#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.

[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. 

[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.”

[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.”

[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.

[cyborg-franky]

Confessions

Thank you so much @whitewineandpizzapuffs for the support and the suuuuuper super fun prompt. I had fun with this big boy. I hope you enjoy <3

Ace x F!Reader SFW Ace Lives AU 5 + 1 trope WC: 4,400

He was a highly ranked commander on one of the strongest crews in the world but that didn’t stop Ace from being unable to handle his feelings. He was never one to express how he felt, other than anger and annoyance. Pushing everything else down deep to be ignored and to deny to himself and everyone else.

Despite being in such a position of power he still hid from her in Marco’s office when he knew she was on lunch break. Sitting across from the phoenix as he worked, watching as Marco’s quill danced across the paper the sound of the tip dragging along the parchment paper.

“Marco, your handwriting is terrible, how do you even read it?” Ace mumbled, staring over at the notes the other commander had been working on. Marco paused, sighed, and looked over his red frames at Ace.

“Shouldn’t you be doing something else? Like anything else?” Marco sat back in his seat and watched how Ace fidgeted in his seat, reaching over for a piece of paper to pull at, to fiddle with the edge before Marco shot him a look, Ace chuckled and dropped the paper.

“Yeah, I guess. I’m on break and I thought I’d keep my bestie company.” Ace batted his eyelashes which earned him a scrutinising gaze from Marco. “You mean your avoiding her because you have feelings and haven’t worked out how to cope with those yet yoi.” Marco watched Ace straighten up, how tense his shoulder became as he stumbled over his words.

Gotcha 

“Listen,” “I’m listening.” Ace folded his arms over his chest, Marco mimicking him with a growing smirk on his lips as Ace wrinkled his nose.

“I’m working on it.” 

Marco rolled his eyes, a chuckle as he shook his head, standing up from his desk and walking over to his filing cabinet as Ace sulked over his situation. “If you don’t find somewhere else to mope around I’ll tell her for you yoi.” Marco hummed, acting nonchalant as he glanced over his shoulder, seeing the color drain from Ace’s freckled face.

“Don’t fuckin’ do that birdbrain!” He flapped his arms, waving them in a no fashion as Marco watched him. “Fine, I’ll work on it… I’ll confess to her!”

Famous last words Ace thought as he ran a hand through his hair with a deep sigh.

–

The first time he almost confessed to her was on a summer island, the pair walking through town. She brushed her hair back as she talked with one of the traders in the marketplace. Ace watched her with a dumb look on his face, the fondness clear as day on his face. He watched as she laughed, joking with the man selling her supplies.

He felt a little tinge of jealousy when the trader seemed to take the banter as an invite, offering her a deal because she was so pretty. His eyebrow twitched in annoyance as his jaw was set in a firm line, not impressed with the man trying to flirt with her.

Ace tried to convince himself that he was just looking out for his best friend, and that he was making sure no one hassled her. He told himself desperately it wasn’t anything to do with the growing feelings that bloomed in his chest, wrapping around his heart like ivy. Flowers of affection alive and well.

“Hey buddy, come on, don’t hassle her.” Ace stepped forward, he placed his hand on her lower back in a reassuring manner. The trader blinked and laughed at Ace’s bravado.

“Her boyfriend or something pal?” He laughed at Ace and that was one thing he wouldn’t tolerate, he hated to be mocked, to be laughed at, he grit his teeth as the hand not on her back balled into a fist.

Flames licked across his bare shoulders, and she couldn’t miss those sparks, knowing his temper was about to flare and there would be a bigger problem. “No, he’s not. Come on Ace, he’s just being friendly.” She replied and turned to look at him, he tried not to feel the stab in his heart at her words, the dismissive nature of her reply.

He needed to calm down before he set this asshole's cart on fire. He bit the inside of his cheek as the trader carried on flirting with her, his hand on her shoulder, suggesting she come inside his shop to have an adult conversation. 

“Come on, this guy's shit isn’t worth it anyway, we got given a list we should stick to it.” He grunted and wrapped his hand around her wrist, gently pulling her from the trader's grasp. She had no idea what had come over Ace, he was normally so chill and full of laughs and smiles when they went shopping together.

She excused them both, saying sorry to the trader as Ace tugged her away by her wrist. Once out of earshot, she yanked her arm away from him, glaring, hands on her hips as she waited for an explanation.

“Why were you jealous Ace? We aren't together.” She started as she tapped her foot on the floor, trying not to let her temper get the best of her, not wanting to start a shouting match in the middle of town with him.

“He was being a sleaze! I know we aren’t together but come on, he was all over you!” Ace huffed, puffing his chest out, thinking he had the high ground here until he felt her poke his chest, instantly letting the air out of him. He saw the anger in her eyes as she opened her mouth. “No Ace, I was in no danger whatsoever and maybe I enjoyed the flirting? I’m single after all and again why are you jealous?” She demanded to know, voice raising as Ace stood there, shoulders sagging. Not enjoying the feeling of being scolded by the woman he was in love with.

“Maybe I want-” He cut himself off, he couldn’t confess, not here, not like this. He would never forgive himself. And she was pissed off with his antics, it would only cloud her judgment and spur on the rejection.

He sighed, shaking his head and picking up his bag, starting to walk. “It’s nothing, I’m sorry,”

—-

The second time he tried to confess, he actually did she just didn’t believe him. 

She was sitting in Marco’s office, looking at the door to the operating room, she couldn’t stop worrying about Ace. Her foot bounced and he knee jiggled as she played with the hem of her shirt, her cheeks hurt from anxiously chewing the insides.

Ace had been hit pretty bad, he’d been cocky and showing off and ended up with seastone bullets lodged into his chest, arm, and thigh. Marco had managed to heal him enough using the phoenix ability but he still needed the bullets out.

The door opened and she looked up, a worried expression painted across her face, tear-stained cheeks as she waited for Marco to appear. “He’s fine, you can come see him, he’s coming around from being under so he’ll be a bit goofy yoi.” Marco explained and she nodded, rushing to the door, pausing and staring at Ace laying there, mumbling to himself.

She wanted to blame herself for Ace getting hurt, she felt that somehow, some part of this was her fault, like Ace was showing off just for her benefit. They’d both been lax, both too comfortable in how strong Ace’s power was to think he could be hurt.

But the sneak attack from behind had been enough to level the commander. She bit her lip, not sure if she should allow herself to see him, blame dragging her under until she felt Marco’s hand on her lower back, ushering her into the room, pulling out a chair for her to sit by Ace.

“Ace,” She said and reached over, taking his hand as Ace with his lop-sided grin faced her, he slurred, sounding drunk as he was slowly coming too. Marco sat on the other side, a chart in his hands and only half paying attention to her and Ace as he scribbled more notes.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, rubbing his knuckles gently he laughed loudly, grabbing her hand, bringing it to his face, and kissing the back, she blushed and stared at him before groaning when he started to kiss her skin, this time sloppy and leaving drool.

“Much better now your here, your like an angel.” He gushed and smiled at her, trying to grab at the hand she’d pulled away.

“You know, I really love you.” He mumbled, looking a little forlorn at his admission. She blinked at him and noticed Marco was no longer writing, her eyes met with Marco’s over his clipboard. “Do you think he means it?” She asked and Marco blinked slowly, “Who knows..” He said with an awkward chuckle, quickly going back to his notes, knowing this wasn’t his call to make.

She sighed and looked from Marco back to Ace who seemed to have fallen asleep, trying to nap off the remaining effects of being under… At least he was okay..,

–

The third time Ace almost confessed she thought she was going to die. 

Ace’s beloved striker, how fast he could move that thing, How it blasted through the waves without a care in the world, cutting through the water like a hot knife through butter. Nothing could stop it nor Ace.

Fire flared around him as he held on to his hat with one hand, letting out a laugh as he felt freedom and the sea breeze fill his chest. The way the striker skipped across the water’s surface like a pebble skimmed across a lake. 

The sun was blazing above them, watching as the fire-fueled vessel burst through another wave, seaspray spittled across Ace but not enough to slow him down or to hinder his powers. She was clinging on for dear life, the wind in her hair as she shrieked and held the mast as tight as she could. 

Ace looked back seeing her clinging onto the pole, the smirk spread across his face as slowed down, just a little before coming to a stop. She could breathe finally, she could feel her heart beating against her chest, and her mouth felt dry from her open-mouthed gawking and shouting. 

“Wasn’t that fun?” He asked, stepping over to her, and placing his hand on hers. peeling her fingers from grasping so hard at the mast, seeing her knuckles white as she took a breath to calm herself.

“I can’t believe you and Deuce made this thing, it’s crazy,” She said letting her legs wobble, she almost fell back into the seat until Ace set his hands on her hips, keeping her in place, his smirk softened to a smile, enjoying how this felt. As he met her gaze, she was stunning.

“Yeah, it’s pretty neat right?” He said with pride, remembering the day the striker was born. “Deuce screamed even more than you did,” he teased gently nudging her before draping an arm across her shoulder, letting her lean on him for stability as she carried on trying to regulate her breathing.

“I don’t doubt that for a second.” She said, brushing messy hair from her face. “I’m really good at making people scream ya know…” He saw her furrowed brows as she elbowed him in jest, cheeks pink as she rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah? Maybe you should show me how else you could make me scream for you Portgas,” She fluttered her eyelashes and saw the blush that spread across his freckled cheeks, laughing when he dipped his hat to cover his face.

“Whatever,” he said and nudged her back, to and fro this went until they both sat down next to one another, a tight squeeze but neither seemed to mind. The striker was gently lulled by waves, birds overheard letting out excited cries.

“So, wasn’t it fun?” He asked again, playing with a loose thread on his shorts, staring ahead at the shimmering blue waves, feeling her shrug a little. “Scary and fun, like dating for the first time.” She said, looking across the same waves as him, feeling the sun on her skin as the boat just bobbed in place.

“Dating huh?” Ace turned to look at her now, examining her face as she met his eye once more, a small smile on her lips as she nodded. “Yeah, you know when your feelings are rushing to your heart and you feel it beating harder and harder when you spend time with the person you love, how fast the first few days and weeks feel. How alive it makes you feel but just how deep your feelings go keeping your feet rooted in place,”

He listened to her and mused it over, it was true, that summed up how he felt about her, but he wasn’t scared of being with her, he was terrified she would reject him, that he’d ruin a friendship along with the hopes and dreams of getting to hold her hand, kiss her, smell her hair first thing in the morning.

To hold her against his chest and listen to gentle breathing as she fell asleep by his side. He knew he was in deep, he knew his feelings were scarier than any storm on the sea, and joy ride on the striker.

He could cope with the fear of falling into the sea by now but he couldn't take just how his heart ached at the thought of losing her. But the bottled-up feelings carried on being shaken up inside, fit to burst and overflow any second.

Ace wanted to explode. “Would you ever… date someone?” he asked, hearing his heartbeat loud in his ears. She tilted her head to one side, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she thought about it, really thought about it. “I don’t know, I don’t think romance is on the cards for me,” she hummed and shrugged.

“Maybe I just need the right person…”

“What about if it was m-” he was cut off by a large wave rocking the striker, making them both yell in surprise. 

Ace looked up into the sky, one of the fabled out-of-nowhere storms that rolled across the world, typical of the grandline. The storm clouds above rumbled, they felt the sound of thunder rattle their chests as the waves picked up again.

“I guess we should go.” She sighed in annoyance at the same time he let out a defeated one. Both standing and Ace made sure she was holding on tight as he fired himself up once more, sending the boat rocketing over the waves, being chased by the storm.

All the way safely to The Moby Dick.

Had it been his imagination or had there been something in that conversation?

—--

The fourth time he tried to confess he was drinking one night, everyone sat around the tables, enjoying the end of another hard day. Bellies full of food, tankards full of beer as everyone laughed and cheered, singing and dancing.

And there she was, coming over to Ace’s table, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her as she sat down, sitting across from him. He grabbed his mug, bringing it to his lips as he downed the biggest gulp. 

“Hey,” He said, hoping he sounded as casual as he’d intended though he’d straightened up and put a smile on his face.

“Can I join you?” she asked and he nodded, she sat across from him with her own drink, he admired how she looked, the backdrop of the sunset giving her a halo of orange light, like she also had his devil fruit and was on fire. He tried not to take too sharp of a breath as he admired her.

“Today was rough, I can’t believe so much went wrong.” She sighed and brought the tankard to her lips, taking a drink and all Ace could do was think lucky mug. He let out a chuckle and shrugged his shoulders. “That’s the way it goes sometimes on a ship, everything can go right one minute then you'rer in the ship's guts knee-deep in salt water.” 

“Has that ever happened to the moby?” “Nah, back on my old ship.” He explained and she mused over his comment, remembering just how Ace came to be on this ship. His journey to the man he was today. “I bet that was a pain in the ass.”

“Deuce still brings it up.” Ace snickered and she giggled thinking of the doctor and how he didn’t seem to let anything go. “That checks, I bet it was your fault… right?” She raised an eyebrow, a smirk growing when Ace mock gasped and pointed to himself.

“Me? How could you imply such a thing!” he tutted, seeing how she stared at him, not believing his reply in the slightest. “Alright, alright, it was me.”

