?” Luke’s gaze never falters either. 

“Daddy’s so happy.”

Luke nods enthusiastically. “And it’s all because of our super secret plan.”

Eddie rings the Harrington’s doorbell not once, not twice, but five times. 

“Will you stop that?” you snap, but a smile dances on your lips. “You’re like a child.”

Eddie doesn’t have the chance to retort before Steve swings open the door. “Munson and Munsonitos! And, uh,” he stammers when he gets to you, “Lady Munson?” he tries, nervous to see your reaction. 

Eddie wraps his arm around your waist. “Lady Munson, huh? Kinda like the sound of that.”

The four of you pile into the living room, and Steve encourages the boys to head into the family room where Natalie, Theo, and Danny are playing. “Amelia’s napping, but she’ll be awake and demanding Uncle Eddie cuddles soon,” he promises, laughing when Eddie huffs impatiently. 

Steve walks over to the old record player a little too nonchalantly, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. “Let’s set a little mood music, shall we?”

Your boyfriend catches on before you do. “Nope, Harrington, no way. Absolutely n—”

Whoa oh oh oh oh oh oh

Whoa oh oh oh oh oh

Uptown girl

She’s been livin’ in her uptown world

“I hate you,” Eddie grumbles, but his eyes give away his true feelings. 

Steve doesn’t buy it, either. “Look at that shit-eating grin,” he teases. “You can’t even listen to this song without making eyes at her.”

“Harrington, I will throw all your hairspray in the dumpster if you don’t shut up.”

You’re spared from breaking up their ridiculous fight when Nancy comes in the room, twisting the cover onto a bottle. She waves you over, and you dutifully follow, not wanting to witness whatever nonsense the two men were about to engage in. 

When Steve realizes that there are no women around, he leans in and whispers to Eddie, “I told you, didn’t I? Came to your work and said you should be fucking the babysitter.” He crosses his arms over his broad chest and shakes his head. “Overachiever that you are, you went for the whole relationship.” 

“Overachiever, huh?” Eddie muses. “Never heard that one before.”

“I figured. She probably only says you’re not so tough, just because you’re in love with an—”

“HARRINGTON, I SWEAR TO GOD.”

You and Nancy can vaguely hear the end of Eddie shouting something at Steve, but you’re both in the playroom now and the kids drown them out. Ryan and Natalie are using an array of crayons and markers to create masterpieces that are surely destined to hang on the refrigerators of their respective houses. Luke, Danny, and Theo are playing with Legos and Hot Wheels. The three young boys try to make obstacles for the toy cars to overcome out of the small plastic blocks. 

“I can’t lie,” Nancy says as the two of you take a seat on the couch at the far end of the room. “Steve and I were really impressed by the way you handled Theo and Luke’s candy bar argument.”

The praise catches you off guard but brings on a smile so large that it hurts your cheeks. 

“Oh, um, thank you! It wasn’t anything major,” you tell her. The music playing in the other room suddenly switches off and Nancy lets out a melodious chuckle. 

“I told Steve not to play Billy Joel,” Nancy says with a shake of her head, “not unless he wanted Eddie to kick his…” she trails off as she looks at the kids, “…butt.”

You’re not sure what to say in reply to that. Nancy knows the friendship between the two men far better than you do, having over a decade more of experience with them. Anything you could think to add would be so generic or minuscule next to any of her anecdotes about them that it would be obvious you’re just trying to fill the silence that is becoming more awkward by the moment. But you need to say something. 

“So,” you start, Nancy’s full attention coming back to you at the sound of your voice. “You saw the Innocent Man tour? How was that?”

“Oh, wow.” Nancy blows out a breath and looks down at the floor as if she’s trying to conjure up the memories. “It was forever ago…but from what I remember, it was amazing. He just kept singing and singing.”

Just imagining that brings a smile to your face. 

“Sometimes, I like to just focus on the piano keys and drown out everything else. Helps me clear my head,” you explain. 

Nancy nods along. “I find myself doing that when I’m driving. If I ever play it at home, the voices of four children drown it out and it’s a little harder to clear my head.”

“You really are a great mom, though,” you tell her. “I can see how much your kids adore you.” 

“Thank you,” Nancy says, a bit of emotion snaking its way into her voice. “And having a partner like Steve is the best.”

As if the sound of his name being spoken somewhere in the house summons him, a loud commotion comes from the room you’d left the two men in.

“Munson, let go of my nipple!”

“Not until you apologize!”

You and Nancy share an amused glance before shrugging at one another. Ryan even hears the ruckus and looks in that direction. When he sees that neither you nor his aunt are reacting, he goes back to his drawing. 

“Well, most of the time he’s the best,” Nancy says. 

The clock is ticking until Eddie and Steve come back in the room, but there’s something you feel the need to get off your chest while it’s just you two women there. 

“I have to be honest with you, Nancy,” you start. “I was so intimidated by you. Like, almost scared of you.”

“Of me?” Nancy asks, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “Really?”

“Well, yeah,” you say with a huff of laughter. “I mean, just meeting you at Ryan’s birthday I could tell how sophisticated and intelligent you are. And then when Eddie talks about you — because as I’m sure you know, he loves talking about his friends — I heard how well accomplished you are and all that you’ve achieved and while being a mother of four. It’s beyond impressive.”

“That’s really sweet, actually.” Nancy gives you a shy smile and a touch of pink coats her sharp cheekbones. “But I promise, I’m a nice person. There’s no need to be afraid of me.”

For the rest of what you have to say, you find it harder to look Nancy in the eye as you speak. Your hands fiddle with a loose thread on your jeans as you cautiously glance back and forth from your thigh to the woman sitting next to you. 

“Plus,” you say before you can lose your nerve. “I know how I look from an outsider’s perspective.” You risk a glance over at the kids, and even though they’re busy playing, you still lower your voice. “Young babysitter starts working for a family and then the parents are separating and I…ya know. With an older man. I know what people are going to assume when they look at me. And I don’t care, I really don’t, because I love him. And he loves me. But I care what the people in Eddie’s life think. What his family and friends think. Of me.”

Nancy lets out a sigh and there’s a sympathetic look in her eye as she nods her head. 

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have some of those thoughts when I first found out about you two,” she confesses. “Not long, but longer than I’d like to admit. But you know what I said to Steve once we got home? That if you’re the light that lit a fire under Eddie’s ass to get him to dump Brittany, then thank God.” 

Questions you want to ask Nancy about Brittany fly into your head in rapid succession. It doesn’t sound like the two of them were close. Does everyone hate her? It’s not hard to believe at all, but you’d love to hear it from a perspective other than Eddie’s. But between not wanting to look like a gossiper and the fact that the guys make their way into the room, you keep your mouth shut. 

Nancy must share this sentiment, and possibly doesn’t want to discuss Brittany much in front of the kids, because she changes the subject as the men settle into seats around you.

“You’re in school, right?” Nancy asks you.

“I am,” you reply. “Finishing up my basic education courses.”

“Do you know what you want to do once you graduate?”

“Not a clue,” you admit with a sigh. “Right now, I’m really enjoying babysitting.”

“The kids love you,” Nancy gushes, leaning forward and resting her hand on your arm. “Not just Luke and Ryan—Natalie and Theo couldn’t stop talking about you, either.”

A sense of pride swells in your chest and you can’t help the bashful smile that grows on your lips.

“They’re all such great kids,” you say. 

“Would you happen to have time to add the four great Harrington kids to your schedule?”

Having Nancy ask you that question makes you feel about fifty pounds lighter. Not only is she acknowledging you as part of Eddie’s life, but also has enough trust and faith in you to watch her children. The acceptance by her, Steve, and the kids makes you more emotional than you would’ve thought. It takes a moment for you to compose yourself to answer without your voice trembling.

“Of course!”

Your shoulders sag in relief and you hear a familiar tune being hummed behind you. Turning in your spot to look behind you, you see Steve perched on the back of the couch, a smug smile on his face. It takes your brain a moment to realize it’s Uptown Girl that he’s humming. Letting out an overly dramatic irritated groan, Eddie lunges at Steve, who shrieks and covers his chest.

“Stay away from my nipples, Munson!”

Nancy sighs and shakes her head.

“Would you look at that? There’s two more kids I didn’t account for.”

[mrs-meeks-martin]

Happy Halloween P1

EthanLandry x Fem!Reader

warnings: inappropriate language, stalkerish behavior, implied crush, freakiness (no smut this part)

PART 2

reblogging appreciated 🙂‍↕️

Ethan Landry, the hot, mysterious boy in the back of your class. You’ve noticed him, having to do some group projects with him once or twice, but you’ve never really paid attention to him otherwise.

When it came to you, he was the complete opposite.

It was like he analyzed your every move. Whenever you were somewhere, like a small little coffee shop on campus, he never failed to be there, watching you. From the shadows, of course. Not like you noticed him. He was always precautious when it came to things like that. Ethan tried to convince himself he wasn’t a stalker, that he was just making sure you were okay. He was only following you everywhere because he cared for your wellbeing, right?

So when you were handing out fliers to a Halloween party that Chad had practically begged you to go to, he took one without hesitation. He doesn’t even go to parties. He just wanted to have contact with your soft hands, the touch sending a jolt through his body that he hid well enough for you not to notice.

