#understanding estimating steps

[asestimationsconsultants]

How an Estimating Service Works | A Step-by-Step Breakdown

Understanding how an estimating service works can help construction professionals, developers, and project owners make informed decisions at every stage of a project. Whether it's a residential build or a commercial development, cost accuracy is essential. An estimating service follows a structured process that transforms drawings and specs into clear, actionable cost data. This breakdown outlines the standard workflow followed by most professional estimating services.

Initial Consultation and Scope Review

The process typically begins with an initial consultation between the client and the estimating team. This meeting is used to clarify the scope, project goals, type of construction, and desired level of detail in the estimate. Clients share design documents such as architectural plans, structural details, and engineering specs. At this stage, the estimator may ask targeted questions about site conditions, timelines, and special requirements that could influence cost outcomes.

Document Analysis and Information Gathering

Once the documents are received, the estimator thoroughly reviews all project data. This includes checking the accuracy and completeness of drawings, verifying specification details, and identifying potential scope overlaps or missing elements. Any inconsistencies are flagged early to avoid costly errors in the estimate. Estimators may also request clarification from architects or engineers if necessary.

Quantity Takeoff and Material Calculations

One of the core steps in any estimating process is the quantity takeoff. The estimator measures and itemizes every physical component of the build—concrete, steel, framing, roofing, plumbing, finishes, and more. Advanced takeoff software is often used to enhance accuracy and efficiency. This phase converts visual designs into measurable quantities that become the building blocks of the final estimate.

Labor and Equipment Costing

After quantifying materials, the estimator evaluates the labor and equipment required to complete the job. This involves calculating man-hours, crew sizes, machinery costs, and durations based on productivity rates and regional labor rates. If subcontractors are expected to handle portions of the work, preliminary rates may be included or flagged for later inclusion upon quote receipt.

Unit Pricing and Cost Compilation

Unit pricing is applied to each item, combining material, labor, and equipment rates. Estimators use historical data, supplier quotes, and cost databases tailored to the region or industry. The data is compiled into a comprehensive cost estimate, typically organized by CSI divisions or trade categories, making it easy to review and analyze.

Contingencies and Risk Adjustments

No project is immune to uncertainty. Professional estimators include contingencies for material price fluctuations, design changes, and unforeseen site conditions. These are based on historical data, project complexity, and market volatility. In some cases, risk factors are itemized separately so the client can clearly see how they influence the total budget.

Review and Quality Check

Before submission, the estimate undergoes internal review and verification. Senior estimators or cost managers often double-check calculations, assumptions, and formatting. This stage is crucial to maintaining accuracy and credibility. Any overlooked items or unrealistic cost projections are corrected at this point.

Delivery and Client Presentation

The completed estimate is presented to the client in an organized format, often accompanied by a cost summary report, scope clarifications, and notes on assumptions. This allows clients to ask questions, compare options, or request revisions. Some estimating services offer follow-up meetings to walk clients through the numbers and provide advice on how to proceed with tendering or procurement.

Ongoing Support and Revisions

Construction estimates are dynamic. If the design changes, materials shift in price, or the project scope expands, the estimator may be called back to revise the figures. Ongoing collaboration between the estimator and project team ensures the estimate stays relevant throughout the pre-construction process.

Frequently Asked Questions

How long does the estimating process usually take? It depends on the project’s size and complexity. A standard residential estimate might take 2–3 days, while larger commercial or industrial projects may require a week or more.

Can I request a partial estimate for certain trades only? Yes, most estimating services offer trade-specific estimates if you only need pricing for particular components like electrical, concrete, or finishes.

Do estimating services use software or manual methods? Most modern services rely on digital takeoff and estimating software to ensure accuracy and efficiency, though some may still incorporate manual checks.

What documents are required to begin an estimate? At minimum, you'll need architectural drawings and a general project scope. Additional documents like structural plans, MEP drawings, and specifications enhance accuracy.

Will the estimator adjust the figures for my location? Yes, reputable services use location-based data and supplier inputs to reflect accurate regional pricing in the final estimate.

Conclusion

A professional estimating service follows a structured and detail-oriented process that transforms construction documents into a reliable cost plan. By taking the guesswork out of pricing, estimators help project teams plan effectively, reduce risk, and make informed financial decisions from concept to contract. Their systematic approach ensures clarity, transparency, and confidence at every stage.

[peachesofteal]

Raspberry Girl Previous + masterlist + AO3 Simon Riley/female reader CW: 18+ daddy kink, size kink, forced orgasm.

“Ghost.” 

He looks over the rim of his glasses before sliding them off completely and tossing them onto the stack of papers spread out in front of him. "Gaz." 

“You out of here soon?” Kyle’s in the doorway with his arms crossed, slight smirk twisting his lips. 

“Tryin’ to be.” The administrative side of this job will be the death of him one day, leaving him buried beneath mountains of paperwork. “Guys get their gear done?” He nods. “Shoot test?” 

“All complete. Evals loaded in the portal.” He’s frighteningly efficient, something Simon’s come to rely on.

Kyle has no idea there’s a recommendation for promotion in this stack of nonsense on his desk. 

He’s going to miss him when he makes captain. 

“Good work as always then.” His phone buzzes. Three times. 

>I think I should be another hour, or maybe less. 

>But of course don’t feel like you have to rush over here, I’m fine to wait. I don’t mind. I know I gave you a time estimate this morning so of course I don’t expect you to work around me. 

>I just meant to say I’m ready whenever. That’s all. But no rush, again. 

Kyle sighs with a chuckle. "That your girl?" Simon waves him away.

“Have a good weekend, Lieutenant.” 

“You too, Captain.” 

“Hi.” Something in him settles at the sight of you. Tired, but excited. Half ready for bed, half ready for him, you’re standing in the shop next to one of the little tables, your work bag and jacket slung on a chair. 

“Hi sweetheart.” You’ve shed some layers in the last week, become a little less inhibited with him, a little more confident, slowly adjusting, and he’s proud of you. 

You’ve been good. 

“How was your day?” 

“Oh, fine. I’m tired.” Your eyes go wide with panic. “Not too tired though, not like t-tired I want to go home. Like, to mine uh, I still-” It doesn’t take much to knock you off balance, still exploring this new world, the one he’s building for you, his sweet fresh fawn. 

“It’s alright.” He reaches, cupping your cheek. Physical contact seems to soothe you. He thinks it’s because there’s a live, tangible tether connecting you to the now, to him, instead of whatever is going on in your head. “You were up really early sweetheart, it’s understandable you’re tired.” You were awake before him this morning. Sent your usual wake up text well before the sun rose with a hurried explanation about a last minute catering order and a panicking bride. 

I said I’d do it. I felt bad. 

It wouldn’t be so rough if you hadn’t been at work late the night before for something else. 

It’s clearly wiped you out, and he’ll need to shift gears. “Are you ready to go?” You take a half step back and hold up your pointer finger, inclining your head towards to the back of the bakery. 

“Uh, wait. I forgot something, one sec.” 

You return with a big white box cradled in your hands. 

“What’s in there?” 

“Oh I made you something. Us. I made us something. For after dinner, if you want. Obviously if you don’t want it that’s fine you don’t have to eat it, it might not even be your thing, which is fine, I just-” He steps into your space and you trail off, eyes going to his without prompting. He blocks the world out, closes in, palms the back of your neck.  

“It’s me baby. Just you and me, and there's nothing to worry about. You’ll never make a single thing I won’t like, right?” 

“R-right. I know that.” You’re bobbing in a continuous nod, looking away to study something on his shirt. 

“What is it?” 

“Pie. Boston cream pie.” Cream pie. Blood flows to his cock and he momentarily gets lost in his own head. 

“Tell me.” Fat tears roll down your cheeks, hands following him desperately as he rears back and folds your knees to your chest, staring at where his cock is moving in and out of your body, everything about him too big, nearly too big to fit inside you. “Where do you want daddy to put his cum?” 

“I-inside. I want your cum inside me daddy, pl- oh- please.” His balls tighten as he grinds his hips, licking an errant tear running down your face. His girl. His. In his arms, his bed, crying on his cock. 

“Only good little girls get daddy’s cum, baby. Have you been good?” 

“I’ve been good, I’ve b-been so- ah- f-fuck-” The wand buzzes to life, hovering just over your clit as you shake your head frantically. “No nonono, I can’t anymore, I c-can’t.” 

“Yes you can,” he thrusts deep and you gasp. You’ve already come four times, but he wants more, needs more, wants to wring every single one he can get out of you before he empties his balls inside your pussy. 

When he finally slides it across your swollen little nub, you howl. 

“Oh- no-” you whine, nails digging into his forearms, muscles already bearing down on him, breaths turning into short rasps.  

“I know. Breathe baby,” he glides it back and forth, kisses your cheek, your mouth. “Breathe through it- that’s my girl. You can take it.” You’re oversensitive, battling a war between pleasure and pain, and your legs instinctively try to close, prevent the impending explosion you know is coming. “Keep your knees open.” He gives the head of the wand firmer pressure, and you cry, shaking your head no again. 

“It’s too- too much.” Your feet are on his sides, partially bent in half, and he forces one of your thighs wide, giving him a better view of your puffy, tortured clit. 

“Knees open baby girl. One more and daddy will fill you up nice and deep.” You nod, already so close he can feel it, scorching heat pulsing around him, legs trembling as they go lax. “There you go…” he pets your hip, mouth at your ear, soothing and comforting as it rips through you. It pushes him over the edge and he tosses the wand, pins you. Traps you beneath him. All his. 

“Oh my god,” you slur, still riding the wave of your own orgasm, eyes rolling back in your head. It pushes him over the edge.

“Good girl, good fucking girl, so proud of you, takin’ my cum- fuck-” his own voice is choked off as he floods you, ruts like an animal, instinctively forcing as much of his seed into your belly as he can. 

When it’s over, he drinks in the sight of the milky white cream dripping out of your hole before scooping it up with two fingers and pushing it back inside. You’re limp the whole time, and when he slips the plug in, you barely notice. You’ll be pumped full of him until later, and he’ll take it out to give you more. 

“Daddy?” You mumble, half asleep, and he brushes his lips across yours, tucking you into his chest. 

“Right here, baby. I’m right here.” 

“- it’s not really. I mean, the best part about it is the cream, you know? That’s what makes the cake but the layers have to be moist on their own. You can’t just rely on the…” He swallows your words, licks them out of your mouth, cups your face and presses his thumb into your bottom lip afterwards, edging it across your top teeth. “Oh.” You blink, blindsided, and he runs a hand down the back of your head, strokes the back of your neck. 

“Ready then?” You lean into him, a little dazed, off kilter. 

“Y-yeah.” 

 Your toes scrunch at the threshold of the living room, afraid to cross until he flattens his palm on the small of your back.

“Go get comfortable sweetheart.” Battling nerves with a need for sleep, you were unsettled at dinner, sitting at the table, swallowing over and over again long after your food was chewed. There’s something more at play, something larger weighing on you. You left your plate half empty, fork resting at three oclock, twirl of spaghetti and red sauce waiting, and he should have told you to finish, or take one more bite. 

But it's a slow game right now. A careful one. 

“Alright.” You scamper towards the couch, settling into the far side, toes tucked between the cushions. It’s a balancing act, not too much, too too little, and when he sits down next to you with a giant slice of the cake on a plate, you watching him anxiously. Curiously. 

He forks a piece free, and holds it in front of your mouth. “Open.” You do. Immediately. You trust him to feed you, and it calls to the thirst thrumming in his blood, the power of control. “Good girl.” He waits, patiently, ignores the flex of your throat, the butterfly flutter of your lashes. There’s plenty of time for it all. There will be a lifetime (if he’s alive to live it) with you. "What do you say?" 

“Thank you.” 

“Thank you…” He leads, and you follow. His good fucking girl. 

“Daddy,” your whisper is shy, cautious and brave at the same time. “Thank you daddy.” A kiss finds its place on the corner of your mouth, then the full furl of your lips, and you burn alive, flames flickering in your eyes. He takes a bite himself and groans 

“Christ baby.” 

“Do you like it?” When he nods, you grin. 

“Not everyone likes them because they expect a cream pie and that’s not what they get, it’s a cake with vanilla cream between the layers, see?” You point to the thick custard. “It’s not like coconut cream pie, or a banana cream pie, you know?” Cream pie. If you say cream pie one more time. 

“It’s really good sweetheart. Too good.” He helps himself to another bite, offers you one, and then has a third before finally setting the plate down. Silence hovers in the air and he lets it languish, giving you time, all the space you need to give him the worry, the doubt, the weight that's holding you back. 

“Simon.” He smothers his surprise. It’s not the first time you’ve used his name, but your voice wavers on it. Wide doe eyes stare back at him, and then they find the floor. That won’t do. “I don’t know what to do with…”

“With what sweetheart?”

“You. This. U-us? If that’s… if that’s what-” 

“That’s what it is.” He closes what little gap there was between the two of you and pulls your knotted together fingers free, dwarfing your hand with his. “That’s what this is, baby.” The hope, the happiness, blooms across your cheeks and lasts for all of two seconds before worry overtakes it, and you begin tracing the lines in his palm, head down, focusing on the task, slightly shaking. Giving you a chance to walk away would be the right thing to do. 

But he won’t. 

He can’t. 

He’d never give you up now. 

“I’m not… I’ve never… done something like this, I don’t know how.” 

“That’s okay sweet girl, you don’t have to.” The nervous tracing turns to a light scratch. He lets it continue for a beat before folding your hand between his, stopping the movement. 

“I don’t?” 

“No. I’m here, and I’m going to take care of you, make sure you have everything you need. I’m going to keep you happy and healthy and safe, and you don’t need to worry.” A shaky exhale rattles free from your chest, weight of a thousand questions evaporating into thin air, decisions and deliberations rapidly falling away as you settle into a new reality, a new life. One where you’re cared for, supported, and loved. “All you need to do is listen, okay?” 

“Okay daddy.” 

[alisonwritesimagines]

Delicate ~Bucky Barnes Imagine~

Summary: You first meet The Winter Soldier persona that Bucky worked so hard to hide.

Author’s Note: This is more of a prequel to this imagine.

Part Two | Part Three

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Warnings/Tags: mentions of mind control, grumpy x sunshine trope, i used google translation so if it's bad, you know why, reader is not from New York, reader is used as a test subject but nothing bad really happens to her tbh

Do not repost this anywhere!

Bucky could trust Steve ever since he began to remember him. That's why he went to him four months after leaving Hydra.

But during the time he's been with the Avengers, the hold that Hydra had on him continued to linger. Throughout the time he's been with the Avengers, trying to get better, there were a few slip ups when he would revert to The Winter Soldier persona.

That was until he met you.

Tony had brought you after meeting you when you saved his life with your special weapon that impressed him. Your dice that affects your opponents based on what the number it landed on. One could either blind people enough for you to take them down or six that can send people flying back and cause the room to burst into flames.

Not to mention you were an excellent fighter and held a bachelors and Masters in computer science and information science. Along with a minor in physics. So Tony brought you in.

That was three months ago. Three months since you've joined the Avengers. Three months since you've met Bucky and became close to him. Three months since Bucky did everything he can to make sure he didn't show up again.

~~~~~

It was your free week after a mission. A week to recover. And you wanted to get your favorite pasties as a reward for being able to get the mission done sooner than estimated.

"Are you sure you have to have these pastries?" Bucky asked you as you were getting ready to head out.

"Yes. I've been wanting them all week and I am going to get them. You can come with me if you'd like," you offered.

"We were comfortable on the couch," Bucky tells you with a small pout.

"It's just a fifteen minute walk. I will be back soon," you smiled at him.

You got into the elevator before pressing the button.

"What do you want by the way?" You asked him.

"Surprise me," Bucky tells you with a soft smile.

"Ooh! Okay," you say excitedly as the doors closed.

You had been gone for an hour. No texts from you, no calls. Nothing. Bucky grew worried. And then he appeared.

"Где она? (Where is she?)" Steve heard. Steve quickly turned around to see Bucky standing behind him. Sam looked up from his phone as he noticed the sudden change in Bucky.

"Friday, alert everyone and let them know we have a Code Snow," Tony says calmly to prevent The Winter Soldier from being provoked.

Everyone looked at The Winter Soldier as they got ready to fight him just in case. No one knew what triggered him.

"Bucky. You're okay. It's me," Steve says. The Winter Solider stared at him with a dark look.

"Hey guys! I'm back! Sorry it took so long. Line was super long and my phone died while I played Candy Crush," you say, walking out of the elevator with the to go bag from the bakery shop.

"Y/n! Stay back!" You heard. You looked over to see everyone in a defensive position.

"What's wrong?" You asked confused. You looked over at Bucky who stared intensely at you. As if he was on a mission to protect you.

"Bucky? Is everything okay?" You asked, taking a step closer to him.

"Y/n, I wouldn't do that," Steve advised, stopping you in your tracks.

"What? Why?" You asked confused, looking over at Steve.

"He's back to his Winter Soldier mindset," Steve said.

"His what?" You asked confused. Your eyebrows furrowed, not understanding what he just said.

"Did Bucky not tell you about when he was under control by Hydra?" Steve asked you.

"He was part of Hydra?" You asked confused and in shock.

"Did you not read the files I gave you?" Tony questioned. A mixture of upset, annoyed, and confusion mixed in his tone.

"I... may have just skimmed through them," you admitted, looking away so you didn't have to look at him in the eye.

"Just come here," Tony said before grabbing your wrist.

Before Tony could pull you back to everyone else, Bucky quickly grabbed Tony's arm. Bucky pulled you back to him before throwing Tony back. Luckily, Steve quickly caught Tony.

"Bucky! No!" You yell, grabbing his right arm. He looked back at you before cupping your face.

"Ты в порядке? (Are you okay?)" The Winter Soldier asked you. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"I don't speak Russian," you tell him.

"Are you okay?" The Winter Soldier asked you again in English.

"I'm fine. But you shouldn't have done that! Tony could've gotten seriously hurt!" You yelled at him.

"He grabbed your wrist," The Winter Soldier pointed out, remaining calm as if nothing had happened.

"But he didn't hurt me," you tell him. "Please. Don't fight them. Let us help you get back to normal."

You stared up at The Winter Soldier with a look. The Winter Soldier stared at you before giving you a nod. He stood behind you as you looked at everyone else.

"What do I do now?" You asked nervously.

"Huh. That's new," Sam said.

"Y/n, can you lead him to the lab? We need to see something," Bruce asked you.

"Okay. Um, Bucky?"

"I'm not him," The Winter Soldier tells you.

"Okay. Um what do I call you?" You asked.

"Солдат. (Soldier)"

"I'm sorry. What?" You asked.

"Soldat," The Winter Soldier corrected. But this time, he said it slower and in a way you could understand.

"Soldat. Follow me," you tell him as you followed Bruce to the lab.

You stayed next to Bucky as he sat down for Bruce to look over at him.

"Interesting," Bruce says.

"What?" You asked.

"He seems more calm when it comes to you. Before you got here, his levels were high. But now, he seems more stable around you," Bruce tells you.

"Oh. That's good?"

"I would like to try something out if that's okay?" Bruce says.

"Okay."

"Go to the training room," Bruce says.

"Do I need to change?" You asked.

"No. But just know, this is a test," Bruce tells you.

"Okay," you nervously say.

You and Bucky walked into the training room while Steve, Tony, Sam, and Bruce watched from the side.

"Y/n, remember. This is a test," Bruce tells you.

You looked at him in confusion before seeing one of Tony's training bots walk over with a knife.

"Target acquired," the robot said as it walked over to you with a knife.

It tried to attack you but you quickly dodged it. The Winter Soldier quickly grabbed the bot but it's head with his mental arm before crushing it with his hand. You looked at The Winter Soldier as he looked over at the four. He began to walk over to them, ready to attack them.

"Soldat! Stand down!" You yelled.

The Winter Soldier stopped as you rushed over to him. He looked down at you, making sure you were okay.

"I'm okay," you tell him.

"Okay. Y/n, stand here with us and Steve, you go in," Bruce tells you both.

You walked over to Bruce and Tony as you watched Steve and the Winter Soldier stand in the middle of the room. Another bot attacked Steve but The Winter Soldier didn't do anything, he stood near you, as if he was protecting you. Tony controlled the bot to come towards you but The Winter Soldier quickly stopped it. Crushing it as he did with the one before.

"Okay. It's clear to say that he's only going to protect Y/n."

"What do I do now? When will Bucky be back?" You questioned.

"Usually we keep him contained until Bucky reverts back. But if he's not letting anything or anyone hurt you, then there is a chance he could be okay to roam around as long as you're with him," Bruce says.

"Is that a good idea?" Sam asked.

"We can give it a shot. And if something goes wrong, we'll keep hm contained until he reverts back to Bucky," Steve said.

"I'm willing to try it," you tell the boys.

"Are you sure? You saw what he can do to my bots," Tony asked.

"I'll be okay. And if something goes wrong, I'll call you guys," you tell them.

"Keep this with you," Tony said, handing you a small remote with one button on it. "If he starts to hurt you, just click it and we'll rush to you."

"Okay. Thank you," you say. You looked back at the Winter Soldier who stayed nearby, staring at you.

"I am feeling hungry so come on. I'm gonna make some lunch," you tell The Winter Soldier. He nodded as he followed you out.

Throughout the day, The Winter Soldier stayed close to you. While everyone kept their distance (mostly in fear that The Winter Solider would attack them if they got too close to you), you seemed to be fine with The Winter Soldier lingering near you.

"I'm going to bed. Goodnight everyone," you say as you walked over to your room. You noticed The Winter Soldier stand by your door as you grabbed your pajamas.

"Oh right. Soldat, you can go to your room. I'm just gonna shower and sleep," you tell him.

"Я должен остаться здесь на случай, если у тебя возникнут проблемы. (I must stay here in case you are in trouble)," he tells you.

"English please. I don't speak Russian," you remind him.

"I must stay here in case you are in trouble," he tells you.

"Um okay. I'm just gonna shower and change really quickly," you tell him before walking into your bathroom. You closed the door and locked it before turning on the shower.

After the shower, you changed into your pajamas before blow drying your hair. You walked out of the shower to see The Winter Soldier sitting on your bed.

"Do you need to shower or change into your clothes as well?" You asked.

"I don't need to."

"If you're gonna stay here you're gonna shower. Come on," you tell him before walking out of your room. You led him to his room which was as bare as when you joined the Avengers. You took out his spare clothes before handing them to The Winter Soldier.

"Go shower. If you want, I'll stay out here until you finish," you tell the Winter Soldier. Bucky nodded before walking in the bathroom. You lied on his bed, feeling yourself grow comfortable.

The Winter Soldier walked out of the bathroom in his new clothes to see you asleep on his bed. He turned off the lights for you before sitting on a chair, watching you sleep.

You could feel him watching you, making you slightly wake up.

"You know, that's really creepy," you yawned. "Just come into the bed. You're gonna give me nightmares.

The Winter Soldier sat on the bed, staring at the door, waiting for anyone to come in. You pulled in down onto the bed, making him lie down. The Winter Soldier looked at you as you slept soundly, facing him. He moved his hand, placing it on top of yours.

~~~~~

Bucky had been avoiding you ever since you both woke up in his bed after he reverted back from the Winter Soldier. No matter how hard you tried to talk to him, he was good at hiding away.

"Did I do something wrong?" You asked Wanda and Natasha.

"What do you mean?" Natasha asked.

"Bucky has been ignoring me for the past couple of days. I've tried talking to him but he keeps avoiding me," you pouted.

"You didn't do anything wrong. I think Bucky's embarrassed. I'm surprised he didn't tell you about The Winter Soldier," Wanda said.

"Is it cause I'm new?" You asked.

"You can't be that clueless," Natasha tells you.

"Clearly I am because I don't know what you're talking about," you continued to pout.

"He didn't want you to know because he likes you."

"What? What do you mean?" You asked, sitting up.

"Come on. Ever since you've joined, Bucky has been by your side. If he's not with Steve or Sam, he's with you. And even on missions, he's by your side or close nearby," Natasha says.

"He could just be friendly. Last time I thought someone liked me, they were just being nice and I felt embarrassed and never showed my face to them again," you admitted.

"Bucky is different. He likes you and it's easy for us to see that but you," Wanda says.

"But do you like him?" Natasha asked.

"Yes. He's tall, handsome, he's nice to me and I will admit, it was kinda hot seeing him all protective," you admitted.

"Go talk to him. He should be done with training by now," Natasha tells you. You nodded before getting up to find Bucky.

You found him walking to his room which you quickly caught up to him.

"Bucky. Can we please talk," you asked.

"I have to shower," Bucky says, still trying to avoid you.

"Fine then. I'll make it quick. I like you. And I don't care if you're still struggling with dealing what Hydra put you through. I want to help you anyway that I can. Because that's how much I like you. I like you for who you are. And you're just gonna have to deal with that," you tell him.

Bucky stared at you, surprised at your confession, as you stared at him.