-

Drinks flowed as did the conversation, both taking turns to go and grab two more drinks. Ace’s freckled cheeks were tinged pink, as was hers. They’d moved their little party to somewhere more private. Bottles of beer stolen from the kitchen, some laying empty around them.

“Sometimes I think you and Marco would make a cute couple.” She teased and nudged him, Ace snorted and spat out his drink, coughing as some dribbled from his nose. She laughed loudly, holding her stomach as he gave her a confused look, he grabbed the hem of her shirt and wiped his face off on the fabric as payback which caused her to squeal in amusement.

“Really?” He said, voice croaky, another cough as he watched her face, seeing the smirk. “Maybe so,”

“Come on, don’t say that! I might be trying to woo someone else and wouldn’t want them to think I like birdbrain!” He huffed and stretched his legs out, grabbing another beer and leaning back against the crate they’d set up camp in front of.

“And who would that be?” She asked, leaning closer to him, half-lidded eyes, and long lashes fluttering as she waited for a reply. Ace gripped the bottle in his hand before he chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. “Why do you wanna know? Would you be jealous?” 

She was a little taken aback by his flirty comment, she was glad for the dim light provided by the strings lights above. She could feel her face getting hotter at his reply, her palms sweating. She would be jealous, wouldn’t she? She sat back leaning on the crate and picking up her beer, staring at the stars.

“And what if I was? What would you do about it?” She said, turning to face him, watching him shift and lean forward. Eyes meeting hers. “Well, the last thing I’d wanna do is make you jealous..” He said, not a lie.

His eyes dropped to her lips where she was smiling at him, he wanted to kiss her so badly, the booze making him fearless, the back-and-forth flirting between two friends sending a buzz, an electric charge in the air as their bare arms touched. 

“Oh? Why?” 

His heart was racing, he licked his lips as he found he couldn't look away from her mouth, couldn’t think of anything but his desire to kiss her. She cleared her throat and he forced himself to make eye contact.

“Well, what if yo-” “There you two are!”

Ace groaned when Thatch turned the corner, standing in front of them. “We are about to start a big game of poker! Come on you two, quit making out and join us!” Thatch reached down and ruffled their hair. Ace huffed and slapped his hand away.

“Alright, alright!”

—-

The fifth time he tried to confess was just a simple evening. 

Ace hunched over a table in the dining room late in the afternoon, brows furrowed in concentration as he scribbled notes on the paper, He chewed on the end of the pen as he glared at the paper in front of him. Something all commanders had to do but he still hated this part of the job.

Paperwork.

She’d been looking for him, missing his company, his banter, and jokes, the warmth he would radiate with his smile and his body. She pushed open the door and saw him working hard, she felt herself smiling, gazing at him, fond of the commander that she was increasingly getting closer to, knowing him inside and out.

Seeing more sides of him than he ever let others witness. She walked over and gently placed a hand on his shoulder, he glanced up, and the irritated look vanished the moment he realized who it was. He placed his hand on hers and smiled.

“Hey,” “Hey, was wondering where you were.”

“Yeah?” He asked as she sat down on the other side, looking at the paper he was toiling over. “You have beautiful handwriting Ace..” she said with awe in her voice, pulling the sheet closer to her, and reading over his notes.

“Something I picked up from my childhood, from one of the good people I met.” He shrugged, even with her he was cagey about the past. She never pushed or pried though, never.

“Your writing is better than anyone else in fact.. Marco’s looks like chicken scratch, Thatch has more food stains the ink on his paperwork, and I don’t even want to mention the mess that Jozu makes and Vista.. His is far too fancy to understand.” She said as she looked over the page, Ace leaned on the table, cheek cradled in the palm of his hand as he admired her.

He wasn’t really listening, too focused on watching her lips move, watching the way she brushed hair behind her ear. He snapped out of it when she handed him back the paper. “Oh, thanks, yeah.” He mumbled in reply and tapped the nib of his pen on the paper.

“But yeah, beautiful Ace,” 

“I can think of something more beautful,” He started, watching her stare at him like she was expecting something. He managed to catch himself, realizing in his daze he’d almost let everything slip again. He sat up and nodded. “Yeah, the stars tonight! Pop’s said we should have a harvest moon! Those things are huge!”

She sighed inwardly, she felt he’d been so close to something…

“Wanna go see it together after I finish this up?” He offered, taking the paper and quickly returning his attention to his work, tipping his hat down to hide his face.

“I’d like that.”

–

She felt tears running down her face, and snot from her nose as she rushed after the others, Ace in Jozu’s arms as Marco became a beacon of blue fire, hands on Ace’s chest as everyone rushed aboard the ship.

Ace had been hit pretty bad, he’d have been dead if Marco hadn’t been there at that second. She couldn’t swallow the lump in her throat as she followed them to the infirmary, Marco only allowing her access because her name was all that Ace could manage to say as he came in and out of consciousness.

He looked so pitiful, a dimming flame that flickered in the wind as he was laid out on the bed, Marco never moving from Ace’s side, hands splayed out on his chest, keeping the wound from getting worse, from killing him.

She’d never seen Marco so frazzled, the normally laid-back man was shouting, a frown on his face as he carried on barking orders. Deuce and Tate rushed around the office, grabbing the things he asked for as you sat by Ace’s bedside.

His eyes opened, he didn’t seem all there as he reached a bloody hand out, grasping for hers. She held his hand tight as Marco’s flames got brighter, swallowing the room, and chasing away the shadows as the phoenix worked its magic.

Deuce hooking Ace up to a drip, Tate grabbing all manner of things. She had no idea what was going on, she didn’t dare ask Marco as he growled out “Come on Ace!” 

Everything was a blur, the shouting, yelling, clatter of things, and frustrated mumbles soon died down as Marco’s healing flames dissipated. Marco had never looked so ragged or old, she bit her lip when she saw his knees wobble and he sank to the floor, heavy breathing.

“Is Ac- is Ace okay?” she asked and saw Marco nod. “I have him stable, we have him stable.” He added seeing Deuce and Tate at Ace’s bedside, checking on things.

-

She didn’t leave his side, she hadn’t let go of his hand. Deuce opened the door and peered in, seeing her half slumped on Ace’s bed. “Want something to drink?” he asked, stepping in and checking a few things with Ace. She shook her head and politely declined.

Exhausted and too drained to think of anything. 

Deuce sighed and nodded, hanging up the clipboard before he left, to report to Marco no doubt. She felt Ace’s hand twitch and glanced up. He was staring right back at her, he looked rough but alive. He was going to be fine, thank the gods.

“Hey,” he clutched her hand, doing his best to smile at her. “Hey,” she sat up and offered him a weak smile. 

“We almost lost you there Portgas.” She sighed and watched him struggle to sit, she reached over, helping him sit, adjusting his pillows. “I know… but almost doesn’t count right?” he chuckled and winced, hand going to his bandaged chest.

“Your so cocky,” she sighed but the smile never left. 

“I’m glad I’m alive, I would have hated myself if I never got to tell you how much I love you.” Ace didn’t look away this time, it was out there, it was wild and free, the confession he’d been sitting on for as long as he could remember.

Her eyes opened wide and she bit back a sob, hearing those words… “I love you too Ace, you idiot,” She sat on the edge of the bed, leaning her forehead against his, sobbing softly as Ace closed his eyes, feeling complete at last. 

–

Marco leaned on the door frame, hearing the tearful confession from the pair. He smiled, glad two soulmates weren’t taken from one another before they had a chance to flourish together.

[spicyspiders]

i'll never be ready but i don't care

Ghost x male reader

I originally wanted to write something with a touched starved reader and Ghost, but I just started typing and ran with it. I do want to give a warning for canon typical violence, but I don't think it's anything too intense.

The first time you kill someone, you get sick. By the time you’re finished, it registers that people are yelling your name into your ear. 

“I’m fine,” you say shakily. It doesn’t sound too convincing. 

It goes quiet on the other end, a silence that you are grateful for. 

When you were given the mission, you had been told to prepare for any obstacle that could come about, just like every other mission. It was simple on paper: get in, download all of the information you could find onto the flash drive you were given, and then get out. It didn’t go that way in practice, the blood on your hands symbolized that. 

“What happened out there?” Price asked when you got back. 

All of their eyes were on you as you stood in the briefing room. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but you managed to stand your ground. 

“I downloaded all that I could find,” you responded and placed the flash drive onto the table without breaking eye contact. However, the contact was broken as you continued, “there was a casualty,” you swallowed, the tightness in your throat making it difficult. 

Priced picked up the drive and nodded, “good,” he paused for a moment before continuing, “are you alright?” He questioned. 

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, “no physical injuries.” You tried faking a smile, but it felt like a grimace on your face. 

You didn’t assume that it said in your file if you had killed someone before joining the task force, but after glancing around at the other members that stood on either side of Price, you now had a suspicion. 

Price let out a heavy sigh and looked at the drive in his hand, “give us the room.”

You kept your eyes on the table as the rest of the team exited the room. You glanced up when you could hear one last set of shoes on the floor. Ghost watched you as he walked out, a look in his eye that you couldn’t describe. 

Ghost had been staring at you a lot lately, not in subtle ways either. When you would look over and meet his eye, he would keep the contact until you would look away. It was intense, but everything Ghost did was intense. 

Though it was hard to describe what the look in his eye fully meant, you could tell that it was tinged with worry. 

When the door to the room shut with a soft click, Price spoke again, “are you alright?” He asked. “You’ve never killed anyone,” he stated. 

You let out a dry chuckle, “is that listed in my file?”

He didn’t respond to your question, on stepped around the table to get closer, “you can talk to me, to any of us.”

“I’m fine,” you repeated. This time, when you flashed him a smile, it was easier to fake. 

Price released another heavy sign, this one sounding even more tired if that was ever possible. He scrubbed a hand down his face before speaking, “I can’t force you to open up, but you have resources here if you want to use them. You know where I live,” he joked, trying to break the tension.

You let out a light chuckle and nodded, “yes, of course. Maybe we could have a sleepover and talk about our feelings another night, I’m exhausted.”

This pulled a laugh out of Price, “I haven’t been to a sleepover in years,” he said, sounding mildly excited. “Get some sleep,” he said when he saw you make your way to the door. 

You could only hope.  

-

Not to your surprise, sleep never came. Later, you found yourself tossing and turning in your bed. You had taken a shower after you left the briefing room and scrubbed your skin until it stung, but all you could see when you shut your eyes was the blood that stained your skin. 

Your eyes burned with exhaustion, but you still pulled yourself from your bed and left your room. It was dark and quiet throughout the base as you walked through the stillness. You made your way through the building until you arrived at one of the exits, hoping that some fresh air would help calm your mind. 

Like the interior of the base, the outside was dark and quiet. It was cool outside, making goosebumps settle on your skin in reaction to the temperature as you stepped outside and settled into a chair you could find. 

It’s just a part of the job.

Your mind repeated the mantra over and over as you sat in the chair and stared off into the darkness of the night. You squeezed your hands into either side of the arms of the chair, trying to somehow transfer the blood on your hands onto the chair. 

The chair was left unstained, just like how your hands physically were. Trying to think metaphorically did little to help the reality of the situation, you soon found. 

All of the tension that was in your hands left when you heard the door open behind you. It spread through the rest of your body, but settled heavily into your legs, your body already having a fight or flight reaction. 

You stared off into the darkness as you could hear a chair scrape across the pavement and settle down beside you. When you glanced over, you were met with the site of Ghost. 

Like you, he stared off into the darkness for a while before breaking the silence, “can’t sleep?” He asked. 

Uncontrollably, you let out a laugh that was on the edge of sounding hysterical. You don’t know how many times you’ve heard that laughter was the best medicine, but at this moment, it just felt painful.

“No, lieutenant,” you responded tersely. 

“There’s no need for formalities,” Ghost said. His voice sounded closer, but you didn’t look over to see if he had turned his head. 

You could feel a heat warm your body, starting at your head where his eyes stared into your skin. It was a welcome change. 

“I think I’d like to be alone,” you whispered. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Ghost responded, his voice equally as quiet as yours. “Can I keep you company? We don’t have to talk,” he whispered. 

You nodded stiffly. You bit your lip harshly, holding your bottom lip between your teeth. You were afraid of what would come out if you didn’t. 

Again, Ghost broke the silence that fell over you both, “you’re bleeding,” he assessed. 

Your blood running down your lip was like a dam breaking. Tears spilled from your eyes, and they soon mixed with the blood on your face. It burned when they ran over the tiny cut on your lip, but you didn’t wipe them away. You only gripped onto the arms of the chair as your tears fell and fell and fell. 

In some way, this should be the first step, letting yourself cry. You liked having a good cry once in a while, just to let everything out, but this did little to help. 

You don’t know how long you sat there and cried, it was still dark out, so it couldn’t have been that long. Your face felt hot when you loosened your grip on the sides of the chair and raised your hands to wipe your face. 

When your hands fell, this time, they fell into your lap, “does it get better?” You asked, your voice sounding rough and foreign to even your ears. 

It took a while for Ghost to respond, “that isn’t the word I would use. You learn to live with the weight of it, but it gets lighter and lighter each day.”

Your body felt heavy as you lifted yourself from the chair, “goodnight lieu-” you cut yourself off, “sorry,” you said, trying to correct yourself. 