“I thought you didn’t go to parties.” You raise a brow at him, puffing out your lips in a pout.

“I don’t.” He replies back, mentally slapping himself in the face. Why would he even say that?

“So then why’re you going? I thought you were smarter than this, nerd.” You poke fun at him playfully, poking his shoulder as you giggle.

She’s touching me- She’s touching me. Even a simple poke was enough to get his heart skipping beats.“Hey, I am NOT a nerd!” He tries to retort back, which ends up being futile. His cheeks flush a light shade of pink, threatening to get darker at the teasing.

“Uh huh… Says the one that did all of the work on our group projects.”

He almost chuckles at that. The only reason he did all of that work was for you. Whenever someone else was working with him, he always made sure that they did their share. But you…

“You better have a killer costume, dork.” You walk away before he can say, “I will…”

A killer costume. He chuckled in his head. She definitely meant a ‘great’ costume, but… Maybe I’ll save myself a couple of bucks and go as Ghostface.

As more people start to file in the party, you wonder where Ethan is. Not that you care, or do you? You really don’t know. You scoop yourself a cup of probably spiked punch and make it to the living area. Out of the corner of your eye, you see someone in a Ghostface costume waltz in the party. It’s not the first time someone has done that, but it always seems to give you a strange feeling in your gut.

“Hey, y/n.” Ethan removes his mask and smiles, flashing his pearly whites. He looks you up and down, surveying your costume. You were going for a Harley Quinn look with the cute cropped 3 color-way tee and those short ass shorts paired with the iconic fishnets. Ethan tries his best not to ogle you, but at the end of the day, he’s an adult trapped in a horny teenagers body.

Thank goodness, you say in your head. “When I said a ‘killer costume’ I didn’t actually mean a real killer, dork.” You facepalm, and it makes his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“So you don’t like the costume?” Ethan frowns. I probably shouldn’t have skimped out and just bought some lame outfit from Party City-

Before he can finish his thought, you cut back in and say, “I think it’s pretty cool, It’s hella creepy, though.”

As you finish your sentence, Chad just so happens to see you in the teeming crowd of people and walk over to you.

“Hey, guess who made it!” Chad puts a hand on your shoulder, shaking it hard.

“Hey, Chad! Been a while.” You smile, turning around to hug him. The action makes Ethan clench his jaw. Even though he knew you and Chad were inseparable, (friends wise) that didn’t stop him from feeling a tinge of jealousy. However, that all melted away when his eyes drifted down to those shorts. The same shorts that gave him a wonderful view of your-

“Hello? Ethan?” You snap in his face, tilting your head a bit. “Earth to-”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” He gives you a strained smile, trying to ignore the heat pooling in his groin. Great. Just great, he thinks, wanting to bang his head against the wall.

You take a drink of your punch as Chad looks at both of you and raises a brow. “Yeah, I sense some serious sexual tension here, so I’m just gonna-” That makes you spit your drink out, some of the liquid coming from your nose.

“I beg your utmost, finest pardon?” You look at Chad with wide eyes and then turn your head to look at Ethan, and you notice how red he is.

“Yeah… That’s my queue.” Chad begins to back away, giving a slow nod to you as he does those stupid hand motions.

Take me with you.. Ethan thinks, not being able to handle the embarrassment.

“Ignore him, He’s probably already drunk, spouting nonsense and whatnot.” You smile awkwardly, trying to avert the attention from what just happened.

“Yeah, yeah-” He nods quickly, trying to also avoid conversing about the topic.

“So uh…” Chad realllyyy wasn’t lying. The tension in the air was so thick you could probably cut it with a knife. You broke the awkward silence, trying not to sound corny. “I’m bored as fuck. See, this is why I don’t go to parties anymore.”

“You should leave with me.” Ethan says in a low voice, mustering up all of his courage.

CLIFFHANGER

ps: first actual series! interaction is appreciated 😘

[qveerthe0ry]

The X-Files is absolutely wrecking me y’all I have to yell about it I can’t hold back any longer

“YOU’RE MY ONE IN FIVE BILLION!!?!?!?”

HELLO???

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

[fandomfablesunleashed]

Awkward Confessions

Ace x reader (she/her)

Reader is kinda dense and loves to read

Modern AU, High school setting.

Summary: Ace, with the help of Luffy and Sabo, tries to confess his feelings to the girl he likes. He's doing his best, but somehow all his plans turn into awkward failures.

Words: 3.7k

Notes: Written for the Valentine’s Week event. Originally, I didn’t have this story for Valentine’s Day, but I had four stories and really wanted to make it five. So I turned to one of my favorite boys—Ace. I wanted to write him trying to ask you out, but like… accidentally burning flowers and having other things go wrong. I got stuck with some bad writer’s block, and the words just weren’t coming out. But then I remembered that I had written something like this before, so I went through my many files and found it. I wrote this maybe two years ago, maybe even more, so it needed a lot of editing (which means I might be getting better at writing, so yay me!). Probably needed even more, but oops. I changed a few things to fit the Valentine’s vibe, and here it is!

🫶 @captainportgasdace 🫶

English is not my first language

Masterlist

“Let's finally help Ace with his crush!” Luffy blurted out, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “He's practically dying here, trying to get this girl to notice him! We can’t just stand around—we need a plan!”

Ace groaned, rubbing the back of his neck, his freckled face tinged with a light shade of red. “I never said I needed help,” he muttered.

“Yeah, yeah. And yet, you’ve been pining over her for months now,” Sabo said, giving Ace a playful nudge. “Valentine’s Day is coming, man. If you don’t make a move now, someone else might.”

Ace’s stomach twisted at the thought. He swallowed hard and glanced down. “Alright, where do we even start?”

Sabo tapped his chin thoughtfully before snapping his fingers. “A good old-fashioned bouquet of flowers. Girls love that kind of thing.”

Luffy scrunched his nose. “Flowers? That’s so boring! Why not something cooler—like, I don’t know, a giant meat platter?”

Sabo sighed, shaking his head in exasperation. ���Not everyone thinks with their stomach, Luffy. Flowers are classic for a reason. They’re romantic.”

Ace shifted uncomfortably. “But… what if she doesn’t like flowers?”

Sabo rolled his eyes. “Don’t all girls like flowers?”

“What if she’s allergic?” Ace countered.

Sabo chuckled. “Now you’re just making excuses. Trust me, she’ll appreciate the gesture.”

Luffy, ever impatient, clenched his fists with determination. “Then let’s stop wasting time and go get some flowers already!”

Ace, clutching the small bouquet of flowers, hesitated for a moment before approaching you in the crowded hallway. His heart pounded in his chest as he took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady his nerves.

Summoning his courage, he called out your name, stepping forward with an uncertain smile and offering the bouquet with a mix of anticipation and fear. His face burned with a deep flush, his fingers gripping the stems so tightly they nearly bent.

You glanced at the flowers, your expression flickering between confusion and appreciation. “Why?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

Ace opened his mouth, but panic seized him, his mind going utterly blank. 

Just then, a girl walked by carrying a similar bouquet. “Oh, are you guys giving flowers to all the girls?” you asked with a teasing lilt.

Desperate to salvage the moment, Ace blurted out, “Yeah, that’s it.” His voice cracked slightly, but he forced a grin, hoping you wouldn’t see through the lie.

“Oh! How sweet, thanks.” With that, you gently took the bouquet from his hands and turned away, disappearing into the hallway.

Ace watched helplessly as you walked off, completely oblivious to what he had truly meant. Soon his brothers joined his side.

“That didn’t go how we planned.” Luffy pouted.

Sabo sighed, patting Ace’s shoulder. “Looks like we need a Plan B.”

Ace exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the crushing weight of failure. He wasn’t ready to give up just yet. Not without a real chance to say what he truly felt.

“Hey, at least you tried, right? Maybe next time, try something other than flowers…” Luffy’s words, though meant to be supportive, were betrayed by the laughter bubbling up from him.

“It’s alright, man… there’s always a backup plan. Let’s just think of something else.” Sabo added, trying to hide his laughter.

Ace rolled his eyes, still flushed with embarrassment. “This is so hard. What do girls even like?”

Luffy, his laughter tapering off, scratched his head as he offered an idea. “Maybe chocolates?”

Ace groaned. “That’s just as cliché! Is there anything that isn’t expected? Something unique and special?”

Sabo rubbed his chin, deep in thought, trying to come up with something more fitting. “Why not write her a poem? I bet she'd love that.”

Ace’s eyes brightened for a split second before quickly deflating. “I can’t write a poem to save my life! My handwriting’s awful, and I’m terrible with words. It’d be embarrassing.”

Sabo, barely hiding his amusement, grinned. “Well, even if your handwriting looks like a chicken scratched it out, the sentiment might be enough to make up for it.”

Later, Ace sat in a quiet corner, a pen, and paper in hand, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him. His heart raced as he tried to write something meaningful for you, but the words felt clumsy, as if they weren’t his own. He poured his feelings onto the paper, though the poem seemed more a jumble of scattered thoughts than anything resembling the deep, heartfelt message he hoped to convey. When he finished, he reread it, feeling a wave of insecurity wash over him. It wasn’t perfect—far from it—but maybe the sincerity behind it would make up for its imperfections.