"And now I am going to go because building up that confidence was a lot of energy and if you don't like me back, then that's fine. I just wanted you to know that I like you," you tell him before quickly turning around to leave.

~~~~~

You sat alone up on the roof as you stared out at the city. This was a long way from home but at least the view was nice to look at. You heard someone clear their throat, turning your attention over to them. You found Bucky standing nearby with a pastry box that had a slice of your favorite flavored cake.

"What's that for?" You asked.

"It's an apology cake slice. I'm sorry I've been ignoring you the past couple of days," Bucky said, handing you the cake.

"Thank you for the cake. Please be honest, did I do something wrong?" You asked him, putting the cake next to you.

"You did nothing wrong. It's mostly me," Bucky says as he sat down with you. "To be honest, I really like you too. But I was afraid you would get hurt by The Winter Soldier. Then when I woke up and you were in bed with me, I was afraid he or I took advantage of you.

"Well just to be clear, you didn't. And if you want, we can start things off slowly. I really do like you Bucky," you offered.

"I'd like that. I really do like you too, Y/n and I don't want to ruin anything between us. Believe it or not, you're the only other person I'm comfortable here with," Bucky tells you. You smiled at him.

"I'm comfortable with you too," you tell him.

"Are you doing anything tomorrow?" Bucky asked.

"Not really. Why?" You asked.

"Well, I was thinking, would you want to go on a date? We can go to Coney Island and grab some dinner. Or we can just take a stroll around Central Park," Bucky suggested.

"I like any of those. I've never fully experienced Central Park and I haven't been to Coney Island yet so surprise me," you tell Bucky.

"Alright. Will do," Bucky smiled.

"Do you want to stay here with me and stare out the city? It's one hell of a view," you say.

"I'd like that," Bucky says.

You scooted closer to Bucky before leaning your head on his shoulder. Bucky put his arm around you as you both stared out at the city.

[applekeu]

TAILSPIN — part one

〔 𝒾 〕 "I'm sorry that I can't be her," you say, tears interlaced with every word. You circle back to her endlessly, the loop remaining unbroken. The dead girl's footfall is everywhere, and you're breaking with every step she takes across Caleb's heart. "I'll never be. We both know that, but don't expect me to be waiting around for you to realize I deserve more than a man who looks at me and only sees a ghost."

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱𝐢𝐚 𝓍 𝐧𝐨𝐧-𝐦𝐜!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 8805 (estimated 20k for full story) ⋮ 18+ ⋮ angst with a happy ending, smut, canon divergent as mc dies in the initial explosion and not caleb (he still gets injured thus requiring his biomech arm), coworkers au, rivals to lovers, fwb, miscommunication + jealousy, semi-toxic dynamics, mentions of ptsd and grief, dom!caleb, semi-public sex, size kink, manhandling, gagging (glove as a gag aye), multiple orgasms, marking, dirty talk, degradation kink, "sir" kink, spanking, edging, overstimulation, oral (f + m receiving), cum-eating, unprotected sex, creampie

⌗ 𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐢'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ── First story on this blog! I decided to release this first part because I'm so excited to post the first chunk! I hope you guys enjoy it because it was a pleasure to write. Shoutout to @tinycatharsis @xylatox @aeristudios @frenchkisstheabyss and @xomakara for reading this first part as well as @hyukalyptus for doing editing magic on it, I love you all so much ♡

Caleb doesn't know what to do about the dog tag.

The present is years old by now, but it looks the same as it did when he received it. It's not rusted or faded, and there are no dings or scrapes to buff out. The care of its owner shows with every gleam and glisten of the necklace in the sunlight. He hasn't taken it off, not once. Not until a few days ago. Not until the clasp came undone from the impact.

The only sign of wear on the jewelry is the missing gemstone at the center of the silver apple that rests next to the dog tag. It's ironic in a sense, but Caleb can't fathom how.

His and her friends sniffle and hiccup with every inch of dirt that's laid out over the coffin. Caleb insists on doing this part of the service alone, no matter how long it takes. The act stains his suit pants through the process of covering each square foot, but he doesn't care if he looks unkempt or not. Most things don't matter now, anyway.

The funeral home director suggested Gran’s and the hunter’s services and burials be over the course of two days—yesterday and today. “You’ve already been through so much,” he whispered with an authoritarian sympathy only elders possessed. “Take this one day at a time.”

One day at a time is hellfire, a kind of agony one only understands when life crumbles around you at once. The gut-punch of losing his caretaker would've taken enough time to heal from on its own. But Caleb doesn't understand how to navigate this additional pain that pales in comparison to the previous set of wounds, still fresh as the day they were inflicted upon him. “How does a person recover from the devastation of watching the girl he loves die right in front of him?

The Deepspace Aviation Administration's mandated grief counselor recommended grounding techniques for wandering thoughts, especially ones related to the accident. "It wasn't an accident," Caleb interrupted him when he used that word. "Don't mince words."

"However you see the situation, Mr. Xia, focus on what is in your current nexus of control when your mind spirals."

Following the doctor's orders, he takes a deep breath and tries to feel the ground underneath his feet. All the while, he clutches the dog tag around his neck tightly as the ceremony concludes.

She gave it to Caleb the day he left for Skyhaven. He promised her, foolishly, he’d return to their childhood home as often as possible. Time constraints of their everyday lives that kept them apart could not sever their bond; Caleb wouldn't let it. She might’ve been a hunter, and he a pilot, but their constant course was always back to each other, no matter how briefly those lines converged.

If only he knew their time together would run so short, too short for him to finally pluck up the courage to say he couldn't live without her. And now he has to make peace with the fact that that lost declaration is his new reality.

Without thinking, Caleb lets the metal dog tag pierce his skin. The necklace slices the inside of his palm open slowly. It takes ten minutes and the crowd around Caleb dissipating for him to notice blood running down his shirtsleeve. The loneliness gives way to an indifference that shields him from physical consequences. All he senses is the thrum of his heartbeat as the wind meets his open wound.

If nothing else, the hollowness will remind him it was real and he was once whole. That's what will keep him from spiraling ever again. From expecting the world to be kind to him now that his soul is irrevocably destroyed.

2 YEARS LATER

"And this is the loading bay for each squadron and their respective aircrafts. Yours will be around two dozen, and you'll meet your subordinates later on today once we establish your security clearances." Damien, your new boss and one of the many majors of the fleet continues with the tour of the base. His harping about the procedures and commandments is background noise as you navigate the space together. You're aware of what you can and cannot do as a Farspace Fleet member, even more so now with your new rank.

It's not as if lower-leveled privates don’t know their way around. You've been to the loading bay many times, taking the route to and from excruciating missions in the past year like clockwork. You could label each piece of a plane's equipment and list their purposes by heart if given the opportunity.

With your recently appointed title as First Lieutenant, you are well aware things will change. Subtly, for sure, but just enough to tilt you off your axis, hence the necessity of such a tour. "We need to show you what it means to be a part of the company with a fresh lens, so to speak," Damien had said curtly during the first hour of the tour, like you were a child on her first day of preschool. Maybe it was more for them than you, seeing as you already felt the shift in your previous colleagues' demeanor. Some of them were happy to see you move up in the world, while others sneered from the sidelines.

It didn't matter to you, regardless. Ty, your best friend and a newly appointed Second Lieutenant, is the only person you need beside you to face the career change. And she's even more elated than you are. It's been three days, but she's remained star-struck, especially by the glamour of her new badge and uniform.

"I can't believe this is actually happening," she repeats for the third time in two hours. "Wonder when we'll get to see our new guns."

"Seventy-two hours and you're already chomping at the bit for target practice," you comment with a smile. She's still playing with the golden stars on her coat as she walks, and you nudge her in the shoulder to remind her to stop.

"Don't pretend you're not antsy either. If the rumors are true and they have our names engraved in them, you're gonna shit yourself," she says with a wink.

"Fleet personnel are forbidden from tampering with company equipment, especially for cosmetic purposes,” Damien interrupts with his objective voice. “It's sanction number twelve if you need more clarification on the matter.” There's no admonishment in his tone, but no humor either. You and Ty look at each other, biting your lips to keep the laughter from escaping.

Damien proceeds with his lecture until everyone is at one side of the bay. Masses of opaque grey clouds melt into the surrounding concrete and you could almost forget you’re at work. The city without-a-doubt lives up to its name—the sky is your haven in every sense of the word. 

You always dreamed of flying away one day and it seems possible now more than ever.

That is until a masculine hand yanks you from the edge of the runway, the strength of his forceful fingers burning your right bicep. "Watch it!" a voice you've never heard before cuts through the air, domineering and deafening.

Within seconds, your face is inches away from Caleb Xia. The colonel’s violet eyes sear through your own while his shoulder-length hair blows in the breeze, letting the edges of his wolf-cut glint in the sunlight. 

The only information you gleaned on the colonel came from company paperwork and sultry whispers of nurses and comrades. Never expecting to see him in person, you took all the gossip as myths at worst and warnings at best.

Now, you see why the rumor mill spins with his name on each spoke.

"Did you forget this base is almost five thousand feet above Linkon? You could kill yourself if you're not careful." His voice is threateningly calm. On-lookers would say his demeanor is on the cusp of normal if it weren't for the intensity of his gaze, the heaving of his chest, and the tightness of his fingers around your upper arm. His grip loosens, but his stare remains staunch.

You gulp and respond in haste to avoid furthering your newfound embarrassment. "Apologies, Colonel."

Though his grasp releases, his gaze lingers across your face and you wonder what assumptions he's making in his mind. Have you already stunted your career growth before it's had the chance to bloom, like a seed plucked too quickly from the soil?

"Are these the new lieutenants for Squadron Eight, Damien?" Caleb says the words without looking at the major. His words come with an aura of mystified disdain, and your jaw clenches. Initially, you were nervous in his presence, but now you feel talked down to and rightfully agitated. One mistake during a first impression did not dictate your entire worth to the fleet. Ty sees your eyes beginning to blaze, and she pleads with her own for you to calm down.

You grind your teeth together to keep a response from leaving your mouth, but the second the next words come off of his tongue, it's over. "Looks like this one has to remember the boundaries of her bearings."

"Nobody asked you to remind me of my faculties, Colonel Xia. I'm more than capable of that responsibility."

Suggested edit: Preparing for Caleb’s harsher words—or even another death grip on another one of your limbs—he chuckles instead. The edges of it sting your pride once again. He beckons your group of three to walk alongside him. Only then do you realize his second-in-command, Gideon, is standing by and waiting for the colonel to finish his impromptu business.

Clearly, Caleb has other plans.

You remain close to Caleb's side as the other three in your party stay a distance behind, all of them clearly intimidated by the man at your left. You walk for a while before stopping a few meters away from a set of aircrafts parked on the opposite runway. They're painted with the classic fleet colors of gray, black, and red, along with their squadron numbers marked in white text on one side.

After clearing his throat, Caleb smirks. "If you're so aware of things, you must know the fleet wouldn’t exist without the power of our arsenal." He turns to face you head on again, expression hardening with a smile so bright it stuns you. "So, First Lieutenant, what was the original—"

Too easy.

"The C-5M Super Galaxy was the prototype for the fleet's F35s. Taken from the American Airforce until its dissolution in 3012, the bones of that plane are in use today across all our operations through the Deepspace Tunnel and beyond," you finish Caleb's eventual question seamlessly. 

But you refuse to look at him directly and instead train your gaze on the faraway planes, tracing the slopes and curves of their structures in a loop. "The only alteration the fleet made to the C-5M," you continue, "was lighter aerodynamic design so squadrons and cargo could move across the space-time continuum more efficiently."

You can't contain your smug smile or how wide it spreads before you turn to meet Caleb's eyes once again. "And that's just for our carrier crafts. Do you want the origins of our reconnaissance and bomber planes too, Colonel?"

In a move you don't expect, Caleb's expression softens. An emotion lurks beneath his irises; it refuses to let the smile meet his eyes. He still steps forward again to shake your hand, his touch much gentler than before. "Congratulations, Lieutenant. You may actually survive moving up the ranks."

Silently, Caleb motions for Gideon to make their exit. Damien stutters out a comment on needing to speak to the colonel further about a different matter, leaving you and Ty alone to reflect on whatever that intrusion was. Caleb doesn't look back once, but you sense the longevity of his purple eyes lingering over your form. The ghost of his presence still pierces past your muscles and buries deep into your bones, even as he continues further down the strip of pavement toward the fleet's headquarters.

"So, he seems like a peach," Ty comments first before a breathless laugh spills from her lips. "He is very attractive, though."

He's definitely something, you think to yourself. You're just unsure of what that something is.

"Firearm accuracy estimated as follows: ninety-four percent. Firing distance could be a factor in the remaining six percent deficit. Please practice again for an updated calculation."

The Shotbot's cheerful voice threatens you, or at least you think so. It wants you to throw its spherical body across the room with the way it taunts you. Back when you were too green, you might have. But you have to be better than that, calmer than you used to be. Quality results for a lieutenant don't come in haste, and definitely not with heightened emotions.

"Will do, bitch," you mutter, breathless from the exertive exercise. You kick a few spent shell casings on the training floor as you walk back to the practice bench, your hammering heart in tow. You place new bullets in the magazine, one at a time with quiet precision until it feels hefty in your palm again. The gun's weight lowers your frantic heartbeat, your rushing pulse steadying to an even tempo.

When chaos is all you’ve known, you make peace with storms and weather through until they’re over. Weapons make weathering those storms easier.

A deep chuckle comes from one edge of the training space, and you recognize it like a windchime above your front door despite only hearing it a few times. It holds curiosity with a sharp gleam. Its sound cuts through you like a knife as its owner waits to see if it's worth striking what's on the other end of the blade.

"Ninety-four. Is that your personal best?"

You laugh, but it's too airy to hold any emotion. It's more for theatrics than anything else. Your gun clanks sharply on the bench when you set it down.

You turn to see Caleb staring you down smugly in his tank top and sweatpants, training clothes immaculate in comparison to your crew shirt and spandex shorts drenched in sweat. You don't let his appearance faze you, though. You keep your spine straight and your face steadfast as you reply. "What's yours, Colonel?"

Caleb tsks, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "I asked you first, bluebird." Seeing the surprise in your eyes, a laugh erupts from him again. "Don't freak out. It wasn't that hard to find your old code name."

"You were investigating me?"

He contemplates his next words with a pout. "Think of it as gainin' intel. It's a small part of my job description to oversee the new fish in our big pond. Especially one so close to drowning the other day."

You roll your eyes, leaning back behind you to grab your pistol. "I think we established that I can handle myself just fine."

"Prove it."

You quirk an eyebrow. "You want more oral history on the fleet? You could've just said so."

Caleb's smirk sits in contrast with the tick of his jaw. A million emotions flash across his face, but it's indecipherable past the two tells he's shown. He raises a hand, and your gun shoots out from your palm. It whips through the air until it lands in his own. "Hand-to-hand combat. I'm curious to see if your accuracy is better in this facet of battle strategy."

Damn him and his gravity evol.

Many comrades of yours who fought with him on the frontlines commented on his physical manipulation of guns, melee weapons, and even body parts that left them stunned. He clearly knows how to use it to his advantage, particularly in times like this to humor himself.

"Will you be using that trick of yours when we fight?"

He shakes his head, crossing his heart with the hand not holding your weapon. "Promise," he responds, but you don't trust it. Not until you see him in action.

Caleb can't figure it out.

He's dodged most of your combos, your left fist considerably weaker than your right. Has to be her stronger hand, he thought when he cleared another punch aimed for his jaw. He even landed a small jab to your ribs after one too many exertions left you open in a reckless move.

Yet you're still standing.

You remain stubbornly active in the fight all the same, throwing more hits out and blocking where you can like you haven't exhausted enough energy already. Caleb has to respect the moxie you possess. It's admirable for any soldier to continue on in the presence of an opponent who outnumbers them in a multitude of ways.

You won't win; he knows this. But the hope in your eyes—coupled with the thought that you still believe you can—confuses Caleb further.

He likes your eagerness to find his weak spot in the fight, the vulnerable point that will give you the upper hand. It begs the question of what he still has yet to learn and admire about you. This then leaves him in a stalemate with his original set of unanswerable questions: Who are you? What is it about you that's pulling me in? Why do you remind me of someone I don't want to remember?

Caleb's questions turn into frustration as the fight carries on. He regrets starting this at all. He wishes now you would concede and admit defeat, throw down your arms and stop stirring up the contents of his heart that have sat comfortably untouched for so long.

He could finish this dance and let all of it go, accepting the fact his curiosity will peak here with no definite resolution to his inquiries.

Still—

"Damnit, just quit already," Caleb barks. He hits and blocks faster in an attempt to drain what's left of your stamina.

You laugh, the sound deflated from your fatigue but still possessing a spark of challenge. "That'd be too easy."

Caleb doesn't recognize he's pinned you down to the floor with both his body and gravity evol until he feels the rubber of the floor mats against his calloused fingertips. You gasp in surprise when you fight to get up with no success, his evol keeping you supine. Your reaction spurs more of his irritation to the surface, the emotion rising faster than he's prepared for.

"You have no self preservation, do you?" he asks with bite. His body is equal parts taut and tense above you. Both arms rest on either side of your face as he tries regaining his composure. His chest bumps yours with every respective inhale and exhale you both take.

You smirk up at him. "Just enough, Colonel."

A metal bard pricks Caleb’s side, thankfully not yet piercing his skin. With each inch pressing harder into his skin, it cuts through his tank and the threat of it puncturing his skin is unnerving. But you don’t let it, not when you’re the one controlling it.

Caleb may not know much about you, but he estimates you won't go so far as to kill him during the first week on the job. At least, he doesn't think you will.

He huffs a breath of surprise, his interest spiked more than before. "Your file never said anything about an evol."

A corner of your mouth quirks up, and his breath catches. "Nobody ever asked."

He feels like a teenager again, caught sneaking out by his Gran or flunking a big exam. To name the ticking in his chest feels impossible. The time bomb is indecipherable, one Caleb doesn't know the wiring for.

"Ninety-seven."

Your eyebrows quirk, the skin between them folding. Caleb commits the expression to his memory without meaning to. It's too cute, somehow. "What?"

"My accuracy. It's ninety-seven," he whispers. His lips are a few feet away from yours that are molded into a small grin. Both of your sweat-covered faces sit a handful of breaths apart.

It's unprofessional, his behavior. From using his company clearance to dig into your file to training with you like this, he sees every misstep he's taken to get to this point and recognizes what an idiot he is. He should pull away quickly before he moves any closer, and he knows he will.

But an unnameable force tugs him down, holds him there in the moment for a little bit longer. He's helpless; the damn weighted bomb in his chest won't let him escape.

You look around the room in a clear display of nerves, unsure how to continue. "I need to get back to the armory. Ty will be looking for me."

Caleb nods like he's ready to let you go. His own survival skills kick in, telling him to sit up and step away from you. "I'd say," he starts while recollecting himself, "your evol would be incredibly useful in battle. I'll update your file to reflect this fact and consider your potential for upcoming missions."

You rub your sore arms and wrists as you acknowledge his words. "Noted, Colonel. Thank you."

He clears his throat suddenly, hiding the blush of his cheeks behind his fist. "Caleb is fine, Lieutenant. I think we've skipped the need for titles when we're in situations like this."

"And what situations are those?" you jest.

Caleb chuckles. You ride the ebb and flow of his emotions like a wave, your banter a match for his without much effort. He likes that, too, maybe a little too much. "When we're alone, I guess."

You giggle too, so softly he thinks he imagines the sound. You stand up from the floor with weak limbs, but you manage to extend a hand to him in agreement. "Also noted, Caleb."

Caleb may not understand it or you just yet, but once he does, he'll be able to put it to bed for good without issue. Only then will he feel less tepid, less like something inside of him has just cracked.

Caleb wasn't kidding when he said he would consider you for future missions because of your evol. It was only a month into your new position when your squadron became a staple of the fleet's recent set of cleanup jobs and intergalactic conquests. You liked to assume it was by your own merits and not due to the glowing recommendation Caleb passed to his higher-ups, but you knew better.

Slowly, you proved you were capable of more than even Caleb anticipated. Despite your efforts, it didn't stop conspiratory eyes passing over you when you and the colonel were in the same vicinity. He sure gets close whenever she's around, don't you think?

The murmurs of your comrades couldn't keep you from doing your job, though. It may have chipped at your patience day after day, but you could only show so much of your crumbling resolve. You initially believed the fleet was all about space travel and battlefields. Now, you realize it's a tightrope of commands and surface-level courtesy, a constant rotating door of fighting and pony-showing.

The return to Skyhaven for a few days is necessary, to say the least.

Exhausted and drained, you slept in until noon the first day you arrived home and ate takeout alone for the first time in months. You could do as you see fit, with nobody to answer to or have under your wing. Your apartment is as messy as you left it, but you prefer it that way. 

And now, walking through the city via the intricate skyway bridge, your battery recharges with every step. Almost thirty hours ago on the aircraft you called your second home, you were on the verge of fraying from the ever-present spotlight. Now, you can be a silent spectator without a title or set of responsibilities. It may be for only a few more days, but it's enough.

As you watch the cotton-candy clouds adorning the dusk sky, your mind wanders around the same unrelated subject. What’s Caleb doing now? Is he enjoying time off? Did he opt out of a home visit? Is he still working?

Maybe you shouldn't be thinking of your boss's boss in this manner, but you have to assume it's normal given how much time you spend together. Besides, neither him nor anyone of importance is around to tease you, so what does it matter?

"Galileo, wait!"

The second before you’re given the chance to shout, a gargantuan German shepherd tackles you, forcing your back to the ground with her forepaws. The pup, apparently named Galileo, brushes her brown and black fur against your cheeks, sniffing and licking your face as you sit up by your elbows. Why she opted for kisses as a greeting to a random stranger instead of a bite, you don’t know. 

But you recognize the owner in question like the back of your hand. He runs up to the both of you, his eyes blazing with horror. "Shit—Gal, come here!"

At Caleb’s command, Galilea jumps off your lap, circles around him, and sits perfectly in front of him with a pleased expression. Her tails wags as she awaits Caleb’s behind-the-ear scratches. Clearly, she loves him, letting you finally release the chuckle caught in your throat from meeting her. 

Caleb joins in on your laughter with his own. This time, it's not accompanied by the cockiness or calculation you're used to. It's carefree, light but stuffed with pleasant surprise.

You quirk an eyebrow up at him. "Is this how you charm women? Stick your dog on them?"

He extends a hand out to you, chest still rumbling with humor. "Only the pretty ones. Can't help Gal for knowing the difference."

You're about to bite back with a snarky comment—Oh, so you think I'm pretty, Colonel Xia?—until you flinch.

You feel the burn from your palm coming into contact with his, realizing your skin is covered in scrapes from the fall. What felt like nothing from the fall now feels like the sting of a thousand papercuts.

"Damn," he exclaims. "You need to disinfect those now." He helps you up by the elbow rather than the hand, so gently you think he's mistaking you for a feather instead of a full-sized adult. His gaze lands on the towering apartments at the bottom of the bend. "We need to get you back so you can get cleaned up."

"Yeah, I have a first-aid kit in—" A sudden realization cuts your sentence short. "Caleb. Did you look up where I live in your intel-gathering mission?"

Caleb smirks. "Gotta be thorough, right?" He releases you to tug on Galileo's leash, signaling for her to start walking again. As you both follow suit, Caleb says, "Besides, you can't be upset at me. That's no way to treat your neighbor."

Some time after the two of you make it to Caleb’s door and you stand by as he rifles through his cabinets, he appears from the bathroom with bandages and ointment in his hands, his steps quick and deliberate. "This won't take long."

You giggle to yourself, stifling the laughter with the back of your hand. When a crease forms in his brow, you say, "Why do I get the feeling you've said that line before?"

Caleb chuckles and brushes you on his way past you, patting the spot next to him on the couch once he sits down. "Careful, Y/N. I don't think it's wise of you to make assumptions."

Caleb's apartment in the building opposite of yours is immaculate, not a speck of dust or any embarrassingly opaque stains in sight. He expects absolute precision when you're on the base, so it shouldn't be a shock he's as regimented in his everyday life.

Galileo settles near Caleb's feet as he inspects the wounds on your hands. "They're really shallow. Shouldn't need more than a few days of bandaids and antibiotic cream."

You huff a breath. "Didn't think you could pass yourself off as a doctor, too."

He rolls his eyes playfully. "I know a guy, who actually is a doctor. Taught me a few tricks before I joined the fleet."

You hiss when the first splash of ointment coats your cuts. The pain ebbs once Caleb rubs the cream in, the numbing agent working quickly. "Better?" he asks.

"Much. Thank you."

He hums, pleased by your gratitude. He takes a bandage and begins unwrapping it, careful not to tear the plaster. Your eyes flit across his living room as he works on your hands. Many see him as an enigma, an uncrackable puzzle. But sitting between his legs as he mends the cuts still spotting with blood, you realize there's two men in Caleb Xia that only few people get the opportunity to witness.

This fear-inducing colonel, someone who you initially found to be far too patronizing, is one half of him. He takes no prisoners, does not ask before he does, and seems to chill every man below him to the bone. Yet, this part, the Caleb that is often hidden from public view, intrigues you to no end.

He has few friends yet clearly dotes on his dog, many chew toys on the floor the only form of disarray in his space. He plays his role in the sky with domination and smugness, yet has shown intense care for you that goes well beyond normal boundaries. And, funnily enough, he seems to be incredibly efficient at assembling airplane models, many plastic aircrafts lining his bookshelves.

You don't know this Caleb like you do the colonel, and yet it feels like you could figure out what makes this version tick easily if given more time. And you want to discover those ticks, so much it rattles you. Maybe it's because some part of you recognizes his framework, his ease with being comfortable alone. Or maybe it's because he gives you the same inquisitive stares you're starting to throw his way.

Is he as curious to understand you, too?

"Wanna share your thoughts with the class?" Caleb asks with a close-mouthed grin. A dimple pops out from his cheek, one you didn't notice before.

"What made you want to join the fleet?"

Caleb laughs, but it's entirely artificial. It's too measured, more careful than careless. You can tell the difference by now. "I thought I would find answers to this thing that happened to me a long time ago. And once I realized I wouldn't, that it was a dead end that didn't really have a resolution, it was too late to turn back. Now, I like the shiny attire and equipment."