Your hand was on the knob of the door to get back inside when the other man spoke, “Simon,” when you didn’t respond, he added quickly, “my name is Simon.” 

For the first time in his presence, he sounded unsure, like he had said too much. Honestly, you felt unsure. It had taken him some time to tell you his name, yet he already knew yours. 

“Goodnight, Simon,” you replied. The name felt unnatural on your tongue. He wasn’t the first Simon you knew, but now knowing that the man you knew by one name was actually named Simon was something you would have to get used to. 

-

You mostly kept to yourself on base. That meant you would usually eat alone. In the same room that everyone else ate in, but alone at your table. 

That morning though, Soap sat down across from you. 

Sitting outside in the fresh air with Ghost (Simon. Your brain corrected) made you feel better, but you still struggled to sleep. By the time sleep pulled you under, your eyes shot back open in a short matter of time from your alarm. 

Your eyes felt heavy as you tried to sit there and eat, so when Soap sat down across from you, it startled you. 

“It’s weird isn’t it?” He asked, ignoring how you jumped. 

“I’m sorry?” You asked back, not understanding what he was questioning you about. 

“His name is Simon. Is that not nerdy?” He asked, leaning close like he didn’t want anyone else to hear. 

“How do you know he told me?” You asked. 

Soap shrugged a shoulder, “it’s pretty easy to tell,” he responded. 

“Ah,” you said back, not truly understanding what he meant. When you nodded, a smile lit up his face. 

“You think he looks like a Simon?” He asked, craning his neck to look at where the man stood preparing a plate of food. 

One side of your mouth lifted, “what do you think he looks like?”

When Soap looked back over and saw the slight smile on your face, his eyes softened before turning mischievous. “I’ve got a list,” he said excitedly. In a flash, he was up from the table and running out of the room, barreling right past Gaz and Price. 

Your lips stretched into an actual smile as you watched the display. When you took your eyes away from the doorway, you looked back over at Simon who was staring at you. You watched him walk up and stand at the other side of the table you sat at. 

“Can I sit here?” He asked. His voice sounded like how it did last night when he told you his name. Unsure. 

“Sure.”

It was quiet at the table as he ate. You ate slowly. Though you didn’t really feel up to eating, you knew it would make you feel better. When your plate was clean, you looked back up to Simon, who looked from your plate to your eyes. He looked satisfied.

Soap returned as quickly as he had left, this time holding a sheet of paper in his hands. He plopped down beside Simon and placed the sheet down on the table. 

“What’s that?” Simon asked, brows furrowed. 

“The list I made,” he responded. 

The description was vague, but you could tell that Simon knew exactly what he meant, “I thought I ripped that up,” he said, sounding annoyed. 

“I have copies,” Soap said, sending a glance in his direction. Soap lifted the sheet, but paused and looked up to meet your eye. When he narrowed his eyes, you looked at him in confusion and watched as he pulled a pen out of his pocket and flipped the sheet over. 

“You need a nickname,” Soap said, pointing the pen in your direction. 

You shook your head quickly, “I really don’t.”

“You do though,” Soap said, “can’t be as cool as mine though.”

Simon let out a snicker at Soap’s words, but Soap ignored the sound, only furiously scribbled onto the paper. 

You rested your chin on your hand, trying to see what Soap was writing, but his arm was in the way. 

Every time you would look over at Simon he was chewing, his mask still on his face. You didn’t know if it was because you were tired, or by some unknown force, but you would pull your eyes away when he would lift his fingers to pull his mask down.  

When his mask would leave to reveal the rest of his face, your eyes would look elsewhere, like down to his hands. You almost wanted to laugh at how tiny the fork looked in Simon’s hands, but you held in the noise. 

“Do you want some?” Simon asked, gesturing with the fork to the food on his plate. 

You shook your head, sending him a small smile, “no,” you said softly. 

It had grown quieter, you noticed. When you looked over at Soap, he had a curious look in his eye as he looked between the two of you. He didn’t say anything though, only resumed writing. 

-

Sharing close quarters with the task force meant that you were bound to be touched. Whether on accident or by intention. 

Men like Soap and Gaz you had quickly come to learn were quite affectionate. Even Price was, but not as much as Soap and Gaz. 

It had taken you a while to become comfortable with their hands touching you. Even after spending some time with them on missions and base, you still weren’t fully comfortable, but really, it was anyone’s hands touching you that you weren’t fully comfortable with. 

You were trying, though. 

No one ever said anything about the way you would tense up when they would touch you. At first, when Gaz or Soap would clap you on the shoulder or wrap an arm around it, they would quickly pull it away. 

The more time you spent with all of them, the more comfortable you became, but you couldn’t help the way your body would immediately tense. 

In the sense of physical affection and touches, you and Simon were alike. 

You couldn’t see if he would tense up in the same way you did, but he wouldn’t normally touch any of the others if he didn’t need to. 

Ghost had a certain power, you learned. Not only could he pull your eyes away like he had done while he was eating, but also with his eyes. The way he looked at you felt like touches. His eyes would weigh you down heavily, just as heavily as you guessed his arm would feel around you. 

More than you wanted to admit, you thought about their touches. You wanted, no, yearned to be more comfortable with them giving you their affection, but it was like some invisible force was keeping you from it. 

Specifically, you thought about Simon’s. One of the things you wondered was if arms around you would feel as heavy as his eyes would feel when they were on you. They must be, given how big his arms were.

Something cracked soon after that night. Perhaps it was the list Soap thought of that brought you closer to them. By the time he had nearly filled up the entire page, Gaz and Price had joined you three at the table and had given suggestions of their own. 

The smile they had brought to your face felt less painful than it had the night before. Actually, by the time Soap was done going through all the names, your face had hurt from smiling so much. 

Or perhaps, it was when Simon took off his mask and fully showed you his face. 

When he first took it off, he turned away and squeezed your eyes shut, but his face had already been burned into your mind. 

It was on a night similar to the other one, again after a mission. This one had run much more smoothly, but you did have to deal with the worried gazes of Simon, Soap, Gaz, and Price. 

“Look at me, please,” Simon whispered. 

You let out a breath and opened your eyes. You weren’t sure why your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest, but you turned to look at him. 

A soft smile rested on his lips when you looked over, “hi.”

“Hi,” you breathed out. You probably looked silly, gawking at him with your mouth half open, but you couldn’t help it. 

You felt silly. There you were, not quite completely comfortable being touched by your task force, but at the moment, you wanted to be closer to Simon. To touch him, to have him touch you, and to get an answer to the question of if his arms would feel as heavy around you as you thought they would. 

“Don’t tell Soap,” Simon let out a chuckle, “he’ll never let me live it down.” He pulled his eyes from yours and looked down, the smile still on his face. 

Your mind ran wild trying to figure out what he meant. Live what down? By the time your brain caught up, you managed to muster a response, “I promise.”

This time, when Ghost looked over, you looked back. Unlike that night when you kept your eyes trained forward, you looked into his eyes. His gaze still made you warm like that night, but it somehow burned hotter. 

You sat there, basking in it, even when you broke eye contact and looked forward into the darkness of the night. You didn’t go inside for a while that night, and by the time you did, Simon’s face was the last thing you saw before you fell asleep. 

-

The third mission after your first time killing someone, Simon kisses you.

It was like that first mission, but this time, you were left alone in the room with Simon. This third mission had gone much better than the first, but like with all of them, your body trembled with leftover adrenaline that coursed through your veins. 

Like when you first saw his face, it catches you off guard when he corners you and presses you into the table. 

His arms, you learn, do feel heavy around you. You feel the prey he just caught in his snare as he wraps his arms around you. As you wrap your arms around his shoulders, his tongue sneaks inside your mouth. 

You’re both gasping by the time he pulls back, but he doesn’t let you go, only buries his head down into the crook of your neck. 

You hold each other until your breathing is under control and even then when his arms loosen around you, you can tell that Simon is reluctant to let you go. So instead, he presses his forehead to yours. 

“Hi,” he whispers. 

“Hi,” you say softly. You press a soft kiss to his mouth, much less intense than the first, and Simon responds by tightening his arms around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

[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???

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

[skankinator]

Complications Ch. 1

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x FemReader

Author’s note: This is my first fanfic ever written. I hope you like it!

You grew up near a Navy base in San Diego and always dreamed of flying those jets you saw so often. You joined the military as soon as you turned eighteen. That was ten years and many stations ago. You’ve finally established yourself as a missions specialist after having to repeatedly prove yourself. Each mission you plan and execute takes you to a new destination. This one brought you back home.

The missions you specialize in are air operations. From the beginning of your career you made certain that you were the top in your class for everything, especially aviation. This quickly got you promoted to Top Gun where you spent a few years as an elite aviator. Your job has brought you to complete a mission with Top Gun’s Dagger Squadron.

You had files on each member of the squadron to study before arriving. You briefly looked over them on the flight over, only taking note of any information useful to the mission. You would have to teach them every aspect of your plan and train them to execute it perfectly, so you didn’t pay attention to little details.

You had a pre-furnished apartment ready for the time you would be posted in San Diego. You have little belongings from moving so frequently. You could fit your whole life into a couple of boxes. Traveling so frequently also made it difficult to maintain relationships, except your friendship with Stacie.

You texted your closest friend from high school that still lives in the area telling her that you had arrived. You didn’t expect an answer from her for a while. She works third shift at the 24/7 pharmacy, so she wouldn’t be awake for a few hours.

After arriving at the airport, you gathered your suitcases and took a taxi to the apartment. It wasn’t much. Just a one bedroom apartment with a small kitchen and living area. The furniture was rather plain and there were no decorations aside from a bowl on the coffee table full of potpourri.

You left your luggage unpacked and decided to leave your drab apartment. You got dinner at your favorite food truck, unsurprised that they are still in business. Best. Tacos. Ever. Feeling nostalgic, you decide to go to the bar in which you and your squadron spent most of your time.

The Hard Deck had not changed a bit. When you arrived the place was already swarming with people from the base. You made your way over to the bar where you were greeted by a familiar face.

“Y/N! I haven’t seen you in ages, what brings you back,” Penny said with a bright smile. One that reminded you of home.

“I’ve got a mission for a Top Gun squadron. How bad are they these days?” You question knowing Penny was the best person to ask about the cocky pilots.

“Not as bad as your class,” she said with a knowing look that brought a tinge of red to your cheeks. To be fair, you were once a hot shot pilot looking down on others from the high horse called Top Gun.

You spent many nights causing trouble at the Hard Deck. Penny had kicked your squad out on several occasions that ended with you sleeping in the sand. Some say your squad let a pelican into the bar and ordered it a beer. This cannot be confirmed nor denied by anyone. Alcohol conveniently has a way of messing with your memory.

“We had some good times,” you said to Penny as she handed you a beer and went to take orders from the very crowded bar. You sat and relaxed sipping on your beer while silently people watching. This was one of your favorite past times.

You saw people mingling with their cliques. Some in uniform some not, either way you could tell who was military or civilian. You end up focusing on a pool game happening across the bar. The group of friends/colleagues? were dressed in their khaki uniforms.

After a while, another joined the group. He wore a Hawaiian shirt that hugged his biceps and a pair of sunglasses that hid his eyes. His skin was kissed by the sun and damp with sweat. San Diego was hot this time of year. You opted for a white tank top and denim shorts that left just enough to the imagination.

You couldn’t help but stare at this stranger. You hadn’t noticed he was the center of your attention until he disappeared. You found yourself looking for him around the bar. Somewhere within the loud jumble of noise from the crowded bar came music. This wasn’t music from the jukebox, it was a piano.

You looked over and saw your mystery man sitting there beginning to play his heart out. Everyone around joined in singing and dancing to the song he played. You payed little attention to the music distracted by his strong arms expertly moving to the music. His long fingers delicately touching the keys. His neck muscles straining as he sang.

Oh shit. You’re really turned on by a really hot stranger. You haven’t exactly had your needs fulfilled since you broke up with your ex. Since then you busied yourself with work and left little time for dating. Of course, you don’t have to date a guy to have your needs met.

You didn’t notice the song end, but you had noticed a presence next to you. Your jaw nearly dropped when you saw the sexy stranger standing next to you. He was rather close thanks to the crowd. Penny and the other bar tenders were trying to get to everyone as quickly as they could, but you would rather them take their time. The stranger stood waiting to order another round.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” he said out of the blue. It took a moment for you to realize he was talking to you.

“I-I just flew in today,” you said cursing yourself. Really, that’s all you could muster up. It is hard to think of anything witty to say when you are lost in his smile.

“What brings you to San Diego? I hope it’s not a boyfriend,” he says deepening his voice for the second half. Oh my god is he flirting with me?!

“No boyfriend, just work. I am a… um new teacher. My first day is Monday,” you say putting on a flirtatious look. Technically you are not lying. But are here to teach fighter pilots, not school kids. In the past you have found that men can be run off by your high position in the military.

“Let me buy you a drink to start your school year out right,” we both laugh and look to the still very busy bartenders. We look back to each other. I wish he would take off those silly sunglasses. There is a short lull in the conversation before you pipe up.

“What about you?” You blurt out, just realizing he has been lead in the whole conversation. “What do you do?” His answer is not surprising. His look totally fits the part.