The next day at school, Ace gathered his courage and decided to give it to you. His hands trembled as he approached, his voice barely above a whisper. “Hey, I, um… have something…”

“Oh, sure! Let me see,” you said, grabbing the paper.

Ace swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest as he handed you the poem. His eyes watched anxiously as you began to read, his nerves building with every second that passed.

When you finally looked up, you gave him a kind smile, assuming this was part of the English classwork. “It's nice,” you commented. “But it could use a little more polishing. I can help you if you'd like.”

Your words, meant to be constructive, felt like a sharp blow to Ace’s fragile heart. He had hoped for something—anything—more. His expectations came crashing down, and he fought to mask the disappointment behind a strained smile. “Y-Yeah, thanks,” he stammered, his voice breaking as his heart sank further.

You, completely unaware of the turmoil you were causing, moved closer with a smile, eager to help him improve the poem. Ace stood there, feeling his hope crumble, his stomach in knots. 

You, focused solely on making the poem fit the assignment, offered ideas for better word choices and smoother phrasing. You were kind and patient, but to Ace, it felt like nothing more than a reminder that he had failed to make his feelings clear.

Finally, you handed the poem back to him, a smile lighting up your face. “It's a little messy, but honestly, it's quite beautiful,” you said. “It feels real. I would have melted if the guy wrote something like this for me.”

With that, you turned to walk away, leaving Ace standing frozen, stunned by your words. His mind replayed your compliment, it feels real, over and over, the phrase echoing in his ears. To you, it was a praise of his poem's sincerity—but to him, it felt like a cruel reminder of how his heartfelt attempt had been reduced to a simple class project. 

“That was a complete disaster,” Ace groaned, burying his face in his arms as he slumped down.

“Hey, don’t sweat it! We’ll think of something else. You’ve got this!”

Sabo, his eyes gleaming with a mix of sympathy and barely held-back amusement, leaned in and spoke with a touch of seriousness. “Maybe next time, try talking to her instead of writing it all down?”

Ace grimaced, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. “Talking’s fine, but what should I even say? It’s like my brain stops working when she is near…” His voice faltered. He ran a hand through his hair and swore under his breath.

Sabo paused, as though considering Ace’s struggle, then offered a more practical suggestion. “Why not just compliment her? Girls appreciate sincerity, and you’re a pretty straightforward guy. You can make it work.”

Ace shot him a doubtful look, his fingers curling around the crumpled poem in his pocket as if it could offer an answer. “So, I just… walk up to her and say something like, ‘Hey, I like your hair’? That feels way too simple.”

“Stop making it harder than it needs to be. Just be honest. You’re a good guy, Ace—girls appreciate that.” Sabo just said.

Ace hesitated, the knot of uncertainty in his stomach slowly loosening. Maybe Sabo was right. Confidence. It couldn’t be that hard, could it?

Next day. Another attempt. His heart pounded like a drum, and his face flushed a deep shade of red as he struggled to find the right words when he approached you after one class. His mouth opened, but what came out was a jumbled mess. “Y-Your… your uh, hair, it's…” he stammered, his tongue twisted in knots.

You looked at him, a little confused by the awkwardness in his approach, but gave him a polite, curious smile. “My hair?” you asked, tilting your head slightly, trying to understand what he was getting at.

Ace’s face turned even redder. Why is this so hard?! He thought desperately, his mind spinning with frustration. His hands were clammy, and his heart raced as he tried to salvage what little dignity he had left.

Ace swallowed hard, his nerves on edge. He pushed forward, determined to get the compliment out. “It’s… nice,” he managed to spit out, mentally cringing the moment the words left his mouth. 

Sabo standing nearby could barely contain his amusement, shaking his head and covering his mouth. Luffy snickered, his shoulders shaking as he bit his lip to suppress the laughter bubbling up.

You blinked confused at the weirdness of the compliment, unsure of how to respond. You gave him a polite but awkward smile. “Thanks?” you said, the word sounding more like a question than an actual response.

He mumbled an awkward apology, feeling his pride crumble. Without another word, he turned and fled, his feet carrying him away with a pounding heart and a deep sense of failure.

From a distance, Sabo and Luffy’s laughter echoed in his ears, their amusement only amplifying his humiliation.

Ace, feeling utterly defeated, slumped onto a nearby bench. He buried his face in his hands, desperately trying to hide from the world. Luffy and Sabo approached him, still snickering at the scene they’d just witnessed.

Sabo clapped him on the back, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Looks like compliments aren’t your strong suit, huh?”

Luffy's laughter rang out, echoing through the area. “Dude, that was a mess! 

Ace groaned, his head sinking deeper into his hands. “This is humiliating. I’m so bad at this,” he muttered. “And only with her… I could charm any other girl, I know I could, but with her, it’s like I forget how to function properly.”

“Calm down. We’ll think of something else. You’ll find a way, even if you’re just super awkward around her.”

Luffy, his laughter fading into a reassuring grin, nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! If one approach doesn’t work, we’ll try another! Don’t give up yet!”

Ace sighed deeply, reluctantly lifting his head to meet the mischievous grins of his brothers. “I’m not sure if I have much hope left,” he said. “It’s like every chance just slips away when I’m around her.”

Sabo chuckled, shaking his head. “C’mon, you’re being dramatic. You just have to keep trying… unless you give up?”

Ace scoffed. “I’m not giving up! I can’t let her slip away like that… I just wish there was a way to express my feelings without looking like a complete idiot.”

Suddenly, Luffy’s eyes lit up with a spark of inspiration. “What if you did something super obvious? Like, so obvious she couldn’t miss it?”

Ace perked up, the smallest hint of hope flickering in his chest. “Obvious? What do you mean?”

“Like, I don’t know… confess in a public way!” Luffy suggested.

Ace’s face turned a deeper shade of red, his eyes widening in shock. “A public confession?! Are you nuts?! I can’t do that! It would be… so embarrassing!” he stammered, his heart racing at the very thought of standing in front of a crowd to pour out his feelings.

Luffy’s face fell slightly, his idea deflated. “Alright, fine. No public confessions. But we still need something big and bold to grab her attention.”

Ace slouched deeper into the bench with a sigh of defeat. “I don’t know… I can’t even hold a decent conversation, let alone do something grand without messing it up somehow.”

Sabo placed a comforting hand on Ace’s shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze. “You’re letting your nerves get the best of you. We just need a plan that suits you and your style. Let’s brainstorm a bit more.”

Ace took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. “Alright, I’m open to suggestions. As crazy as they might sound, I’m willing to try anything at this point.”

With that, the trio dove into brainstorming mode, throwing out ideas that ranged from utterly ridiculous to somewhat feasible. Luffy even suggested skywriting a proposal.

Ace rolled his eyes, trying to maintain his composure amidst the absurd ideas. “I’m not renting a banner, let alone hiring a skywriter! I don’t even have the budget for that kind of stunt. I was thinking something more modest… but maybe, just maybe, memorable enough to catch her attention.”

Sabo, deep in thought, considered Ace’s situation carefully. “What if you did something that incorporates one of her interests or hobbies? That way, it wouldn’t just be some grand gesture, but something personal. It would show that you’re actually paying attention to what she likes.”

Ace’s eyes brightened for a moment, a spark of realization lighting up his face. “That’s actually a good idea. She loves reading… But how do I turn that into a confession? I already tried writing a poem, and that was a disaster.”

Sabo tapped his chin, considering the idea further. “Yeah, let’s avoid making you do anything creative… Maybe you could quote a confession from one of her favorite books? That way, it feels personal, but still thoughtful.”

Ace’s eyes widened with excitement. “Really? That actually might work! I even know her favorite!”

Over the next few days, he rented the book and diligently read it. He poured over the pages, taking his time to understand the story and memorize the key lines for his confession. The weight of the task felt heavy, but with each passing day, his anxiety grew as he mentally rehearsed the words he would say. He hoped, prayed, that he wouldn’t stumble.

The day before Valentine’s Day and clutching the book tightly in his hands, Ace approached you. The instant you saw it, your eyes widened in surprise. “Oh! You have my favorite book” Your voice was filled with curiosity, and Ace's heart raced in his chest. This was it—this was his moment. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, recalling the lines he had committed to memory.

But as soon as he opened his mouth, everything fell apart.

“Er. I uh… umm, you see… uh…" Ace froze, his mind going completely blank. His practiced words vanished into thin air, leaving him standing there, helpless. His face flushed with mortification, and your gaze shifted to one of confusion. You waited patiently, still hopeful for something coherent to emerge, but Ace’s anxiety surged, drowning him in self-doubt.

His face burned with humiliation, his stomach twisting painfully. Unable to bear the tension any longer, Ace blurted out, “I—I have to go!��� His words stumbled over each other, and without another thought, he dropped the book and fled, his face hot with embarrassment.

As he bolted away from the scene, Ace cursed under his breath. His hands clenched into tight fists, his frustration bubbling over. His heart pounded in his chest as he wished for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. He couldn’t believe he’d just run away like that.

Sabo and Luffy exchanged a look of disbelief, watching Ace’s hasty retreat with a mixture of amusement and pity. Sabo tried to stifle a chuckle, shaking his head. “Man, he was so close, yet so far.”