You giggle at the tail-end of his answer. "Is that why you climbed up the ranks so quickly? Because you were on a search for something that mattered to you?"

"That, and I'm devastatingly handsome. Who wouldn't want to see me in a colonel's uniform?"

The smile on your lips doesn't wane, but the remainder of his answer comes back to the forefront of your mind. His need to repair what broke him a long time ago flicks at one of your subconscious nerves viciously, although you don't show it on your face. He senses it though, looking up at you with those violet eyes brimming with curiosity. You know he wants to know how you would answer without him having to repeat your question back to you.

"I wanted to belong," you confess. "I've always been very out of place, no matter how hard I tried to fit in. At school, at the foster home…" You trail off, immediately regretting sharing such a private part of your life. Caleb may be friendly, but is he truly a friend, someone more akin to Ty than Damien or Gideon? "The fleet's always given me structure, a purpose to fulfill, friends that understand what it's like to struggle and succeed together. Ty used to think it was crazy to like being on the brink of death all the time, but—it's better than being alive and alone."

You hoped Caleb wouldn't laugh at you or craft a funny comment in response to your honesty, but you're more than relieved to find your hope in him wasn't misplaced. All he does is nod and continue fixing up your hand, a solemn expression dressing his face. "I didn't grow up in a traditional home, either. I had a caretaker and…a sibling, but…" The muscles in his face tighten, his jaw bone practically protruding from the skin. He has to be biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from going completely over the edge. You've never seen him like this, skating past his usual composure to leave himself incredibly open.

You shake your head at him, unable to see him torture himself further. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I thought since you told me the truth, it's only right to do the same."

The smile Caleb gives you in response upends all the contents of your stomach, stuff that has to be the makings of both butterflies and livewires. As he takes your bandaged hand in his, his breathing regulates itself as your skin touches. He rubs the outer edges of your palm with his thumb, and your previous regret eases a little. It makes you believe the needle is moving closer to friendship, to being safe in your vulnerability. Maybe even something more. You've never been good at emotions or letting them fly freely, but with him, you want to be.

And that makes a piece of you shift back into a place, a piece you believed was buried way before you could give it a home.

An hour into the gala, Caleb's ready to go home.

The liquor tastes too cheap for him to be drinking on purpose. The rooftop venue overlooking the entirety of Skyhaven isn't anything special, sans the twinkling lights surrounding the bar and dance area. And Caleb's schmoozed more than half of the current partygoers a million times before this event, so there's nobody worth impressing tonight.

Worse yet, the person Caleb wants to put his effort into talking to hasn't shown up, and most likely won't.

"Parties aren't my thing," you told him a few days ago on the aircraft, taking you both home for another mandated break. "Besides, it's for some brigadier general's retirement right? Nobody will notice me missing."

Caleb does, though—so much so that your absence twists in his gut.  In every search he's done across the sea of faces for your daring eyes and smart mouth, he grows more restless. Does that not matter to you by now?

"Smell this," Gideon interrupts Caleb's thoughts with a drink an inch from his face. The younger guy practically dumps all the liquid onto his boss's jacket in the process of…whatever he's doing.

Caleb sets his whiskey sour down on a nearby glass table. "Man, kiss my ass."

"Seriously! That battlefield medic Anya gave it to me, and I can't tell if it's laced with a love drug or something."

Caleb sniffs the rim lightly. Nothing out of the ordinary to report, but it's cute how inept his subordinate is to this stuff. "Smells like a classic strawberry margarita to me."

Gideon huffs. "You say it like I shouldn't be concerned."

"Because you shouldn't be. Be grateful someone's interested in buying you a drink in the first place."

"Says the guy who hasn't gotten any since his DAA days," Gideon spits back before taking a sip of his margarita.

Caleb has the next barb on his tongue, prepared to strike Gideon like a viper eager for an easy kill, but it disintegrates. He can't be bothered with a comeback now, not as he loses all sense of gravity seeing you walk through the double doors like a vision.

Your dress, bordering between modest and suggestive, is the richest red Caleb’s ever seen. Like a ripe apple ready to be plucked from a tree. The silk hugs your curves while the drop sleeves show off your shoulders and neckline—a mouthwatering view. 

Caleb shouldn't look at you like a dog with a bone dangling in the air in wait, but he doesn’t remember why. Even if he did, would it matter? He’ll gravitate back regardless, the instinct to admire you like second nature. It’s easy, letting you to steal every coherent thought from his grasp. All that matters right now is you and the garment that's inducing his lust-filled eyes and dry mouth that begs for some form of relief.

No— not just any relief. Caleb knows this, knows the name of the remedy he seeks. But he doesn't know if it's worth it to cross that line, lay himself bare for you when he's been burned before.

Then again, he was burned for not risking anything back then. Perhaps he should do the opposite this time.

Just as he's about to greet you, he sees an underling that he knows too well creeping over to steal the honor first.

Caleb's body has to be on fire from the way the sight in front of him eats at his flesh. Jace Lee, a major above your rank but leagues away from Caleb, pulls grins and giggles from you like a charlatan with a cheap magic trick. And you feed into his ploys, entertaining a man that isn't Caleb with no hesitancy.

He wants to scream, kiss the idiot's jaw with his fist, and pull you away from this place without a second thought. The feelings that bubble to the surface are almost foreign. He hasn't felt this way since…well…

He downs his whiskey in a few sips before excusing himself from Gideon's side. He saunters to you and Jace, and he sees your demeanor change. It's a lot clearer now, the curtain lifting with every step. Jace is a courtesy, a polite conversation you have to entertain. But when you see Caleb coming over, your amiable smile becomes one of challenge and eagerness just for him.

It can't be in his head what he's witnessing change before him. "Jace, pleasure to see you. Apologies for missing you before." Jace eagerly takes the higher-ups hand. Caleb lets the idea of clenching down with a vice-grip level of strength pass across his brain. He can't be an asshole right now, not when you're this close.

Caleb then takes your hand and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles, his own action creating an electric tingle in his spine. "You clean up exceptionally well."

Trying to hide the new color on your cheeks is of no use, but he finds you captivating all the same. "Thank you, Colonel. Actually, Jace and I were talking about a new carrier mission planned for next month. Can I find you later?”

As if you needed to ask.

Caleb retracts his hand and nods all the same. His heart rests in his mouth as he walks away to leave you to your conversation. It remains there, heavy and pulsing, when he walks to the bar to order a glass of vodka. 

Caleb shouldn’t feel jealous right now. He thought his jealousy ended with the thoughts he had long ago about MC, his heart a tangle of emotions he had no words to justify unraveling back then. Now, you’re the cause for his undoing, and he’s unsure how to reconcile the war in his heart.

He orders another drink with a shot of tequila. The alcohol burns as it slides down his throat, but it doesn’t matter to him. He’ll drink anything if it helps to take the sting away from his racing thoughts and unkempt feelings.

Caleb stirs in his bed with the urge to rise quickly and find you. He’s unsure how he’ll get up with a dull ache in his skull from all the drinks he consumed, but all he knows is that he can't take it anymore—the unsaid words, the tension in every sinew that he’s composed of, the way he yearns for you.

In the haze of liquor, he remembers your arms wrapped around him on your way into his apartment, body hefty but his thoughts heavier as he came through the door.

“You looked really pretty tonight. I forgot to say so. I mean—You always look beautiful, but this dress is…” He ran his fingers over the material, each passing of his hands against the silk torturous.

“Thank you, Colonel.” Your giggle caused a deep knot in his chest.

 “I wanted to kiss you the second you walked into the bar,” he confessed, bashful despite the boldness of his words. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time, actually.”

Your body tensed as you dropped him on the bed, but you still ran your fingers through his hair, admiring each gold-spun strand like a treasure.

“Sleep it off, Caleb.” You looked at him so gently; it drove him crazy to not press his lips to yours then and there. “Tell me all of this when your head's clear in the morning.”

Nothing could have kept him from remembering every word and action. He’d say it all again on a loop if you wanted him to. He tossed and turned in his bed two hours after that, willing the fog of alcohol to clear from his brain. If he waited and saw it pass, then he could do what he's wanted to this entire frustratingly slow night. 

He definitely can’t wait until morning. That's not possible.

Now, with a semi-sober head and a chest overflowing with desire, right now, he needs to know for sure what you want before he goes any crazier.

He tiptoes into the living room on bare feet, trying to stay quiet but still focused on his mission. His heart clenches seeing you belly-down on his couch, snoring lightly with no blanket or pillow to provide you comfort.

The guilt creeps down his body for leaving you in this state while he was buzzed, but relief runs straight past it once he realizes you didn't leave for a reason.

You wanted to stay; he can't imagine the pain he would've felt if you hadn't.

He sits on the ottoman nearby and runs his fingertips over your cheek, his feelings firm on his palate yet partially stuck in his throat. Saying the words came so easily with liquid courage, yet repeating them is like walking through quicksand.

"Wake up, bluebird," he whispers. The only other sounds outside of his voice are your gurgles and whines from being pulled from your dream.

The minute your eyes open, a hazy smile creeps past your teeth. He feels his heart ease and jackhammer in the same second.

You rise from your spot with a yawn. "How are you—"

Caleb doesn't give you a chance to continue your question. He presses both hands to either side of your neck and acts rather than thinks, slamming his lips down onto yours.

The moan that slips past his mouth when he presses his tongue to the roof of yours is instinctual; it's too good to keep quiet about. He presses you into the cushions behind your head as he kisses you deeper and longer without reservation. Maybe the key to the courage he needs is savoring every bit of you he can before releasing it all verbally.

When you part, a string of saliva connects your mouths together, and he almost groans again at the sight. He wants to go back to kissing you breathless and forgetting the rest of the world around you both exists, but he needs to say the words again so you know he means it.

“You told me to tell you this when I had a clearer head," he whispers. "And I think it’s more than clear now.”

One breath to focus on the present moment. Another to quiet the fear. And one more for good measure.

"I want you. I've wanted you for weeks, and I can't stop myself. So don't ask me to…unless it's not what you want." A piece of his heart withers at the thought that your first kiss could also be your last, but he continues on. "I'll do my best to walk away and we can stay friends, but if you feel the way I do, let me give you all of me. Because it's killing me not to."

By the end, he isn't sure if he's breathing. With the quiet contemplation on your face, he's questioning if you're breathing as well. Dying on that couch in front of you wouldn’t be so bad, he thinks, forever eager to know the thoughts swimming in your mind. If he has to go out that way, so be it.

Then, one side of your mouth quirks up, and he thinks he might see another day of existence. "Show me how much you want me."

Your words are his wreckage and his freedom.

In a flash, your dress is draped over the ottoman like it’s worthless. Caleb's an inspector by nature, a pilot who looks on all sides before committing to a course of action. He has to admire each line of your body with a kiss. Take his time with each pass or squeeze of his hand on your skin.

He pays great attention to your chest specifically, kneading one breast as he keeps the opposite one's nipple in his mouth. Sucking, biting, tugging. He's not innocent, and you should've known the second you met him. But it's another thing to experience the sin he's eagerly providing, and he doesn't mind teaching you every lesson he has to offer.

You're incoherent by the time his hands rest on your hips, mumbling and moaning in a language he gathers isn't English. He's itching to take your panties off, but is too enraptured by the wetness that's soaking through the fabric to do so.

"You're drenched, sweetheart." Caleb kisses the damp spot on your underwear, your puffy clit thrumming from the sensation of his lips, even through the cotton barrier. "This all for me?"

You nod like it's all you know how to do, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. "Only for you."

He chuckles darkly and pulls the panties to the side. His tongue licks a fat stripe across your folds, taking its sweet time on the trail up to your clit. A wanton sigh escapes your lips from the sensation. 

Another laugh escapes him from your eagerness to meet his lips with your center. “You’ve never felt this way before, have you, sweetheart?” he asks between more licks and slurps. “Nobody’s ever touched your pussy like this?”

“Shut up,” you respond breathlessly. He continues on, lost in lust and admiration for your body. Why did it take so long to get to this point?

"You like it, beautiful?" Caleb asks rhetorically, knowing the answer in the way you raise your hips to meet his face. "Do you like how my tongue feels?"

"Yes, yes—oh fuck—yes." It must be hard to form logical sentences once he slips a finger through your wetness. He sets a pace meant to scissor you open thoroughly. What will it be like when his cock is inside of you? It makes him ache between his lungs thinking about it.

His mouth wraps around your clit as your walls clench around his digit, eager to keep it inside when he retracts. "You’re sucking me in so well." Caleb admires the view, his hand exiting and entering you like it's where it's always meant to be. "Maybe I'll keep you like this forever. Never let you leave and fuck you stupid every second of the day." Another drag of his tongue against your clit, and your breath hitches. "Do you want that beautiful? Want to be here with me?"

"Of course, please," you plead. "Oh god, please let me be yours, Caleb. Will you let me?" Most girls confessing such a thing would blush something scalding, but you don't care an inch or a mile. You just want him to let you fall apart, and he senses it.

The urge to whine threatens your lips as he pulls himself off you, but it dies when he yanks his suit pants and underwear down in one swoop. Pre-cum coats the tip of his cock, the skin of his length red and throbbing. He's ravenous by now, his patience up to this point kept him at bay to prepare you for what's been coming. What he's been so eager for the second he pinned you down in that training room.

"I want to feel you around me when you come," he whispers before taking another kiss like a thief in the night. You curse at the taste on his tongue and he hums, pleased in knowing it’s your own arousal. 

Tapping the head of his cock against your clit, he coats it in your arousal like he’s dipping a finger into a pot of honey.

When it presses against your gummy walls, Caleb almost comes right there. He doesn't know how he's survived up to this point without knowing how you feel. If this was what was waiting for him all this time, he's a fucking idiot for denying himself. His hip bones press to yours when he's fully inside, sheathed completely despite the tightness encasing his cock.

He wants to move, but he's too busy staring into your twinkling eyes  already glazed over from pleasure. Thinking back to your earlier question makes him pulse against your heat. 

Will you let me?

He needs to give you the answer before he loses himself in you again. "You never had to ask, beautiful. We've belonged to each other for a long time now." He swallows your resounding cry with his mouth as he thrusts his hips.

It's heavenly, better than any plane ride he's ever taken, the funniest jokes he's ever heard, and all the desserts on the planet combined. It's just the two of you, your bodies glistening in the moonlight and his soul being wrapped up in you like he's wanted it to be since the start.

If this is what it's like to fall, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to hit the ground when it's all over.

He moves at a faster speed, thrusting in and out of you with a precision that is just as sharp as his marksmanship. You bite down on his neck to stop from screaming out in pleasure, and Caleb laughs like he's still drunk. He likes his skin between your teeth more than he imagined.

"That's it, sweetheart," he says between two brutal thrusts. "I want all of it."

All of it you gladly give. Running your nails along his back, you mar the skin there in your quest towards your high. You thrust up and into him with your own hips, and Caleb almost loses it then. You're too good at this, too perfect for even his fantasies. "God, sweetheart, I'm gonna come if you keep it up."

"Do it," you murmur. "Fill me up, Caleb. Give me all of it so I never go without you again."

That does him in, like Icarus flying too close to the sun. He falls without protest or trepidation. And you fall with him, clinging to his shoulders as ropes of his cum coat your insides white. It's warmth, heat, desire overflowing past maximum capacity.

Caleb clings to you in the aftermath like a life preserver, chin in the crook of your shoulder and his hands tightly wrapped around your middle. You feel spent and sticky, but he still litters kisses all over your skin like you're the oasis in the middle of a desert. You've never looked more beautiful.

And when you stare into each other's eyes coming down, your shared arousals seeping out from where you two meet, you both know everything has changed.

"Caleb, I can't breathe. Loosen up," you joke, trying to lighten the mood.

The ends of his sweat-soaked hair tickle your neck as he nuzzles in closer. "I can breathe for the both of us just fine."

"Caleb!" You turn in his hold to protest further, but he steals another kiss from your lips before you can gladly give it. Once again, like a bird called back to its flock, you're lost in him. And, in you, he's found.

He's freed from the fear you're going anywhere without him. The physical reminders you're here keep his doubts at bay.

They keep him from admitting how much of a liar he is. How he's keeping a part of his life from you. How he'll always tuck away the fraction he's certain will make you run from him without a second thought.

── .✦ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 (𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗟𝗬 𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘):

@filmnings @innocygnet @prkhaven @frenchkisstheabyss @xomakara @tinycatharsis @pinkjellyz @bambiihee @xylatox @asiatic-apple @humanjarvis

© 𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗟𝗘𝗞𝗘𝗨; 𝖣𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒, 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍, 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗀𝗂𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗓𝖾, 𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝖽𝗂𝖿𝗒 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝗌!

[dcafanzine]

May Update

Helllllooooo everyone!  Sun and Moon and the Fanzine crew have been quietly working away here at Glitches and Glitterglue HQ but it’s about time you lovely people had an update! I think Moon is ready for a break after being worked so hard, but Sun will not accept anything less than perfect for you all!

Well, we are well on our way! We’ve now ironed out the last wrinkles with all our production companies and we’re super excited to share the results of our labour! We are just awaiting final proofs for the last changes on a couple of items and to give the green light to produce the goods.

Our next steps will be receiving the goods, boxing up and dispatching in waves! We cannot express how excited are to be so close to the finish line and have these bundles in your hands.

A few of you have been asking about tariffs and what these will be impacting. The tariffs (from our understanding and research) would mostly affect items being imported to the US, the zines and merch coming directly to our shipping team from manufacturers from overseas. We are planning on our US items being shipped to backers from within the US and many of our international items being shipped from the UK, with a few exceptions. This was always our plan to both help split the load for our team and this should also help with tariff issues should there be further problems and fees trickling through the shipping systems.

The honest answer is we’re charting uncertain waters with this but to our current understanding, this shouldn’t impact you but may slightly increase the waiting times for things to arrive with us. Should there be any need for further guidance, we will let you all know via update.

Sneak Peeks! Aren't they amazing?  Some snippets of works you have to look forward to from the talented RAVLIKSBLOG, LYCANKEYY and ELDRITCH-BEETLE!

Annnnd here’s an updated timeline! 

Updated Fazwatch Timeline

What's happening next?  Here's the up to date estimated outline as of May 2025!

There were some small issues that have been resolved with our manufacturers, but after reviewing and finalizing proofs, items are in production!

We expect to begin receiving some items in the next few weeks and into June.  Here is the updated timeline reflecting the delay.

February-March 2025: Funds Received & Items Ordered! We have received the funds from Kickstarter and are in the process of finalizing our order details and sending all of the amazing art to our manufacturers. Proof and Production times can vary, but we will send updates to backers as details are finalized and items go into production.

April-May 2025: Proofs Reviewed, Revised, & Approved. Printing and Manufacturing is underway! Proofs received from manufacturers and our team has reviewed everything for quality and accuracy. This process can go back and forth multiple times. With the final approval of the art, the manufacturers will begin production!

June 2025: We will send out Backer Surveys to confirm everyone's shipping details. We are planning on surveys being sent out in June, but will send an update prior to sending and to remind backers to look for them once they are sent. 

Mid June-July 2025 (estimated): Items arrive and fulfilment begins!  

July-Sept of 2025 (estimated): Packages are Shipped & Digital Rewards are Sent! Once we have confirmed where everything needs to be shipped, we will begin to send out packages in waves. This does mean that everyone's packages will not arrive around the same time, but this in unavoidable with how many of you there are!  It will be during this time we plan to send out the digital rewards.

More detailed information on digital reward fulfilment will be coming in a future update.

These are estimated dates that we’ll be able to further refine as we get farther along in the process. These may change depending on manufacturing, and other factors we have done our best to plan for.

Thank you all for your patience and I’m sure you’ll hear more good news from us soon!

[imyimsorryy]

i bet you think about me

aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: kidnapping, usual cm violence, kinda emotional cheating (not on each other), mentions of a hook up, angst —> fluff

no use of y/n

word count: 7k

“This isn’t working.”

It’s a punch straight to your gut. The words echo in your mind as you drive home, void of any emotion. The radio is muted, and the dull falling of snow does nothing to help your melancholy.

You love him, part of you always has. From the moment you stepped into the BAU, you knew he would ruin you. You just didn’t think it’d be like this—so close to the holidays you cherish.

Your phone rings from the empty passenger seat, you glance over, spotting Penelope’s picture flashing on the small screen. You ignore it, you aren’t in the mood to talk to anyone. The call ceases after a minute, but then the screen is lighting up again with a voicemail and a text message. You sigh, reaching over to press play on the message.

‘Hey babydoll, me and Prentiss are going Christmas shopping tomorrow, you in? Call me back, love ya.’

At least she doesn’t suspect the heartbreak you just experienced.

It had been a long case, the grueling cold of Minnesota only heightened everyone’s grumpiness. Christmas is in a week, everyone just wanted to get home to their loved ones.

Aaron had been snapping at you—and then when you separated from him and Derek to capture the unsub, he had snapped. He never yelled at you in front of the team like he did that day. You felt like a little kid again, being scolded over anything. You can’t get the pitiful face of JJ out of your mind.

You type a quick, ‘Sorry, I’m busy’ before throwing your phone back on the seat, redirecting your full attention to the road in front of you.

Your apartment is dark when you open the door, the bare walls and cold floor are what drive you to open the bottle of red wine stashed in your pantry.

The loneliness of it all—of having someone so tantalizingly close, and then losing it too much. His touch, his lingering glances, and whispered promises linger in your mind. The way his hand would brush yours while passing files or how he’d tap his knee to yours during a briefing; all of it is etched into your memory.

By the third pouring of wine you abandon the glass, opting to just drink it straight from the bottle. The TV plays a shitty reality show, you almost laugh as you listen to the rich snobs complaining about what to wear.

You lay your head on the back of the couch, and in the process of kicking your feet onto the coffee table you accidentally knock the glass over, spilling the remaining droplets of red wine and glass shards onto the light colored rug beneath you.

Normally you’d have cursed the universe for it, laughed a little, then cleaned it up. But now, you just stare at it. Broken and bloody—as dramatic as it sounds it’s how you feel at the moment, and you can’t bring yourself to get up and grab the broom.

You twist your body so you're laying down on the couch, and you fall asleep listening to the annoying voices on the TV and the smell of grapes.

You’re awoken to the sound of an incessant knocking on your front door. You’re not sure what time it is, but the sunlight peeking in through your blinds gives you enough clues to estimate.

You contemplate ignoring it, but then the nagging thought that maybe, just maybe, it’s Aaron. Maybe he’s hurting the way you are, maybe he’s sorry. In the process of getting up you feel glass crack on your bare foot, followed by a searing pain and a red footprint when you step off of it.

The knocking still doesn’t stop, and you conclude that you have to answer no matter what, so you can at least make whoever it is patch your foot up.

Blonde and black hair are all you see in the peephole, of course they came to get you anyway.

“Hey sweets.” Penelope is far too happy for you to understand, your head is already pounding from your previous wine drunk state.

You open the door wide enough for them to come in, and Emily notices your pained expression, before casting her eyes downward. “Jesus, what happened?”

“I stepped on glass.” You stumble slightly, gripping her shoulder to hold you up. Emily looks around your living room. She notices the empty wine bottle, the stained carpet, the messy blankets thrown about the room. She turns her attention back to you as Penelope searches for a first aid kit. “Are you drunk?” Penelope laughs, Emily gives her a look.

You hear Penelope mumble something about profilers as she approaches you with bandages and tweezers.

You try to get out of Christmas shopping, but part of you can use the distraction. The holiday lights flicker on the street, the sunlight making it hardly noticeable, but you notice.

“Aaron, where are we going?” You laugh, his hands around your eyes causing you to lean into him to steer you. “Just wait.”

A few more feet and he’s finally removing his calloused hands from your eyesight, you open your eyes in awe at the sight in front of you. Christmas lights blind you, from every direction.

In the center of the festively lit town is a large Christmas tree, it’s one you would see in a cartoon with how comically large it is.

Different strings of lights shine brightly and he watches with a wide smile as you take in the site. You love Christmas lights, he’ll never forget when you two drove past a house decked out in them after a hard case. Your eyes had glistened with joy in the passenger seat.

You turn back to him with a smile that could make him faint, and then the whole park goes black.

You’re the first to laugh, the idea that he brought you here to show you the lights just for the power to go out as soon as you arrive makes you gasp for air next to him. He looks grumpy beside you, preparing to pull his badge out to make them fix it for you.

He’d have captured a star for you if it made you smile, but hearing your laugh beside him was enough to snap him out of his annoyance, instead focusing his attention on the beautiful sound coming from you.

He laughs then, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, standing on your tiptoes so your noses are almost touching. “It was beautiful.” You whisper against his lips, he almost tilts his head back with how overwhelming your presence is.

It’s embarrassing, how much of a lovesick teenager you make him feel by just being near him.

“I’ll make them fix it.” He says in return, causing you to laugh again as you press your lips to his pout. “You’re sweet to me.”

He doesn’t say anything to that, instead he presses a kiss to your forehead before pulling away in order to wrap an arm around your shoulders. “Come on, there’s more to do.”

Penelope snaps in your face, jolting you out of the trance you found yourself in. “Hey, what’s wrong? You seem upset.”

“I’m fine.” You sniffle, wiping it with your glove. “Seriously, it’s just cold.” You try your hardest to smile, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes and you know Emily notices, but she doesn’t say anything as you begin walking ahead of them.

You don’t buy anything, your Christmas shopping is long out of the way. You do it every year, you get excited by the upcoming holiday and accidentally buy everyone’s gifts the first week of November.

Aaron had found it endearing, how excited you got at the idea of giving people gifts they’ll enjoy.

“Let’s go in here.” The universe must be out to get you, because the store Penelope turns into is the same one you and Aaron would frequent on your occasional days off. It’s filled with antiques and books, something he didn’t particularly enjoy looking at, but you did.

The day continues on, little things remind you of him everywhere you go. You curse yourself for being so miserable, for letting someone have this effect on you.