“I’m a pilot,” the way he says it doesn’t sound like a brag at all. He isn’t trying to show boat, instead he states it as fact nothing more.

“Lucky for you I quite like pilots,” your buzz from the three beers have finally taken over. You place your hand on his chest creeping up to his shoulder. He closes what little space is available and places a large hand respectfully low on your thigh.

You can tell he is waiting for you to make the first move. You lean up from your barstool and pull him down into a kiss. His lips are soft contrasting his prickly mustache.

The kiss doesn’t last as long as you would like. When you separate it is like time is frozen. There are no words between the two of you. You are both brought back to earth by a perfectly timed question.

“Can I get you anything?” Penny questions and you snap back to reality a bit flustered.

“I think we would like to close our tabs,” he says after clearing his throat. It’s like he read your mind. Penny looks to you and gives an approving smile and wink before turning to close the tabs.

Once everything is settled, you are making your way through the crowd with a warm hand on your lower back guiding you to the exit.

[bumblebugwrites]

chapter 3: oh, children

Pairing: Victor!Treech x fem!Reader

Summary: With the passage of time comes the day of the Reaping, and your involvement in the Games begins to feel more and more real as you prepare your tributes for their probable deaths.

Warnings: Cursing, Suggestive Themes, Mention of Injuries, Character Death, Weapons.

Word Count: 7.6k

Taglist: @nekee-lilac02, @mr-panda357

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

The morning of the reaping is hot in 10, though any month past March usually is.  You had stayed at home the night before, foregoing sleeping in the bunkhouse for the bed you share with Fawn, and as the first rays of light begin to peak through the blinds, you fight the urge to roll back over. Today is the day.

Pushing the covers off only your side of the bed so as not to disturb the mess of hair and limbs beside you, you allow the soles of your feet to soak up the heat of the floor for a moment before moving to stand. 

There is movement in the kitchen. You can hear it as you approach from down the hall. Though it does not surprise you, your mother is always up early on reaping day, flitting about the house nervously, ironing the same outfits she painstakingly selected the night before. This morning, it is Fawn’s dress, and you watch as she turns it this way and that, passing the iron over each fold and wrinkle with unwavering concentration. When your father was still alive, he would say it was as though she thought her efforts could keep the day away. That if she kept on ironing, the reaping would never come. You knew better. Knew that her shaking hands and furrowed brow were only indicators of love. A love that she pressed into every seam with each careful pass of the iron, like a final plea to the Capitol. Please, you don’t understand; these children are loved by someone. They are loved by me. Why can’t that be enough?

It is Fawn’s first reaping today. The thought has clouded your mind for weeks. And though you reassure yourself that it is nearly impossible that you could both be reaped, there is still a sick feeling pooled in your gut. You attempt to shake it off as you pour yourself a cup of coffee, nabbing a piece of toast from the table. Whether Fawn’s name is pulled or not, you are headed for the Capitol today, and who knows the next time they will remember to feed you. 

As you shuffle over to the table, you note the letter from Teff that had arrived just yesterday, still sitting out from last night. You fold it neatly, placing it back in the envelope before standing to file it away with the others. Two from Trawl, four from Teff, and a single letter from Treech. Your fingers reach out to gently trace his handwriting on the back of the envelope before closing the drawer. You’d already read it enough times to have the damn thing memorized. Besides, you would see him soon enough, back in the Capitol for the Games. The Games. You feel yourself flood with guilt for the indulgence of your line of thinking. Two children will be reaped today. That is what’s important. That is where your attention should be. You shake away all thoughts of Treech, returning to your coffee and toast and observing your mother as she finishes her work on Fawn’s dress.

“It’ll be okay. She won’t be picked,” you assure her over the lip of your mug.

“Like you were okay?” She doesn’t look up as she responds, but there is a cold tinge to her voice, and you feel the sting of her words; the sting of knowing the ghost of your Games still haunts your mother. Before you can respond, there is shuffling from down the hall, and you rise from your seat to grab some of the honey you’d bought from the local bee farm just last week for today’s breakfast. Something sweet to ease the pain. Fawn emerges, her hair stuck out at odd angles with Lennox hot on her heels. At only six, it would be years before your brother’s first reaping, and you help him into your lap, beginning to spread the honey onto a piece of toast just for him. 

“Fawn, when you’re finished eating, go get your brush so I can braid your hair.” Your mother has moved on to pressing Lennox’s shirt as attendance at the reaping is required for all citizens of the Districts no matter their age, and you note your own outfit, hung from a handle on one of the cupboards. A long jean skirt paired with a leather vest and a nice button-up. The vest you recognize from your father’s own wardrobe, though the fit now looked suited to your own shape, and you realize your mother must have made some adjustments so that you might wear it. The skirt surprises you, though you suppose it makes sense. In previous years, your mother had opted for jeans, knowing the chances of your survival in the arena were only increased by the mobility they would provide. But those years were over, and with the Games behind you, there was no chance of your name being drawn. With no tesserae taken out in her name, Fawn would only have one slip in the reaping barrel, and you know your mother is relying on the dress to draw out her youth and innocence should she be selected. There is a strategy to it. To all of it, you think, and though it feels calculated, it is the price of survival.

Fawn scampers off to retrieve her hairbrush after virtually inhaling her toast, and you remove Lennox from your lap, sending him in your mother’s direction to get changed. 

As you comb through the mess of hair before you, you feel the spirit of your mother overtake you, pleating love into each and every fold like a prayer. This child is loved. This child is loved by me. Why can’t that be enough?

A letter had arrived several days ago, notifying you that you were to remain on the stage throughout the reaping. A display of your new role as a mentor. A reminder of your victory. An echo of every child from 10 who had and would succumb to the Games. You approach the steps and spot Calpurnia situated beside an empty seat, the stage teeming with Peacekeepers, and you feel your brow furrow at her presence.

“What are you–” “I’m here to do the reaping,” she says, delivering a curt nod in your direction.

“But the mayor does the reaping,” you respond, thoughts returning to this day just two years ago when his sweaty hand had dipped into the barrel and fished out your name.

“Not anymore. Capitol orders.” As you settle into the seat beside her, you recall an incident from last year in 12, projected onto the screen above the stage. A girl who slipped a snake down the dress of the mayor’s daughter. You nod in understanding before taking the seat beside hers, hands clasped tightly in your lap. You search the crowd for Fawn, stiff in her place among the other twelve-year-old girls. She does not look up, eyes fixed on the ground before her. 

The kids from 12 are reaped first. The girl is older, lean but with muscle you recognize must come from work in the mines. The boy can be no more than thirteen, and you swallow hard at the look of fear plastered across his face, forcing your own gaze downwards. Eight comes next. Then 6 and 11. You note Teff in the corner of the screen as the two tributes from his District are drawn. His features remain tight and unmoving. District 10 goes seventh, as it does every year, and as Calpurnia rises from her place beside you, your jaw locks into place, eyes drilling holes into the sides of the barrels as though looking hard enough might allow you to see the names drawn before they even pass through the opening. As though it might allow you to breathe. Not Fawn. Please, not Fawn.

“Ladies first,” Calpurnia states, and there is little showmanship to the affair as she wastes no time plucking a carefully folded parcel from the barrel to her left. 

“Bee Shepley.” The name rings out across the square, and your relief at not hearing Fawn’s name is short-lived as you watch the section of fourteen-year-old girls begin to shuffle. It is not hard to pick her out, a skinny little thing with a face full of freckles. Her mouth moves as though rigged to do so, opening and closing without any sound coming out. Around her, girls begin to shy away, leaving a cold, empty space with Bee at its center. From within the surrounding crowd, there is a horrible, shuddering cry, followed closely by the babble of what you can only assume to be a toddler. With a push from the girl beside her, Bee advances towards the stage. 

She is crying, you note, as she makes the slow journey to the stairs, but before she can take the first step, she presses two firm hands against her face, wiping the tears from her eyes. By the time she takes her place, the fear on her visage begins to meld with determination, a steely look passing over her features. 

“Now for the boys.” Calpurnia moves to snag a second paper, though there is something different in her tone, which for the first time sounds strained and watery. You realize with a start that this woman has probably never before seen the districts, and now here she is, damning two of 10’s children with their own probable deaths.

“Colt Harrier.” You know Colt. He had been a few years behind you in school and looks to be about seventeen as he moves from his place among the boys. Your fathers had worked out on the ranch together, and for a while, you’d worked side by side in the slaughterhouse after leaving school at around fourteen. He was only twelve then. He is bigger than you remember, no longer so boyish. With dark hair and piercing eyes, he towers over Bee as he takes his place beside her. Still, his face betrays nothing, and had you not recognized his sister among the cluster of fifteen-year-old girls, you might have thought his gaze was simply trained ahead, unfeeling. 

What comes next hits you like a bag of bricks. Four Peacekeepers emerge to collect the tributes, and a look from Calpurnia indicates to you that it is time to depart. No goodbyes. No final moments. They might as well be branded: property of the Capitol from this day forward. You enter the arched doors of City Hall, and they slam heavy and unmoving behind you. It is all so fast. No.

“No.” Calpurnia startles beside you at the sudden outburst, but you pay her irritation no mind. “No. They should get to say goodbye.”

Ahead of you, the Peacekeepers continue to guide your tributes toward the exit that will lead the group of you to the train station. You do not care, planting your feet in refusal.

“That is not in the instructions–” Calpurnia begins, but you stop her soon after.

“Instructions? They might never see their families again. They should be allowed to say goodbye.”

“It’s just never been that way,” she chides, moving her arms as though trying to usher you forward. Down the hall, the Peacekeepers begin to slow, having noted your absence.

“Well, this year is different. It’s already different. There are mentors and escorts, and they should be allowed time with their families. Ten minutes, that’s all I’m asking. Calpurnia, you’re the only one who can–” 

“We are going to be late.” And her tone is sharp, but her eyes dart towards the ground, and you can feel her caving to your request.

“Well, they’re not gonna leave without us.”

“I– Will you stop this nonsense if I ask?” You nod solemnly, and she sighs, leaving you momentarily to speak to one of the four men. There is a back and forth, and he seems displeased, but eventually, he begins to guide Colt in a different direction, another Peacekeeper following suit with Bee, while the remaining two make towards the stage you have only just left.

“Five minutes,” Calpurnia hisses as she returns to your side, “It’s all they would agree to.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, alarmed by the heavy sincerity of your own words, and you see it, in that moment, something soften deep within her eyes. She nods before spinning around to face the other direction, her heels punctuating each step with a sharp click.

“Well, come on then. We’ll meet them on the train.”

It is twenty minutes later when the doors to the train open, and Colt and Bee stumble inside. Lighter than her District partner, Bee takes the impact of the Peacekeeper’s shove worse than Colt, skidding onto her hands and knees before looking up to eye the table where you sit beside Calpurnia. You are on your feet in an instant, moving to help her up, but Colt bars your way with a glare, dipping to lend her a hand. Your heart sinks deeper into your chest. 

“Right, if you could both take a seat, we have lots to go over,” Calpurnia states, sorting through the array of files spread across the table before her, and Bee takes a hesitant step forward. Colt does not move.

“What is she doing here?” He is looking at you.

“I am your mentor for the Games,” you explain, resisting the urge to shrink beneath the look he gives you.

“So you work for the Capitol then?”

“I suppose technically I do,” you answer, and even Bee’s eyes trace over you, guarded by a layer of skepticism. “But I’m here to help you. We both are.”

“Okay, we really don’t have time for this. We have a schedule to go over, people,” Calpurnia huffs, making an ushering movement with her hand to urge both tributes to take a seat. Bee slides into the seat beside yours, and after several seconds of silence, Colt follows her lead.

“Alright, so, upon arrival in the Capitol, we will meet with the team of stylists for District 10 who will get you fitted for tonight’s tribute parade as a part of the Opening Ceremonies–”

“Parade?” Colt’s brow furrows, and a mixture of confusion and anger begin to darken his face.

“The parade will take us to the newly built Training Center, where you will be staying until the Games commence. Tomorrow, after being allowed a day to determine your own strengths, you will be assessed on your skills, and we will close out the night with individual interviews. Are there any questions?” Calpurnia finishes, looking up.

“One day that’s not enough ti–” Colt begins.

“What do you mean interviews?” Bee asks quietly from beside him.

“Why are we doing all this shit anyways? If they want us dead so badly, just put us in the fucking arena; why waste the energy?” Colt demands, his steely gaze fixed on you.

“Because this year is different. The Games are changing. Now, why is none of my business, and frankly, I don’t know if I could answer that question myself.” A small lie never hurt anyone. “But what we do know is how. All this ceremonial bullshit–” Calpurnia shoots you a look of warning, and you clear your throat.

“--Stuff is so that the Capitol can get to know you. Starting last year, a system was put into place, one that allowed Capitol citizens to sponsor their favorite tributes so that their mentors could send them gifts in the arena: food and water. Things you need for survival. We know that the arena is different this year, which means that these gifts could be more important than ever in helping you survive.”

“So putting us in the Hunger Games wasn’t entertainment enough for them? Now, we’re supposed to make them like us before they send us off to die? Fuck that, I’m not doing it.”

“This is not a matter of choice. You will participate,” Calpurnia cuts in.

