#I will still call him metro-guy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

butchcarmy · 4 months

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Blood Orange (Ch 2: The Bathroom)

Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18, MDNI)

Rating: E (5.7k)

links: fic playlist, pinterest board, ao3 link, ch 1

Chapter Summary: No more fucking your boss. That’s what you’ve been telling yourself, but he doesn’t make it easy, even as you find yourself wanting to scream. Somehow it all falls away when you lower yourself to your knees before him. You don’t know if there’s any stopping this anymore.

Content Tags: work sex, blow jobs, mouth fucking, CUM PLAY, dom/bossy carmy, coworkers with benefits, carmy being difficult, mental illness, they/them reader, gender neutral reader, the usual

A/N: WHEW. It’s here! Thanks for waiting y’all. I think I embarrassed myself writing this one (flushed emoji). It’s ramping up. Next chapter is gonna be big one. Let me know what you guys think, and enjoy! <3

Before you go to work the next morning, you make yourself come on your fingers. It would've been twice if you had more time.

You open your eyes waking from a dream with his ghostly blue eyes and low voice, and you already know you're wet before you even touch yourself. The pads of your reaching fingers chase the tender spot Carmy stroked inside of you, but they don't quite make it. Of course they don't.

Fingering yourself eases the ache for a little while. On the early morning transit with headphones over your ears, you still manage to find yourself aching for him. The music doesn't cover up the sound of his voice, and you catch yourself grimacing in the faint reflection of the dirty metro windows.

This is not a good way to start your second day at work.

Since you left the walk-in yesterday, Carmy's been following you around like a mosquito in the summer, whizzing around your head, buzzing in your ears. You can't rid your thoughts of him. When you close your eyes, you're trapped in the fridge with him, again, and his fingers are deep inside you.

Fuck. You're standing in front of the restaurant, willing yourself to go in. Just stop it, you think to yourself.

You really should be more mad at him. He technically never apologized for insulting you, but you suppose you didn't expect him to in the first place. You didn't usually get apologies at places like this, from people like him. You don't want to get in the bad habit of expecting good things from broken people.

No more fucking your boss, you think resolutely to yourself, and that's the thought you meditate on as you open the door.

By this time yesterday, there were already a couple of people floating around the kitchen. Today, you find dim lights and silence. Your footsteps feel too loud on the white linoleum as you walk to the lockers to drop off your stuff. You can’t pretend to understand the schedule yet.

“Carmen?” You pace around again as you secure your apron with a tie. No response. Surely he's here, at least. Someone had to open the place.

You take a couple more steps when you hear his voice.

“No, I'm not—that's not what I was sayin’.” The direction of his voice sounds like it's coming from his office. “Of course I miss him. Sugar—” A pause. “I know. Yeah. It's bullshit.” He laughs then, you think. You can't measure how genuine it is. “You're bullshit. Look, I'll call you back later, okay? And I'll—yeah, I'll look at it. Promise. Yeah. Bye.”

It's quiet after that. You're standing there, not sure what to do with yourself when you hear footsteps. Sure enough, Carmy pops out of the office, and you catch just a glimpse of something haunted in him before surprise takes over.

“Hi,” you say at the same time he says, “Jesus Christ.”

“How long have you been here,” he asks, as you go, “That's an interesting way to pronounce my name.”

“Um,” you start, and he stares at you blankly, unreactive to your joke. Too early, you guess. “I just got here.”

“Okay. Cool. Uh…” Anxiety radiates off of him, making his hands fidget and run through untamed hair. Not that you were looking at his hands at all. “You’ll be doin’ prep again.”

“Alright.” You expected as such. You’ll probably be on prep for the rest of the week, if not the month. That’s how most places go, but this isn’t most places.

“Your station was dirty when you left yesterday.” You walk up to your station, and it’s spotless. “I had to clean it before I left.”

“Ah. I’m sorry about that,” you apologize quickly. I was preoccupied with other things, you think bitterly to yourself, thinking of locked doors and heated kisses. Not that you’ll mention it. “I’ll make sure to clean it this time.”

“Prep’s gonna be a bit different today,” he says, completely ignoring your apology. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from snapping. “You’re gonna inspect produce, and then you’ll prep the stock again. Correctly this time.”

“It was nearly perfect, I just misplaced it,” you mutter under your breath.