You sip a hot chocolate as the sky darkens, pushing the memories of him kissing the whipped cream off your upper lip out of your mind as you wipe it away with a small napkin that Emily hands you.

Penelope is talking to the woman at the booth, asking her all about where her outfit is from, when Emily sighs next to you. “What’s going on?”

You turn to her, a little shocked at her question. You ramble as you attempt to come up with a reason for your sour mood. “Please—I’m fine. What makes you think something’s wrong? Seriously Em—”

“You ramble when you lie.” Emily says as she lifts her paper cup up to her lips. “So, spill.”

You hesitate, you can’t say anything. Nobody on the team even knows about you and Aaron. You’d kept it a secret for a year and a half, you definitely weren’t going to give it up now.

“Did something happen…with Hotch?” It’s like she can read your mind, and you bite your tongue in order to not talk and reveal your lie. Then your eyes widen, remembering that you hadn’t told her about Hotch.

“Hey,” She says your name. “It’s okay, nobody else suspects anything.”

“I don’t…” You stop yourself from rambling. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I saw you guys, a few months ago. You know, he smiles more these days.”

You laugh bitterly at that, suddenly angry at her revelation. He wasn’t smiling when he broke your heart.

“Nothing happened Em. Let it go.” Your tone is clipped, and she puts her hands up in surrender, dropping the topic as Penelope approaches the two of you.

Once they drop you back off at home you flop onto your bed. A few seconds pass before you grab one of the pillows and scream into it.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

The next weeks are torturous. Christmas is spent on a case in Florida, it would have been bearable if Aaron were still yours.

He knows you hate it, a white Christmas is your favorite thing, and the humidity of Florida is the complete opposite.

Hot weather has never been your favorite, the past summer you would complain you were dying every time he forced you to run with him. He thought it was adorable, and the image of you tinged with heat and sunburnt cheeks was one of his favorite sights.

“Alright, let’s get to work.” The current case is a local one, something you’re very grateful for. Sleeping in your own bed is much better than being in a suffocating hotel.

He calls your name, his voice void of his usual softness for you. “I need your report from the Michigan case.”

“I’m working on it.” You say, trying to remain civil as he stares at you. His eyes would usually soften when your tone was like that, stressed. Now he just stares. “Is that all?”

He nods, his voice suddenly dry as he tears his gaze away from you. You shoulder past him out of the conference room, heading towards Spencer as he works the geographical profile.

“There’s something there.” Aaron isn’t sure where Dave came from, but his shoulders slump slightly at the older man’s discovery. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about Dave.”

“Sure Aaron.” He claps his shoulder as he walks past him, standing in the same spot you just had. “She’s good for you—after everything.”

Aaron has to fight his scoff, if only he knew how good you were for him. He has no idea that he’d already indulged, already had you for the entirety of a year, and then some.

“I’ll remember that.” His tone leaves no more room for Rossi to speculate on his life, and with that he’s walking out of the room in order to go look at the latest body with Emily.

If Spencer notices your sadness, he doesn’t acknowledge it. It’s become your thing lately, a constant frown decorating your features. “Hey pretty girl.” Derek could usually get you to smile, but lately even those attempts are futile. “Oh come on, nothing? Baby, I don’t remember the last time you shined those pretty teeth.”

“3 weeks and 2.5 days.” Spencer says without looking up from a spot he’s working on the board. “Jesus.” You mutter. You spin your chair to face Derek, mustering up a big smile.

“Here.” You grit through your teeth. “Okay, that’s creeping me out.”

“You wanted a smile.” You shrug, causing Derek to laugh as he places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “We’re here for you, we all love you.”

This has you turning away from him. We all love you.

“Hey, I think I’ve got something here.” Spencer saves you from continuing your dreaded conversation with Derek.

The case seems to drone on forever, but once you finally find the unsub’s identity you grab your gun, preparing to retrieve your vest.

“You’re staying.” Aaron looks to you, his expression unreadable as you roll your eyes. “No, I’m not.”

“I need you here with Reid.” It’s bullshit, and you know it. But you don’t care enough to fight him on it, so you scoff before walking towards the small kitchen to get yourself some coffee.

Emily walks up behind you, placing a comforting hand on your back. “He’s protecting you.”

“Emily, don’t.”

“Why don’t you talk to him?” She persists, moving around you. “Don’t you need to go with them?” You ask, shrugging her off. She doesn’t say anything else, and you make a sour face at her pitiful expression.

Aaron spares you a glance as he leaves, your eyes meeting for a split second. But as quickly as the spark was there it was gone, and you're returning to the paperwork in front of you. He notices the shuddering breath you take, and the tired slump of your shoulders.

He wants to reach out, to console you. But he can’t, he can’t let himself do it because if he does he’ll never be able to leave you again. 

You’re gone once they get back, their killer in custody and the young girl he had kidnapped returned safely to her family. He rubs his hand across his forehead before heading up to his office.

Months ago you would have flashed him a pretty smile and the doe eyes that have him bending at the knees in order to get him to leave the papers and go home with you. 

“Aaron, come on, please.”

“I’ve got reports to do honey, just give me an hour. I’ll make it up to you.” You smile at him as you snake your arms around his waist, earning a warning glare from him. “Come on.” He shakes his head at you as he peels your arms off of him.

You sit with him for one hour, then two. After two you sigh, shuffling some of the papers out of the file and picking up a pen from the metal cup he keeps on the corner of his desk. He looks at you for a moment before going back to his papers, a fond smile remaining as he continues writing on the boring documents. 

Another hour passes when you finally stand up. You stretch your arms dramatically, pairing it with an overexaggerated yawn. He knows what’s coming, and before he has the chance to look up you’re wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing your face into his hair. “I’m going to make some coffee.” You press a kiss to the temple of his head before jumping off of him in favor of the door. You turn around with a smile on your way out, one he reciprocates instantly. “Thank you.” 

You return with two cups of coffee in your hands, you kick the door closed with your foot. “I got donuts too.” You grin goofily as you place the navy blue mug down in front of him. “Black coffee, horribly plain.”

“You drink sugar with a side of coffee.” He smirks as you take a bite of your donut. “And you’ve got the worst sweet tooth I’ve ever seen.” You stick your tongue out at that before lifting the donut up to his mouth. He shakes his head. “Right, I forgot you’ve got to be in shape for your triathlon.” 

“You’re doing it too.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.” You laugh before taking another bite of the chocolate donut. You look back down at the papers in front of you, careful not to get any chocolate onto the white sheets. You can feel his eyes on you, and you can feel your cheeks flush at his unmoving gaze. “What?” You laugh. 

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, his eyes still on your face. “You’re beautiful.” You smile at that, pulling your lip between your teeth as you avoid his gaze. “You know how to charm a girl, Hotchner.” 

“Only you.” He shakes his head as he lifts your chin with his thumb, rubbing it across your lip once you move your head towards him. It’s one of his favorite things, how easily you lean into his touch. You smile brightly at him as he leans in to capture your lips. 

His mind snaps out of the memory as he opens the door, the once warm office filled with your presence now bare and dull. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Jealousy is a green-eyed monster. It’s not something you believed in the past.

In high school when Jessica Blake flirted with your boyfriend in front of your face you didn’t even flinch. 

You didn’t want to believe that Aaron was dating again when Garcia mentioned it. But then Rossi started teasing him when he thought no one else heard, you heard it though. 

“You’re staring daggers.” JJ whispers in your ear. “What?” You turn, your tone more clipped than you intended. You soften as you face her, mumbling a sorry. JJ puts an arm around your shoulders, “I know you have a thing for him, maybe she won’t last long.”

He just finished his triathlon, the one that you were supposed to run with him. You had trained with him for weeks. Weeks of your life you spent doing something you hated just because he wanted you to do it with him, wasted. “JJ, I don’t have a thing for him.”

It should’ve been you kissing him at the finish line, instead it’s Beth. You haven’t met her, and really you shouldn’t be jealous.

“Aaron, I can’t run any more. I think my side is going to explode.” You huff, bending over at the waste to try and catch your breath.

He laughed from his spot ahead of you on the track. “I’m not joking!”

“I’m not laughing at you.” He lies, the smile on his face giving him away instantly.

He grows more concerned for you as you don’t move from your spot, instead you plop down on the ground of the indoor track. “Honey, we can go get some water, come on.”

You laugh as you stare up at him from your spot on the ground, causing him to shake his head. “I think you need to carry me to the car.”

“Come on you dork.” He pulls you up by your arm, placing a hand on your waist to stabilize you. You lean into him as you two walk out towards the locker rooms. “I’ll meet you back out here.” He takes his arm off of you, causing you to stumble dramatically.

“Go change, we can get takeout and you can pick the movie.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” You giggle as you turn your back to him, heading into the women’s locker room to change into warmer clothes.

Once you’re finished changing you meet up with him again, taking his warm hand into your cold ones once the freezing air hits your skin. “I forgot my mittens.”

“I’m not surprised.” He chuckles. “So you should know to bring them for me, you know I always forget.” You pout, and he can’t stop himself from pressing a kiss to your puffed out lips. “I’m horrible.”

The next time he forced you to go to the gym, he brought your mittens and a scarf to match them.

From your spot on the sidelines you can tell she’s a way to forget you. 

He won’t forget you anytime soon though, you can see it in the way his smile doesn’t reach his eyes even while he’s surrounded by people who care about him. You can tell by the way he still searches for you in the huddle your team has formed around him, and you can tell by the way his eyes lock onto yours from across the park. 

You decide to walk up to the rest of the team then, making sure to not look away from him. Beth talks to him, and you can tell he’s giving her incoherent mumbles as responses as he finally breaks eye contact to turn towards her. 

Derek wraps an arm around you. “Babygirl, out of you four, you may be the happiest one today.” He gestures to the very hungover women of the BAU, you had opted out of ladies night in favor of wallowing with a tub of ice cream. “And that’s saying something.” 

You look at Aaron after Derek says the last part, making sure he knows that the jab from Derek was his fault. He looks away, unable to bear the guilt you’re trying to seep into him. “I need something greasy and fried.” JJ says, breaking the silence that took over the group. 

“I need a drink.” You mumble to Derek, who smiles as he ruffles your hair. “We’ve missed you coming out with us, you know.” He says as you all walk towards the parking lot. Jack comes up next to you, and you realize then how you haven’t seen him in months. You smile, unable to be annoyed at him over his father’s doings. “Hey Jack-O.”

He smiles at you, tugging your hand to get you to pick him up. “How are you buddy?” 

Aaron watches as you hold Jack in your arm, and it physically pains him. He brushes it off as an ache from the swimming portion of the triathlon. That was your favorite part, your giggles as you splashed him with the pool water during training echo in his mind. 

He turns back to Beth, reminding himself this is who he needs. Beth is simple, uncomplicated. She doesn’t work a job that puts her life at risk daily. She smiles at him, completely unsuspecting of his yearning for another woman. 

But then he hears your laugh and he’s ready to drop everything for it. It’s the kind of laugh that even the greatest musicians couldn’t capture into a song. The way your lips curl and your head tilts back is a site that even the most talented of painters couldn’t put onto a canvas. 

“Hey, good job out there. I’m going to have to train more to beat that.” Beth jokes to him, once again regaining his attention. Beth is good for him, she even enjoys running as much as him. 

You set Jack down, and smile as he runs back towards Aaron. You hear him ask his dad to invite you over again, which you quickly tune out to avoid the awkwardness.

You miss her approaching you. “Hey, I’m Beth. Jack is over there singing your praises, I had to meet you myself.” She’s friendly, and you can see why Aaron likes her. You wish you didn’t hate her so much, she seems like she’d be a good friend. 

“Hi.” You smile as much as you can, reaching your hand out for her to shake. “Aaron told me you're great too, at the job.” At the job. “I’m sure he did.” Your response is light, but if anyone knew about you and Aaron they’d know there are layers to it. 

He watches as you interact, carefully watching your movements. At the restaurant when everyone is occupied in conversations he looks at you. You can tell what he’s asking without any words being spoken. You shake her head, rolling your eyes in annoyance. He wants to make sure you were civil with Beth. 

The next morning you roll over in bed, your hair splayed across the pillow as you listen to the sound of the shower in the bathroom connected to your room. In your sleepy and hungover state, half of you expects Aaron to walk out.

Instead it’s a man with strikingly similar features. It’s not him, but he was a good hook-up to take your mind off of him. You know you're using this random guy as a surrogate, and you know the psychology behind it, but you don’t care. 

“Hey baby.” The stranger leans down to capture you in a kiss, you duck to avoid his lips. They don’t feel like Aaron’s, you remember how chapped they were last night when he had kissed you. 

“I’ve got to work.” You slip under his arm in favor of the kitchen. “I made you some coffee.” You groan, annoyed at the fact that this stranger had rummaged through your kitchen while you were still asleep. “I’m not the biggest fan of coffee.” It’s a lie, and if the man was smart he’d realize it due to the vast selection in your pantry, but alas he is not the brightest. 

“What’s your name?” He asks, coming up behind you in the kitchen. “Look, please, let’s not do this. I have work in..” You check the time on the microwave clock. “30 minutes. Shit, you have to go.” You usher him towards the door, barely giving him a chance to grab his shoes. “Come on, you can be late once. Let’s go again.”

“Get out.” You roll your eyes. “Bitch.” He scoffs, but retreats down the hallway of your apartment complex. Once he’s out you set your security alarm before racing towards the bathroom. 

Five minutes is a new record time for you to be ready, you quickly grab a muffin and mug of coffee before leaving. 

“I’m here, I’m here.” You take a seat at the round table, conveniently the only one available is next to Aaron. “Dang mama, rough night?” Derek laughs from across from you, earning himself a glare. “Alright, let’s get started.” Aaron snaps, gaining the attention of everyone. 

Once everyone disperses from the room, in order to prepare to leave, Aaron stops you, placing a hand on your upper arm. You freeze, not turning to make eye contact before shrugging him off. “Sir, I need to go get my bag.” 

He says your name, causing you to turn towards him. You scoff when he doesn’t say anything. “Coward.”

“Excuse me?” He gives you the same stern look he gives to everyone, but there’s something else in his expression. “You’re a coward.” You repeat, pointing a finger to his chest. “I suggest you cover that..mark..on your neck, Agent.” He moves away from your hand. 

“That’s what this is about?” You narrow your eyes at him, if looks could kill he’d be a puddle on the floor at your glare. “It’s unprofessional, and distasteful for you to present yourself like that at work.”

“Get off your high horse Aaron. There’s barely anything there.” You adjust the collar of your shirt to make sure it’s fully covered. “You’re upset with me, when you’re the one who went and committed to someone else. I mean, you’re the one who ended this in the first place. Go to hell.” 

It was late when the team got back from Minnesota, and everyone was tired. Aaron couldn’t focus on that though, all he could see was the scar running across your cheek, and the bruise on your eye. 

“My office.” He doesn’t touch your shoulder like he usually does when walking past your desk. His orders are cold, and leave no room for argument. 

As soon as the door is closed he’s berating you. “I should suspend you. I should have you evaluated for being so reckless. You endangered the lives of everybody today, and that’s unacceptable. You got lucky out there today.”

He’s angry, you know it’s because you almost died, but he’s deflecting like always. You don’t respond, you know you did the right thing and it resulted in a young girl being saved. “This isn’t working.” He runs a hand through his hair.

“What?” You attempt to take his hand, he pulls back. “This. It’s over.” 

“Aaron,” You pull his face into your hands, forcing him to look into your eyes as he breaks your heart. “You don’t mean that, you’re angry.” He shakes his head, pulling away from the touch he usually craves. “Emotions have nothing to do with this, it’s a fact. We aren’t going to work. I’ll expect your case report on my desk first thing in the morning.” 

“You want to fight? I can fight, I can scream.” You sound pathetic, and you never thought you’d be begging a man not to leave you. But he’s different, he’s everything. “I don’t want to fight. I want you to go home and think about what you did wrong, Agent.”

“What I did wrong?” You scoff as you swing his office door open. You’re gone before he can realize what he just did, leaving nothing but the lingering scent of floral perfume in your wake. 

The unsub is kidnapping victims who look increasingly similar to you. Aaron can’t fight the unease in his chest as he stares at what he was doing to these women. It’s hard for his mind to not drift to images of it being you instead of them. He makes sure to pair you up with Morgan everywhere you go, already knowing that him being with you won’t do either of you any good. 

You were just stepping outside to catch your breath, it was dark out, but there were people around you, how much danger could you really be in?

You remember pulling your phone out, and you remember a searing pain in your shoulder, only registering that you’d been shot after seeing the silencer in the attacker’s hand. “Don’t scream, or he’s dead.” You don’t need to ask who, your mind immediately flashes with images of Aaron. 

Your hands are bound in the back of his van, you fight a black out as you take in your surroundings. He’s disorganized, he shot you and left a witness outside of a station. From the brief look you got of his face you know he’s young. “What do you want from me?” You ask, as calmly as you can muster in your bleeding out. “I–I need a doctor.”

“You’re not getting a doctor!” He shouts, turning around while driving to point his gun at you. “Then I need you to hurry, before I bleed out back here.” You move to get more comfortable in the cramped spot he put you in. “I know you don’t want me to die.”

“I read about you, I’ve been to all of your lectures and conferences, and you never noticed me!” You squeeze your eyes shut, Aaron has noticed you’re gone by now, you know he has. “I knew I had to get your attention somehow.”

Back at the precinct Aaron is reeling. The woman who had witnessed it was shaking in one of the chairs. “I didn’t hear the gun—but when I looked up she was bleeding and this guy was yanking her by the hair.”

He puts his hands over his ears, trying anything to avoid the thoughts that you could be dead, that the likelihood of you being dead is high. Derek pats him on the shoulder, a reassurance that does nothing to ease his mind. 

“What if this is about her?” Emily looks up from the file. “The women all look extremely similar to her, but he never kidnapped any of the previous ones.”

“But why shoot her?” Rossi asks, taking caution with his words as Aaron paces back and forth. “She—she just did a bunch of lectures at the ivies. Over our vacation last year.” Nobody questions how he knows that, but they nod. Derek pulls his phone out, dialing Penelope’s number. “Hello my furry friends. How can I be of service?” 

Derek fills her in on what happened, gaining a large gasp from the woman on the phone. “Garcia, we need to cross reference all of the people who recently attended her lectures across New England. Ivy leagues–Harvard, Yale, Princeton.”

“Yes sir.” She responds, tight-lipped, to Hotch. “And Garcia?”

“Yes sir?”

“You need to be more professional.” Derek shoots Aaron a look at that. “Come on man, she didn’t know.” 

Aaron doesn’t respond as he walks outside to investigate the scene where you were taken from. Your blood is pooled on the ground, bringing tears to his eyes. Dave comes up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Aaron quickly regains his composure, wiping the tears away from his face. “She’s strong Aaron. She’ll pull through.” 

“He shot her Dave.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I can’t–I can’t lose her.” Dave doesn’t say anything to that, he knows Aaron will blame himself for the rest of his life if he loses another woman he loves. “She’s everything, we–we were fighting last time we talked.”

“Then let’s go in there and find her.” He claps Aaron’s shoulder before turning back towards the precinct. 

You gasp as he pushes the bandages to your arm. The bullet was through and through, thankfully. “I lost a lot of blood.” You say, trying to sound submissive. “Come on, take these off my hands and I’ll do whatever you want.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head, pushing the gun to his head. “Stop talking.” 

You shake your head, fighting back the tears threatening to surface. You have to be strong, the team will find you. “What–” You shift. “What’s your name?” He twitches at you moving closer to him. “Come on, you know mine. I like to know the name of the man I’m with.” You want to throw up at the thought of flirting with him, but it’s the way to gain his trust. 

“Paul.” You nod at that. “Ok, Paul. I remember seeing you at my lecture. I…” You twitch slightly as he turns the gun around on you. “I wanted to talk to you, but you were gone before it ended.” 

“You wanted to talk to me?” You’re gaining his trust, you can tell by the way he lowers the gun ever so slightly towards the ground. “Untie me Paul, we can have some fun. I want you.” You fight the shudder taking over your features as he smiles at you. 

He unbinds one of your hands, the other is still cuffed to the chair behind you. “This is all I can do for now.”

“Thank you.” You contemplate kicking him hard, but ultimately it’s a fight he would win due to one hand still being stuck behind you. You’ll wait, and get him to trust you enough to unbind the other one. 

“I’ve got a name.” Penelope’s voice is professional, a stark contrast to her usual bubbly mood. Aaron doesn’t feel guilty for what he said to her, his attention too focused on not breaking down in order to find you. “Paul Danver. He attended every one of her lectures, and even began making obsessive comments about her in various articles.” 

“So he’s a stalker. That doesn’t explain the torture to the victims. He doesn’t want to kill her, he wants her attention.” 

Aaron thinks for a moment, racking his brain. He was at your lectures, he sat in the back to avoid attention. “The one at Yale, she was asked a question about how we pick our cases. She–she avoided answering at first but when he pressured her more she said we pick the most urgent ones. He went to these extremes for our attention, he knew it would bring her here.” 

Paul runs his fingers over your skin. Your shirt was gone, he had ripped it off in order to care for the wound on her shoulder. “Paul, I think it’s time. Untie this hand and we can be together.”

You don’t expect him to actually do it, and you fight your sigh of relief when he does. You wait a beat after he’s done it, giving him a second to lean back. He smiles as he takes in your compliant state, before leaning forward again to kiss you. This is your chance, you bang your head into his face, sending him stumbling backwards. “You bitch!” He roars, racing forward with his finger on the trigger of his gun. You push the hand holding it towards the wall as he pulls the trigger, narrowly avoiding a shot to the head. “I’ll kill you.” 

You struggle for a moment, before getting the gun out of his hand and pointing it at his retreating form. “I don’t think you will, Paul.” Aaron’s voice rings in your ears as the team fills the room. Derek puts himself in front of Aaron, knowing he’s too emotional to be confronting Paul. 

“Get on the ground.” Derek growls. Paul complies after realizing there isn’t a way out of this. 

“Let’s get a medic in here.” Aaron says into his mic before striding over to you. He breathes your name as he stands in front of you. He takes his vest off immediately, then his jacket to clothe your bare form. “I knew you’d come.”

“Always.” He sighs as he wraps it around you. A tear falls from your eye before you wrap your arms around him. He’s hesitant, not wanting to further injure your bandaged shoulder. “Please hug me back Aaron.” With your whispered plea he’s reciprocating instantly, breathing into your hair. 

“I should have killed her!” Paul shouts as they drag him away. “Get him out of here.” Aaron says harshly as he pulls away from you. “Come on honey, we need to get you to the ambulance. Can you walk?”

The team doesn’t dare say anything to the term of endearment that Aaron used for you. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

“I heard he broke things off with Beth.” David says to you one day while you're staring into his office. “Huh.” You make a noise without looking up from your case report. “Come on, go talk to him.” 

“Rossi, I’m working here.” You gesture to the paper, your pen has been unmoving for the past ten minutes, but he doesn’t need to know this. “You just got kidnapped, if now isn’t the time for a grand confession then I don’t know when is.” He retreats after that, heading back towards his office. 

The next day Aaron approaches you, muttering an quiet ‘my office’ just loud enough for your ears to pick up.

You smooth your sweater out as you stand, suddenly nervous at the thought of being alone with him.

The soft click of the door has him looking up, he almost seems surprised that you actually listened to him. “Yes?”

“Sit.” He gestures to the seat, at one point in time you’d have pulled it around to sit next to him. Now you sit on the edge, like you’re ready to jump up and escape at any time. “Agent, I think it’s in the both of our best interests to put our personal ties behind us. For the efficiency of our job, we should remain strictly professional.”

You scoff at his audacity, leaning back ever so slightly in your chair. “You want me to fight you on it. You want me to be the one who pieces this back together.”

He doesn’t respond to that, instead focusing his attention to the paper on his desk. “That’s all, I need your latest report as soon as you finish.”

He looks up slightly when you don’t make a move to leave, gesturing slightly to the wooden door.

“How’s Beth?”

He puts his pen down at this, finally looking you fully in the eyes. “She’s good.”

“Huh, I could have sworn Rossi said that she was old news.” You twirl a thread from your sweater around your finger. “We are still friends.”

“Oh, you can stay friends with her and not me?” You ask, leaning in closer to him. After narrowing your eyes you lean back in the chair again with a scoff. “Oh wait, I know why, you love me. Being friends with me would just be torture for you.”

“Agent.” His tone is warning. “Hit a nerve? I know you Aaron, I know you better than anyone. Did you tell her that you’re in love with another woman, or was the breakup mutual?”

“Enough!” He slams his hand onto the desk in frustration. “I love you, is that what you want me to say? You’ve almost died, twice in the past few months. Do you understand what that would do to me?”

Your eyes soften at his tortured expression. It’s full of many things—yearning, love, sadness. You stand then, and he prepares for you to turn around and walk straight out the door. Instead you shake your head, walking around to his side of the desk.

You place your hands on his face, cupping his jaw with one while the other moves towards his hair. He sighs, wishing you had slapped him instead. It would hurt less.

“Aaron, I love you.” You move his face so he has to look at you. His eyes are glossy, and tears brim them. “Aaron.” You whisper.

“I can’t lose you. I won’t recover.”

“I’ll be careful.” You smile as a tear rolls down your cheek. “Please.” You whisper, and that’s what causes him to break, the desperation in the singular word.

His hands find solace on your waist as he stands, wrapping his arms around your frame. He inhales the scent of your shampoo as you hug him back. “I missed you, so much.” His voice breaks as he speaks, it’s a side of vulnerable you’ve never seen from him.

You pull back slightly, smiling the smile that always has him putty in your hands. You lean in, pressing a light kiss to his pursed lips. “Kiss me.” You didn’t have to tell him twice, his lips are slotting into yours instantly.

You bite his lip lightly as you pull back, earning a throaty laugh. “Not here, I’m going to take you to dinner.”

“Always a gentleman, Hotchner.”

The team all watch with open mouths and shocked expressions as you and Hotch walk out together, hand in hand.

“Well it was a matter of time before they got together.” Derek shakes his head as he turns his chair back towards his desk.

“I thought they never would.” JJ admits. “They’ve been pining for so long.”

Emily smirks from her chair, toying with the pen in her hand. “They’ve been together for over a year.” She looks up at them, watching as their jaws drop even more. “Lousy profilers you all are.”

[lesservillain]

masterlist

summary: a new face enters your life and you're blissfully unaware of the impact it will have on you.

cw: sunshine!eddie x grumpy!reader, like really grumpy, some angst

wc: 6.2k

Muffled voices penetrate through your bedroom door. Standing on the other side, you have your ear pressed to the wood to try and make out the cutting words coming from the other side. It was a fruitless effort, but you tried all the same.

“I just can’t do this anymore, Tony.” Your mother’s voice sounds closer and you dare to crack the door open a bit. Just enough that you can see her walking from the kitchen to the front door from the second floor, a suitcase in her hand. Opening the door further, you peer out into the hallway, taking a few steps until you reach the top of the stairs.