“Or what? You gonna kill me again?”

“Not you. But your sister, maybe. Your mother. The Capitol does not take kindly to refusal. Trust me,” you speak, your voice harsh like it’s never been before, and your thoughts travel to Hector. Hector who is dead for his defiance. Colt crosses his arms, sinking back into his seat and you feel yourself nearly jolt in surprise at the sound of Bee’s voice.

“What do we have to do?”

Arrival in the Capitol is certainly not a calm affair. The moment the train stops, the four of you find yourselves being ushered into a car that takes you to a building just off the City Circle. While Calpurnia wrangles Colt and Bee, guiding the two down the hall straight ahead, several Peacekeepers meet you at the entrance, taking you in a different direction, presumably to meet up with the other mentors. 

To meet up with Treech. No. You shake the thought from your head, urging your brain to remain focused. You don’t have time to think about him. Not now, not ever. 

It is not long before the two men leading the way stop outside an ornate wooden door, one stepping forward to tap a key card to the pad on the wall before opening the door.

You seem to be the last to arrive, likely on account of your request that Colt and Bee be given a moment to speak with their families, and your eyes flit across the room, decorated with a large couch, a television, and an open bar. Trawl is the first to spot you, a boisterous greeting bursting forth from his lips as he rises from his spot at the bar to wrap you in an embrace, Teff only a few feet behind. The handshake he extends to you bears a more solemn tone, but his eyes dance with the familiar light of the friendship you have come to know from his letters.

“How are you?” He leans in to whisper, concern evident in his tone.

“I’ve been better.” You shrug, attempting to plaster an easy smile across your face, and he nods in return, traces of sympathy in his eyes. Turning, you cast a wave over your shoulder at the victors from 1 and 2 who populate the couch, and from his place beside Antonia, Octavian gives you a nod. You spin back around, expecting to encounter Teff once more, only to find he has been replaced.

“No hat today?” Treech.

“No, hello? It’s nice to see you?” You joke, and your eyes rake up and down his figure, taking him in for the first time in months. He looks nice, still in the outfit you assume he wore to the reaping. It is similar, you note, to the one he wore in his Games, and you decide it must be considered the fashion back in 7. “Besides, I see you’ve got one on for me.”

He reaches up to grasp at the brim, tipping it in your direction, and you feel your features split open into a smile, nearly forgetting the reason you are here. Nearly. Your grin fades at the recollection, and you suddenly remember another thing.

“You never answered my last letter.” It isn’t a question. Not really. There is no explanation demanded of him, but you fail to disguise the disappointment in your words, and his face seems to fall as well.

“I–” he begins, but then seems to think better of what he was going to say, instead clearing his throat before continuing. “I must have forgotten.”

“Hm.” You nod before skirting around him to rejoin Trawl and Teff at the bar.

“Trouble in paradise?” Trawl teases, raising his drink to his lips to take a sip while his eyebrows lift suggestively, head tilted in Treech’s direction. The boy from 7 stays standing where you left him for a moment, gaze still trained on you before opting to take a seat beside Beau on the couch.

“Are you fucking serious?” Trawl’s mouth opens once more as though he intends to quip back but quickly shuts upon further consideration. After several moments of silence, he speaks again, caution evident in his tone.

“Yes?” You only glare in his direction, further discouraged by the soft snort from Teff. 

“Okay, I just don’t understand why you both seem so resistant to the fact that you clearly wanna fuck each other,” Trawl shrugs, and you feel your mouth fall open in shock.

“Are you ill?” You demand, reaching out to press the back of your hand to his forehead. He only swats it away.

“Am I saying something untrue?” He asks, looking to Teff for help.

“Ill-timed, insensitive, inflammatory, could probably get us all killed for encouraging collusion or friendly mingling among the Districts, you know, given that the Capitol wants us to hate each other–” Teff begins, marking each new point by lifting a finger.

“Thank you, Teff,” you cut in, breathing a sigh of relief, and beside you, Trawl’s smirk begins to form a pout.

“I wasn’t finished. All those things are true, of course, but he’s still not wrong–” Your look of thanks turns to a glare, and from beside you, Trawl lets out an excited yelp, causing the people on the couch to look in your direction. 

“Yes!” You are sure to reward him with a swift elbow to the stomach before turning to mouth an apology at a rather annoyed-looking Lux.

“And if we can see it, I promise you they can too,” Teff continues, pointing to the emblem of the Capitol decorating the mirror behind the bar shelves. Trawl’s look of victory quickly disappears.

“No! That’s not– You’re supposed to be backing me up here–” he whines, but you only sigh, allowing yourself a glance in Treech’s direction. When your eyes reach his face, you find him looking right back.

“He’s right, Trawl. It’s too dangerous. Even if it is true.”

The Opening Ceremony goes about as well as you could have hoped. Both Colt and Bee appear to be dressed as cowboys of some sort, and you make a mental note to thank Tigris for what you assume to be her intervention, guaranteeing your tributes are not costumed as unidentifiable roadkill. Bee even manages a small smile, coached by Calpurnia, no doubt. Still, you feel yourself fill with gratitude at the sight, knowing it might just be enough to charm at least a single sponsor. 

Each set of tributes stands on a chariot, and as the procession makes a particularly wide turn, you note the chains keeping their ankles bound to the mode of transport. Your shoulders sink at the sight of them. 

The parade continues throughout the city, each block lined with Capitol citizens, and it soon becomes clear that it has no intention of returning to City Circle, where you remain with the other mentors. Instead, it pulls to a stop before a grand hotel you quickly recognize from your last stay in the ‘Gem of Panem.’ It is not long after that a group of Peacekeepers enters the room, escorting the lot of you to an awaiting vehicle, likely headed in the same direction. 

You expect to stay with your tributes, so a jolt of surprise runs down your spine as you are all led to the same suite as last time, with the assurance that you will be given the privilege of visiting them in the morning. The place remains virtually untouched, aside from a single wooden box set plainly at the center of the coffee table beside the couch. Trawl is the first to approach it. As he lifts the lid, you catch sight of ten slim cases, and he dips his hand inside, pulling out the first one. 

As he cracks the case open, you spy an almost iridescent disk with a hole directly through its center.

“What is it?” You ask, noting that most of the other victors seem to bear the same look of confusion.

“It’s a DVD,” Lux supplies suddenly, a look of excitement on her face. “We used to have them back in 1 when I was a kid, before– Well, you know. They play things on the television.” 

She moves quickly to stand beside Trawl, taking the case from his hands before turning to observe the television at the front of the room. After a couple of minutes of fumbling with the remote and a slim black box below the display, the screen springs to life. And suddenly, your heart feels as though it is free-falling through your chest. 

The footage is distant, clearly that of an old security camera blurred with age, but you recognize it immediately. The arena. The slow pan across twenty-one individual tributes. It is a feed of the very first Hunger Games.

Your eyes flit to the remaining nine cases in the box and you feel as around you, the other victors seem to come to the same conclusion. Octavian remains frozen, eyes glued to the television. He looks as though he might be sick. 

“Turn it off,” Antonia urges from her place beside him, and Lux returns once more to fumbling with the remote. On the screen, the countdown begins. “Turn it off!”

The screen goes black, but your mind is racing. Who else has access to these DVDs? Who else has seen them? You had known during your Games that the Capitol insisted on streaming them to the Districts. To send a message. But here they were again, immortalized on a flimsy piece of plastic, readily available for consumption, seemingly for no reason at all.

“Why–” Beau begins, voicing the same question lurking just behind your lips.

“To study,” Treech answers, taking a hard swallow before beginning again. “To help us strategize and find weaknesses to extort.” He looks tired as you study his features, shoulders slumped and head bent towards the floor. Your own mind swirls with memories, consuming you in horrible waves of terror. Beside you, Teff is shaking, with rage or fear you can not tell.

“They can count down in that arena all they like, but these disks mean the Games have already begun.”

Your room feels empty without Treech’s mattress populating a part of the floor, but you do not invite him to stay. Nor does he ask, trekking down the hall, following the discovery of the box before slamming his door behind him. You sigh, readying yourself for bed before descending into a restless sleep.

To say you do not often have nightmares would be an outright lie, but tonight’s is worse than any you have experienced in a long time. You are back in the arena, the count ticking down from ten, but the boy from 5 is no longer beside you, as he had been in your own Games. Instead, Trawl looks back, eyes pooling with a fierce hatred. Your head swivels, taking in the other tributes, and you note that no more than ten people surround the cornucopia. To your other side, Beau bears his teeth, an animalistic hiss emitting from deep within his chest. Your eyes scan the arena with desperation, and without really knowing why, you are looking for him. Searching for Treech.

He is several places away, eyes narrowed in concentration, and you spy the axe on which his gaze is fixed, determination weighing down his every feature. The countdown hits three, and without meaning to, you stoop to run. Only then it is at one, and you are stuck, frozen in place, watching, stiff with fear as the Games begin. Antonia is the first to go, eyes glinting with betrayal as Octavian spears her through the chest. Then Teff, struck by Trawl’s trident. Your eyes move to Treech, and he is already looking at you, taking slow steps in your direction, axe at the ready. He is three feet away now. Two. One. Your noses are so close that it feels almost like intimacy, but his gaze is hard and resentful. He lifts his axe to kill you, and you find the movement to sink back, away from its blade. An arrow pierces his chest, sudden and sharp. He looks almost surprised. He looks like a boy. He looks like he hates you, and you are not sure which is worse: that he is dying or that he wants you dead.

He begins to sink to his knees, but his hand darts out to grasp your arm, pulling you forward into the blade of his axe. And you are screaming. Choking on your own blood but unable to stop yourself from falling further forward into the pain. Into him. 

There is a hand on your arm, and someone is shaking you awake. Your eyes peel open, and you fly into an open embrace. It smells like cedar. He smells like cedar, whispering words you know are meant to soothe, but the panic rises like bile in your throat at the sight of the boy who, only moments before, had looked at you as though you were nothing. Scum. You pull back, hands stretched out before you in defense, nearly tumbling off the other side of the bed. Treech reaches out to steady you but thinks better of it as you cower further into the duvet.

“I won’t touch you. I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, but you have to breathe.”

He is right; the choked gasps for air are doing you no good, so you steady your eyes on him as he takes a deep breath, hand rising and falling with the action as though he is instructing you. You do the same, and as your gaze bores into his, you note no hatred within the look he gives you. Only concern and care. The emotions split his face open in a way you have only seen once before: that first night with his smile. You inch closer.

“You were screaming,” he says, huffing the words out like a breath. “I thought something was wrong– I thought–” 

“I’m okay. I’m okay now,” you reassure, noting the familiarity of your situation. “You can go now if you want to.” 

And you look away, not wanting to watch him leave.

“Do you want me to?” Your eyes dart up, meeting his gaze, vulnerability plastered plain and simple across your visage. You pause, considering his question. Considering the fear you had felt only moments ago as the same curly hair and soft eyes had attempted to end your life. Only that was not him. No. This boy is looking at you as though you are something to be protected, something worth saving.

“No.”

“I can sleep on the floor if you want, if–” he assures you.

“No.” You shake your head, moving over to allow him room, and he slides into the bed beside you.

“Could you–” you begin to ask almost absently, the way you would of Fawn.

“Of course.” And he reaches a gentle hand out to trace simple patterns into the fabric of your shirt, just as you had done for him. After a while, you turn to face him. Treech’s gaze searches your face intently. 

“You never answered my letter. You wrote me first, and then you just–”

“Don’t do this,” he asks, but it’s more like begging.

“I wanna know why. Tell me why,” you reply evenly, and a piece of hair falls into your face with a slight movement of your head. Treech reaches out automatically, brushing it behind your ear.

“You know why.”

“No, I–” “I heard your conversation with Teff and Trawl. You know why.” And the embarrassment of his admission has your cheeks feeling hot. Until you make a second connection.

“You also–”

“Stop.” You do. But you do not turn away, instead pressing in. Closer. He pauses for a moment before wrapping you in his arms, his voice merely a whisper against your forehead.

“Just for tonight.”

You are up early the next morning, though this time Treech is already awake, features hardened in comparison with last night, but his arms still locked around you in a tight embrace.

“I have to–”

“Go,” he answers, unraveling himself from you, and you stand, ushering him out the door so you can prepare to meet with your tributes for the first time since yesterday.

A Peacekeeper lets you into their suite after you make the journey down to the tenth floor, and when you enter, you see Calpurnia, already present, a spread of papers before her. There is food in the kitchen spread across the counter and a fresh pot of coffee, which you gladly indulge in before joining her on the couch. It is then that you see it. The small wooden box beside the television. You note with relief that it appears untouched and sip your coffee while waiting for the clock to strike 7:00 am, at which point you rise to knock on each of your two tributes’ doors. They exit not long after, picking at the food on the counter before settling onto the couch to hear you speak.

“Today, you will be taken to a training center to hone any skills you might have before being assessed tonight. Now, you may think the most important part of today is preparing yourself for combat, but I want you both to look at it as an opportunity to make allies.” Colt huffs from his place on the couch, and you attempt to level with him.

“Allies will be important–” you begin once more, but he cuts you off.

“We don’t need allies.” There is a finality to his tone, and you sense that this battle will not be an easy one.