Eventually, they found Ace sitting alone, head buried in his hands. Defeat was written all over his posture. Sabo and Luffy sat down beside him, offering him a moment of quiet support.

“Well, Ace, you gave it a good shot,” Sabo said sympathetically, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice.

Ace lifted his head, his face still flushed with shame. “I’m done,” he decided. “I’m never attempting anything like that again. I’ve had it.”

Sabo let out a soft sigh, shaking his head in understanding. Luffy nudged Ace playfully, still grinning. “Don’t give up yet, bro. You might not have nailed it this time, but you’re getting closer. Right?”

Ace just sighed, leaning back against the bench. “I don’t think I’ll ever get it right.”

On Valentine’s Day, the moment he stepped through the school doors, the sight of tacky decorations strung up everywhere made him feel like everything was mocking him. He couldn’t escape the sensation that every garish ribbon and glittery heart was making fun of his own tangled emotions. Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed the bustle around him until a voice—a voice he knew all too well—cut through the noise.

“Can we talk, please?”

There you were. The girl he had been nervously trying to confess to, standing before him. 

Sabo, who had been watching from a distance, immediately grabbed Luffy by the arm, dragging him aside. Without a word, Sabo motioned for them to hide and watch from a distance. Their eyes gleamed with excitement as they tried to remain unseen, eager to see how Ace would handle this unexpected opportunity.

Ace nodded, his nerves bubbling up as he followed you to a quiet corner, his heart racing in anticipation. He still wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but the moment felt surreal.

You opened the book to the page he had marked, and Ace's stomach twisted. He even considered running away again. You turned to him, a small, knowing smile on your face. 

“Were you trying to quote this part?” you asked, your finger pointing to the underlined line. Ace’s heart dropped at the recognition of the passage, the one he had practiced so hard.

“I-uh… yeah, I was,” Ace admitted, feeling his cheeks heat up. He was sure he could disappear into the floor if given the chance. As he braced himself for rejection, your next words caught him off guard. 

You smiled, a gentle and almost affectionate expression. “I liked it,” you said, tracing your finger over the highlighted words. “It’s beautiful, and I’m flattered you chose that part.”

Ace’s mind went blank. Shock coursed through him as he tried to process what you had said. “R-Really?” he stuttered, the words tumbling out of his mouth.

You nodded, your eyes sparkling. “I thought it was sweet that you tried,” you added, your hand tapping the page. “I just wish you didn’t run off like that. I wanted to talk to you.”

“I was just… embarrassed,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “It didn’t go as I planned, like at all.”

You chuckled. “I can tell it didn’t,” you said, your voice filled with empathy. “But I appreciate the effort… It’s cute that you’d try something so bold for me.”

Ace’s heart skipped a beat. You found him cute? The question buzzed in his mind as his cheeks flushed even deeper.

“You think it’s cute? Really?” Ace asked, almost disbelieving, his voice cracking slightly. He had to be dreaming, right?

You smiled even wider, your eyes twinkling. “Of course, it’s quite adorable, even if it didn’t go as planned,” you replied. “And so were the flowers, the poem, and that compliment.” Your voice softened, and you added quietly, “Sorry I was too dense to pick up on the meaning before.”

Ace’s heart swelled. You had noticed everything he had done, and you weren’t upset. In fact, you seemed to find it charming. His shoulders relaxed, the anxiety he’d been carrying for days melting away. He couldn’t believe it.

Feeling lighter than he had in days, Ace summoned the courage to be bold, his heart pounding. “I was trying so hard to confess to you,” he said. “But I kept messing it up. I don’t know why I get so nervous around you. I end up sounding like an idiot.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck again, a genuine smile tugging at his lips.

You laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears. The warmth of your voice eased the tension in his heart. “Believe me, I wouldn’t mind more awkward confessions.”

With his confidence renewed, Ace looked into your eyes. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I like you,” he took another deep breath. “I really like you.”

The words hung in the air, and Ace’s heart raced as he waited for your response.

“I like you too,” you admitted. Then giggled as you added. “I really like you too.”

His breath caught, and before he could stop himself, the words spilled out: “So… would you … want to be my girlfriend?” He froze immediately, realizing how stupid it sounded, and his cheeks flushed a deep crimson. He looked away, half-expecting you to laugh at his embarrassment.

But instead, you just laughed, and there was something so genuine in the way you looked at him, The adoration in your gaze made him question how he had never noticed it before. “Maybe take me out first?” you teased.

“Right, right. Of course.” He laughed, feeling relief and pure joy flood over him. Oh, how he enjoyed this. “So, will you be my Valentine?” His words hung in the air, bold yet gentle, vulnerable yet hopeful. “And go out with me today?”

“I would love that.” Your smile stretched wider, and Ace couldn't help but grin back like a fool.

“Ace?” you asked, breaking the quiet, your voice almost shy now.

“Hmm?” he hummed, his heart still racing from the rush of emotions.

“Ask me later again, cause I would definitely like to be your girl,” you said, your eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief, as if daring him to be bold again.

He could barely believe what he was hearing, but before he could respond, a distant cheer rang out from behind a corner.

Sabo and Luffy, from their secret hiding point, threw their hands up in triumph, celebrating the success of their matchmaking efforts. Their cheer was enough to make Ace chuckle, his cheeks still flushed but his heart lighter than it had been lately.

[simplygojo]

Moment on the Bench

author's note ⸺ This is the first bonus blurb of the The Devil He Made Me series!! This one is Gojo's POV of a scene from Chapter 6, the scene on the bench...IYKYK, lol. This can also be read on its own if, so pleaase enjoy!

pairing ⸺ Satoru Gojo x reader

summary ⸺ Gojo's POV of a moment filed with tension between you and him. see the previous chapter to read it from your pov.

word count ⸺ 1.9k

warnings ⸺ gojo's pov, he shows emotions kinda, rising tensions, like you could take a fat bite out of the tension, reader uses female pronouns

taglist ⸺ @mawhoreagaa; @peqch-pie; @blue-serendipity; @simplyyyuji; @starrnai; @sorcerersseestars; @n1vi; @angryglitterperfection; @krak-jj; @coweringbear; @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni; @cococola-cocaine; @sdv98o; @theendx888; @dvmb4ssbiatch; @sugxryratz; @kinny-away; @crankyarchives; @enfppuff; @reactwithjan; @blubearxy; @mystic-megumi; @nanamisrighthand

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Gojo leaned back on the bench, the words that had just passed between you hanging in the cool evening air like a mist he couldn’t quite shake. His eyes, peaking over his sunglasses, were locked on yours as you sat beside him, close enough that your legs almost touched.

There was an odd tension between you, one he wasn’t used to. Usually, he could brush off anything with a joke, keep his distance emotionally, but tonight felt... different.

"Curses sense things in people," he had said, his voice softer than usual. "Sometimes for a reason, sometimes because they catch on to something we don’t even realize."

He felt a small shiver run down his spine as he heard you ask, your voice tinged with fear, "So what do you think it meant then…when it said it’s ‘almost time for me’?"

Gojo paused for a moment, staring at her. His gaze lingered longer than usual, which wasn’t like him.

The carefree glint in his eyes seemed to dull, replaced by something more intense, something he didn’t fully understand. You looked back at him, your own confusion and fear mirroring in your eyes, but Gojo couldn’t shake the strange pull he felt towards you. It was confusing.

The setting sun cast an orange glow over your face, and as he watched you, he couldn’t help but notice how vulnerable you looked—yet strong in a way he couldn’t explain. He felt something stir inside him, something unfamiliar. A feeling he couldn’t name—one he didn’t want to name.

He tilted his head toward the darkening sky, searching for words, or maybe a distraction from whatever this was. But it didn’t come. He just felt... lost.

"I wish I knew," he said after a pause, his voice quieter than usual, almost gentle. "But what I do know is that curses don’t just say things for no reason. Especially not special grades like that. Something’s up."

It bothered him—how he didn’t have all the answers, how he couldn’t brush this off with his usual cocky arrogance. It wasn’t just the curse’s cryptic message; it was the way you were looking at him, the way your fear seemed to seep into his own thoughts, twisting them, making him feel something he couldn’t quite define.

You sat beside him, and the small gap between you suddenly felt enormous, yet too close all at once. The warmth from you body made him hyperaware of your presence in a way that was both comforting and unsettling. Normally, he would’ve laughed it off, thrown in a flirty comment, but tonight…his mind was somewhere else.

“Whatever it saw in you,” he continued, trying to regain some control over the situation, “you really don’t need to worry about it—you shouldn’t worry about it at least.”

But even as he said it, Gojo could feel the weight of the words. He wanted to protect you. That’s what this was, right? Just his usual protective instinct? You was important—you had to be protected, that’s all this was. 

He told himself that over and over, but something in his chest twisted uncomfortably. It felt like a lie.

And then you snapped.

“You’re really telling me not to worry!?” Your voice was heated, frustration bubbling over. Gojo didn’t flinch, but inside, something tensed. You was right—he knew that. He’d felt it too, the way that curse had singled you out, the cryptic warning that had set his mind on edge. But more than that, he hated how hearing your voice laced with anger affected him.

He tried to respond—his mind was racing, searching for the right words, for the usual quick-witted retort he always relied on. It was his defense, his shield against anything too serious, too real. 