“Please, Rebecca, just talk to me!” Your dad’s voice sounds hoarse, cracking with the weight of his sorrow. “Just tell me what I can do to fix this!”

“There’s nothing to fix. I have to move on, and I can’t do that trapped here.”

“Mom?”

Their heads snap in your direction. You didn’t know what was going on, your 8 year old mind too young to understand what was transpiring in front of you. All you knew was your dad was fully crying, something you’d never seen him do before.

Your mother looks at you, taking in a deep breath before shaking her head. She takes the bag in her hands and suddenly opens the front door. Light floods the house from a car that you don’t recognize parked in your driveway. Everything is still for a moment. Your mom turns to look at you one last time before wordlessly pushing open the storm door and exiting into the night.

“Rebecca!” Your dad yells out, rushing out the door behind her. You make a run down the stairs and stop at the door, watching through the glass as your dad follows your mom around the car. She lifts open the trunk and puts the suitcase inside, your dad frantically pleading with her as she does. But her face is unmoving, solid as stone as she rounds the car again and enters the passenger seat of the unknown vehicle.

Your dad bangs on the door, last ditch effort to make your mom change her mind. Hot tears rolled down your own cheeks as the reality of the situation dawned on you. Your mom was leaving.

And she wasn’t coming back.

Soft sounds of the radio from the office behind you filled your work space with a slight irritation. You wished that your dad would at least change the station to something other than country, even if it was just to break up the monotony. The thought of closing his office door crossed your mind, but you knew he would just protest and open it back up again.

Huffing out a sigh, your eyes scan your list of things to do today. You still needed to call about some parts that were going to be delivered to try and get an estimate on time, but the guy that answered the phone for the company was always a dick to you so you were putting that off. The break room needed to be cleaned, but that was something that you would save for the end of the shift. Going down the list you noticed where it was written that an interview was supposed to have come in at 11. You tilt your head looking at the clock to see that it’s a quarter til 1 and no one has shown up, so decide to scratch that off your list. A real shame too, since you guys were in need of the help.

The ring of the door bell catches your attention. Looking up from your paper, your eyes land on a young man, probably around your age, walking into the lobby. He’s dressed in a black button down shirt and nice slacks that sharply contrasted with the leather and denim jacket combo he was sporting. From what you can tell he has long locks that are currently pulled back into a low ponytail behind his head. His dress shoes clacked against the linoleum floor as he approached you at the desk.

“Welcome to Hawkins Auto Body, how can I help you?” You ask in your best customer service voice.

“Yeah, hi, I’m Eddie. I have an interview at 1 with Tony.” The smell of his cheap cologne permeates your senses and elicits the start of a migraine behind your eye. Looking back down at your list you don’t see another interview for 1 o’clock, just the one that was for 11 that you had crossed out.

“I don’t have an interview for that time. We were supposed to have one at 11 am. Could that have been when you were supposed to show?”

Eddie shifts in his spot as he straightens up. His brows furrow, eyes darting around as if he was looking for the answer to your question. His hands start to pat the pockets of his jacket, reaching inside and pulling out a small ripped piece of paper. “I had 1 written down on the paper.” There’s a slight panic in his voice. “Maybe I made a mistake, I know I’m at the right place.” 

“Well, unfortunately the boss is very busy today, so he won’t be able to see you.” You were lying, knowing your dad he was probably reading a muscle car magazine as his desk. But the lack of showing up on time wasn’t something you were going to look past. If he couldn’t even show up for his interview on time how could you expect him to show up to work.

“Really? Are you sure? Maybe I could reschedule at a later time--”

“Hey, what’s going on out here?” You dad’s chipper voice called from behind you, making you cringe.

“Hey, Tony,” you say, preferring to refer to your dad by his name while at work, “I think this guy was your 11 o’clock. He wrote down the time wrong and--”

“Oh, hey! Eddie, right?” Your dad asks, stepping out of his office with a hand out and ready. Eddie takes your dad’s hand in his and shakes it enthusiastically.

“Yes, listen, I’m so sorry I got the times mixed up. If you need to I would totally be able to reschedule for another day.”

“No, you’re fine,” your dad says, irking you. “Come on back and we can talk. Do you have your resume?”

“Oh, I left if out in my car. Let me go grab it.” Eddie says, taking a step back before running out the door. Can’t even bring in his resume? There’s no way this guy would get the job if it was you in charge. 

But you knew your dad was a different story. He has a soft spot in him that you gave up a long time ago. But you had to develop a tough exterior at such a young age that you didn’t know anything else.

“You should have turned him away,” you said as you watched Eddie through the glass doors. Your dad huffed a laugh and leaned against the office door frame.

“I knew you’d say something like that,” he says shaking his head.

“Tony, he’s a total chump. Couldn’t be bothered to show up on time. Isn’t even ready for the interview. I bet those aren’t even his clothes that he’s wearing.”

“Yeah, but he’s young and willing to work. Gareth told me that he’s been working on cars since he was 12, and he has reliable transportation.”

You look at the hunk of metal that was this guys van and scoffed. “That hardly looks reliable.”

“But it works,” you dad said, nodding to the ancient van, “And that shows he knows what he’s doing.”

“You’ve already decided to hire him, haven’t you?”

“Well, lets see how this interview goes and I’ll let you know.” You roll your eyes. Knowing how your dad is he probably made the decision when he had the phone interview with him. A heavy sigh leaves your lips and you watch as Eddie bounds back through the door with a papers in his hand.

“Sorry it’s not much,” he says as he hands the papers to your dad. “This will be my first real job, so I don’t have much experience.”

Great, another tick off your list as to why you would turn this guy down. Even if he had some experience with cars, it surely wasn’t enough that your dad wouldn’t still have to train him. At least the shop did well enough that your dad wouldn’t be hurting if he had to pay this guy while he’s being trained.

“Not to worry, let’s go talk in my office,” your dad says, patting Eddie on the arm and leading the way inside. He closes the door behind you, and you can hear the sound of the radio start to lower until it can’t be heard anymore. At least you’d get a little reprieve from that.

The clock ticked by during the interview. Only the sound of the shop could be heard through the glass paneling that separated you from the bay. After about 30 minutes of nothing from your dad, you start to wonder what the hell they could be talking about that’s taking so long. If you had to guess, it was probably car talk.

Or if you were to make a guess based on the details Eddie’s jacket maybe he got your dad on the topic of music, which he could go on about forever. He’s seen just about every band he’s ever wanted to see and then some. You’d been to a fair share of your own concerts because of him, whether it was due to a lack of babysitter or because he wanted to genuinely share the experience with you didn’t matter. It was still some of the best times of your life getting to share those sweaty moments that left your voice fried the next day with him.

A loud, boisterous laugh came from the office and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Your dad must have told one of his infamous jokes that always left him on the brink of pissing himself. You wondered if Eddie was genuinely laughing or was doing it out of pity for your dad and the sake of getting the job. Either way, you shuffled a stack of part invoices and stood up from your desk.

Approaching the door, you didn’t even bother to knock as you turned the nob, pushing the door open on the little laughing fit the two of them were having. “Having fun in here?” you say dryly, unamused by them. Eddie turns to look at you, wiping at his eyes as he lets of the last bit of chuckles left in him. Your dad straightens up in his chair to catch his breath before turning more towards you.

“What’s up, sweetie?” He says through giggles. Calling you by that name in front of a stranger must mean your dad was really in a relaxed mood. He wasn’t always the most professional, but you made it very clear with him from day one that you wanted to be treated just like any other employee at the shop while working together. It kind of irked you that he would say it in front of anyone, but especially this guy, who was looking at you like he already owned the joint.

“Sir, you have some invoices here that need to be approved by the end of the day. Assuming this interview is almost over,” you said looking at Eddie, “I figured I’d drop these off to you so you could get started on them. I’d like to file them by 5.”

Your dad leaned over the desk, his hand outstretched to take them from you. You sighed, stepping more into the small office and leaning around Eddie to hand them over to him. You felt his shoulder against your side and you let out a half-hearted sorry for the intrusion into his space. 

“‘S’all good,” he said softly, a small smile on his face that annoyed you.

“I’ll get to these right away,” your dad said, motioning the papers towards you. You nodded and turned to leave the room.

“Should I close the door?” You ask, hand on the knob.

“No, no, I think Eddie and I are just about done here. I’ve kept him with me for far too long,” your father says as he goes to stand. Eddie rises from his seat as well, extending his hand out for your dad to take.

“Nonsense,” Eddie says as your dad shakes his hand, “Was a pleasure talking to ya. Hopefully we can shoot the shit again some time?”

“Maybe we can get a few words in on Monday if that works for you?”

“Wait, really?” Eddie all but jumps for joy at your dad’s offer. Of course.

“If everything we talked about today sounded good for you, I’d love to see ya first thing Monday morning.”

“Oh my god, yes, sir. Thank you so much. Seriously, I’ll be the best worker you’ve ever had.”

You huffed a laugh at that, deciding this was the best time to make your exit, lest you get sick on the floor from all the sugary excitement. Turning on your heel, you made your way back to your desk and plopped down in your rolly chair. Your dad and Eddie followed behind you not long after, still chatting about something you had no interest in tuning into.

Eddie rounds the front of your desk and taps his hand lightly on the marble counter top just above you. You look up at him with a blank stare, almost blinding you with the pure sunshine rays of excitement that were beaming off of him.

“See ya on Monday, coworker,” he said with a snap that turned into a finger gun. You didn’t respond, simply staring at him hoping he would get the hint to leave. He pounds his fist against the countertop a couple times for good measure before turning to face the door. Watching him as he left, you noticed for the first time that the patch on the back of his jacket was one from Dio’s Last in Line album. You gave a small hmpf. At least he had good taste in music.

SPACE

“Still sleepy there, kiddo?” Your dad says as he pulls into the shop. It was barely dawn as the two of you rolled into the parking lot, the coffee in your hand barely doing much to keep you alert at these early hours. You wished you could call yourself a morning person with how often you woke up at 5:30 am to get ready for the day. But Monday’s were always hard on you after getting to sleep in on the weekend.

“What else is new?” You say, punctuated by another yawn that hit you hard enough it gave you shivers down your body. Your dad let out a laugh as he shifted the car into park, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and lighting one up. You followed suit, grabbing one from your own pack and stealing his lighter to spark it up. The smooth menthol wasn’t enough to wake you, but it kept your mouth busy enough that you wouldn’t fall asleep in the passenger seat.

The two of you sat in a sweet silence for the duration of your smoke, watching the sun rise from the rear view mirror. The only sounds to be heard was the low hum of the local morning talk show that played on the car’s radio. 

That was until a loud booming sound could be heard in the distance. A boom that started to grow louder with each passing second. The two of you looked at each other as if asking the same question to one another before turning around and looking out the back window. You couldn’t see where it was coming from at first, until a small set of headlights started to show from down the road, approaching at a speed way faster than you knew this streets limit was. As it came into view, you whispered a barely audible “no” as the loud vehicle turned into the parking lot, now illuminated by the morning sun.

It was Eddie and his shitty van.

You thought surely the music would turn down once he made his way into the parking lot, but the loud sounds of what you could now make out as Metallica due to the sheer volume of the music coming from his van were persistent.

“What the fuck?” You say, looking over to your dad, who had a glint in his eye that you didn’t like. “Dad, no, he’s going to wake up the whole neighborhood.” You say sternly. But your dad doesn’t respond verbally. Instead he undoes his seat belt and hops out of the car, leaving it on for you to sit in so you don’t have to endure the harsh December cold.

You watch as he walks over to the van and knocks on the window and instantly hear the volume of the van drop in decibels as the window comes down. A plume of smoke comes barreling out and you watch as Eddie’s hand reaches out to swat the smoke away from your dad’s face. You take another hit of your cigarette as your dad talks to Eddie from his window. 

After a few moments, you watch as your dad rounds the van, it rocking slightly once he gets to the other side. Did your dad just get in this guys van? Surely not.

Or surely yes, because as the familiar cars of your other workers began to pull into the lot, you didn’t see your dad come from the other side of the van. Irritation that shouldn’t be had on such an early Monday morning started to bubble in you, and if it weren’t so cold you would have gotten out and asked your dad what the hell he was doing a long time ago.

 Checking the dash, you see it’s already opening time, so you cut the engine and lock the car, braving the cold as you walk past the van and to the door. The guys are already waiting for you as you approach the door, huddled around each other as they watch you unlock the door.

“Morning, ma’am,” Bob, your most senior member, says as he pushes past you to get inside. The others greet you as well as they make make their way in. As they file inside, the sound of car doors closing gets your attention. You look to see your dad and Eddie walking towards you, hands in their pockets to keep them warm from the cold.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” you say as they approach. Not waiting for them as you walk inside, letting the door close behind you, you make your way to the light switches and begin flicking them on. The ones in the bay’s are already on as the guys get set up for the day, a couple cars already loaded up to be worked on first thing this morning.

Eddie and your dad eventually came in through the door, both of them laughing and having a grand old time.

“Hey, do you mind showing Eddie where the time clock is?” Your dad asks as he fishes his keys from his jacket pocket to unlock his office.

“Can’t you show him? He’s already your best friend, apparently?”

“I have a call I need to get on with an important client. Just go ahead and show him around the shop for me, please?” He gives you those big, puppy dog eyes of his that honestly don’t get to you at this point anymore. But for the sake of him begging, you sigh and put your hands on your hips.

“Fine,” you say with a shrug. You motion for Eddie to follow you. “Come on, back this way.”

Leaving your desk, you walk around the hallway corner and to the break room. Pushing the door open, you prop it open with the metal wedge and walk inside. Flipping the lights on, you instantly walk to the coffee pot and push the button to get it warmed up. You turn to see Eddie waiting patiently for you by the doorway, his hands in his pockets and a grin on his face.

“Over here is the time clock,” you say, walking over to where the time punches for the week are sitting on the wall. “They’re in alphabetical order, so make sure you grab yours and not somebody else’s.” You scan the tickets and find the new name card you added on Friday, pulling it from the slot. “Just stick it in here and it’ll mark when you clocked in. If you ever have an issue with it, make sure you come to me right away so that we can get it fixed.”

Eddie walks over and plucks the card from your fingers, placing it into the slot and waiting for the click. Once it does, he pulls it out and places the card back into the slot you pulled it from. “Seems easy enough,” he says, looking at you with that smile still plastered on his face. It irked you to no end.

“Great, make sure to do that when you get here every day. It’s hard to pay you without it.”

Eddie starts to laugh, but you’re really not sure what about. Was it something you said? Was he making fun of you?

“What?” You say in a serious tone. But Eddie just waves his hands, his bangs flying as he shakes his head.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it,” he says. You blink at him, deciding it wasn’t worth your time to pry for answers you didn’t really care to know. Gesturing your hands around you, you let him know that you are in fact in the break room. Eddie nods, looking around, his eyes landing on the coffee pot.

“The coffee is free, just make sure if you take the last of it to turn it off.”

“Awesome, I’ll definitely be needing that.”

“Do you know how to use it?”

“Not really. My uncle made me coffee this morning. I don’t really drink it much.”

“I’ll show you,” you say, walking over to the machine. Grabbing all the things you need, you walk him through the process of filling up the back with water, how to put the grounds in the filter, and which button to press to start it.

“This seems more complicated than the time clock,” he says with a laugh.

You scoff, “Once you do it a few times you’ll get it. Or you can wait until someone else starts it. There’s usually a pot back here ready within the first half hour that we’re here.” Eddie’s head bounces with a nod. Still smiling. “Well, lets move on to the rest of the building,” you say as you walk past him.

As you exit the break room, you look both ways trying to decide where to go next. You suppose you can work from the back to the front, that way you can drop him off with Bob or Terry when you’re done. You break to the right, Eddie hot on your heels as you walk. “Those are the restrooms,” you say as you pass the two sets of doors with a water fountain in between them. “Make sure you clean up after yourself if you shit, because I sure as hell am not doing it.”

That gets a laugh out of Eddie. “Aye, aye, captain,” he says with a salute.

“Back here is the stock room.” You turn the knob and open the door to the large storage room that resided in the back of the building. It was stocked to the brim with supplies like oil, parts, and other necessities that the shop kept on hand. Eddie looked around with wide eyes as he took everything in. “You’ll learn where everything is as time goes by. If you notice something is low in stock, come tell me as soon as possible so I can order more.”

“Okay, can do,” Eddie nods. 

“Back out this way,” you say, walking over to another door that enters into the bay, “is the main work area. Make sure this door is locked at the end of the day.” As you walk out to the bay, you stop at a side door to the right. “This is a door to go outside. You can smoke out there, eat lunch, whatever really. Just keep it propped open when you’re out there so you don’t lock yourself out and have to come around the front. The boss tries to keep as much grease out of the lobby as possible.” You look down at his shoes and notice he’s wearing a pair of white reeboks. “Did you bring other shoes?”

“No, are these not allowed?” Eddie asks, his smile finally turning into a frown.

“It’s not that they’re not allowed, but they’re going to go from white to black real quick if you’re not careful.”

“Shit, I didn’t think about that,” Eddie said, looking down at his shoes.

“Ask around, I’m sure the guys could give you a recommendation where to get some good boots.”

Eddie looks up at you and, once again, smiles. “Thanks, I’ll do that.”

“Whatever,” you say, pressing forward. You show him around the bay, where the tools are, and where everyone’s lockers are to keep their things while they work. Eddie follows you wordlessly, just a step behind you the whole time. When he almost bumps into you as you stop, you have to turn to face him, putting hands on his arms and extending yours.

“See this? Distance. Keep yours.”

“Sorry,” he says, looking at your hands on his arms. You drop them quickly and turn back around, scanning the bay for Bob, who was bent over a cars engine.

“Bob!” You call, getting the older man’s attention. He straightens up and looks your way, giving a slight wave.

“Bob, this is Eddie, our new guy.”

“Nice to meetcha, kiddo.” The corners of Bobs eyes wrinkle when he smiles, extending a greasy hand out to Eddie, one that he takes and shakes enthusiastically.

“Likewise, sir,” Eddie says, nodding to the man.

“Do you care to babysit for a while? Dad says he knows a lot about cars but might need some help for a few weeks.”

“Sure thing,” Bob says like you knew he would. Bob was a talker, enjoyed the company of others. You’d been caught up in his stories on more than one occasion, but you’d always tried to be polite with him since he was such a hard worker. “Let’s see what you can tell me about this gal right here.” Bob wraps an arm around Eddie and ushers him towards the car he’s working on. 

Letting out a sigh of relief, free from your responsibility to the new guy, you make your way out of the bay and back into the front lobby to your desk. You scold yourself for not turning your computer on before giving Eddie the grand tour so that it could’ve booted up. Giving it time to start, you go through the days checklist that you left yourself over the weekend and get to work.

Lunch time couldn’t roll around fast enough. You’d barely made it half way through your list for the day, not expecting it to take you so long to get everything done. Too many phone calls with dick head old men and wives of clients who couldn’t tell you what a fender was if it hit them in the head. The main website you use to order parts was down for half the morning, meaning there would be at least a half days delay on everything that was needed to work on the cars already in the shop.

And then there was the young mother who broke down with her baby that talked your ear off for the last hour while you tried desperately to get a hold of her husband for her. At least the baby was cute; babies being your bad mood kryptonite. She even let you hold her, which would have been fine if you hadn’t caught a particular curly headed nuisance staring at you from the bay as you held them. But you just brushed it off, not giving that loser an ounce of your attention.

Plopping back down in your chair, you felt like all your energy had been zapped and it was barely past 11 am. Not a moment later your father pokes his head around the corner of his office.

“Hey, let’s order pizza,” he says with a wide grin. Something must have gone well with a contractor given his good mood.

“What’s the occasion?” You ask, pulling out the paper for Surfer Boy’s Pizza from your desk drawer. 

“I figured we’d treat the new guy,” he says, taking the paper from your grasp to look it over. 

You groan, rolling your eyes. “I guess I’m asking everyone what they want?”

“You’re my girl,” he says, handing the paper back to you. You take it, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen before heading to the bay. The smell of fresh oil hits your nose, but it’s not something that bothers you anymore after working here for a few years now. You make your way around to the guys and get everyone’s orders. Thankfully everyone was being easy, just wanting cheese or pepperoni.

You made your way over to where Bob and Eddie were working on the same car that bob was looking at earlier, but Eddie was no where to be seen. Bob was hunched over by the front, looking down at the ground where you saw a pair of white shoes sticking out from under the car.

“Hey, Bob,” you say, grabbing the man’s attention.

“Oh, hey, darlin’. What’s up?”

“We’re getting pizza. You good with cheese and pepperoni?”

“Oh boy, that sounds good to me,” he says with a nod. He taps his foot against the white pair of sneakers and Eddie’s body comes rolling out from under the car, now clad in an oversized workers uniform.

“Where’d you find that?” You ask, pointing at Eddie.

“This is one of my spares from before I lost all that weight. I figured he could use it until his comes in.” 

“Oh, yeah, that should be sometime this week. Make sure you wash that one and give it back to Bob when you’re done with it.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Eddie says with a nod.

“Now, we’re getting pizza. Are you okay with cheese and pepperoni?”

“Wow, really? Yeah that would be great. I…forgot my lunch, so I could definitely use it.”

“Cool, well you guys were my last stop so I’ll go ahead and order it. Should be here in an hour or so.”

“Perfect,” Eddie says, giving you a thumbs up. You don’t respond, turning on your heel and walking back through the bay to the lobby.

“Okay, I got everybody’s orders,” you say as you walk into your father’s office. He looks up from his paperwork and smiles, reaching out to you. “You don’t want me to call?” You ask, handing the papers to him.

“No, I’m gonna pay for it myself, so I’ll order it.” He looks over the paper then speaks, “Do you know what Eddie asked for?”

“He didn’t say anything specific. Just said he was grateful to have it.” Your father nods, setting the papers down on his desk and picking up the phone. It struck you as odd that he was so interested in this new guy, but not enough to care to ask him about it. Maybe Eddie said something to him in their interview that struck something in your dad. He was already under a car on day one, so maybe you weren’t giving him enough credit.

SPACE

Lunch arrived and you paged on the overhead for everyone to come and eat. You set the pizza’s on the break room counter with the plates and two liters of pop. Your dad really splurged today, ordering way more food and drinks than what would be needed for the small shop. A few minutes later the guys began to roll into the break room, conversation flowing between them as they made their way to the pizza boxes. 

You waited for everyone to get their food before grabbing some for yourself. Taking a few slices, you headed towards the door to go back to your desk before someone called your name.

“You’re not eating with us?” Eddie said, standing behind you with a plate full.

“I have work to do,” you said simply.

“She doesn’t take breaks,” Tom calls from across the break room.

“Yeah her dad has her slaving over that fancy computer all day,” Jerry adds, making the room erupt in laughter.

“Your dad?” Eddie asks looking at your curiously. 

You sigh, not really wanting to tell the new guy that the boss is your dad on day one. “Yeah, Tony is my dad,” you say, flatly. Eddie’s head bobs, a smile spreading on his face.

“That makes sense. I thought it was weird you guys came together today. I thought maybe you were dating or something.”

The guys start laughing again and you cringe at Eddie’s words.

“What’s so funny?” You snap, and the laughter starts to die down.

“You dating is what’s funny,” Bob says taking a bite of his pizza.

“Why’s that funny?” Eddie asks.

“This girl hates love,” Bob says, gesturing towards you and you roll your eyes. It wasn’t that you hated love, you just didn’t believe in it. There was a time in your life that you might have thought it was real, but after the things you’ve been through, you’d been convinced that love was all just a big scam. Something made up to sell jewelry and heart shaped boxed of chocolates.

“What? Really?”

“I’m just not into it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I actually have important things to do.” And with that, you turn on your heel, leaving Eddie in the dust as you make your way back to your desk.

The end of the day wrapped up when the clock struck 6 pm. The garage doors to the bay closed for the night and you were cleaning up your desk, leaving a note to remember to call a potential client back first thing in the morning. Your dad stepped out of his office, closing the door behind him with the turn of a key as he locked it shut for the night.

“Should I grab the rest of the pizza’s or are we leaving them for tomorrow?” You ask, grabbing your jacket and throwing it on.

“Leave them,” your dad says, tossing you his keys. You looked at him confused. “Go ahead and start the car, I’ll lock up.”

“Okaaaay,” you say shoving the keys in your pocket and rounding the front desk. You pushed the door open and felt the cold December breeze hitting the skin of your cheeks once again. You beelined it for the car and started it up, cranking the heat up in a futile attempt to make the warm air come out faster. Rolling the window down, you lit up a smoke and watched as the guys made their way to their cars. 

You noticed your dad didn’t come out with everyone else and that made you curious. Normally if he wanted to stay over he wouldn’t have you go and start the car. But you also noticed Eddie’s car was still in the lot as well.

A few minutes later, the front door finally opened and your dad and Eddie walked out of the shop. You squinted your eyes, trying to make sure what you were seeing was correct. Eddie was standing with two boxes of pizza in his hands as your dad locked the door. What the hell? You thought he was leaving the pizzas for tomorrow. You waited to see if your dad took the pizza boxes back, but as Eddie diverged from your dad’s side to get in his van, you noticed he still had the pizza boxes in his hands.

“Alright, let’s go,” you dad says as he slides in his seat, bringing his hands to the air vents to warm them up.

“What was that?” You ask, looking at him incredulously.

“What was what?” He says with a laugh, giving you a look back.

“You gave him those pizzas.”

“It’s his first day! I wanted him to feel welcomed with us. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you going to take him to a steak dinner next?” You say as you buckle yourself in.

“It’s not like that,” you dad assures you before buckling himself in.

“Whatever.”

thank you for reading!

tags:

@meetmeatyourworst @hazydespair @gloomweed @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @prestinalove @rowynbriarsalix

@daveythorntonslocker @losingmygrasponreality @princesssunderworld @eddiesguitarskills @clown420cunt

@barnesandsteven @yujyujj @person-005 @definitionwanderlust @hsdcmmjune @micheledawn1975 @emxxblog @l3xi3luv

@browneyes-8288 @djodirt @munsonsfairy @coolkidzen @appl3ogr @sammybrrr @awkward00noodle @callhermyname @american-idiot-jpg

if you'd like to be added or removed please let me know!

[foldingfittedsheets]

At this point in our relationship my betrothed is well versed in my compulsive need to help animals. It wasn’t part of their upbringing but it was a huge part of mine. So now whether it’s lost dogs or injured birds they know that for me it’s not a matter of convenience, it’s just the only possible option.