“Well, then, you’re being arrogant,” you respond. The truth is harsh, but it is the truth. “Now you’ve got each other, and that’s a good start, but if you manage to align yourselves with another District–”

“Why should we listen to anything you have to say?” He cuts you off again, and this time, the disrespect in his voice is blatant. You look to Calpurnia, but her brow is furrowed in equal confusion at the sentiment.

“I– I’ve done this before. And survived, which is more than most people can say,” you tell him, doing your best to keep your voice from shaking.

“Yeah, barely. And if we’re being honest, it was probably just luck.”

“What?” You really aren’t sure what else to say. Where is this coming from?

“We watched your Games last night. Parts of it,” Bee speaks up for the first time from her place beside Colt.

Ah.

“My Game–”

“We need to get ready. For the Training Center, but we’ll see you there,” Colt states, standing from his place on the couch before stalking off to his room. Bee only gives you an empathetic nod but follows all the same. You remain stood in place until Calpurnia’s voice manages to pull you from your thoughts.

“Well, that could have gone better.”

“It’s official. My tributes hate me,” you mutter to Teff, who stands to your left. You are arranged in order of District, stood against the back wall of the Training Center as Coriolanus Snow delivers several opening remarks to the twenty-four tributes. Something about using the equipment and their time to the fullest. You do not listen. Instead, your thoughts swirl with concern. If you can not make your tributes trust you now, they never will. And in the Games, trust is everything. Colt’s face haunts your every breath. The frustration in his eyes. The words he so clearly longs to say. You’re pathetic. You’re not cut out for this. You will never be good enough to bring me home.

You are too distracted to hear Teff’s response. Too distracted to notice Treech’s eyes on you. And definitely too distracted to hear Snow the first time he speaks in your direction.

“So, any volunteers?”

“What’s happening?” You whisper to Treech, who fixes his gaze ahead. 

“Demonstration. He wants two of us to spar, to give the tributes an idea of how they should be training.” You swallow hard, mentally kicking yourself for not being more suspicious when Calpurnia provided you with training clothes as well this morning. Still, you say nothing.

“No one? Alright then, let’s just have our two most recent victors.” He smiles in your direction, and his blue eyes light up with a warning. The two most recent victors means you. You and–

Treech steps forward, making his way towards the wall of weapons without much hesitation, and his face, which only moments ago held concern for you, has morphed into something different. Something you recognize from the glimpses you had seen of his Games. It is as though he is playing a character. You follow his lead. 

You are not surprised at his decision to take the axe and you take your time in considering the possibilities offered by the wall. Your eye catches on a small knife hung beside a bundle of rope, and you take the rope first, unraveling it before tying a single quick knot and snagging the knife on your way toward the mat. 

Treech stands on the opposite end, his eyes glinting with something unreadable.

“You will go until one of you taps out,” Snow calls from off to the side, and you adjust your shoulders, loosening your frame. Across the makeshift ring, Treech speaks.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.” 

It’s a bit like a slap in the face, and though there is a lightness to his voice, a teasing edge, you sense that there’s some truth in it. You’re pathetic. You’re not cut out for this. You will never be good enough to bring me home. You can feel Colt’s gaze hot on the back of your neck. You need this win. 

Treech blinks back at you, unmoving, before taking a step forward. He is confident. Too confident.

You toss the lasso in a loose arc across the ring. It lands just before Treech’s feet and he gives a quiet huff of laughter, eyes glinting at the prospect of an easy win.

“You missed,” he says, his face splitting open into a sly sort of smirk. One, you could imagine him donning in the arena before cleaving his axe clean through your skull. You only shrug, posture loose and unbothered. He steps forward as though baiting you, placing his foot inside the open loop of your lasso.

“Come on, you can do better than that,” he teases once more. And this time, you can’t fight it, the laughter that bubbles from your lips at his ego, the way it blinds him entirely. Then, you pull. Hard. 

The panic in his eyes is evident as he hits the ground with a thud, and you give another good yank, dragging his body closer within reach before lunging forward to pin him with your knee and bringing your knife to his throat. You pause for a moment, allowing yourself to soak in his surprise, before leaning forward to press your lips to his ear, speaking in a whisper meant for no one else. 

“Just because I didn’t go out of my way to kill anyone in my Games doesn’t mean I wasn’t capable. Remember that next time you’re thinking of going easy on me.” Treech gives the mat a series of three taps, and you pull back, releasing your grip on him before moving to stand.

His brow is furrowed as you lend him a hand, and you sense that you’ve revealed too much with your words, the insecurity you’d been battling to keep hidden gushing out in a moment of weakness. He says nothing. Only shakes your hand with a nod before moving off the mat. 

You turn to face the tributes, but your eye goes directly to Colt, his eyebrow still raised in a look of surprise. Beside him, Bee allows the beginnings of a smirk to grace her features. You will win them over, you think. You don’t have a choice.

Assessments go off without a hitch, and though Bee scores relatively low with a six, Colt manages to pull a nine, leaving you feeling a bit better about their initial odds. Several tributes stand out, including those from 1 and 2 and a boy from 8. There is also Trawl’s girl, Mags, who receives a ten, and you make a note to keep an eye out for her. With interviews on the horizon, you find yourself tucked away in the corner of Bee’s dressing room, doling out several last-minute pieces of advice, confident Calpurnia will have a much easier time convincing Colt to listen to her than you might. With Tigris and her team gone, it is just the two of you, and in her absence, you advance to fret a bit over Bee’s hair, tucking several pieces behind her ears and adding pins here and there.

Your thoughts travel briefly to Fawn, but you shake the connection, aware of the fact that it will only serve to weigh you down.

“And just remember to smile, and–”

“He doesn’t hate you, you know. He’s just worried, I think,” Bee says suddenly, eyes searching yours through your reflection in the mirror.

“But he doesn’t hate you. Calpurnia told us what you did, letting us see our families. He’s grateful; I know he is. And he remembers you. From when you were young together, he says. I know he’s mean sometimes, but promise me you’ll still help him?”

“Bee, I–”

“We both know he has a better chance and when I’m gone, you can’t just leave him to die. Please, promise me.” She is so young, you think. Sitting here, begging you to save Colt’s life. You crouch before her, grasping both of her hands in yours. 

“I know Colt is not evil. He’s just a kid. And I am going to do everything in my power to protect you. Both of you. I promise,” you nod at her, and she gives you a nod in turn. 

“Will you braid my hair? Before the Games tomorrow? I don’t want it to get in my face, and I never learned how.”

“Of course,” you say, but you look away, no longer able to conceal the tears in your eyes and wishing more than anything you could change the world. If only so that this little girl might go home.

It is nearly midnight when you arrive back at the hotel, and you decide to stay with your tributes for the night, sneaking up to your room for a blanket and pillow before returning downstairs. At 2:00 am, you have yet to go to sleep, working on some final paperwork assigned by the Capitol, when down the hall, you hear a creek. From the shadows, Colt emerges.

“Late night?” He asks, and for once, there is no malice in his tone.

“Just finishing a few things. You?” You reply, looking up to take him in. 

“Can’t sleep.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“No,” he huffs, and the guard is back up, but you will not allow this opportunity pass you by.

“Look, I get it. You don’t trust me. You think I’m a traitor. A sellout. That I have nothing to teach you. So, let’s start over,” you offer, and he gives you a long look, expression hard, before taking a seat on the other end of the couch.

“I am here as a job, yes. But not one I chose to do. It isn’t exactly a coincidence that the only victors who aren’t here are dead. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not gonna do my best to get you through those Games.” Colt looks down at this, and you sense his guilt before you see it written across his face. Still, you continue.

“I didn’t win by slaughtering my opponents because I knew I couldn’t do it. Physically, I was capable. I knew all the right tendons to cut, all the places that hurt the most. You don’t learn nothing working in a slaughterhouse. But I knew, when it came down to it, that I couldn’t do that to another person for the sake of my own survival. So I outlived. I hid, and I survived. After 12 and 11 were gone, I knew that most of the other tributes had probably never gone for as long without food or water as I had before, so I waited. And eventually, the kids from 1 and 2, they hunted the rest of the tributes down. They were so hungry and dehydrated, I don’t think they could’ve remembered me if they’d tried. And then they started killing each other until there was only him. The boy from 2. Orion. The girl from 1 got him pretty good. And he was just laying there heaving and dying. Suffering. So I came out, and I could see it in his eyes. He thought he’d won. That it was over. I remember he just closed his eyes and nodded. He didn’t have to ask; I knew what he– Anyways, there is more than one way to win the Games. And if you will let me, I’d like to help you try.” 

By the end of the story, you are shaking, fighting hard to keep from crying. Colt’s expression reveals nothing, and you begin to sink in on yourself, certain that it's over. That you’ve lost him forever. 

And then he nods.

“I believe you. I believe in you,” he says, standing from his place across the couch. You breathe a sigh of relief, the weight on your chest lighter than it has been in days, only to return the moment he reaches the hallway, spinning back around to face you one final time.

“Don’t make me regret it.”

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 26/34 - madeline

[Read on AO3]

Feeding the baby is slow going, but Mulder thinks they ought to cut her a little slack. It is her first day, after all. Eventually, she takes a longer pause and yawns, her tiny mouth opening wide and showing off her gums.

“That’s a big yawn for such a small person,” Mulder says, watching as Scully sets the bottle aside, lifting Madeline to her shoulder to pat her on the back. It isn’t long before she successfully expels a burp, drawing a chuckle out of Mulder. She’s so good with her already. He can’t wait to see his partner grow and change as a mother. Which reminds him: Mother’s Day is coming up. He’ll have to do something to celebrate.

“It really happened,” Scully says, marveling once more at their situation.

“It did,” he says, then thinks. “Should we tell your mom now?”

She laughs, nodding her head in agreement. Yeah, it’s probably safe to share the news now, isn’t it? “She’s gonna be beside herself.”

“She’s not gonna speak to us for months, for keeping this from her,” Mulder says, the joke an attempt to alleviate the tinge of genuine worry he has.

“I don’t know, I think we’ve got a pretty good Get-out-of-Jail-Free card here,” Scully says, looking down at the baby and bouncing her gently. “She won’t be able to stay away from her first granddaughter.”

Just then, Mulder gets a whiff of something not so pleasant, and he chuckles nervously. “Phew, are you sure? Cause this little stinker certainly knows how to clear a room.”

Scully gives him a thinly-veiled look of amusement, but he can tell she’s put off by the smell too, even with her strong forensic pathologist’s stomach. This will take some getting used to.

“Well, I got to be the one to give her her first bottle,” she says. “You want to do the first diaper change?”

“Somehow, I don’t feel like that’s a fair trade,” Mulder says, laughing. Even so, he doesn’t hesitate to lift the baby from Scully’s arms and carry her over to the changing table, which is outfitted with all the supplies they could possibly need. 

Scully stands by on the opposite side of the table for moral support, watching him with a funny smile on her face. It takes a second for him to find his rhythm—a real live baby with flailing legs is a bit different than an inanimate baby doll, after all—but he vows that in no time, he’ll be a pro. 

“There we go,” he says, tossing the dirty diaper into the trash can from a distance. “A 3-pointer! And the crowd goes wild!”

Scully rolls her eyes, lifting the baby back into her arms and burying her nose in Madeline’s hair.

“How’d I do?” Mulder asks.

Scully smiles up at him from beneath her thick lashes. “Fresh as a daisy,” she says. “I should probably try to get her to sleep. Are you going to call your mom?”

“Yeah,” Mulder says, rubbing the back of his head. “Yeah, I’ll call her later tonight. She usually plays bridge with some friends Tuesday afternoons. At least, I think she still does.” In truth, he hadn’t talked to her much since her release from the hospital, a fact that he really needs to remedy.

Scully nods.

“Well, could you get my mom on the phone and let her know to come? I’m going to get Maddie cleaned up a little before we have visitors.”

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea, Scully,” he says. “When I call her from the hospital, it’s usually not good news.”

Scully gives him an encouraging look before laying the baby in her bassinet for a quick sponge bath. “Well, this is the perfect chance to change that up, don’t you think?”

She’s right, of course. He owes Margaret Scully an awful lot. Let this be the first step toward earning the kindness she has so freely bestowed so many times over the years.

He fishes his cell phone out of his pocket, pressing the buttons for speed dial 4. It only rings twice before it connects.

“Hello?” her voice projects.

“Hey, Mrs. Scully.”

“Fox? Is there something wrong?”

He sighs. He can almost see the pinched Scully look of concern on the elder woman’s face. That’s what he gets for constantly being the bearer of bad news, he supposes. He glances at his partner and then back at the boring pastel colored painting of a flower on the wall.

“Nothing’s wrong, Mrs. Scully,” he assures her. “Actually, it’s kind of the opposite.”

“I don’t understand—”

“How quickly can you get to the hospital in Annapolis?” he asks. “Bearing in mind that no one’s hurt, there’s been no disaster. For once, it’s good news.”

“The hospital?” she questions, still sounding worried despite his reassurances. “I can leave now, so maybe 45 minutes? You’re sure everything’s alright?”

“Promise,” he says. “Dana would have called you herself, but she’s… busy.”

“If you say so,” Maggie says doubtfully.