He was waiting for an opening, a chance to steer the conversation back to familiar ground, where he could mask everything with a smile, a tease, something lighthearted. 

But the moment you yelled his name, something inside him shifted.

It wasn’t just the sound of it, though that alone felt like a jolt straight to his core. No, it was the way you said it—so full of frustration, maybe even anger, but laced with something else he couldn’t quite place. The way you called out his name, not ‘Gojo’ like everyone else, but Satoru—it was personal. 

Intimate, in a way that startled him.

His breath caught in his throat, the sharpness of your voice slicing through his usual cool exterior. 

He’d been so used to brushing everything off, playing it safe behind that mask of nonchalance. 

But now, hearing his name like that, the walls he’d carefully built over the years felt weaker, as if you had just reached in and pulled at the strings that held them together.

“I don’t like it when you say it like that.” His voice was barely above a whisper, the sadness in his tone catching him off guard. What the hell was this? Why did it bother him so much that you said his name like that—so angry, so distant?

Your confusion mirrored his own, your frustration disappearing as you looked at him, stunned. 

“Satoru?” You said, your voice softer now, more like how you usually said it. And just hearing his name like that again sent a strange warmth through him, a feeling he didn’t know how to process.

“Yes, when you’ve said it before, you said it so nicely, so softly, it sounded so good hearing my name come from you.”

His own words surprised him, and for a moment, Gojo felt raw, exposed in a way he wasn’t used to. Vulnerability wasn’t something he dealt with. It wasn’t something he could deal with—at least, not well. He always had his humor, his arrogance, his strength to shield him. 

But now, in this moment, sitting here beside you, none of that seemed to work.

There was a long pause, the weight of his confession sinking into the silence between you. 

He felt your eyes on him, searching for something in him he wasn’t sure he could give. His pulse quickened, and Gojo, the invincible, the strongest sorcerer alive, suddenly felt small, unsure.

The space between you shrank, and though he hadn’t moved, it felt as if the air itself was pulling you closer together. He reached out before he even realized what he was doing, his hand gently resting above your knee. 

Your warmth seeped into his fingertips, grounding him in a way that felt both foreign and necessary. The moment his palm made contact, a surge of warmth radiated from your skin, grounding him in a way that felt both foreign and deeply necessary.

Your warmth wasn’t just physical—it seemed to seep into him, anchoring him in the present, something he wasn't used to.

“I’m telling you not to worry because I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said, his voice low and serious. The promise in his words felt heavier than he intended, more intimate. There was something unspoken there, something that went beyond duty or protection, but he couldn’t put a name to it. 

It scared him—how deep that feeling ran.

You looked at him, your breath catching as your eyes met again, and for a moment, it felt like the world around you disappeared, leaving just the two of you. Gojo’s heart raced, an unfamiliar sensation tightening in his chest. 

His gaze flickered down to your lips, slightly parted in an ‘o’ shape. He tried to hold your eyes—tried to keep the casual confidence intact—but his attention faltered for a split second, and his eyes dipped lower.

They lingered, just for a moment, on your lips. The briefest glance, yet it was enough to ignite something in him, a spark he hadn’t anticipated. His mind raced ahead, imagining what it would feel like to close the distance between you, to let this strange tension unfold into something real. The thought lingered longer than it should have, and his gaze snapped back up to meet yours.

But the damage was done. Now, that image was burned into his mind—what it might be like if he let himself give in, if he let the weight of this unspoken tension pull him forward. 

But then, as if sensing the line he desperately wanted to cross, you pulled away.

“Thanks for your help,” you said, your voice awkward, as if trying to erase the moment. You shifted, the connection between them breaking, as you yanked your legs away, and Gojo blinked, the intensity of the moment fading, leaving him feeling... empty.

He chuckled, his usual smirk returning to his face as he leaned back on the bench. "Right... You never have to worry when you’re around me. I’m the best the jujutsu world has to offer."

But even as the words left his mouth, they felt hollow.

But as you stood up in front of him, something about the way you looked down at him made his bravado falter just a bit. 

He didn't show it, of course—he never did. He just leaned back, his arms spread casually over the length of the bench, his gaze lazily following your movements. His eyes lingered on you—on the way the soft light from the nearby lamppost illuminated your figure, casting a gentle glow over your skin. 

You were standing so close, so pretty in front of him, and for a brief moment, he felt an odd flutter in his chest, like something shifting under the surface.

“Well, I’m gonna get going,” you said, and his gaze snapped back to your face. “Shoko says I should still be resting when I can.” 

You gestured toward the direction of the dorms, and Gojo just nodded, his usual smirk still in place. He watched you for a moment longer, letting his head tilt back slightly against the bench, trying to play it cool even as his heart felt strangely off-beat.

"Goodnight, Satoru," you said, and that’s when it hit him.

The way you said his name—soft, almost teasing, with a knowing smile—it made something in his chest go pang. It wasn’t loud, not something that would make his heart race in the usual way, but it was there. It was like a ripple spreading through calm water, disrupting the steady rhythm of his thoughts. His cocky grin faltered for the briefest moment, and he caught himself staring at you longer than he should have.

You turned, your gaze lingering on him for just a beat too long before you started walking back toward the school, and Gojo was left sitting there, arms draped casually over the bench but feeling anything but casual on the inside. 

His eyes followed you as you walked away, the echo of your voice still playing in his head.

Satoru. 

The way you said his name—it was different. There was something in it, something that tugged at him, made him want to get up and follow you. His heart, which had always felt invincible, seemed to stutter for just a moment, that odd tightness from earlier returning. 

It was subtle, but it was enough to make him wonder—enough to make him realize that you had the ability to make him feel something more than the cocky, all-powerful sorcerer he always was.

Gojo leaned back fully, forcing the grin to stay on his face as if nothing had changed. 

But as you disappeared from view, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. And for once, he wasn’t sure what to do about it.

[whiskeyghoul]

Coloring pages || [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A/N: This has been stuck in my mind for weeks now and I needed to put it down. This is the first fic I had proof read by someone! Enjoy and please like and reblog when you do. 

Tags: Fluff, tooth rotting fluff, just fluff, coloring pages, spencer reid x gn!reader I think.

You stood outside of the Quantico building, leaning against the side of your car. The air had the early autumn chill, it wasn't cold but your oversized sweater sure made it a lot more bearable to be outside of the car for an extended period. You were waiting for your date to be finished with his work. Boyfriend. You corrected yourself internally. Boyfriend of 6 weeks, 3 days and 5 hours to be exact. Which, with Spencer as your boyfriend you had to be.

He is handsome, kind and so incredibly intelligent it is sometimes just a tad frustrating. His rambles were interesting and you could probably listen to him for hours on end. You also wanted to spend time together just enjoying each other's company. Being together, that was your type of love. The affirming touches that the other was there. The comfortable silence you enjoyed so much where you could hear soft intakes of breaths. Glances at one another to confirm that the other was still there. You loved when Spencer had invited you over to his apartment once, he still had some work to finish so you'd picked up a book from the many shelves and made yourself comfortable on his worn couch. You had looked up from the book and over to him, seen him deep in thought as he looked at the lines of writing, jotting down notes next to it. His brow slightly furrowed, lips pursed ever so slightly as he thought particularly hard. Completely unaware of your admirations of him from the couch. That's what you liked.

People began filing out of the building as the sun set, you watched and watched to catch the first sign of Spencer. When you did see that messy brown hair bounce slightly as he walked down the steps a smile spread across his face. You mirrored his expression, every time you saw him it brought a smile to your lips. A gust of wind picked up, ruffling his hair even further as he bound over his long strides causing him to stand before you in, what felt like, mere seconds. "Hey." He said softly. His hand reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear that had been swept up by the wind. His fingertip grazed the side of your temple. "Hi." You returned just as softly. "How was work?" You asked as you looked into those big, brown eyes. They were filled with warmth as he looked into yours. "It was good, no new cases which I was hoping for since I wanted to see you." Spencer spoke his emotions as he pulled his hand away. "Good, because I have something planned." You said with a smile, turning on your heels and walking back to the driver's side.

"You have something planned?" Spencer asked as he quickly dove into the passenger seat. Tucking his bag between his feet. "I do." You say as you put the seatbelt on, feeling his eyes on your profile. "Can I know?" He asked, impatiently tapping his fingers against his thighs, an air of excitement surrounding him. "Not yet. It's a surprise." Your voice sounds melodic, sing-song-y even, on the last sentence as you turned the key and started up the car. "Tell me more about your day." You say as the music over the speakers softly filled the car and the heater worked to warm your cold tinged hands.

Spencer had talked about his day, you were intermittently interrupting him with questions before he asked about your day. You were still going on about a coworker who had annoyed you when you parked the car in front of your destination. The bookstore and café combo where you had your first date. You got out and quickly snatched the tote bag you had haphazardly laid on the backseat before turning back to Spencer. "The bookstore? Why are we here?" He looked at you quizzically. You rolled your eyes playfully and put the tote bag over your shoulder. "Because we're going for coffee." You answered and held out your hand which he took. You saw his eyes dart towards the tote bag, that soft crease between his eyebrows forming as he pictured all the possibilities of what its contents could be. “Coffee at 5 P.M.? You know that feeling unaffected by caffeine could be a sign of a genetic difference or you have built an increasingly large tolerance. This could be a problem once you start ingesting dangerous amounts of caffeine unbeknownst to you.” Spencer rambled as you entered the coffee shop. You rolled your eyes playfully, “I’ll get a tea then.” you say as you get hit by the smell of fresh brewed coffee, pastries and books. There was music softly playing in the background. The shop was warm.