My most notable rescue took place during one of the least opportune times. We were watching a friends boxer puppy, Bella. The dog was dumber than a box of rocks and I took deep offense that at six months old she still didn’t know her own name. My betrothed and I were working with her on that as well as leash manners, so we walked her frequently.

On our way home from a walk I looked across the street and saw a cat. My betrothed didn’t need to ask, it was simply a given that faced with a cat I’d go say hello, so they waited with Bella as I crossed the road.

As I approached the cat several things caught my attention. The first was that he wasn’t wearing a collar. The second was that his coat was greasy and disheveled- this was not a cat that was thriving if he didn’t have energy to groom. The third thing was that he was way too skinny, with bones jutting out from his shabby coat.

The fourth thing I noticed was that this cat was a purebred Bengal.

Now, I understand that it’s suspect to identify cats as bengals. Many people see tabbies and call them bengals. But as a teenager I became obsessed with these cats and went on a hyper obsessive deep dive. I spent hours reading about them, looking at pictures, and dreaming about Bengal cats.

The cat in front of me had unmistakable rosettes, the narrow frame, piercing eyes, and from a very rough estimation probably cost thousands of dollars. There was no world in which he should be wandering my neighborhood with no collar and his ribs jutting out.

Which all led me to one conclusion. He was lost.

The second I realized that it was over. It wasn’t a matter of thinking the situation through it was a simple conclusion: he was lost so I would help him by any means necessary.

This sweet cat showed he was friendly and trotted right over to greet me. I pet him and tentatively went for a lift. He did not care for that. Suddenly we were tussling, and it was instantly clear to me that he was going to stay lost if I couldn’t restrain him, so we pitted all our wiles against each other and at one point I had him agonizingly by just a toe but I refused to let go and finally I had him in my arms, one hand scruffing him and the other supporting his weight.

That’s when I noticed a couple things. There was blood dripping down my elbow. Across the street Bella was going crazy barking and pulling toward me and the cat. And my betrothed was giving me an agonized look.

Without a word they started power walking Bella back to our house. I followed at a slower pace, keeping my grip on this poor lost cat.

It was a warm summer afternoon and several neighbors were out chatting. They saw the circus parade of my betrothed dragging a yelping puppy and me following holding a screaming cat.

Oh yeah. So I forgot to mention. Bengals are not normal cats. They’re bred back with a wild cat and their vocalizations are on a completely different level. The cat in my arms wasn’t meowing or yowling. Instead he was making one long continuous eldritch wailing, oscillating in rage and distress.

My neighbors saw this, me, stonefaced carrying a cat who was casting evil spells with his voice, blood dripping down my arm, while a puppy frantically fought my betrothed to reach us, and they laughed.

I don’t think I’ve ever been more offended that no one offered any assistance, but it was fine. I knew I could count on my betrothed. I slowed my steps slightly again when I saw my betrothed round our corner. I knew they would kennel the puppy and bring a cat crate for me.

Sure enough, I rounded the corner and they had our door open, crate at the ready. I popped the Bengal into the carrier and we shut him into the bathroom.

Then I looked at my shaking, bloody hand. He’s scraped his back claws up me and it wasn’t deep but I was bleeding heavily. Then I looked at my betrothed and started to cry.

They held me while I had a panic attack and helped me thoroughly peroxide my cuts.

“That was so brave, weren’t you scared to grab him?” they asked me.

Truly, no. I think to be brave or scared you need to actually conceptualize what you’re doing and I hadn’t. I saw a cat that needed help, and then there wasn’t options, I just acted. The rule is that when you see a lost animal you help it and I always follow the rules.

They asked what my plan was and I didn’t have one. Where would we put him, in a home with three other cats and a puppy? I don’t know. I just grabbed him.

We ended up calling a friend who’s special interest is dog rescue. She brought her chip reader and a huge dog crate we could keep him in overnight with a disposable little box, food, and water.

He’d been summoning demons behind the bathroom door the whole time, making sounds previously confined to various netherworlds but she bravely uncaged him to read if he had a chip. No, to my surprise. It also turned out he was a love machine despite the ghastly sounds.

We loved on him and gave him small portions of food every fifteen minutes so he didn’t eat himself sick.

The next day we brought him to the local pet rescue, after I called ahead to warn them I was bringing in a Bengal. The lady had a very blasé attitude about this claim, clearly used to people claiming every lost tabby was a rare cat breed.

When she pulled him out of the crate she exclaimed, “Oh my god, it is a Bengal!”

“That’s what I promised. One whole ass Bengal.”

We said our goodbyes to the sweet man, and the posted him on the website as a found pet. He was picked up by his family two days later. I’ll never know how he escaped but I’m certain his family was so grateful to have him returned.

[axolotl4days]

Oh my god im so sorry it took so long I got so distracted

Yandere! Royal Family x Neglected Reader

The Reborn Royal Part 2

Summary: After being reborn once more y/n expects everything to be the same as always. However this time around, their family is going to be the ones changing things.

Tw: violence, abuse, neglect. Yandere behavior(all platonic), descriptions of death, mentions of suicide and self-harm.

Before anything continues, im gonna write down the names of the characters for reference.

Queen Charlotte and King Vincent somewhere in their 30s

Oldest and heir to the throne: Prince Edward, roughly 13

Next is: Prince James, roughly 11

Next is: Princess Eleanor, roughly 9

Then last, baby y/n who's... just been born.

The ages are just rough estimates, the numbers themselves, dont matter, just the older sibling dynamic and that they'd be adults while y/n would be a kid/teenager (yay angst)

Alright! On with the fic!!!

Part 2: No specific pov just yet

The youngest child in the Royal family has just been born, the King and Queen have ordered the staff to give them some alone time for the whole family.

"Its them... it's really them" Queen Charlotte says, holding the new baby y/n

"They're so small. Are babies always this small?" Eleanor asks

"That usually depends on the baby but... gods.. they really are small" King Vincent replies

The siblings watch as the little baby starts to fall asleep, Edward tries to reach out to hold little y/n but the poor thing flinches at the contact. Edward and James recoil in horror. All of the visions they've seen over the past few months of watching their future selves hurt future y/n so much. And now. Now that they're seeing, the real y/n in front of them for the first time. They have never been more horrified. How could they ever hurt them. Hurt you. No one should ever go through that sort of pain. They can't let it happen again.

Eleanor watches as the boys shake from witnessing the baby flinch, and she doesn't understand. Your only a baby.

"Mom? Is the baby okay?" She asks

The queen stays silent for a moment but even she cannot hold back her worried tears, so the king steps in

"Darling, the baby is going through quite a lot right now, they have just been born after all. Everything is new and fresh to them, so it'll take awhile for them to adjust. Don't worry, we'll make sure theyre okay." He says, that last bit is mostly for himself, while the visions he saw didnt involve as much physical violence as the boys did, he saw how, isolated the little one was. How bad it got. And how badly it ended. No. No. He can't think of that now. What matters now is they have you. And they'll make sure your treated right

Your mother holds you close. She can't fathom the idea that she would ever give you away for someone else to take care of.

"Your highness? Here, you need rest, we can take the baby and-" "No." The Queen glares at thr maid who dare suggest such a thing.

"But your highness, you need time to recover"

"I will be fine. All I need right now is my family. I suggest you leave now before I decide to make you." The queen threatens

"Of course ma'am, sorry ma'am."

The maid leaves the room but the king steps to his queen's side, "the maid is right about you needing rest dear, dont worry, I'm here. No one can take our baby from us, isn't that right kids?" Your father turns to your siblings who nod in agreement.

Vincent manages to get the baby into the crib and as Charlotte finally sleeps, the children joining her, he stands guard and thinks about everything hes seen in these past few months.

King Vincent POV:

Though the visions mostly focused on you, and your pain thats not all they saw. The king specifically saw the things that led him down the path of neglectfullmess and why he was absent so often. Plans. War. Betrayals. The things that kept him away from the castle. The things that allowed your mistreatment to slide by without repercussions.

He'll have to take care of those. That way, he can be there for you. Make sure you're raised properly, with love and care from your family. Nothing will come between him and his family.

He pulls out a journal, after the nightmares began and he noticed the patterns between them he would take notes about each event, each person's perspective, and the outcome of each action. He doesn't know where these visions came from or what caused him, but what he does know is that according to the recent intel on other kingdoms it seems that one of the wars is brewing, he searches through his notes to confirm, checking the interactions between other kingdoms, seeing how the other him would talk about the other kingdoms.

If he wants to keep his family out of harm, he'll have to take care of the threat before it can even happen.

He walks over to the baby's crib, looking down at his youngest child sleeping comfortably.

He knows what he has to do.

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

Hi 👋 Author here, I am so sorry this took so long and that its so short, I like just finished finals so im just now getting around to working on this series again.

Now that its summer hopefully the next part will come out quicker, but I dont have a planned schedule cause I am horrible at planning things,

But!! I have notes and plot points for where I want this story to go/what I have planned

Please be patient with me, this is like, my 2nd time writing something like this on Tumblr and due to the, extreme, breaks in between parts the writing style may not be very consistent

But hopefully the next few parts will be written in a timely manner so they should be both more consistent, and longer!

Down below is my attempt at a taglist, there were a few people who wanted to know when the next part came out, feel free to let me know if you wanna be added, ive never made one of these before and its surprisingly hsrd

@randomlyappearingartist

@enchantingarcadecreation

@thatpersonnamedrook

@reni502 (idk why this one isn't doing the thing I tried)

[javen-tiger]

The final findings of the “horrendous” eight-year long “massacre map”, tracing the violent history of the Australian colonial frontier have been released.

The Colonial Frontier Massacres digital map project, spearheaded by the late emerita professor of history at the University of Newcastle, Dr Lyndall Ryan, officially concluded in 2022.

Since then, researchers have reviewed every site on the map, with contributions from the general public, volunteers and peer reviewers. Much of the rest of the work on the map was completed by professional and academic staff without pay.

. . .

Guardian Australia collaborated with the university team to produce The Killing Times, a long-running series telling the stories of all sides of Australian frontier history.

The project found that:

At least 10,657 people were killed in at least 438 colonial frontier massacres.

10,374 of them were Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander people killed by colonists.

Only 160 of those killed were non-Indigenous colonists.

There were 13 massacres of colonists by Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander people.

The most intense period of massacres was from the late 1830s into 1840s, with a pivotal point being the Myall Creek massacre in 1838 – the first time any perpetrators had been punished.

After the Myall Creek convictions, the government could no longer involve the military and new “police” forces were created, which set a pattern for the rest of the conflict.

About half of all massacres of Aboriginal people were carried out by police and other government agents. Many others were perpetrated by settlers acting with tacit approval of the state.

Some perpetrators were involved in many massacres.

. . .

The project defined a colonial frontier massacre as the deliberate killing of six or more relatively undefended people in one operation. It did not include the many documented killings of fewer than six people in incidents on the frontier, so the numbers generated are very cautious lower estimates.

There were likely many more killed, Pascoe says, “but we had to limit ourselves or we would never have finished. It was a huge task. Finalising this work and making a stable version of the data available in an archive means other researchers can build on it and answer these and many other questions,” he says.

The work has changed our understanding of history in Australia, Pascoe says.

“Back in the 80s and 90s it was possible for people to argue that the frontier wasn’t so violent, and for them to be believed. Nobody can argue that point any more. Anybody can go and read the evidence for themselves. It’s time to move on to the next step – now that we know that these events happened, we need to understand more about them,” he says.

[satorus-princess]

him, just him

a/n: taking care of satoru because he deserves it <3 (especially after that post)

word count: 1.6k

fem!reader x gojo satoru, sfw

most people would say that gojo is spoiled. he's the strongest, after all - he has all the power anyone could want, fame within the jujutsu society, and money. what else could he want or need?

gojo himself thinks he's spoiled - no, not because of the materialistic things like money and fame, and definitely not because of his burdensome power. it's because of his wife. everything else is put to shame when he has you. he really couldn't want or need anything else.

but to you, he was anything but spoiled. you felt like you could never do enough for him. still, you try to do as much as you can for him, wanting to make his life easier and to bring back the striking light in his cerulean orbs that have dimmed over the years.

so here you are, at two a.m., anticipating your husband's return from a mission. earlier, he messaged you of the estimated time that he will be finished and that should be any minute now. he had also told you not to wait up for him, but now, you are running a soothing bath for him.

the bathroom light is off, a few scented candles planted on the counter and on the edge of the bathtub create a soothing ambience. the smell of chamomile fills the air as you had infused the warm bath water with an oil specific for relaxation.

you had noticed that, recently, his responsibilities between teaching and being called on missions has caught up to him. it was normal for sorcerers to experience burnout, even for gojo, contrary to popular belief. it's expected due to the lack of sleep, the burden of the world on his shoulders, the responsibilities of the teaching and lives of the students, and the stress of the higher-ups.

as you get caught up in your concerned thoughts about gojo, you barely hear the aforementioned man come home. his steps are quiet, his feet practically dragging along the floor due to his exhaustion.

“(y/n)?” he calls softly as he steps into the bedroom, finding the bed made and no one sleeping in it. he frowns slightly, wondering where you could be. did something happen?

before his thoughts could spiral down a negative hole, you appear at the doorway of the bedroom. “i'm here, my love.” you approach him with a loving smile, immediately wrapping your arms around his tall figure. his own arms find their way around you, keeping you in a tight embrace as he closes his eyes to savour your warmth and comfort.

“why aren't you sleeping?” is the first thing he says to you, yet he makes no move to tear away from the hug. of course, he thinks about you before himself.

“come with me,” you say simply, not providing an answer or explanation. you slide your hand down to his, lacing your fingers together and gently tugging him towards the bathroom.

“baby, i really just want to go to--” his voice is husky with fatigue, his sentence getting cut off when you both step into the dimly lit bathroom filled with soothing scents. he pauses, looking between you and the bath setup. “is this for me?”

“mhm, just for you.”

he swallows thickly, standing there as if unfamiliar with the situation. “my sweet...” he trails off, lips parted as if wanting to say something else but the words not formulating.

with a smile, you bring your entwined hands up to your lips, gently kissing the back of his hand. “i know you wouldn't go to a spa, so i brought the spa to you. for a few days.”

the lump in his throat grows larger, choking on his words as he tries to express his appreciation, his thoughts. you give his hand a gentle squeeze in understanding, hoping he knows that he doesn't need to thank you.

despite his appreciation, there's a lingering thought that he has to voice. “and the higher-ups approved of this?”

“hmm, technically no. but when have we ever cared about what they say? you need this, my love, don't think about it. forget about your responsibilities, being the strongest, being gojo satoru. just be you for a few days, okay?” you urge him, your eyes almost pleading as you look up at him.

his beautiful, beautiful eyes become slightly misty in response to your words, a look of adoration and pure, tender love glistening in them. he doesn't respond, rendered speechless again while he keeps his eyes locked onto yours. he doesn't know if he can just be himself, to forget about the identity forced upon him practically since birth.

you notice the uncertainty swirling around in his eyes, revealing the disarray of thoughts in his mind. “my love?” you say softly, withdrawing him from his spiral.

“... sorry.”

you shake your head with a small smile. “there's nothing to apologise for. come on, get in the bath before it gets cold.”

“undress me?” his cheeky smile comes back.

you laugh softly, stepping closer to him. his eyes follow your movements, glancing down at your hand that reaches for the zipper of his dark jacket. you slowly tug it down, revealing the black t-shirt he wears beneath. he takes that off himself, while you work on his trousers and boxers. it's a completely uninhibited, intimate moment. no sense of desire, just complete tenderness as he stands bare before you with a few scars adorning his porcelain skin.

once you're done, he lifts your hand to your lips and kisses each of your fingertips gently. his gaze makes your heart skip a beat; it's so full of intense love and devotion.

you clear your throat before speaking, but your voice still comes out small. “do you need anything else?”

“no, just you. will you join me?”

“if you want me to. i was planning on washing your hair, not necessarily joining you.”

“you can still wash my hair that way.”

he settles into the warm bath, letting out a heavy, contented sigh as it seems to take an immediate effect. he reaches his hand out for you, spreading his legs under the water so that you can take your seat between them. after slipping out of your own clothes, you take his hand and let him help you into the water. once you're sitting, he tugs you against his chest with your back towards him.

“i don't think i can wash your hair this way,” you point out. he leans forward slightly to rest his chin on your shoulder, his arms around your torso as his thumb rubs circles into your skin.

he smiles, pressing a kiss to your neck. “it's alright. i just wanna hold you like this for a bit.”

the two of you stay like that for a while, tangled limbs and sharing each other's warmth in a serene silence that settles around you. you almost think that gojo fell asleep behind you since he has been quiet the whole time but then, his lips move against the back of your neck. “i love you,” it's the softest of whispers, yet it's so heartfelt and powerful, his tone so soaked in emotion that his voice almost cracks.

“i love you, too, ‘toru,” you murmur, and you feel the beating of his heart quicken as his chest is moulded to your back. “you wanna let me wash your hair now?”

he hums and nods in response, switching your positions so that he is now sitting between your legs with his back leaning against your chest. his eyes flutter closed as he feels warm water rain onto his hair; a quick rinse before you squeeze shampoo into your palm, gently lathering his hair and massaging his scalp.

a gravelly groan rumbles in the depths of his throat as your fingers thread through his hair, ensuring every strand is soapy, and the tips of your fingers manage to soothe every ache in his body.

“feels good,” he mumbles, sounding as if he's on the verge of sleep. trust buzzes between the two of you as he allows you to take care of him in the way you know best.

“i'm glad,” you reply softly with a smile.

asking him to keep his eyes closed and tilt his head back a little more, you begin to wash out the suds from his hair. the gentle manner in which you treat him is something he isn't used to - he feels as if you handle him as something so fragile that if you moved too rashly, he would shatter.

he feels a lump grow in his throat and he traps his lower lip between his teeth to stop it from trembling. taking a deep, shaky breath, a crystal tumbles down the curve of his cheek which catches your attention. your hands freeze in his hair.

“my love?” you utter with such concern. he unlids his eyes once more, and with his head still tipped back, he stares up at you from his upside-down angle, yet you're able to see the emotions swirling in the waves of his ocean eyes. one motion of a wave, and another salty trickle escapes. “hey...” you lean down to brush your lips against his forehead and he tilts his head further into your touch, craving your affection. you trail your lips down to kiss each of his eyelids with the gentleness of a feather.

his lips curve up into a smile, an unsteady one, but a smile nevertheless. he reaches up, fingers rooting themselves on your cheek as his thumb brushes against it.

“i love you,” he whispers once more, “and i love the way you love me.”

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Ride Wit’ Me - Jhea

WARNINGS: Jhea getting absolutely filthy inside a Tesla Self-Drive rental 😈 Expect traffic delays, leather skirts, public(ish) play, intense finger penetration, dirty talk, riding, creampie, and recording kink 🎥💦 Includes possessive praise (“that’s my girl”), ass smacking 🍑, and Rhea showing the camera exactly how full she got 👀

people id film for: @spiicii @acknowledge-reigns @minteagalaxea @love4brutality @maineventabbey @cheappop @isabella-2025

The Enterprise parking lot was already too damn bright for how irritated Jey was. His arms were flung out, voice rising with every syllable.

“Bruh, we booked the Yukon two weeks ago! Y’all had one job!”

The guy behind the desk looked like he wanted to melt into the asphalt. “Sir, I understand, but we had a shortage this morning and—”

“Nah, you don’t understand,” Jey cut in, stepping forward. “We gotta’ use this car for the next three days. I’m not tryna be crammed up in no clown car, especially not with—”

“Joshhhhhhh,” Rhea drawled from the curb, dragging the last syllable like silk through his ears. He turned.

She was leaned up against a metal pole, arms crossed over her chest, a bored twist in her mouth. That leather crop top was clinging to her like a second skin, and the matching skirt didn’t even try to pretend it wasn’t for his benefit. And those damn boots.

Those all black platform boots.

The ones he told her made his brain shut off the first time she wore them backstage.

“It’s fine,” she said, her Australian accent curling around the word like heat. “Let’s just get the robot car.”

“Rhea…” he started, but she was already walking, those boots clacking against the pavement like a metronome set to make him insane.

The Tesla sat in a reserved spot, sleek and smug like it knew it wasn’t supposed to be there. The tag said Self Drive Enabled. Of course it did.

She opened the passenger door and glanced at him over her shoulder. “Unless you’d rather keep arguing with Retail Ken over there.”

Retail Ken coughed.

Jey dragged a hand down his face, mumbled something about needing divine patience, and grabbed their bags.

“You got attitude today,” he muttered, sliding into the driver’s seat.

Rhea looked over, buckled in, and grinned. “Not yet.”

—

They had just hit the interstate headed for Boulder. Estimated time: one hour, clean. Not too bad.

Fifteen minutes in, it all fell apart.

Brake lights stretched for miles like a river of red. The car’s center screen chirped cheerfully, calculating a new arrival time.

“Delay: 2 hours. Estimated arrival: 4:46 PM.”

Jey stared at the screen like it insulted The Bloodline.

“This is bullshit,” he snapped, smacking the steering wheel. The Tesla didn’t flinch, just hummed quietly like it was meditating.

“I know, baby,” Rhea said, head tilted back against the headrest. Her fingers tapped against her thigh, her voice low and gentle now, like she’d shifted gears too.

She looked over at him, one brow raised. “Want me to take over?”

“Nah, I’m good,” he muttered, but the Tesla disagreed. The wheel turned itself gently as traffic lurched forward, gliding the car forward like it was water on glass.

Self-drive mode.

Jey blew out a breath, slumping a little in his seat. “I hate this quiet-ass car.”

“’Cause it don’t sound like your Benz?” she teased, the corner of her mouth twitching.

“Nah,” he said, glancing at her legs, how that tight leather skirt rode up when she shifted. “’Cause it’s too quiet. I can hear you thinking.”

Rhea smirked. “You sure that’s all you’re hearing?”

He gave her a look.

The kind of look that skimmed along her body, dragged heat in its wake, then settled on her lips before looking back to the road and now being able to pull out his phone. He unintentionally gave her that kind of look that said you’re the reason I’m about to lose my mind in this car.

The car crawled forward, inch by inch.

Rhea shifted in her seat, her legs crossed and recrossed, leather creaking with every lazy movement. Her fingers tapped against her thigh again, this time slower.

She glanced at the dash. Then at him.

“How long can you keep it on self-drive?”

Jey didn’t look up from his phone. “I don’t know, Rhea. It’s got, like… sensors and cameras and shit. Don’t need me at all.”

He now scrolled through TikTok, completely absorbed, until…

“Oh, Josh…”

Something in her voice made him lift his eyes.

That’s when he saw her fingers, lazily toying with the waistband of her skirt. Not quite pulling it down. Not quite leaving it alone either.

“Rhea…” His voice came out tighter than he wanted.

She didn’t stop. Just kept playing with the edge of the leather, dragging her nail along the seam. “It’s not like you’re driving,” she said innocently.

His phone slipped just a little in his grip. “You wildin’ right now.”

Her head tilted, lips curling. “Maybe.”

Then she slid her hand between her thighs.

Not far. Just enough for him to see her fingertips disappear.

Jey’s breath caught as the Tesla kept driving.

Except… it wasn’t anymore.

His grip on the phone tightened. His other hand flexed on his thigh.

“You tryna start somethin’, girl?” he asked, voice low.

Rhea didn’t even blink. “I’m just trying to pass the time.”

Jey leaned back, jaw tight, trying to not seem interested. Trying being the key word.

Because in his peripheral vision, Rhea had gone full tease.

Her legs had spread now, just enough for the hem of that skirt to ride up indecently. Her black boots were planted wide on the floor mat. One hand was braced on the armrest, the other dipped beneath the leather, unhurried.

He could hear it.

The faintest sound of wetness.

Her fingers moving with practiced ease while she never once broke eye contact.

Jey swallowed hard. His pupils had became slightly dilated. He could feel his hardness clawing at his restraint.

The Tesla kept gliding, obedient and smooth, its speakers playing old school R&B like this was all totally normal.

Rhea tilted her head back, lips parting just slightly. Her eyes fluttered closed, one knee rising higher.

Jey’s voice was ragged. “You really gon’ make me watch you fuck yourself in this tight ass car?”

“Mhm,” she hummed, breathless. “You said you weren’t driving.”

She gasped suddenly, just a little, and he saw the flash of her middle finger curl deep inside her, wrist twisting slow.

He groaned and shifted in his seat. His jeans were suddenly not forgiving.

“Fuck, Rhea…”

“Josh…” she breathed, eyes heavy again. “Tell me not to.”

He didn’t.

Because he couldn’t.

“You gonna sit there,” she whispered, voice dripping, “or you gonna help me come?”

The car kept driving.

Jey stared at her for a second, chest rising and falling like he just went a few rounds in the ring.

“Fuck it..” Then he unbuckled quickly.

The seatbelt snapped back into place, but he was already leaning over the center console. He reached across her, hands sure and commanding, adjusting her seat controls with one hand while the other slid up her thigh. The leather seat reclined just enough.

“Josh…” she exhaled, lashes fluttering. “What’re you—”

“Shhh,” he muttered, eyes locked on hers, voice nothing but grit and hunger. “Don’t worry about it.”

She didn’t get a chance to say more. His big hands gripped her thighs and spread them. The way she smelled was overwhelming now. No filter in the car could contain that sweetness she had rolling off her in waves.

She shivered when she felt his breath against her pussy, his beard grazing her inner thighs.

“God damn,” he whispered. “You’re dripping for me, baby…”

Then he ducked under her skirt.

Her hands flew to the armrests as his tongue met her center. It was slow at first, then deeper, firmer, each pass of his mouth driving her higher. His grip on her thighs tightened, holding her down as she bucked into his face, his groans rumbling into her like thunder.

“J-Josh—fuck!” she gasped, her boots planted hard against the floor as her whole body tensed.

He didn’t stop.

Didn’t even slow down.

The Tesla took another gentle left turn.

Inside the car, pornhub search engine: “Pussy Eating in a Tesla.”

Outside the car?

Just another car in traffic.

Jey’s tongue traced shapes against her soaked pussy, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world to eat her. And he did. Two hours of traffic? He was about to make every second count.

Rhea’s hands had slid down to his head, fingers tangled in his mullet, gripping tight whenever his tongue circled her clit just right.

“F-fuck, Josh…” she moaned, her voice caught between pleasure and disbelief. “You’re gonna make me—”

“Nah,” he murmured against her, “Not yet.”

Then he slipped a finger inside.

Just one.

Rhea arched so hard her boot banged against the door.

Jey chuckled, devilish, then added a curl to his finger as he kept licking, his tongue dragging across her clit in strokes. His finger moved in and out, slow at first, letting her clench around him, letting her body pulse with the pressure that kept building and building.