Gee, he wonders where Scully got her skepticism from. 

“Room 509 when you get here,” he says into the phone, checking his watch for the time. “See you soon?”

He can hear the rustle of a jacket and car keys on the other end of the line. “Yes– yes, I’m on my way. I’ll be there soon.” 

-.-.-

“No, you must have misunderstood me,” Maggie says to the nurse leading the way through the hospital corridors, “I’m looking for Dana Scully in room 509. This is the maternity ward.”

“Yes, ma’am. Room 509.”

“But that can’t be right,” she says, her brows furrowing in confusion.

Maybe Dana is working a case that involves a pregnant woman that required her medical expertise. But why would Fox call her asking her to come?

“You can go on in,” the nurse says as they arrive outside the room.

Thoroughly confused and not knowing what to expect, she pushes open the door. On the far end of the room, Dana sits on a couch, her arm resting against a cart of some kind, while Fox stands, his back to the door, hunched over the same cart. He turns and a smile spreads across his face, and Dana quickly gets to her feet, looking equal parts excited and nervous.

“Mom!” she says.

“Dana? What’s going on?”

She’s not dressed in her doctor garb. She is, however, wearing her usual FBI clothing, though it looks a little rumpled. Her daughter is usually so prim and polished—to gain the respect of her male peers, she supposes—it’s unusual to see her looking anything less than professional on a work day.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” she says, walking quickly toward her with only a cursory glance back at Fox. “There was always a chance it wouldn’t work out, but…”

She runs out of words to say, opting instead to grab her mother’s arm and start tugging her to the other side of the room. The beaming smiles on their faces are unlike any Maggie had seen in quite some time.

As they get closer, Maggie sees that the cart she saw earlier is in fact a hospital bassinet, and inside lays a baby, wide awake and blinking as she holds tight to Fox’s finger.

“What– how–?” she begins, stuttering, her hand coming up to clutch her metaphorical pearls. “Dana, is that–?”

“Mom, I’d like you to meet your granddaughter,” Dana says, her voice shaking with emotion. Maggie looks up at her, then back at the baby. Tears pool in Dana’s eyes, and she supports her mother as they step up to the bassinet so she can get a good look.

“Oh, she’s beautiful, Dana!” she says, feeling her own eyes begin to water. “But, how? I was with you just a few weeks ago. And, is Fox–?”

“Mulder and I– Well, it’s a long story,” she starts. “Last year, I decided to try in vitro fertilization, and Mulder agreed to… help.” 

Maggie looks up at that, and she doesn’t miss the blush as it spreads across the man’s cheeks. He ducks his head, trying to focus only on the baby.

“It didn’t work, which is why I didn’t tell you,” Dana continues. “I didn’t want to… get your hopes up.”

“Oh, Dana,” Maggie says, looking sad. She wishes her daughter would confide in her more. She stores things up for so long, that when it all finally comes out, it’s hard to be of any help. She has so many questions, and she’s not sure Dana will give her all the answers.

“I thought that was my last chance to be a mother. But then, a few months ago, Mulder said that—” 

It clearly makes her emotional to think of, now, whatever her daughter’s partner had offered to do. 

“He said that if I wanted to try adoption, he’d do it with me.”

Adoption.

“I can’t believe it,” Maggie says, in awe of the tiny baby, and of the man who had made all of it possible. Fox Mulder had changed her daughter’s life forever, and she doesn’t think there’s any way she could possibly repay him.

“I can’t believe it either,” Dana laughs, and she sees Fox nod his agreement. This is a crazy thing that they have done. She'd thought that something was up with the two of them lately, of course, but never in a million years would she have guessed this. 

“Would you like to hold her, Mrs. Scully?” the man asks, gently lifting the baby out of her bassinet.

Overwhelmed and caught off guard by the sight of Fox Mulder holding a child, Maggie can only nod as she accepts the tiny bundle into the cradle of her arms. Tears spring to her eyes.

“Oh…” she sighs, unable to keep the tears at bay. “This is such a… a wonderful surprise. What’s her name?”

“Madeline Samantha Mulder,” Dana says proudly, glancing up at her partner in some form of unspoken communication.

That grabs her interest. 

“Mulder?” she asks curiously. “So you’re…” She gestures between the two of them with her free hand, and catches the glint of a ring on Fox’s left ring finger. Her eyebrows raise.

“We decided we’d raise the baby together. To make the application simpler, we got married,” Dana answers.

Married?!

“When?” she asks, equal parts thrilled and furious that she’d been left out of these plans.

“Christmas Eve.”

“Christmas…” she whispers, thinking back to that day. “That’s why you two had to go rushing off? You were getting married?” she says, aghast.

“Mom—”

“Your entire family was in town, Dana, even Charlie! Don’t you think we would have liked to be there for you on your special day?”

“It isn’t like that,” Dana says, her frustration rising. “It was just a formality. We went to the courthouse. We needed the papers so that we’d be seen as a couple looking to adopt on our applications. Otherwise, we might have been rejected. And you know they’re not the most accepting of single mothers—”

Wait, wait, wait. Back up. 

“I don’t understand,” she says, “You’re married but not… together?”

Fox and Dana look at each other, and Maggie knows the answer before they say it. Her stomach sinks.

“No,” Dana says, a little hint of disappointment in her voice. “Not really.”

Glancing between the two of them, Maggie detects disappointment from both sides, not that either of them can probably tell. They’re so blind to what the other is feeling, that it would be funny if it didn’t make Maggie so sad. All the things they’re missing out on, just because they’re both too stubborn to admit the truth. 

It’s probably only a matter of time anyway, she decides, no use harping on about it for now. If another month goes by with no sign of progress, she'll say something. That's as far as she'll go.

“You two are ridiculous, you know that?” she says curtly, pressing her lips together. “Frustrating.”

“Now you sound like my mother,” Fox jokes, in that self-deprecating tone of voice she wishes he’d stop using.

Maggie sighs, glancing back down at the gurgling baby in her arms. She sure is awfully cute.

“You’re lucky you gave me a granddaughter for all this nonsense I have to put up with,” she says, though not unkindly. She can say this at least about Fox and Dana: this baby will know a kind of love few people in this world get to experience.

They just have to pull themselves together first.

-.-.-

Maddie falls asleep on Mulder’s chest sometime after Mrs. Scully starts talking about breaking the news to Scully’s brothers, and to be honest, he’s glad for the distraction. It does, however, mean he’s kind of trapped there when Scully decides to go ask a nurse about bringing up some lunch for them from the cafeteria, leaving him alone with her mother and the baby.

They sit in silence for a while, neither really knowing what to say. At a certain point, though, Mulder can’t take the quiet anymore.

“You think Scully’s crazy, don’t you,” he says, more of a statement than a question.

“I’m not sure I know what to think,” Maggie answers. “About Dana.”

Mulder winces. He’d have to stop doing that. “Sorry, habit.”

“Ever since she met you, her life has been upside down and backwards from what I always thought it would be,” she continues.

“I know.”

“I don’t blame you, Fox.” Maggie’s hand settles atop his on the armrest of the couch, almost weightless. “She’s happy with you, otherwise she wouldn’t have stayed this long. I may not know much about my daughter these days, but I do know that.”

“I’m happier with her than I have ever been,” he admits. “And now—” he looks down at Madeline. “I didn’t know this much happiness existed.”

Maggie smiles, a little sadly. He’s used to people looking at him like that, the poor kid with the tragic backstory. He just wishes she wouldn’t. 

The room falls silent again. A funny look comes over her face, and he gets the sense that she's holding something back.

“And, where will you live?” she asks, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

“We’re going to be looking for a house,” he answers, “but for now I’ve been sleeping in… Dana’s spare bedroom.”

Maggie purses her lips. “No nursery?”

“Not yet,” he says, shaking his head. “We figure she’ll sleep just fine in a bassinet for the first few months.”

“And that will be in Dana’s room?”

“I suppose so.”

“So, will you be helping when she wakes up needing to be fed or changed in the middle of the night?”

What is this, some high-stakes interview for a job? He really hadn’t been prepared for this.

“Of– of course I will,” he answers, perplexed by the fact that she even has to ask. Of course he’ll help take care of the baby, he and Scully are in this together, as they are with everything.

Maggie hums. You could almost hear a pin drop.

“Seems like it would just be easier if you were both in the same room to begin with,” she states, shrugging her shoulders like what she’d said was no big deal. She sips nonchalantly from a styrofoam cup of coffee and doesn’t look at him.

Now, Mulder doesn’t want her to get the wrong idea... “Mrs. Scully—” he starts.

“It’s Maggie, Fox,” she says kindly but firmly, interrupting him. “You’re my son-in-law now, I think you can call me by my first name.”

He sighs, and feels the baby let out a sigh against his chest. You and me both, kid. 

“Maggie…” he corrects. “Look, Scully—Dana—is my best friend. And we’ve agreed to be parents and raise Madeline together, but we’re not—”

“Fox,” she interrupts again. “It’s very sweet that you’ve taken on this role as Madeline’s father, but what about Dana? Doesn’t she deserve a real marriage, with a husband who does more than care for her as the co-parent of their child? Don’t you deserve more?”

The very idea that Scully might not be enough for him offends him deeply, and he’s quick to tell her so. “I couldn’t possibly ask for more than your daughter,” he says. “She’s– she’s all I need. Her and Madeline. As for Dana…”

“She needs you, too.”

“No, but–”

“Don’t take what I’m saying the wrong way,” Maggie says seriously, leaning toward him. “Dana deserves a real husband, who loves and cares for her in all the ways a husband should.” 

She levels a stare at Mulder, and he waits for the other shoe to drop. 

“I’m not saying that shouldn’t be you.”

What?

It’s not like he hasn’t thought of this before—he has—but to be talking about it with her mother? Twenty years from now, if Madeline were to have a friend like Mulder, he’d tell her to run away as fast as she possibly could. But—that isn’t what Margaret is saying, is it?

In fact… it seems like she’s saying the exact opposite.

“You care for her, don’t you?” she asks.

“I do, but—”

“You love her?”

Mulder’s jaw hangs open, his automatic reply dying on his lips. His heart pounds in his chest, and he spares a quick thought toward Maddie and hopes it won’t disturb her somehow. He wants to answer her, but he doesn’t know how. His throat closes up almost completely as tears pool in his eyes, and he doesn’t trust his voice to come out right if he tried. 

He glances down at Maddie, this precious little life he and Scully have vowed to take care of.

“It doesn’t matter if I do,” he says quietly. “She doesn’t… feel the same way.” 

He can’t look at Margaret right now. He’s afraid of what he would see if he did. 

“She deserves better than what I can give her,” he finishes, taking comfort in the warmth of his daughter burrowed into his chest.

Maggie is quiet for a moment. Then, she says, “It looks, to me, like you’ve given her quite a lot.”

True or not, there’s still the matter of everything else his presence in her life has done for her. To her.

“It doesn’t compare to how much has been taken...” he says.

“Which you are not responsible for.” Maggie’s stare is unrelenting, he has no choice but to take every word she speaks to heart. “Ask yourself who else in Dana’s life would have been able to make this possible for her. Who else would make such a life-changing decision, just to make her dream come true?”

“Any guy would have to be stupid not to,” Mulder states the obvious.

“You sell yourself too short, Fox,” Maggie says, shaking her head in either annoyance or disappointment. He doesn’t like either of those directed at him—not from Margaret Scully. “There’s no one she trusts more than you,” she says emphatically. “She wouldn’t have done this with anyone else by her side.”

Maggie sits back, apparently finished dressing him down. The baby squirms and then settles in her sleep, still exhausted from the eventful day she’s had. He can’t help but think about what Maggie had said—that Scully would only ever do this with him, no one else. He wants to push back, to say that isn’t true, but he knows in his heart that it is. 

The question is: what does that mean for him? What does it mean for them?

Maggie gives a tiny smile, watching as he absentmindedly rubs tiny circles on Maddie’s back, lost in thought.

“Dana has told me some of the more unbelievable things you believe in, Fox…” she says quietly. “Aliens, ghosts, monsters… Given that, I would think it would be easier.”

“That what would be easier?” Mulder asks, the drone of his murmur matching the tone she had set.

Maggie smiles at him fondly, her knowing eyes meeting his. 

“For you to believe she loves you.”

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @msrafterdark @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - 3.2 sneak peek

Pairing: Steve Rogers x inhuman!agent! reader Series masterlist WC: 700 Warnings: ...none, for once?

When Steve met your eyes, the light of the quinjet made it appear as if there was a tinge of pink in his cheeks. And there actually might be, since his eyes lingered on the dress for a moment too long; which wouldn’t be a crime if you weren’t already wearing them, making it seem like he was staring.

“You look beautiful,” he said, the soft tone making it sound almost as if it escaped him unwittingly.

It was the most ordinary of compliments and yet, it surprised you that he had even paid it. Perhaps it shouldn’t have, as he was a product of his time – a time in which if men didn’t compliment a woman’s appearance, they were probably called louts. And yet. Even with that knowledge, something akin to warmth fluttered in your chest, a brief smile passing over your lips, the silent ‘thank you’ the least courtesy you could give in return.