Pulling Spencer along to the table where your first date had been, you sat down, shedding your fall jacket and hanging it on the back of the chair. The tote bag was placed on the table, only a slight peak of its contents spilling out. Spencer’s eyes darted to it, wanting to know what you had planned and why you were being so secretive. Quickly, your hand found its way to cover the contents, pressing the tote bag shut. “After we get our drinks.” You teased, there was a sparkle in your eyes, seeing him this interested in what you were planning made it all the more fun to keep him in the dark.

“Really? Can’t you just tell me?” Spencer questioned, giving you the most pleading eyes he could muster in that moment, you were surprised he didn’t pout at you. Just then the waitress came over, taking your coffee and tea orders before walking back behind the bar. When you had looked at her Spencer seemed to have taken his chance and snuck a peek inside of the bag, before you knew it he was pulling out a set of colored pencils. “Spencer!” You admonished playfully, snatching the colored pencils out of his hand and sticking them back in the bag. “What? I was just curious.” He played innocent, giving that sweet smile he knew made you weak. “You brought colored pencils?” He tilted his head slightly, his soft curls falling away from his face. You reached out across the table, tucking a stray curl behind his ear like he had done with you before, “I did.” Your answer came with a soft sigh before folding the tote bag slightly open and pulling out the matching set of colored pencils and a book of coloring pages. “I guess the cat is out of the bag.”

“Why did you bring coloring pages?” Spencer looked confused at the book, flipping through the blank pages filled with outlines of forest scenes and insects. An amused smile on his lips, “Aren’t we too old for that?” He asked, his tone was a slight teasing one. You know he didn’t mean it to be hurtful at that moment, but still he didn’t seem as excited about it as you were. You bit your lip, holding back the twinge of disappointment that shot through your heart.

“I thought it would be fun to do something together. It’s not a children's coloring book, but you know… I wanted to work on a page together, so we have something we both did.” Your voice had an edge to it, the disappointment you tried to hide still managed to bubble its way to the top. It felt horrible, that such a little thing could make this big of an impact. Your hands fidgeted with the end of your sweater, picking at the sleeve with a hint of defeat. Eyes cast down on the table. “Woah, hey, wait no I- I didn’t mean anything bad- I just-” Spencer stumbled over his words, quickly reaching his hand across the table to hold yours. Moving his thumb soothingly across the back of your hand. “If you want to, we will. It looks fun. Really.” He corrected himself, his eyes finding yours. You could see the hint of regret at his earlier words, his sincerity in his current ones. The disappointment still lingered, but the warmth from his hand was quickly spreading through your body to wash away any doubt. “Really?” You asked again, wanting the extra confirmation. You attempted a smile, it was half hearted still but at least it was somewhat reassuring to yourself. “Really, I just get to pick what we’re working on.” Spencer smiled back, giving your hand a soft squeeze before letting go to pick up the book again.

You watched Spencer flip through, taking a quick look at the different pages until he found one to his liking. Placing the book open on the table, a flowery field with butterflies and bumble bees. “This one.” he said, looking to you for confirmation like he could make the wrong choice. “That’s perfect.” Your voice was soft, still trying to get over the disappointment from before. It was nearly gone, leaving you with mostly warmth in your heart. You grabbed the two sets of colored pencils, opening them, and setting them out on the table. Just then your drinks were brought out, a chai latte for you after Spencer’s comment about caffeine, he still had a cappuccino which made you smile a bit. You handed a set of pencils to Spencer before picking up your chai and taking a tentative sip. It was hot but delicious. 

“Alright, so how do we start?” Spencer asked, looking at the page then back at you. “I want to color it together. You can start over on your side, I start on mine, meet in the middle?” You said, placing your cup back down. “Won’t it be mismatched? should we at least have the same color green for the stems?” He suggested, suddenly seeming a bit more into it than he had been before. “Okay, that sounds like a good idea. The same blue for the sky too?” You added, opening your own set of pencils. You picked out a blue, matching it with one from Spencer's set. He did the same with the green, handing you the matching pencil with a smile. “Let’s get coloring then.” He said before turning his attention to the paper. You followed suit, touching the colored pencil to the paper and began to fill in the white space.

You kept picking up pencils, filling in the flowers with different colors, sometimes your hand would meet with Spencer’s while drawing and he’d look up with a smile. Soft bumps and touches that affirmed you were both there. Light chuckles and laughter with your coloring interrupted by each other. Your heart fluttered at how he had thrown all his earlier judgment aside to make you happy. Looking up he was focused, smiling at the paper as he decided what colors would fit best. Sometimes asking for your opinion. Intermittently his drawing was interrupted by sips of coffee. Wiping the residue off of his lips with his sleeve before going back to the page.  The way he was focused was cute, hairs falling in front of his eyes, a grin on his face as he gave in to the childlike whimsy of doing a coloring page. It was refreshing to see him with his shoulders relaxed, focusing on anything but words. Letting the surrounding sounds of the shop take over. Slowly you felt yourself be more and more focused on Spencer rather than the drawing. Once he noticed, he looked up, the smile still plastered on his face, “What?” he laughed out the question. One of the more beautiful sounds you’ve heard, though you wouldn’t tell him that. You shook your head no, laughing softly “Nothing.” You answered with a genuine smile. “There’s something.” Spencer pushed, still smiling, holding back the laughter that bubbled up inside of him. “You looked very focused, that’s all.” You answered, shrugging nonchalantly before you finished up your drink that had gone lukewarm from the amount of time you had been sitting there. “Well, so did you. Just not on the coloring anymore.” Spencer teased, making a blush creep to your cheeks. Biting your tongue to hold back from throwing out a retort that would have been completely unnecessary. 

Your eyes cast down to the coloring page, it was almost completely filled with your combined efforts of removing every spot of white. It was beautiful to you, a bit messy but that made it perfect. Spencer looked down too, regarding the page with a certain air of pride. “I think we should frame it.” he spoke up. Your eyes darted back to his face, to see if he was joking or if it was serious. His expression was relaxed, no sign of any funny business. “Why?” You asked, a hint of confusion in your voice this time around. “It’s the first thing we made together.” His words made your heart skip a beat, the way he was so sincere had such an effect on you. “We’ll have to make another for my place then.” you answered. “Or you’ll just have to come over by my place more often to see it.” Spencer smiled, his words a thinly veiled excuse to see you in his home, to have you over, spend time together. 

You smiled, quickly leaning over the table to steal a kiss after he finished his sentence. “I’d like that a lot.”

[babbygirlblues]

Chapter 3: Ch-ch-ch-changes (Time may change me, but I can’t trace time)

By the end of the week your calendar has 5 ‘X’s’ from Tuesday to Saturday. On Sunday morning something magical happens. 

One of X’s pigeons flies through your window and small bits of dirt and feathers fall onto the fall as it skids across the floorboards. 

You untie the paper-wrapped package attached to its back and quickly go to get it some seed mix and a bowl of water.

Once the bird is happy eating and drinking on your living room floor, you skid back over to the package and rip it open. 

A set of tubes knock together with a glowing red liquid inside. 

A slip of paper is folded up between them reads: 

Should be enough for about 10 trips. 

Test: Earth, within 10 years

X

You carefully pour a tube into the little accelerator box, and take your place in the centre of the circular mat, another gift from X. You’re racking up quite the tab. 

Glass twists up your legs until it reaches your head, turning your skin a glistening lucid sheen. 

You take a deep breath and press the watch.

It clicks.

Did it work?

Your vision slowly creeps back in, and you immediately recognise the night you’ve chosen to come to. 

You’d put in these coordinates and this date almost instinctively. 

God! You’d forgotten how cold it was. 

You’re on the outskirts of St Petersburg, Russia for your first mission with Natasha. 

At this point, you were friends, close friends but your feelings for her had long changed from platonic.

Icicles form on the smooth surface of your skin that is tinged white and blue like the ice. 

It was the same that day. 

You look on from the otherside of the mountain, almost invisible against the white snow beneath you, and watch the two of you climb side by side. 

On foot you follow in Natasha’s footsteps up the snow covered mountain. You’ve turned to glass to avoid the deadly cold climates and feel a bit guilty for it. Fog puffs from Natasha’s mouth with every breath but she doesn’t seem cold though which makes you feel a bit better. 

The two of you are on the way to a base up ahead that was recently raided by an unknown enemy. 

Natasha has a worried and knowing look in her eyes but she refuses to say anything she may suspect about those responsible for the attack.

You don’t push her for answers and follow her lead loyalty. Missions like this were usually left to mid-level agents like Natasha. It was never something that Fury let you risk exposure for, even though it occasionally came at the cost of agents' lives. 

Curiously though, you’ve been posted for this one. You don’t care, if anything you’re just excited to spend time with her. It feels good to know that you’ll be here to help protect her if anything goes wrong. A welcome change from the times you watch her leave, and only to wait desperately for the moment she comes back off a carrier safe and sound.