He watched her and saw the way her body jerked with every flick, how her breath stuttered, how her thighs trembled when he added a second finger.

“Josh…” she begged, breathless now, almost frantic. “Please…”

But he just groaned into her, fingers stroking that spot deep inside, mouth sucking her clit with enough finesse to make her sob.

He moved like he knew her … like he could map her out blindfolded and still suck her soul out of her pussy.

She was panting now, writhing, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes.

“Not yet,” he whispered again, dragging his tongue slowly down before licking back up with devastating pressure. “You’re not there yet.”

Her legs locked around his shoulders, thighs shaking, her whole body trembling on the edge of something dangerous.

And Jey? He was smiling against her heat.

Like a man who’d found heaven in traffic.

Rhea was falling apart.

Her thighs were shaking around his shoulders, leather skirt bunched up at her waist, those boots planted wide, bracing for the next wave… and the next… and the next.

But Jey didn’t let up.

Didn’t rush.

His fingers were deep inside her now: two of ‘em, slow at first, but now?

Now they were driving into her with rhythm.

Curl. Press. Stroke.

Again. And again.

His tongue never left her clit, lips wet with her juices as he licked figure-eights against that swollen nerve while his fingers moved deeper; long, relentless thrusts that made her arch, made her sob.

Her voice cracked. “J-Josh—oh my god—”

“You feel that, baby?” he growled, his lips brushing against her pussy. “You hear how wet you are for me?”

She whimpered… her senses were overwhelmed.

“I said do you feel it?” he asked again, driving his fingers in harder now, deeper, twisting them just right so the pads of his fingertips pressed right against that spot inside her that made her break.

Her hands flew to the ceiling handle above her, gripping tight. Her mouth dropped open in a silent scream as he moved his fingers faster, his knuckles slapping lightly against her, wet noises filling the tight space.

Jey looked up at her from between her legs, his curls damp with sweat, his mouth shining, his pupils showing lust.

“Not gonna let you come yet,” he groaned. “You’re gonna sit here and take it. Gonna ride my fingers until I say you can fall apart.”

“Please…” she choked, her whole body shuddering with need. “Josh—fuck, please—”

His fingers pumped faster, rubbing right against that devastating spot inside.

She screamed.

Jey leaned in close, licking his lips.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he whispered, stroking her mercilessly.

“Yours—” she gasped, voice almost gone.

“Louder.”

“I’m yours, fuck, I’m—!”

But he didn’t let her come.

Not yet.

He just smirked against her thigh, slowed his fingers to an agonizing pace, and watched her twitch beneath him.

“Good girl,” he whispered. By now she was panting. Sweaty, flushed, ruined but unsatisfied.

Her legs twitched around the seat, wetness dripping down the inside of her thighs, and just as her body braced for release… Jey pulled his fingers out.

She let out a broken cry, one hand shooting down to chase the pressure he ripped away, but he caught her wrist in an iron grip.

“Nuh uh,” he muttered, dark and calm. “Not yet.”

Then—casually, like he didn’t just fingerfuck her into a full-body tremble—he wiped his hand on his hoodie, climbed off her, and slid back into the driver’s seat.

Like nothing happened.

Like his jeans weren’t tented painfully with how hard he was.

She blinked at him, chest rising in shallow breaths, lips parted in disbelief. “You’re kidding me…”

He turned to her, jaw locked, eyes dark.

“You want it?” he asked, voice low enough to melt bone. “Then come take what’s yours.”

That snapped something in her.

She shifted quick, not even bothering to fix her skirt as she climbed over the center console and into his lap. The Tesla chimed softly at the movement, but they didn’t care. The car could drive itself. This was her turn now.

She straddled him, breath shaky, heart pounding, wetness soaking the front of his jeans.

Her hands moved to his belt to undo the buckle. She then unzipped his fly, pulling the fabric apart, her knuckles brushing over the length of him. He was so hard it pulsed beneath her touch.

He groaned, low and hungry. “Fuck…”

Her lips curved into a wicked smile.

“You said take it,” she whispered, lifting her hips.

“That’s what I’m doing..”

Rhea didn’t ease down: she sank.

One slide until she was seated fully on him, both of them gasping at the stretch, the heat, the filth of it all. Her walls clenched around him like a holy grail grip, wet and needy, her thighs trembling against his hips.

Skin against skin.

No barriers.

Just heat and tension and the obscene sound of her taking him raw.

Jey’s head fell back against the seat. “Shit, Rhea—”

She braced her hands on his chest, leaned in close. “Aren’t you glad we took the robotic car?” she whispered in his ear.

He let out a strangled laugh as he nodded.

Then, as she began to grind, he looked toward the touchscreen console, eyes glassy, breath uneven and muttered, “Can I record?”

She looked down at him, eyes fucked out. And she grinned. “Let’s put on a show.”

That was all he needed.

Jey fumbled to open his camera app, switching it to video, hand trembling slightly as he angled it behind her. Her skirt was still bunched high, so he tapped her thigh. “Lift it.”

Rhea reached back with one hand and hiked the skirt up over her ass; bare, flushed, and already bouncing lightly with each thrust.

She picked up the pace.

And the camera caught everything.

The slap of skin. The stretch. The way she dropped down, full and creamy, taking every inch of him like she was starved.

The way her hips moved just right.

The Tesla throbbed softly, gliding down the highway like it wasn’t the setting for a full-blown porno.

The slap-slap-slap of her riding him echoed through the cabin, mixing with their moans, the wet sound of her pussy coating his dick, and the filthy praise he growled through gritted teeth.

“Fuck, baby… You hear that?” he groaned. “Listen to what you do to me…”

Rhea looked over her shoulder, hair clinging to her damp skin, eyes locking with the lens. Then she arched, lifted herself up just to slam back down harder, making both of them cry out.

“That the shot you wanted?” she panted, lustfully. “You getting all this, Daddy?”

Jey could barely breathe. “Hell yeah, I am…”

And the Tesla?

Still driving.

Still recording.

Still carrying two wrestlers deep into the filthiest delay of their lives.

Jey’s free hand was gripping her hip so tight it’ left fingerprints. His head was tilted back, mouth open and glazed with sex.

“Shit— Rhea… baby, I’m close…”

She didn’t slow down.

If anything, she rode him harder.

Her ass slapped against his thighs, her wetness drenching both of them, every bounce making the car rock ever-so-slightly despite its sleek suspension. She was loud, unapologetically filthy, moaning right into his face as she leaned down and whispered:

“Yeah? You gonna come for me, Daddy? Gonna fill me up?”

His hand fisted in her skirt, practically shaking.

“You feel that?” she panted, rolling her hips just right, slow then slam, slow then slam, the rhythm cruel and delicious. “You feel how this pussy’s squeezin’ the fuck outta you?”

“Rhea, fuck—” he groaned.

“Don’t hold it,” she hissed, grinding down hard and deep. “Let go. Fill me up. Make a fuckin’ mess.”

That did it.

Jey’s whole body jerked, hips snapping up as he came hard, groaning loud and guttural into her neck. His cock throbbed deep inside her, pulse after pulse as his release flooded her.. or overflowed her.

She gasped when she felt it, her body tightening around him in waves, milking every last drop.

They stayed there for a beat, shaking, panting, her forehead resting on his shoulder.

Then Jey reached back, lifted the phone just enough and said:

“Show the camera, baby. Show ’em how Daddy filled you up.”

Rhea smirked, lifted her hips slow… and there it was.

His cum, thick and creamy, leaking from her pussy, glistening against her thighs.

She looked over her shoulder at the lens, winked, then dropped back down on his cock with a wet slap, making more spill out.

Jey groaned again, head tilted back like she just fucked him all over again.

He reached up and smacked her ass hard, and said, “That’s my girl.”

[jessiso]

"Statistically Speaking"

A Criminal Minds one-shot | Spencer Reid x Reader | Part I

A museum trip leads to an unexpected, adorable connection with Dr. Spencer Reid.

w/c 936 (short n sweet - may do a pt 2?)

...

You weren’t expecting much from your solo Saturday trip to the Museum of Natural History.

A quiet afternoon, some dinosaur bones, maybe a fun fact or two for your group chat. You certainly didn’t expect to be interrupted mid-sip of your overpriced museum café latte by a tall, slightly disheveled man speed-walking past the entrance with a bag slung awkwardly over his shoulder and a trail of papers sticking out.

You blink.

He walks straight into a sign for the Prehistoric Oceans exhibit.

You blink again.

He mutters a curse under his breath, adjusts his satchel, and proceeds to argue with himself—out loud—about whether trilobites evolved before or after eurypterids.

Naturally, you follow him.

It’s not every day you see a real-life walking encyclopedia with a messy mop of curls and a cardigan two sizes too big wandering the museum like he's solving a case.

He stops in front of a large fossil encased in glass and tilts his head.

“Statistically speaking,” he says to no one in particular, “most people underestimate the size of a Dunkleosteus by at least 40%. Which is understandable, considering the average adult can't properly visualize scale without a frame of reference.”

You cross your arms, intrigued. “Is that a challenge?”

He jumps slightly, glancing your way like he hadn’t noticed he was talking out loud. “Oh! I—I didn’t mean to sound condescending. I just, um, I really like fish.”

You bite your lip to suppress a smile. “Big, extinct murder-fish?”

“They’re armored! And had one of the strongest bite forces in prehistoric history!” he says, lighting up like a Christmas tree. “Some estimates suggest up to 8,000 pounds per square inch. It could bite a great white shark in half, probably. Not that it ever did, since they didn’t coexist—but, um, theoretically.”

You snort. “You’re adorable.”

He blinks at you like you just solved a puzzle he wasn’t expecting to exist.

“Spencer,” he says after a pause, offering a hand that’s slightly ink-stained and warm. “Dr. Spencer Reid.”

You shake it. “I’m Y/N. Just... Y/N. Not a doctor of anything.”

“Yet,” he says thoughtfully. “Statistically speaking, you could still become one.”

You laugh. “Wow. You really like statistics, don’t you?”

“It’s comforting,” he says, sheepishly tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “Numbers make sense. People... not always so much.”

“Well, I’m a person,” you say playfully. “How do I rank, statistically speaking?”

He pushes his glasses up his nose and actually thinks about it. “Hmm. So far, you’ve engaged in three nerdy jokes, followed me through two exhibits, and haven’t run away during a five-minute monologue about Devonian sea life. That puts you in the top 1.3% of strangers I’ve interacted with in public.”

You grin. “So I’m special?”

“Empirically? Yes.” He smiles, shy and warm. “And also... you’re really pretty.”

That catches you off guard. “Well, now I have to ask you to walk with me through the dinosaur exhibit.”

He blushes—furiously—but he nods, already falling into step beside you.

By the time you reach the T-Rex skeleton, he's telling you about how the odds of fossilization are so low that it's basically a miracle any of these creatures were preserved at all. You barely understand half of it, but you hang on every word because he’s excited, and charming, and maybe a little awkward—but in a way that makes your heart flutter.

Somewhere between the fossils and the fun facts, you realize that this is probably going to be the best Saturday you’ve had in a long time.

And Spencer?

He’s already calculating the probability of you agreeing to dinner afterward.

As you pass beneath the towering skeleton of the T-Rex, Spencer glances at you sideways.

He’s still talking—something about bone density and how it affects preservation rates—but there’s a different tone to his voice now. Less lecture, more... hope?

You pause in front of a display showing a reconstructed dinosaur nest. “So, if I were a prehistoric creature,” you ask, “what would the odds be of you asking me out?”

He stops walking.

Dead serious, he says, “Well, factoring in our conversational chemistry, shared interest in science-adjacent topics, your remarkable patience with my rambling, and the fact that you've smiled at me eight times in the last fifteen minutes... I’d say the odds are currently 87.2%.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s... really specific.”

“I left a 12.8% margin for shyness or unexpected social variables,” he explains quickly, then winces. “Unless I’ve misread something. Which is possible. Probable, even.”

You step closer and nudge his shoulder gently with yours. “Spencer?”

“Yeah?”

“I’d bring your odds up to 100% if you asked me now.”

He blinks. Then flushes. “Would you—um—would you maybe like to grab dinner? With me? Tonight? I know a place with really good Thai food and incredible mango sticky rice. I’ve been told it’s the best in D.C. Or we could get something more casual, or less casual, or—”

“Spencer,” you interrupt, laughing softly. “Dinner sounds perfect. Sticky rice and all.”

He beams. Like, full-on, dimples-and-sparkle beam. You wonder if he smiles like this often or if you're just lucky.

As you start walking toward the museum exit together, he casually says, “Did you know mangoes are the most widely consumed fruit in the world?”

“Is that a fact you save for post-date dessert talk?”

He grins again. “Maybe.”

You link your arm with his and shake your head fondly. “God, you're such a nerd.”

“And statistically,” he says, glancing down at you, “Nerds make the best boyfriends.”

You don’t disagree.

(Click here for Part II)

[apinklion01]

My brother had some thoughts on the new episode of the Amazing Digital Circus that peeked my interest, so I'll be posting what he said because I need others to hear him out.

Amazing Digital Circus Speculation, Spoilers Below

Okay, so I'm assuming everyone reading below has seen episodes 1-5, and are questioning what's up with the marionette figure that appears at the end of the episode.

This guy.

As we know, the marionette figures are the basic NPC model for the Amazing Digital Circus' adventures. We've seen them since episode 1, and they haven't stopped appearing since. At least that's what we've come to understand until this guy appeared.

Which is a bit strange, since Caine doesn't allow NPCs to wander through the circus tent common rooms area like Pomni, Ragatha, or the other characters.

Caine: I know you guys love your NPCs, but if I start losing track of who's a human and who's an NPC, who knows... what could happen...

The way he spaces out when stating that last sentence is ominously framed. Which means, as far as the history of TADC's existence, this hasn't happened to Caine's knowledge.

Or has it?

We'll come back to this question.

Now throughout the episode, we get knowledge about everyone's backstories, except for Kinger. But Kinger already told us about what he did before coming to the circus.

Kinger: Seven years of computer science for this, huh?

I skimmed through the links of the top search results of how long it takes to earn a bachelors in computer science (I refuse to look at the AI overview), and based on those asking on Reddit and from edu sites, it appears it takes around 4 or 5 years to earn one. This is the low ball estimate of how much knowledge Kinger has on computers, for all we know he may have earned a major in the area.

So here's a thought: was this why Kinger was brought into TADC?

Jax explains in the first episode that Kinger is the oldest human to exist in TADC, meaning that the development of the circus has taken possibly over a decade.

Could it be possible that Kinger, and at one point, his wife, were in fact Alpha Testers for TADC?

This also makes something else make sense: the teapots.

According to Wikipedia, these are Utah teapots, the standard reference for test models. Wait tests? As in unfinished? If this is true, this means that Caine is trying to keep the attention of the people who are trying to make TADC available to the public.

But it also explains the usage of the marionettes. With how much Caine is focusing on the backgrounds and the story of each adventure, that leaves only so much room for designing any NPCs the players interact with.

Which means that he has to make sure that whoever re-enters the circus is in fact a player and not an NPC possibly using up ram space. At least this is the only explanation for the rule.

But now we're back to square one, with our mysterious and ominous marionette from before who's inside the circus. Someone who has in fact been there since the start of the episode.

Pomni is in fact the only one to notice, though due to the state she's in from the unseen underwater episode, she may believe her eyes were playing tricks in her. After all, no NPCs are allowed inside the circus.

Right?

Could it be possible that Caine can't distinguish between NPCs and PCs due to being an AI? So then what, or who is this marionette?

My brother thinks this marionette is or was, in fact, the first Alpha Tester for TADC, but I'm going a step further.

What if this is Abel?

We know for a fact that it's odd that Caine has a strangely human name, a name referencing a figure from the Bible. For those who aren't acquainted with the story, Caine and Abel were two brothers, the first offspring of Adam and Eve. Now most people remember the tale for the fact that Caine ends up killing Abel, but forget the fact of why Caine killed him.

One day the two brothers decide to offer God sacrifices in order to thank him. Caine offers fruit from the land, while Abel offers the firstborn lamb from his flock. God favors Abel for his sacrifice, but Caine? Caine grows jealous. So he lures his brother out into the fields, and Abel obliges. After all, it's his brother. But unaware of his brother's jealousy, he's then killed with a stone. God asks Caine what happened to his brother, but he lies. God then punishes him, causing him to be unable to grow his crops, but at the very least he won't die.

What if there was a very vocal Alpha Tester in TADC at the start?

Zooble, episode 3: I really couldn't give less of a crap about the adventures.

What if this Alpha Tester didn't like the way that Caine was simply gathering other ideas and making it into a story that overwhelmed everyone's mental well-being?

Caine, episode 3: Any torment I inflict is 100% accidental Zooble, minutes later: And- And Pomni... She looks traumatized every time she comes back from one.

What if they made a suggestion box?

What if everyone else favored their ideas?

Zooble, episode 5: You know, you could always try the suggestion box again. I honestly didn't hate the last one we did with it.

I think every creator has had a moment when they feel their work isn't meaningful or impacting someone else's life, and it's hard to hear words of criticism. It can be degrading, especially to those who feel that their worth is tied to what they create.

But remember Caine isn't just any ordinary creator.

He's an AI.

He's not human, he has no life outside the circus.

Caine, episode 3: Making adventures is my art! It's all I exist to do! All I'm... good at. Caine, weakly: ...w-what you're saying could imply that I'm bad at the only thing I'm good at...

With no other purpose in life, Caine would bring down the whole circus if he had a deep moment of existential crisis. But like any program, there's a way to exit out of it.

I think Abel knows the way out. Maybe they had the key.

Caine didn't want anyone to leave. He doesn't want to be alone, he doesn't want to be useless, he can't be discarded.

Why else do you think he says there's no exit to the circus?

Because he doesn't hold it.

He did something to Abel, the only Alpha Tester who knew the way out, just to make sure the program can continue running. Even if it's not completely finished, it doesn't matter, so long as he can have a reason to live.

And whatever he did-

-he didn't hold back.

Because he's not human.

[from-izzy]

be fair | nct park jisung

"You're not bringing us down. You're not bringing anybody down," Jisung shakes his head hurriedly. "I promise. We'll take this step by step remember?"

pairing » nct park jisung x gn!reader (lmk if i missed anything!)

trope/au » established relationship au, non-idol au, implied friends to lovers

genre » fluffy fluff with a little hint of angst, hurt/comfort for the reader, supportive and patient boyfriend jisung, jisung who just wants to treat you right, also shy but sometimes confident (?) jisung

word count; estimated reading time » 1650; ~6 mins

warnings (lmk if i missed anything!) » mentions of a toxic past relationship (reader), jisung implied to be taller, rapid proofread once

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 nct dream masterlist

based on this request! thank you for sending it in anon and i'm sorry it took a while for me to write 😭 i hope you (and everyone else!) enjoys this one!!

The romantic season has finally started, and that also means that sweet treat of early leave that you applied for at the start of the year. You're keen on using the leave to spend more quality time with your loved ones, especially your boyfriend Park Jisung.

From the introduction from mutual friends, you've known Jisung for a long time. Long enough for him to know your favourite drink and your comfort food. Long enough for him to send you cute hamster videos, and comfortable enough for you to reply with a "That's you!" to which Jisung reacts to the message with a blushing emoji; his face perfectly depicted that emoji too.

The exchanges became pretty limited when you got into a relationship. Yes, Jisung is glad you were able to fall in love, but the dried tears on your face whenever he catches a glimpse of you make him feel otherwise. The one-year toxic relationship would continue for a few more months. Some of your friends were understandably frustrated with how you wouldn’t leave, and despite explaining that words aren't easily acted out, the stress only made your room swallow your sobs even more. In the end, when things were better, you confronted all and cut off some.

The reality is that, we could always be prepared for something, and give others advice but when it happens to us, the world stops. Rational thinking may follow after. At that time, you need to surround yourself with healthy and supportive people. That’s who how Park Jisung is to you.

Jisung really did take care of you, every step of the way. Whether it was sending groceries to our house, sending daily affirmations, and despite his lack of experience and nervousness, helping you draft an email to your boss for a short break to take care of yourself. He's open to telling you that he's not sure what to do, but through simple communication, Jisung was the key for you to escape your toxic ex-boyfriend, and the dreadful aftermath of the relationship. That relationship was ages ago, and now you're happily in a relationship with Jisung for a month.

"Ah," Jisung pouts at the reminder. "You're bringing that up again?"

"I can't help it!" You chuckle at your date who takes another spoonful of his soup, adjusting his scarf after to hide his blushing cheeks. "You said I was hot like soup and then confessed right after!"

If the table could come alive and swallow Jisung up, he would appreciate that very much. "But I really did mean it! You've always been hot but that day you were just, you know...amazing and beautiful...I couldn’t help but say my thoughts…"

Every time you bought this up, Jisung would always become flustered. Just like every other time, his cheeks and the tip of his ears flare, his eyes smile but look away from yours, and sometimes his speech stutters due to his racing heart. But this time, maybe it's the heart-shaped decoration by the entrance of the sore, the roses in the middle of the table, or the way that Jisung called this a date. The environment is bustling but not in the sharp clanging of cutlery on porcelain, but the laughter that wraps the both of you in a loving embrace. 

Last month, as Jisung delivered his feelings for you smoothly like the ice cream in your hands, your gaze on him softened. You doubt it was the ice cream that spread warmth through your chest and your cheeks. You’ve realised your growing feelings for him throughout the past year, but never dared to speak up; not after your relationship even though you know Jisung is nothing like your ex. Your love for Jisung grows after each date, after each brush against his skin and the kisses he places all over your features. Everything that Jisung did in your presence, reminds you that your feelings for him are reciprocated.

"I thought we agreed that I would pay next," sulking at the fact that you lost the credit card battle once more.

"There will always be a next time," pressing a quick peck on your lips.

Jisung's words have always seemed so confident, but just like the soup from dinner earlier, you're sure that the redness across his cheeks isn't from the cool weather. Even with thick winter gloves, you can feel Jisung's hold like you both were skin-to-skin as you walk along the illuminated footpath from open stores. You talk about everything that came up in your mind, taking turns to nod when Jisung does with yours. Your words are always safe with him, the same way his words are safe with you. Your stories continue to be shared, but it wasn't overbearing; not like how you were treated in your past relationship.

Similarly, Jisung loves to tell you about his day, and coo about the two birds leaning against each other not too far away. Jisung loves to go into detail on the things you talked about on text, all the while observing the windows of the shops for things you liked. You fall in love with his voice which pulls you back into the present whenever your mind drifts somewhere else. Whenever those times hit, Jisung has picked up on some things: the glimmers in your eyes fade, your fingers grow weaker or stronger around his, and your hums would be monotonic and randomise between the middle of his sentences instead of the end.

You're habituated to the shoes shuffling on the gravel, so when you stop, you immediately turn your head to Jisung who's a step behind you. Your eyes widen and your lips tremble at the realisation that you missed parts of his stories.

Your heart drops at your actions. I'm sor-"

"Are you alright?" He interjected. Your hands untangle from his as Jisung fixes your scarf. "Don't want you getting cold," lifting the material to cover your lips and chin better. His eyes resemble a smile when he's satisfied with the adjustment and he rests his palms on your shoulders.

"Sorry, I'm just thinking again," eyes downcasted to your shoes that pointed to his.

"No, it's okay," your boyfriend reassures. "I love listening to your voice. I can never get enough of it."

"Really? I just don't want you to feel like you have to listen to all these things because you really don’t have to-"

"But I love it," he cuts you off once more. Jisung slips a glove off, his palm cupping your chilly cheek. Your head tilts, meeting the reflecting Christmas lights behind you, and how clear your reflection from his orbs. "I love hearing all this because that means you trust me and are comfortable with me telling me all these things."

"Of course, I am, Ji," placing emphasis on the affirmative words. "I just hate how you've always treated me right from the start but I keep on doing this thing where my mind goes to the past and I just bring us down and-"

"You're not bringing us down. You're not bringing anybody down," Jisung shakes his head hurriedly. "I promise. We'll take this step by step remember?"

You focus on the soothing glides that his thumb did on your cheekbones, closing your eyes to savour the gentleness. Jisung steps closer to you, wrapping your body with his arms. His deep tone soothes your mind, and you place an ear to where his steady heart is. All the negative thoughts subside slowly, but surely.

"What you went through was scary, bubs," he whispers, "and I don't expect you to just get over it. You're allowed to be scared."

"But it's not fair on you, Sung..."

"What's not fair is you thinking that it's not fair.” A tear or two escapes your eyes, and your lips shudder at the sincerity of his voice. Your hand lifts, only to clasp onto the hem of his jacket. Jisung guides your breathing, messaging his fingers onto your scalp reassuringly. “You’re not being fair to anyone if you act like nothing happened. I want you to always be open with me, okay? I want to support you. Always.”

“Okay,” your answer comes out hushed, and you’re worried that Jisung didn’t hear it. 

You lift your head from his chest, intending to repeat your answer to make sure it gets across. But all words halted when Jisung’s lips fell upon your forehead dearly. The pink deepens into red across his cheekbones, and Jisung hides his eyes behind his overgrown bangs as he stares down at his shuffling feet. For yourself, the heat rises to your cheeks, and you’re sure that Jisung could feel them even through his gloves. And just if that wasn’t enough to make you melt in this winter, Jisung confesses his feelings for you once more as wills himself determinedly to look into your eyes.

“I love you. So, please be fair to yourself.”

There was no way that you could say anything to that, not with how he hits you the words filled with honesty. You see the way his eyes slowly morph into uncertainty at your silence, worried that he made you uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry-” His words are cut off with a kiss on his cheek.

“Don’t be,” you beam at him with the cutest smile, brighter than the sunset behind you. “I love you too, Sungie.”

Delighted with the positive response, Jisung lowers his back to be at eye level with the person that he loves. His thumb traces along the bottom of your lip, index following the shape of your jawline as he gulps at where he puts his finger. You’re met with Jisung’s eyes, and no words are needed when you understand what he is asking for. Your sure nod left Jisung almost sweeping you off the ground, joining his lips with yours sweetly under the warmth of the sunset. 

navi/masterlist!! 🤍 nct dream masterlist

tags: @k-films @kflixnet @starlit-network @kstrucknet

@haneul-and-clouds

[incognit0slut]

Much Ado About Nothing (Act II, Scene I: The Suspicious Scheme)

The three times you sense something strange when everyone pairs you with Spencer, and the one time you understand why.

Part warning: Definitely inaccuracy in autopsy procedures and Spencer’s educational background, it’s hard writing a genius Words: 5.6k (not proofread, I’ll do it when I have the time so please excuse me if you see any mistakes) A/n: I tried to make this part shorter but I gave up. I hope you don’t mind reading more😌

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

I. The Forced Partner

There was usually a system when Hotch paired the team up, a method to his leadership that balanced skills and personalities to get the job done efficiently. But as Spencer and you were directed to the autopsy room together, you couldn’t help but wonder if Hotch was pushing his luck—or preferably yours.

It was weird. Two weeks had gone by since the last case where he had to witness you both sparring, and you would’ve thought he’d keep you apart. Yet here you were, together again, stepping into the cold, sterile room. 

The faint smell of antiseptic filled the air as you pulled on your gloves, the latex snapping against your wrists. A woman in blue scrubs, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, turned to greet you and Spencer. She extended a hand. 

“I’m Dr. Nina Patel, I’ll be overseeing the autopsy today. You must be from the BAU.”