If he had tried to commit your dress to memory, you’d allow yourself the same luxury. A quality black tuxedo with a faint navy-blue glint, pristine white shirt, a black bow-tie. His outfit would be but a drop in the sea, nothing that would stand out among those of other men; but you had the advantage of him being easily found in the crowd thanks to his physique alone. The broadness and strength he radiated could carry the weight of the world – and it felt like it did – narrowing beautifully into the trim waist in a ratio not even a loose jacket could hope to hide, let alone such well-fitting one which seemed to accentuate it a little more than was strictly necessary. With him towering over about ninety-five percent of people and having shoulders wider than about ninety-nine percent of the usual present company, he was truly hard to miss.

Unfortunately, it also made him an easy target who was truly hard to miss indeed.

And now you were staring and he was no doubt aware – it was impossible not to, less so with how much attention he paid to things. So you stood there in silence, awkward one, precisely the one you had wanted to avoid and yet managed to reach it in thirty seconds flat – but at least neither of you were yelling. Yet.

As glad as you were to see that Steve Rogers had clearly decided to leave whatever disagreements you had ever had back at the Tower for the sake of this mission, trying his best to be the exact opposite of antagonistic, you were not going to tell him he looked extremely good to make things even more awkward. You wouldn’t even think it, as right as the assessment was. It would be inappropriate, even as he had complimented you first.  You needed to be professional. There was a task at hand.

Right. The mission.

Steve was still watching you, something akin to curiosity in his gaze.

You cleared your throat, nodding towards the tablet in his hand.

“You were going through the files on the guests?”

Steve blinked, seemingly snapped from his thoughts.

“Yes. Have you?” he asked as he laid the tablet on the seat, straightening to his full height again; it was ridiculous how tall he seemed in the low-ceiling cabin of this type of quinjets. There was a faint smile on his lips, no tension in his jaw as he watched you; he already knew the answer and he wasn’t trying to provoke you.

Small talk it was.

“Yes, Captain,” you replied dutifully. You would swear a little twinkle of humour appeared in his eye – but it was probably just the lights reflecting in his cerulean blues. “Yesterday and today. Should be more than enough to represent properly.”

Alright, it must have been humour, because the corner of his lips twitched now at the lightest trace of defiance in your voice. Then he smiled fully, the spark burning brighter, your stomach somersaulting a bit.

Who were you kidding you had no idea; he looked more than just extremely good and handsome. In a different kind of suit than you were used to, bright eyes with their blue accentuated by the colour of his tuxedo, with uncharacteristically relaxed features and even a smile aimed at you, the beauty of him seemed so surreal you might have as well entered another dimension. Which, given your experience with Coulson’s team, was not unplausible. And yet, your heart fluttering had nothing to with fear as he went to sidestep you.

What was wrong with you today?

“Well… good. I’m sure you’ll have the two remaining objectives handled as well,” he said kindly.

-.-.-.-

Me, giggling, because I know what he's implying by this 🤭👀

Oh hey! no one is yelling yet! YAY ✨

Interaction is love. Hope you're having a good weekend 🥰

tags:

@annathesillyfriend @thehumanistsdiary @katrynec @donutloverxo @chase-your-dreams-away @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @rebloggingeverything @lady-elena-adeline @weebid @gloryekaterina @callmeaspen @aubreeskailynn @fanficfandomlove @mickey-henry @scentedsongrebel @orions-nebula @patzammit @mysterioh @kayteewritessteve @the-soot-sprite @captain-cornsalad @justile @murdock-and-the-sea @iheartsebastianstanstuff @marvel-madnesss @irepostthingsiwanttoseelater @wonderlandmind4 @fandomlovver @thefallenbibliophilequote @royalwriteroftheuniverse @navstuffs @ronearoundblindly @darkness-is-mystery @jamneuromain @paperweight91 @jaqui-has-a-consipracy-theory @nekoannie-chan @missing-loki @crazyunsexycool @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives @luner44 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @rogersideup

[noona-clock]

Are You Sure? - Part 2

Genre: Exes to Lovers, Fluff, AU

Pairing: Jungshin x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Epilogue | Words: 2,106

You were so close to the finish line, you could almost taste it.

And, of course, by 'the finish line,' you meant 'the car picking you up at the airport to take you to your hotel.'

You'd gone the whole three-hour flight without seeing or bumping into Jungshin, just as you'd hoped.

(Not quite as you'd hoped, though, because you hadn't want to think about him, either. And you'd done more than a fair bit of that. But, oh well. There was nothing you could do about it now!)

You'd stayed in your seat the whole time, sipping your coffee as slowly as possible so you wouldn't have to get up to use the bathroom. You'd politely lied to your row-mates once the plane landed, telling them you had a connecting flight you had to catch, so could you possibly get out of your seat first? You'd efficiently retrieved your carry-on and filed out of the plane. And once you'd entered the airport, you'd made a beeline to the nearest restroom.

Now, as you were washing your hands and feeling your phone buzz in your pocket as the rideshare notifications came through, you couldn't help but feel a bit relieved. The Universe had thrown a huge wrench in your plans, but you'd pretty much successfully dodged the wrench! Your awkward reunion with Jungshin would proceed as expected -- at the rehearsal dinner tomorrow night in a room full of people you could hide behind, figuratively and physically.

"Take that, Universe," you murmured to yourself, drying your hands with a paper towel. A smug smirk tugged at your lips while you tossed the paper into the trash bin and grabbed the handle of your suitcase.

Honestly, you should've known that being smug about foiling the Universe would only incur its wrath.

You hadn't even taken five steps out of the bathroom before you almost ran into someone, and immediately after a startled gasp slid out of your mouth, your gaze landed on just who that someone was.

Of course.

"Oh, sor -- Y/N."

Unfortunately, your heart skipped a beat when you heard your name spoken by that voice.

His voice.

"...Hi," you responded bluntly yet also very, very awkwardly. You made eye contact for a brief moment, but couldn't make yourself maintain it. At least not at the moment.

"I thought I saw you getting off the plane," Jungshin said, his tone tinged with congeniality. "I don't know why I didn't immediately assume it was you. I knew you'd be coming here for the wedding, I just thought --"

He cut himself off; you simply replied with a close-lipped and tense smile.

How could he be so... normal? Yes, he had always been and always would be a very amiable and outgoing person, but right now? Seeing his ex for the first time since the break-up?

"...How are you?" he asked after searching your face for a few seconds. You still weren't looking at him directly, but you could feel it. Somehow, you could just tell.

"I'm fine," you answered. "My ride is almost here, though, so I have to --"

"Oh!" Jungshin interrupted, quickly checking his watch. "I was just about to call for one, but do you mind if I ride with you? I'll send you half the fare, or I can pay for a ride back here if you want to share again after the wedding?"

Oh my god, please, no. Surely, this was all a dream, right? Or a joke. A very elaborate prank for some television show.

Right?

Jungshin, your ex-boyfriend, wanted to share a car with you on the way to your best friends' wedding after the two of you hadn't spoken or seen each other in months?

But you could feel your phone buzzing over and over in your pocket, so you knew your ride was either here or very, very nearby. You didn't have time to lament over the situation, so you just said, "Okay, sure."

"Great," Jungshin grinned.

You almost let out a string of curses because his grin made your heart skip a beat.

Ugh! You were not supposed to react that way to him anymore!

Instead of cursing or letting on that his grin had affected you, you simply bit the inside of your cheek and began walking to the airport exit to catch your ride. Hopefully, your driver wasn't too mad for having to wait for you!

You immediately decided to walk as quickly as you could to the airport entrance in hopes that it would eliminate any sort of conversation -- but not even two seconds after you began walking, you remembered just how long Jungshin's legs were. He was quite a bit taller than you, and even though you were known among your friends and family for being a pretty fast walker, he had never had any trouble keeping up with you. That, unsurprisingly, had not changed.

What was surprising, though, was that he did not attempt to talk to you while you booked it to the rideshare area.

You know those relationships, romantic or otherwise, where one person is The Yapper and one person is The Listener? The two of you had most decidedly had one of those, and Jungshin had unquestionably been The Yapper.

You could probably go a whole day without speaking a single word to another person (it goes without saying that you did talk to yourself quite a bit, like every normal person. Right?), but Jungshin would probably combust before being able to do that.

Obviously, when the two of you had been together, you hadn't minded his almost constant chit-chat. In fact, you'd adored it. Listening to his stories and musings and theories and questions during movies had been comforting to you. You could've -- and did -- listen to him practically all day with a goofy smile on your lips and hearts in your eyes.

So, the fact he wasn't yapping away now as the two of you raced toward the front of the airport was not only strange... it was kind of disappointing.

The second you realized you were disappointed, you forced that feeling out of your head and heart. At least, you tried to. You were a bit busy dodging other airport-goers and trying to keep your luggage under control, so if you spent too much energy on squashing your disappointment, you would certainly trip or run into someone or drop your suitcase. And there was no way you were going to do any of those things in front of Jungshin.

No, right now, you would just keep your eye on the prize and get to the car as quickly as possible. ...And also pretend that you weren't disappointed about anything in regards to your ex-boyfriend.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of speed walking and making your way through the maze of the airport, you and Jungshine arrived at the entrance to the rideshare area. Of course, as you approached your driver, you apologized profusely for being late and, in turn, thanked him profusely for waiting for you.

Meanwhile, while you were apologizing and thanking and trying to catch your breath, you felt someone gently take your suitcase from your hand and gingerly slide your bag off your shoulder. When you turned to get in the car after your driver assured you for the fifth time it was fine, you saw Jungshin closing the trunk and heading to the opposite side of the car.

Wait, really? ...Jungshin had just done that? He had seen you were busy talking to (see: apologizing and thanking) the driver, so instead of interrupting you to ask for your luggage, he'd just stealthily taken it from you? He'd taken care of business without asking you if he should -- because it had been obvious it was not a good time to ask you?

Something was not right here.

First, he had been thoughtful enough to change his airplane ticket so you wouldn't have to share a plane with him (you weren't fully certain that was the reason he'd done it, of course, but you were telling yourself it was until you were proven otherwise). Second, he packed the trunk with your luggage without asking you if he should.

Jungshin had never been this astute and attentive in your relationship. That had been your thing, and it had eventually worn you down too much that you hadn't been able to continue.

If you were made of sterner stuff, you would ask him about it. But you currently felt as if you'd been put through the emotional wringer, and you were certain you wouldn't be able to handle the answer he gave you.

It wasn't until you felt the car ease into motion that you were able to let out a sigh of relief.

You'd made it.

You'd made it through seeing Jungshin for the first time, talking to Jungshin for the first time. You'd made it through the flight, and you were in the car on the way to the hotel.

Of course, you still had to make it through the actual wedding, but still. This was a good first step.

But then you heard Jungshin inhale quickly and deeply.

This was a telltale sign he was about to say something, so any relief you felt evaporated instantly. You'd have had to suffer a concussion with amnesia to forget that, honestly.

"I know I already asked, but... really, how have you been?" he asked you, his voice quiet.

You simply furrowed your brow and turned your head to look at him. "How have you been?" you asked in return, your tone making it obvious that whatever his answer was would be the same as yours. You weren't the only one going through a break-up, after all.

Jungshin responded with a breathless chuckle, slowly nodding his head. "Got it," he murmured. "Just to be clear, I thought about calling you so many times, I just... wasn't sure if I should."

You furrowed your brow even more, but this time, it was in confusion.

"I didn't think you'd want to talk to me," he explained, obviously interpreting your expression correctly. "At least not yet."

Well, you couldn't say he didn't know you.

I mean, not that breaking up and not seeing or speaking to each other for a few months meant all knowledge and memories of you would suddenly vanish from his head, but... I mean, come on! He shouldn't be able to still read you this easily!

You bit the inside of your cheek for a few seconds before answering him with a wordless shrug.

"I changed my flight for the same reason, but I guess you had the same idea," Jungshin continued, his lips quirked up into a bemused grin.

So, you'd been right. He had changed his flight for thoughtful reasons.

And you had now thought about it so much that you couldn't stop yourself from blurting out, "I don't understand. You didn't really do things like that when we were together unless I asked you."

It hadn't been your intention to scold him, of course, but the expression on his (frustratingly handsome) face morphed into one that made it seem like you had.

"Yeah..." he muttered, lowering his voice even more. "I won't lie, it was a huge wake-up call for me when you left. I didn't realize you having to ask me those things was a burden."

His eye flitted up to the front seat, and when you shifted your gaze to follow his, you saw the driver was very obviously being nosy.

Could you blame him? Absolutely not. You would've done the same thing!

But, still. You weren't one to air your private affairs out in public, and you definitely weren't going to change your ways today.

"Can we have dinner tonight, maybe?" Jungshin murmured.

You simply nodded and mouthed 'Text me later'.

After Jungshin silently gave you a two-fingered salute, you leaned your head back against your seat and closed your eyes.

Just a few minutes ago, you'd let out a sigh of relief and felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You'd felt like you'd made it.

But the prospect of not only seeing Jungshin multiple times and for many hours over the long weekend but also having dinner with him tonight and having to... talk about your feelings? The relief was vanishing. The weight was settling right back on you.

If it weren't for the fact that your best friend, Emily, would soon be the happiest and most beautiful bride to exist, you just might classify the next several days as the most dreaded in your life.

Part 3