The mission is simple. Salvage anything you can from what was abandoned, destroyed or set on fire. Then destroy what was left for real.

The base is hidden behind a rocky interface between two mountains. It looks dangerous. As you start to climb you drop back to follow behind Natasha in case she slips or a rock beneath her comes loose from the mountain face. It looks like a rocky landslide could take off at any moment. You’re prepared to catch her and carry her up, floating above the rocks at any moment. 

You’re not sure if it’s appropriate to offer her a flight up before anything goes wrong.

She stumbles a couple of times when the rock beneath her twists and —-. Each time your feet are off the ground and your hands are a hair's width away from her, ready to lift her from the rocky avalanche. But she always catches herself like a dancer who already anticipated the movement beforehand.

The base is small, a huge garage for helicopters that take agents to the base, rooms for armoury, file storage and dormitories. The control rooms are the worst damaged, computers with screens caved in, and most servers have been ripped from the racks and look like they’ve had hammers taken to them.

The whole time, Natasha moves like she’s in a trance. Skimming through file after file, electronic and hard copies like she’s searching for something. Every piece of garbage she picks up seems to add a piece to the puzzle that she’s solving in her mind. 

However, you feel aimless, digging through scraps of metal and paper, hardly understanding what’s in front of you. 

You can’t help but wonder again why you’re here. There is no pressing need for your powers and you can only string together simple sentences in Russian. You feel useless.

It took a few hours of searching before Natasha decides you’ve seen enough. She comes out of the last room and tells you that there’s nothing left to see. 

You pour a special SHIELD technology petroleum through the whole base and set it on fire. You stubbornly insist that she stay outside and at least 200m metres away the whole time. 

There’s no-one available for a pick up so the two of you get posted in a safe house until morning. You arrive at the door of an old cabin at sunset and it feels impossibly colder inside than out. 

Natasha takes a look at your shivering figure and is surprised by how charming she finds your arms curled into yourself. You could have stayed in glass form, but once the mission was officially complete it felt weird.

The cabin is a single room with a bathroom at the back. It’s completely barren except for a small couch and kitchenette, and a thick layer of dust has settled on almost every visible surface. The fireplace is black with soot and old charcol, but it’s calling your name.

“Do you want to search the cupboards for any food?” Natasha asks. 

She gestures to the fireplace, “I’ll get started on a fire.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

You go through every drawer and cupboard in the place until you find one of them has a few cans of tomato spaghetti. They expired 2 years ago, it’ll have to do. There’s a fork and spoon in one of the drawers and you grab them both. 

Natasha comes back in with a few logs and a handful of twigs, a blisters like wind follows inside before her, blowing snow and cold air through her hair and into the room. She lets the door slam shut behind her.

Kneeling in the fireplace to start a fire and with her bare hands you watch her rub sparks into one of the dryer logs. Somehow smoke starts to blow, the grass and sticks turn the sparks into flames and soon a blazing fire glows and starts to warm the room. 

You almost run over to her, entranced by the warmth and red glow of the fire. You offer her the cans you found. You take a seat next to her on the ground and huddle together to conserve some warmth.

She opens the lids with the knife strapped to her calf and places them on a rack above the fire to warm up.

Natasha chuckles at the way you aggressively rub your hands together and practically moan at the warmth from the fire. Your face is going red from the heat. 

“You can change to glass, you know.” She says. “I don’t mind.”

“And let you suffer alone?” 

“You’re the only one suffering.” She laughs. “I’m Russian, I don’t get cold.”

“That’s impossible.”

After you’d choked down the old spaghetti in silence, you got up to look at the sleeping situation on the couch.

The bottom pulled out to extend it into a bed and the backrest cushions made up the bottom half of the ‘mattress’. 

“Voila!” You display the bed to her.

“You can take it.” She says. 

“What?”

“I’ll take the floor.”

“There’s plenty of space.”

“It’s ok.” She insists and refuses to move from her spot on the floor.

“This is ridiculous, we can easily share the bed.”

Granted, you were incredibly nervous to sleep next to her. And worried about anything your mind might accidentally conjure up during the night. Your power can sometimes show up, sand creeping from your fingertips to create various objects in your dreams, but you haven’t had any incidents for many years. 

“Fine.” You relent to her wishes.

You pass her two of the cushions to make an improvised mattress on the floor. She pieces them together and sits on it. She turns back to face the fire and her hair drops to cover her face from you. 

You collect the other two remaining cushions and move them onto the ground next to her. A small gap between the two of you. 

“What are you doing?”

You lie down and your feet hang off the end, but it’s reasonably comfortable and warmer than sitting on the cold floor. You close your eyes and try to relax.

“Sleeping, what does it look like?” You try to keep the smile off your lips, but fail. You blink one eye open to take a peek at her, and she’s smiling at you like you’re an idiot. 

Eventually she concedes and lies down on her cushions, her body parallel to yours across the floor. The light from the fire dims slightly and the sun is long gone from the sky.

You wonder if she’s fallen asleep, because it's silent for a while before she speaks.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Go for it.” You say.

“The sand.” She says. “How does that work?”

She’s never really asked about your powers before. You’ve mentioned places you’ve lived, your mothers, but nothing much more. It was never important to her, even though it's all everyone else seems to care about.

It doesn’t surprise you that she’s curious to know more. 

“How can I make stuff?” 

“Hmm, yeah.” There’s something more to her question. 

“Well, you know about my mother, and how she had the same powers. She was born from her planet. The planet grew out from its core which was a powerful stone, one of the most powerful entities within the universe. When she was born she literally emerged from the sand dunes. My sand is the same, it’s a connection to the planet, and its core, the power stone.”

“What I make is basically up to me. It could be anything, the only limit really is my imagination.”

“But some things would be pointless to make because it can only be sand or glass. Swords are good, but a bed wouldn’t be that comfortable.”

“And it turns black once it loses connection to your body?”

“Yeah.”

The conversation lulls. You’re not sure what else to tell her.

Natasha breaks the silence. 

“The mission today?” She says

“Yeah.”

“I asked for you to come.”

“Oh.”

The silence stands still in the room and your mind reels for something more to say. Why? Ok. I’m glad you did.

“The base was one I’ve been to before.”

Oh. “KGB?”

“No.”

A heavy feeling presses deep on Natasha’s chest. She can’t get the next words out. 

“Whatever it is, I promise you can tell me. And it won’t change anything.”

She tells you about the Red Room. About her mother abandoning her as a baby. Training, graduation and then her career as a spy. When she’s finished, the fire is almost out. Her voice is weary and she’s too tired to hold back her tears. 

You reach across the space between you and gingerly loop your pinky around hers. She sniffles into the darkness and squeezes your finger tightly. 

With all the determination in your voice that you can muster, you tell her, “You are the most incredible thing in the entire universe.”

“That is so much, too much, for one person to go through. I’m so sorry.”

She sobs. You shift to hold her hand properly and try to inch as close as you can, almost tipping off the side of your makeshift bed. 

“Can I move closer?”

“Yes.” She immediately replies. 

You shuffle the cushions over until they press next to hers. 

“I wish things had been so different for you.” You whisper.

“It’s truly astonishing how strong you are. How kind you are.”

“No. I’m not a good person.” She warns you. 

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’ve done terrible things.” 

You tell her that anything she’s done for them was not her fault. You’ll tell her everyday until she finally hears you. 

“Love is unconditional.” You tell her.

She says she doesn’t deserve love.

“You deserve love from anyone you want it from.”

You don’t want to push her. The words on your lips are I love you, I love you! Please pick me.

“Anyone would be so lucky to love you.” 

There’s a moment where you fear you’ve pushed too far. Dread seeps through your stomach that you’ve made her uncomfortable after she’s just opened up to you. You curse yourself for taking her painful confession and making it about you.