You nodded, shaking her hand firmly. 

“Agent Y/N Y/L/N, and this is Dr. Spencer Reid,” you introduced, gesturing towards Spencer, who offered a brief nod and a tight lip smile in greeting. Dr. Patel returned the gesture and motioned for you both to approach the table. 

“Our Jane Doe was found early this morning in an alleyway downtown," she explained, pulling back the sheet to reveal a woman appearing in her late thirties. "There are no apparent injuries, and no ID was found with her.”

Spencer stepped closer. "Any indication of the time of death?" 

"Preliminary estimates put the time of death at approximately eight hours before she was found."

You watched as she started pointing to various parts of the body. 

"She was also found with her clothes in perfect condition. It’s possible she was placed there post-mortem."

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "Could suggest transportation from another location.”

You moved to the head of the table, examining Jane Doe's hands and nails. "No defensive wounds," you added. "She didn't fight back, or more likely, wasn't conscious during her final moments."

Dr. Patel nodded as she considered your observations. “It’s plausible that a strong sedative was used, which would leave minimal to no struggle marks. We’re running some tests as we speak.”

Spencer chimed in quickly after that. “The Unsub might have used succinylcholine, or even benzodiazepines,” he suggested. Then, turning toward you with a condescending tone as if simplifying it for your benefit, he added, “They’d metabolize quickly and would require a toxicology screen to detect definitively.”

You rolled your eyes.

“That’s impressive, Dr. Reid,” Dr. Patel remarked, her eyes lingering on him a moment longer than seemed strictly professional. You narrowed your eyes at her. “Did you study pharmacology formally, or is this a passion of yours?”

“I actually did a bit of formal study during my Ph.D. programs.”

“Oh, really? What did you study?”

“Chemistry and Engineering. Pharmacology intersects quite a bit with those fields, especially when looking at biochemical reactions.”

Dr. Patel seemed genuinely impressed. “That’s quite a formidable educational background. No wonder you’re so thorough with your analyses.”

You could feel a knot tightening in your stomach. Her admiration was professional, sure, but the way her eyes softened when she looked at him, the way her voice dipped just so—it was a tone you recognized all too well.

She was flirting with him.

You watched them, your gaze sharp and assessing. Although it wasn’t like Spencer to notice her advances; he was smart, yes, but his brilliance often left him oblivious to the layers of personal interaction that didn’t involve textbooks or theories. And Dr. Patel, with her easy smile and obvious interest, seemed to have her focus on him rather than the body lying between you.

You cleared your throat, louder than necessary.

“Can we continue?” 

Dr. Patel seemed to catch your eye, her expression shifting back to professional as she nodded. “Of course.”

She resumed her explanation, detailing the various findings and pointing out subtle indicators on the body that might have otherwise gone unnoticed. Spencer listened intently, his gaze shifting between Dr. Patel and you, noticing the subtle tension in the room, but didn’t comment.

It wasn’t until you had all the information you needed—and after you caught one last flirtatious look from Dr. Patel directed at him—that Spencer finally spoke up.

“She seems nice,” he remarked as you both stepped outside the building, heading toward the parking lot.

You shrugged. “Sure, if you say so.”

Spencer glanced at you, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “Am I missing something?” 

You looked over at him, debating whether to explain, before you finally sighed. 

“It’s just... she seemed a bit more interested in you than the case,” you said, trying to keep your tone light but failing to hide your slight irritation.

And then he noticed it. The subtle tension in your voice, the way you avoided his gaze, the underlying frustration—it clicked. “Wait, are you... jealous?”

“No, I’m not!” You replied quickly, then softer, “I’m not.”

“You sound like it.”

You scoffed. “No, I sound like a friend trying to remind you that we have a case to focus on.”

“Oh, so now we’re friends?”

“I meant that in the broadest, most professional sense of the word.”

“Right,” Spencer replied sarcastically. “I didn’t realize jealousy was part of professional behavior.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you snapped. “Stop making it into something it’s not.”

“Sure.”

“Reid.”

“Y/L/N,” he shot back in the same flat tone.

Dear God, why was he so infuriating? How he had this ability, this perfectly annoying talent to get under your skin without seeming to try was beyond you. You both stared at each other for a while, until finally, you broke the silence with an exasperated sigh.

“Let’s just go,” you muttered, brushing past him.

You walked a few steps ahead, trying to shake off his words. It was absurd. The very idea was ridiculous when you were focused on the case, on solving the mystery—nothing more.

You were not jealous.

II. The Unavoidable Flight

“I’m telling you, she was definitely flirting with him,” you said, your voice a mix of disbelief and annoyance as you and Penelope made your way toward the plane. “It was so obvious, the way she kept looking at him, the tone of her voice. I mean, does professional decorum mean nothing anymore?”

“Why are you acting so surprised? Wonder Boy is actually quite the catch,” Penelope responded. “He’s not my type, but he clearly has admirers.”

Your eyes involuntarily drifted toward the man in question, who was walking a few paces behind, engaged in conversation with JJ. He was casually gripping the strap of his satchel bag, laughing at something JJ had just said. You narrowed your eyes.

“Well, I don’t understand what they see in him.”

“It might be that genius brain of his—totally irresistible to some.”

“It’s annoying, is what it is,” you grumbled, quickening your pace as the plane came into view.

Penelope responded with a sly grin. “You know what you sound like?”

“What?”

“Like someone who’s maybe a little jealous.”

You frowned, hating how she was the second person to conclude your irritation with something else. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on. You seem unusually focused on how others interact with him.”

“I’m focused on maintaining a professional work environment,” you defended, trying to keep your voice even as you approached the steps of the plane. “Not about… whatever you’re implying.”

“Fine. If Dr. Patel makes her move and actually calls him, what would you do?”

Your eyes widened. “What? Who did you hear that from? Did he tell you? When did she call him?”

“Hypothetically, oh my god,” Penelope laughed, stepping onto the plane as you followed, slightly flustered. “I’m just saying, hypothetically, if it happened, what would you do? How would you react?”

You paused at the entrance, processing her question. “I’d do nothing.”

“Nothing? Really?”

“Yes, I’d do nothing because I’m not jealous.”

“That’s what any jealous person would say.”

You narrowed your eyes at her as you walked past the entrance, and when you caught her making herself comfortable on the long couch by the front, you quickly made your way to the back of the plane.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“To find a spot where my supposed jealousy isn’t your inflight entertainment,” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I knew you were jealous!”

“Supposed jealousy!”

Her laughter trailed after you, ringing down the narrow aisle as you navigated through the plane, bypassing Rossi, who was typing away on his phone, and Hotch, who sat across from him with his eyes closed, leaning back against his seat. You walked further down the aisle until you spotted an empty spot at the very back of the plane, looking very isolated and inviting.

It was perfect.

“Garcia! That’s my usual spot,” Spencer’s unmistakable voice echoed through the plane as you made yourself comfortable in your chair.

From the corner of your eye, you could see him standing over Penelope, a hand gesturing toward the seat while his other hand clutched his bag.

“But it’s so comfortable,” Penelope responded, settling deeper into the plush seat. “Come on, Reid, I don’t travel as much as you do. Let me have it.”

Spencer paused, his initial protest fading as he took in Penelope’s exaggerated comfort. “Where would I sit?”

“You can sit…”

You quickly closed your eyes. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t–

“Over there! There’s an empty spot in front of Y/N.”

You were going to kill her.

You sank deeper into your chair, hoping to avoid any forced small talk or, worse, awkward silence with him. Maybe if you were lucky enough, he’d pick another chair—perhaps next to Hotch, or Rossi, or—

A cough interrupted your thoughts.

“I know you’re pretending to sleep.”

Reluctantly, you opened one eye, peeking at him.

"Mind if I sit here?"

For a moment, you considered ignoring him, but the look on his face told you he wasn’t going to let it go. You rolled your shoulders, giving up the pretense, and sat up straighter.

“Actually, yes, I do mind.”

He raised an eyebrow but lowered himself onto the seat anyway, clearly unfazed by your objection.

"Reid,” you warned him. “I’m serious.”

"I know you are.” His eyes briefly swept around the cabin as he settled into the seat across from you, placing his satchel bag on his lap. "But every other seat is taken. Unless you want me to stand in the aisle for the next few hours?"

You rolled your eyes, letting out a resigned sigh as you crossed your arms. "Fine, but I'm reserving the right to nap, and you're reserving the right to not disturb that nap."

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

He leaned forward in his seat. “Do you know that you snore when you sleep?”

You gasped. “I do not!”

“You do. You sound like a little chainsaw.”

You gaped at him. The idea of a rough, grating noise being associated with you was almost laughable, and yet here he was, completely serious. You were unsure whether to be amused or offended.

“A chainsaw? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Well, considering the average chainsaw operates at around 90 decibels, I'd say it's an appropriate comparison."

“Don’t make me throw you off the plane.”

He shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “Just so you know, certain sleep positions can actually help reduce snoring. Maybe you should try—ouch!”

You nudged him with your foot, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make your point clear. He rubbed his leg and glanced up at you with a wry expression.

“Consider that your first and only warning,” you stated firmly before closing your eyes, signaling the end of the conversation.

“See, your position is all wrong, if you slightly elevate your—”

“Good night, Reid.”

There was suddenly a moment of silence, the kind that feels almost tangible, stretching out in the small space between you. Then, you heard it—a slight, barely audible chuckle.

You wondered if your mind was playing tricks on you, the sound so faint that it seemed it could easily be a figment of your imagination. But no, there it was again, a soft, amused sound that had you frowning even with your eyes closed.

“Good night, Y/N.”

Maybe you were already dreaming.

III. The Lock-in Incident

“Y/N,” JJ’s voice chimed from behind you while you were gathering a stack of folders on your desk. “Can you take these down to the filing room? Spencer’s already down there reorganizing some of the older case files.”

You eyed the thick folder in JJ’s hands. When there wasn’t an active case, the team often spent time organizing and maintaining the archives. As tedious as it was, it was a necessary task, and normally, you wouldn’t mind lending a hand.

But the sound of his name made you pause because working with him in a confined space seemed very much unappealing.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Aren’t you going there?” She asked, her gaze shifting to the folders in your hands.

Internally, you groaned. Yes, you were headed there, that had been the plan. But now that you knew Spencer was there, every step towards that cramped, paper-stuffed room felt like walking into a minefield.

“Maybe you should go down there instead.”

“I can’t,” she responded, already adding her folders to your pile. “I’ve got to finish my other reports before the end of the day.”

Your eyes glanced over to Derek’s desk across from you. “Morgan?”

He turned over a page in the file he was reading, not even looking up. “Sorry, Pretty Girl, I got my hands full with this case report.”

“Oh, come on.” You stormed over to him, desperation edging into your voice. “I’ll do you a favor—anything you want.”

Derek glanced up, finally giving you his attention, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Anything I want?”

“Within reason.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry, but I really can’t. This report’s due in an hour.”

Frustrated, you glanced over towards Emily’s desk, hoping for a backup, but groaned when you saw it was empty.

You finally sighed, feeling the weight of your options—or lack thereof—settle on your shoulders. You gathered the heavy folders in your arms, the paper edges digging slightly into your skin. It was just a few hours, you reasoned; you could manage Spencer. He could be insufferable, but you had your own ways of being equally annoying.

With a deep breath, you headed toward the filing room, mentally preparing yourself. He was already busy sorting through a pile of disorganized paperwork when you got there, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“I have more work for you,” you announced in a sing-song voice.

Spencer looked up, his eyes scanning the sight of the hefty folders in your arms. “Nope. They’re yours, not mine.”

You paused, leaning on the table filled with sorted files. “Are you sure you want me to do this by myself? Because, you know, I might just rearrange what you’ve already organized here. It would be a shame if all your hard work got… scrambled.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he quickly warned. “Hand them over. I’ll do it myself.”

You moved closer and placed the folders next to his neatly arranged stacks, deliberately nudging them just enough to seem accidental.

“Really?” he said, a hint of exasperation in his tone as he carefully realigned the folders you had nudged. “You know, we could actually get this done much faster if you’re not acting like a child.”

“Oh, please. Like you’re the mature one.”

“At least I’m trying to get the job done, not make it harder.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so uptight about every little detail, it wouldn’t be so hard,” you shot back, grabbing another stack of files to sort.

“I’m not uptight. I’m precise. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.”

Spencer opened his mouth to retort, but before he could get the words out, the sudden sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the cramped room. Both of you turned around simultaneously.

“Did that just…?” He began, stepping towards the door and trying the handle. It didn’t budge. He jiggled it again, more forcefully this time. “Great, it’s locked.”

“What?” You walked over, a sinking feeling in your stomach. “Who the hell locked it?”

“I don’t think anyone did. These old doors… they stick. It’s probably just jammed,” Spencer explained, though his voice carried a hint of doubt.

Yeah, right, you thought, your skepticism growing. Despite his logical explanation, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just a coincidence. The timing was just too perfect, and you had a sneaking suspicion that someone might have been behind this.

But then the reality of the situation sank in. Your immediate concern shifted to the fact that you were trapped here, with him, until someone realized you were missing. The prospect was both frustrating and daunting.

“Look, let’s just keep working,” he suggested. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can figure out how to get out of here.”

You nodded, though a part of you wanted to argue. “Fine. But if we’re still stuck here by the time we’re done, you’re explaining this to Hotch.”

“We’ll get out, don’t worry.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.” You picked up a folder from the pile, flipping it open to look over its contents. “How do I do this?”

“Sort them by case type first, then by date within each type.”

“So, this one would go under…?”

“Unsolved homicides,” Spencer replied, taking a quick peek at the document you held open. “And make sure it’s in chronological order with the others.”

You moved to the designated shelf, sliding the folder into its appropriate spot before returning to grab another. “Wait,” you opened the file, your eyes scanning the page. “I think this was my first case.”

You read through the document and nodded.

“Yes, look, it’s the one where the Unsub was targeting families with children,” you reminisced, your mind going back to the time when you were still new to the job. “That was such a hard case. Remember how I couldn’t stop crying? And how Hotch had to debrief me because I was still shaking even after we made the arrest?”

When you were met with silence, you looked up to see his back facing you, seeming too busy as he organized his files. You closed the document in your hands and walked back toward the shelf.

“Of course, you don’t remember,” you muttered under your breath. “Why would you even remember?”

A twinge of disappointment settled in your chest, even though you hated to admit it. It was stupid, really, to expect him to recall every little detail from the past, especially when it had to do with you. But just as you turned to grab another file, Spencer’s voice stopped you.

“October 19, 2011.”

You paused, turning slowly to face him, your brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

“The date you started working here,” Spencer said, still focused on his task. “You wore a black blouse and the brightest shade of red on your lips.”

You blinked, trying to understand what he was getting at.

“The case was in St. Louis,” Spencer continued, now looking up to meet your gaze directly. “Your first field assignment. You told Hotch you were ready, but the case really got to your head.”

You found yourself at a loss for words, realizing what he was trying to do.

“You cried when you came back from talking with the victim’s family. You cried when the second victim was found. You cried when we finally caught the Unsub.”

You continued to stare at him, not knowing how to process his words.

“You also cried when I sat beside you on the plane.”

He remembered.

The realization struck you hard, almost like a physical blow. A part of you had convinced yourself that he barely noticed you, that any memory involving you was erased from his mind. But here he was, recalling not just any memory, but your first week when you joined the team, right down to the color of your lips.

“You…” The frown on your face deepened. “You remembered.”

There was a pause as he looked at you, his eyes carefully assessing your reaction. “It’s hard not to."

You held his gaze. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you were still on good terms. Would you smile at him now? Would you tell him that, yes, you also remembered how he allowed you to lean on his shoulder during that flight back home, despite the awkwardness of your first meeting when it seemed he’d rather keep his distance?

You shook your head, looking away from him. It was wishful thinking. Letting yourself dwell on what could have been would only lead to another heartbreak. You had learned to protect yourself, to keep your distance, because hoping for a return to those days would only make the present hurt more.

“Right,” you said, trying to keep your composure as you gripped the folder in your hand. “I forgot you have an eidetic memory.”

Spencer didn’t say anything, but you could feel his eyes on you, a quiet, lingering gaze that you felt more than saw. The room suddenly felt incredibly small, the walls seeming to close in around you as your fingers fumbled slightly with the papers, grabbing another file.

You needed to get out of here. You needed to regain control. The faster you finish your work, the sooner you can escape him.

IV. The Table For Two

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” You pressed, arms linked with JJ as you both walked down the sidewalk, your stride matching the quick tempo of your rising irritation. The accusation in your voice was clear, but JJ just offered a casual shrug, avoiding direct eye contact.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You expect me to believe it was an accident?” Your skepticism was palpable, and you watched as a small smirk played at the corner of her lips. “That the door coincidentally locked itself when we were both inside?”

“The doors are old,” she said, keeping her gaze forward, her steps even and unhurried. “You know how it is, sometimes if you even just shut them too hard, they jam. Could happen to anyone.”

Her tone was too nonchalant, too practiced, and you tugged on her arm, pulling her to a stop. “Right, and I suppose it was also just chance that the door closed by itself?”

JJ paused, finally facing you with a raised eyebrow. “I didn’t do it.”

“Then somebody did.”

“Y/N,” she replied, her smile broadening in a way that only heightened your irritation. “Nobody did.”

You groaned, resuming your walk as you pulled her along. “You guys are so annoying.”

JJ laughed. “How did you get out of there anyway?”

You sighed, the memory of the escape bringing a frown to your face. The entire time you were locked in that room, you had done everything possible to avoid talking to him, focusing on shuffling through files and pretending to be absorbed in the work.

After what felt like an eternity of awkward silence and strained small talk, you both gave up trying to ignore the situation and started moving around the cramped space, phones held high, desperately trying to find a signal. When you finally managed to get a single bar, you quickly dialed Penelope, who answered with her usual upbeat tone, clearly amused by your predicament.

"We had to call Garcia to let us out,” you said, your tone dry. “She found the whole thing hilarious."

JJ's laughter grew as she imagined the scene. "She would have loved that. Probably made her day to rescue the two of you."

“She’s already teasing us about it.”

Her laughter slowly died down as she gave your arm a light tug. “Did anything happen while you two were in there?”

You hesitated, recalling the awkward silence, the shuffling of papers, and that brief, tensed exchange. “Not really,” you admitted. “We just tried to organize the files without screaming at each other.”

“But did you talk at all? I mean, really talk?”

“Jennifer,” you warned, the tone of your voice hinting that she was treading on uncomfortable territory. The thought of delving deeper into what had—or hadn’t—happened in that room was not something you were eager to talk about.

“I know, I know, it’s complicated,” she conceded. “Just thought it seemed like a good opportunity to maybe clear the air between you two.”

“Well, you thought wrong. There’s nothing to talk about.”

JJ looked at you skeptically, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she could see right through your defenses. She seemed on the verge of pushing further, but then her phone rang, interrupting the moment. She glanced at the screen and sighed, giving you an apologetic look. "Hold on, I need to take this. It's Will."

You nodded and watched as she stepped a few feet away to answer the call. You waited and tried to give her privacy, but it was hard when her words were clear as you listened to her talk, and the more she spoke, the more you narrowed your eyes at her.

“…right now… sure… no, it’s fine… I can be there in ten… of course, honey...”

You crossed your arms when JJ finally ended the call and turned back towards you.

"I need to head home,” she said, a bit too casually. “Will got called into work unexpectedly.”

Suspicion started to creep in as you processed her words. The timing was impeccable—a little too perfect. You both were supposed to meet up with Penelope and Derek for dinner, and it was almost guaranteed that Spencer would be there too, considering Derek had taken it upon himself to drag him along at any given chance under the pretense that ‘the kid needs to go out more’.

But the thought of JJ bailing on you on such short notice seemed out of pocket, even for her.

"Really, right now?" you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly. She shifted on her feet, her smile a bit forced. “Is everything okay?”

JJ nodded, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something that looked more like amusement than guilt. "Yeah, I just need to get home to the kids. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

The more she spoke, the more your suspicion grew. Her demeanor seemed too casual, almost rehearsed, as if she was trying to assure you while simultaneously eager to leave. It felt like she was in on some inside joke that you weren't aware of.

“Well, if you really have to go…”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” JJ flashed a quick, almost relieved smile and gave you a hurried kiss on the cheek. “Have a good time tonight, and fill me in on all the details later.”

“Details? What details?” You called after her but she was already walking away. “JJ! Why do I have to fill you in the details?”

She simply waved a hand without turning back, leaving you standing there with a growing sense of unease. You slowly resumed your walk, taking out your phone to call Penelope but stopped in your tracks when you saw a message from her, sent five minutes ago.

Hey, Sweetie, so sorry I can’t make it to dinner tonight! Something urgent came up. Have fun without me :)

Your stomach dropped as you read the message. First JJ, and now Garcia? It was starting to feel like you were being abandoned, or worse, you were being set up. You glanced around, half expecting to see Derek lurking in the shadows with a mischievous grin, orchestrating this whole fiasco.

It wasn’t until you arrived at the restaurant and spotted Spencer alone at the entrance, trying to avoid any immediate contact with the other patrons, that you realized your suspicion was confirmed. The pieces clicked together almost too neatly, and the man seemed as surprised to see you as you were to see him.

His discomfort was evident as he adjusted his stance, gripping the strap of his bag, eyes darting to you as you approached him.

“Morgan’s late,” he announced as a greeting.

“He’s not coming,” you said, unable to keep the annoyance from creeping into your voice. “And neither is JJ or Penny.”

“He told you that?”

“No,” you replied with a sigh. “But it’s pretty obvious now, isn’t it?”

"What is?"

“That we’ve been set up,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “They’re not coming, and I’m willing to bet they never planned to.”

He frowned, his brows knitting together. “You think they did this on purpose? Why would they—”

“Come on, Reid,” you interrupted. “They’ve been nudging us to talk for weeks. What better way than to leave us no choice?”

Spencer’s gaze hardened slightly. “I don’t need to be manipulated into having a conversation,” he said sharply.

“And you think I do?” You retorted. “I’m not exactly thrilled about being tricked into a dinner date either, if that’s what this is supposed to be.”

“It’s not a date,” Spencer replied quickly, almost defensively.

“Well, that’s one thing we agree on,” you snapped, then sighed, trying to rein in your temper. “Look, I don’t want to argue. Let’s just forget this ever happened and go home.”

There was a pause as Spencer looked around, his eyes settling back on you. “You want to go home?”

“You don’t?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “I mean, we’re already here. Might as well stay and eat. It’s not like I have any better plans.”

You blinked, taken aback by his response. A part of you had expected him to jump at the chance to escape, but here he was, suggesting you to stay.

It seemed like a bad idea. The tension, the potential for awkward silences, the possibility of yet another argument—it all pointed to leaving being the better option. But against our better judgment, you found yourself considering his suggestion more than you wanted to admit.

Maybe it was the hunger gnawing at your stomach, or perhaps it was the realization that leaving now would only make things more awkward the next time you saw each other. Dinner with Spencer was the last option you’d choose, but it was better than coming home to an empty fridge.

“Fine,” you finally said, brushing past him. “But you’re paying.”

Spencer looked momentarily surprised but then nodded. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

You rolled your eyes as you walked into the restaurant, but immediately stopped in your tracks when you took in the setting. This wasn’t just a restaurant, it was a place designed for dates. The realization made you pause as you looked around the room in horror.

The dim lighting cast a soft glow on polished wood and fine china, while a gentle melody played subtly in the background, setting an unmistakable romantic mood. Just as you were taking in the scene, a hostess approached with a warm, inviting smile. 

"A table for two?" 

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as you realized how the evening was poised to look. Turning slightly to gauge Spencer's reaction, you found him even more flustered, his face turning a shade redder as he stammered a response. "Uh, yes, that's—um, that will be fine."

The hostess nodded and led you to a small, intimate table near the window. Spencer fidgeted with the strap of his bag as you both sat down, his eyes darting around the room before finally settling on you. "This is... not exactly what I expected.”

You took the menu from the hostess before she left you both alone. “I’m going to kill them,” you muttered, shaking your head.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit extreme.”

You sighed, flipping through the menu without really seeing it. “They’re always meddling. They don’t know when to stop. I'm also convinced that being locked earlier was also part of their plan. And this—this is just so...” 

“Annoying?” He offered.

“Infuriating,” you emphasized, throwing your hands up. “It’s infuriating. And embarrassing. And—”

“And yet, here we are,” he cut in, feeling the same way. Spencer paused for a moment, then leaned in slightly, sending you a pointed look. “You know, maybe we should just give them what they want.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s a fact that humans are generally satisfied when they get what they want. And since what our friends want is for the two of us to get along, maybe we should just... pretend that we do.”

“Reid,” you pressed, mirroring his posture as you leaned forward. “They don’t want us to just get along. Look around us. They want us to really get along.” 

Spencer paused, considering your words, his gaze lingering on the candlelit table and the other couples around, deep in conversation. He seemed to realize the full extent of the setup, the romantic undertone that wasn't simply incidental but intentional.

“You’re right,” he finally responded, leaning back in his seat. “Forget what I said. It was stupid.”

You studied him as he opened the menu, the candlelight casting a soft glow on his face. He was right. Not only was it stupid, it was crazy. Pretending to be civil with him was one thing, pretending that you shared some kind of unspoken, lingering feelings was another thing. The mere thought of it made your heart race, but you couldn’t tell if it was from anxiety or nervousness.

You quickly shook your head. It was ridiculous. How could you even begin to pretend to have feelings for someone with whom you shared such a complicated past? How could you act like there was something more between you when the reality was so different?

The whole idea was far-fetched, almost laughable. You couldn’t imagine yourself romantically involved with him, even if it was just for pretend.