Before you can apologise, Natasha leans over and presses a hot kiss to your lips.

~~~

You wish you knew earlier how the night would end. You’d kick yourself out just to take her place and experience it with her again. You watch the pair of you disappear behind the curve of the mountain, Natasha was right there and your heart calls out to her.

But you can’t stay. Years from now, Natasha is waiting to be saved and finally you have a way back to her. 

Yelena and Kate are waiting too.

You close your eyes, and with a deep breath, you tap the gadget on your wrist and let it take you back to your apartment in New York, present day.

[alwaysonf1]

another hamilton?

Pairing: Charles LeClerc x Hamilton!OC

Genre: Slice of Life; Fluff

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning: Changes in the timeline for the sake of the story.

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: N/A

The van rolls to a stop in a packed parking lot. And despite the buffer of the vehicle and the music playing inside of it, the noise from the stadium is loud and clear. 

“Are we late?” Alex asks.

Lewis smiles, shaking his head.

“No. We’re a little early actually.”

There are clearly more questions everyone wants to ask, but before anyone can voice them a producer opens one of the doors and beckons them out. All six of them pile out of the vehicle quickly. Despite Lewis confirming they have some time there’s still some uncertainty with how loud it is in there if the game hasn’t started yet.

At least they think it’s a game. Like the last four episodes filmed they were told where they'd be going and not who they were seeing and what the first sighting would be. Some of the guys only have one sibling or only one really comfortable with the limelight so it was easy to guess. But with Lewis all of this was beyond confusing.

The seven time champion didn’t usually involve himself in something of this level, so when he walked into the planning meeting for this thing it threw everyone off. Once they got past that the assumption was that it would be Nicolas. While the world knew of Lewis’ other siblings, they didn’t seem the type to agree to this.

Then they were given the destination of Baton Rouge, Louisiana.

Daniel asked a million and one questions after that reveal and no one who had the information would give it to him. The man’s charm didn’t beat out their willingness to keep it all a secret so everyone could maintain some level of surprise. As if they didn’t have enough.

Charles is so in his own head about what the hell they’re walking into, that it takes a moment - and the shouting of his name - to notice that everyone is already several feet ahead of him. He jogs up to catch them and keeps his focus on what’s happening in the moment, there’s no need for him to anticipate too much of what could be coming next. 

They walk through the parking lot for a while and then turn down a path that puts them at what looks like the back of the venue. The area gives the weird sketchy vibes that you get from being late night at a track, even with all the sound going on.

At a door stands a Black woman who Charles imagines he’d be into if older women were his thing. When she smiles, he’s debating making an exception. She has curly dark hair tinged with gray and her shirt says Human Jukebox, which only serves to further confuse Charles and Carlos, who’s eyes meet his.

“Hello,” the woman says, her voice cheerful.

“Hey, Sherri,” Lewis says.

They both move forward and embrace each other, when they pull away, she places a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“Where are my manners? Hello, young men. I’m Sherri Jones. It's nice to meet y’all.”

There is a chorus of greetings from everyone, and they each take a turn trying to shake Sherri’s hand, only to end up being pulled into a hug. When she gets to Charles he simply goes for the hug, and it draws a laugh from her.

“Well, I’m glad y’all could make it here. We have a little time before things get started, but we should…”

Silence falls and trumpets fill the air, then drums. A flurry of other instruments join the mix and they do so seamlessly. The song isn’t one Charles can pinpoint, but it sounds good.

Sherri winces. “It seems the Jukebox is starting up. We better get in there before we have to fight for a spot to watch them play.”

It’s a marching band. 

Though this is not at all something that he’s especially familiar with, Charles has seen the wonders that are marching bands in the US. After watching Beyonce’s Coachella set, he even went through a small phase where he wanted so many of his unreleased songs to feature a similar vibe from it. But there’s a reason it’s unreleased.

Everyone files through the door and after a few twists and turns they walk through a shaded tunnel. At the end there’s a field clear as day

On the back of the shirt Charles catches a glimpse of the words ‘Mom of a Doll.’ And though he now has the answer to what the front means, he’s even more interested in finding out what the back entails.

When they emerge, the lights are a bit blinding, but he adjusts quickly. The sounds they’ve heard since arrival, become much clearer. And the packed parking lot feels not so packed when he sees the stands filled to the brim with people. 

He notes that the crowd is predominantly Black, which leads to the quick guess that this is an HBCU. Another thing he knows of, but not much about. 

What he does know is that the energy in the place is infectious and he finds his body moving along with the band. Who stands in the stands not far from where they enter. 

As they approach the benches and lawn chairs right in front of the band - put not in the stands - they seamlessly switch to a song that feels deeply familiar, but he can’t quite name.

Though he probably can’t name it because the moment they get in front of the bench, which has a reserved marker on it for them, he notices women draped in capes walking with an elegance he can’t comprehend and so in sync that all he can think about is when he watches a race back and sees them warming tires during a formation lap.

The women fill out the four rows that are unoccupied in front of the band in a staggered formation. Only one sits in the very front row, and it piques his interest.

Charles leans toward whoever is on his left and whispers yells, “What is going on?” 

“I have no idea, but I’m into it,” Daniel says.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see the other drivers - minus Lewis - nodding in agreement. Lewis is actually standing a bit further up, with a wide smile, and staring intently. Charles steps forward to stand directly next to him and Sherri.

Excitement brews within him as he watches as each row shrug off the cape and take a seat in a domino effect. Their sparkly light blue outfits remind him of the leotards gymnasts wear and it’s a brow raising moment. He knows they aren’t going to do anything of that danger level in a location they’re in, but he can’t imagine what. Until his brain yet again goes back to Beychella.

Again, the band transitions to another song, also familiar to him, but all his brain power is on taking in what’s happening with Lewis. He’s not so sure he’s ever seen the man this happy or at least not in this way. Though he would be lying if he said he didn’t notice some of the same emotion in him now as when he’s congratulating Charles for being up on the podium.

That gets the brain turning as he remembers why they’re there in the first place, but out of the corner of his eye he sees movement in front of them.

Who he assumes is the leader slowly stands up and all eyes move to her, including his. Her brown skin is glowing, her long hair moves with her, and Charles can’t help but see how tall and long she looks, as well as the curves of her body. She’s beautiful and he can only see two thirds of her face because of the way an overhead light flashes in his.

The beat drops and she makes a sharp movement that sends her upper half down low at an angle and as she comes up her hands glide up her long leg. Each move after is just as sharp, but also fluid. She body rolls once, then again, before the next row joins. In unison they go through the routine and once the second time is done, she stops and takes a seat, kicking her leg high before crossing it over the other.

Again, like the domino effect the other rows go. Each performing twice before taking their seat the same way she did.

She doesn’t even look back to ensure that the last person is down before she rises again, arms floating into the air as she dances. She gives a spin, and her hips move in a way that makes it clear she’s at ease with what she’s doing. That it’s almost a second nature for her. 

Each movement is sensual, but in that way that entrances you, not makes you feel like a pervert for staring too hard. Though Charles does feel a little bit like one.

Just like before she takes a seat and as the last person takes her seat, her leg lifts a little more dramatically than the others, the music changes and so does the energy in the stadium. Yelling gets louder and Lewis is bouncing on his toes.

A more intense expression takes hold, and she starts the routine just as she had before, but when she comes up the sequence is different. It’s longer. And Charles feels himself take in the hype and looks to the others to see the same. Even Lance, who tends to be more reserved in public and on camera, like they are now.

The domino starts, but they all keep going until everyone has done it twice and then without missing a beat she switches to another routine. Though Charles is still unsure of what this is, he can tell that these aren’t connected in any way other than she’s made the choice to do it and the others are following her lead.

Each new one maintains its beauty, but something about it feels like a battle.

“Ooo, they’re going to throw the new one. I saw a little of them practicing it last week,” someone behind him says.

The leader turns her back to them, the band somehow gets louder, and then in the most intense of the routines yet she begins and this one is longer than the others. The moves aren’t complicated per se, but they're definitely the kind that you mess up just by lacking the musicality and the level of aggression that’s just right for it.

She does her run through, and all the girls join in. They all give it the same energy as she did, in fact Charles in awe of how they all ramp it up. It’s something he can’t imagine articulating. 

“You better!”

“Come on, Kayla.”

“Show them how it’s done, Dolls!”

“That’s my girl. Show out, Kierra!”

“That’s my baby!” Sherri says, drawing Charles attention.

Lewis cups his hands around his mouth. “Let’s go, Iman!”

Reality hits Charles, he once again remembers their purpose. Who they’re there to see. And while there is no indication from Sherri or Lewis who they’re screaming for, the smile that graces the one up front makes it clear. He stares at her in a way he didn’t before, and he sees the mix of Sherri and Lewis in her face. She’s her own person, but she definitely looks like both of them.

It’s the type of thing that makes someone feel like they could be knocked off their feet by it, even if it’s a little dramatic.

Lewis Hamilton has a college age little sister. One that radiates a similar energy and passion that her older brother brings to the track. One whose smile has Charles feeling some type of way, though he refuses to dwell on it.

Shock still gripping him he turns to look at the others and they’re equally gob smacked by it. And their camera man is getting every second of it. 

“He has another sister?” Carlos asks.

“That’s his sister?” From Lance.

“She’s so good. Like I don’t fully know what you’d call this, but it’s fucking good,” says Daniel.

Alex nods in agreement.

“Yes, it is,” Charles whispers.

When Charles turns his head back, he sees the cocky smirk on Lewis’ face and the pride is still their clear as day.

“Y’all haven’t seen anything yet,” he says.

There is no way to know what he means by that, partially because he turns his attention back to Iman where he yells more words of encouragement and because so does Charles. The girls wind down, and the domino is going in the opposite direction. It gets to Iman, and she throws in more body rolls then the routine calls for, earning more yelling, and then she sits, throwing her leg up, and then lowering it slowly.

Screams fill the stadium like never before and a smirk forms on her lips as she throws her hair over her shoulder. She smiles at her mother and brother, then she looks to the other drivers and winks.

It’s something they talk about during the game in a spur of the moment group chat Daniel makes that doesn’t include Lewis, for reasons that include fear of the man - despite nothing out of line being said. And a few of them gather in Charles’ hotel room with Arthur, and a couple other drivers, on Facetime to talk about it.

They’re enthralled and it’s a miracle nothing leaks.

And just like the information the drivers got, the title of the episode will be vague, but after they play the routine and the men’s reactions it says something like: Introducing Iman Hamilton. Secret Sibling and Captain of Southern University’s Dancing Dolls.