“Yeah, nearly.” Looks like he heard you this time. Asshole. He places a box of onions on your station, rattling the table slightly. “Do I have to tell you how to sort out the bad ones from the good ones?” You’re honestly not sure if he means that as a jab, but the way he says it makes your insides sizzle with irritation.

Don’t take it personally, you remind yourself. Don’t. Take. It. Personally.

“How about you show me just in case? Just so we’re on the same page.” It’s a wonder how calm you keep your voice. To your surprise, Carmy doesn’t roll his eyes, doesn’t sigh, he just nods and proceeds. Every time you think you’ll predict him properly, he does the opposite.

You follow the line of his callused finger pointing to brown splotches on some of the onions. Intently, studiously, you examine the dark spots (indicative of mold), the sprouts (initial stages of deterioration), and the mushy areas (a sign of decreasing freshness). He’s talking about details as he seems to do when it comes to food, even elaborating on the farming process, but you don’t quite pick up that part. You just pay attention to the parameters you need to follow.

No more fucking your boss, you remind yourself again, because you catch yourself aching at the sight of his fingers. Your eyes have a hunger of their own, flickering up and down his muscular arms. God damnit. Maybe there’s another reason you can’t quite pay attention today.

“Are you listening?” Carmy’s pointed question snaps you out of it. Fuck. You hope he didn’t catch you staring at his fingers again.

“If I can save it and just chop off the bad parts, then I should,” you regurgitate on instinct. “Those are the best ones to use for the stock. Otherwise, I should just toss it.”

For a split second, all he does is fix you with his focused stare. You feel the intensity of it in your chest, your beating heart fluttering with its weight. No matter how many times you scold yourself for finding him attractive, your eyes can’t ignore what’s right in front of them. You find yourself counting his moles.

“I caught you staring,” he murmurs, “for real this time.”

“I—uh—” Your eyebrows are so raised you’re sure they’re bound to shoot off your warmed face. He’s smiling like he knows something you don’t. You weren’t going to mention yesterday, and after your first interaction this morning, you were sure he wasn’t going to, either. Guess you were wrong again.

“I’ll be in the back if you need help. The others should be here soon.” He’s moving on without giving you a chance to recover. Your brain can’t process the shock. “Just call if you need anything."

Before you get a chance to scrounge up anything to say, you’re alone in the kitchen again.

This time I'm really gonna do it, you fume internally. Because you have a healthy amount of anger management, you don’t let yourself continue that thought.

Sydney is the third person to show up after you and Carmy. You give her a nod and a thin smile as she walks in, and she waves back. Soon after she arrives, the others trickle in one by one. As you're learning to expect, the quiet never lasts for long.

There are tasks circling you just like yesterday that you don't fully grasp yet. Everyone seems to be instinctively following their own schedule, their circadian rhythm matched to the chaotic ecosystem of the kitchen. It’s just as suffocating as it was yesterday. You remind yourself that as a new hire, you don't need to understand the madness yet. Nonetheless, an invisible pressure presses down on you.

“Hey, d'you mind telling me where this produce goes?” A triple stack of filled containers sits heavy in your arms. With Sydney out of the kitchen, Marcus is your next safest option in terms of coworkers. His head flicks up from where he was focused on kneading dough. A streak of white flour is across his nose.

“Oh, that one's bottom shelf, near the back.” He claps his dusty hands together, flour falling between them like snow. “Here, I'll just show you. You know where the walk-in is?”

With Marcus, it doesn't feel like there are any stupid questions. It's a gift you don't take for granted, especially around here. You let him lead you to the fridge again, even though you remember where it is. It doesn't hurt.

“Thanks. I'm, uh, still having a hard time figuring out where stuff goes,” you say after you put the produce away.

“It’s cool. It's only your second day, right?” You nod. “Just takes time. Don't sweat it. You ever work in a restaurant before?”

“Yeah, a couple of times.”

“Then you know what you're gettin’ into.” That makes you laugh.

“Sorta.” You shrug. “To be honest with you, I just need money, and I like cooking enough, so…now I'm here.” You're not quite as honest with how desperate your situation was on the verge of coming, but it's fine. Not really the time and place for it anyway.

“I gotcha. That's how it was for me too, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Well, that's how I started at McDonald’s. That was a while ago now.”

“I see. It's better here, I hope.”

“Hard to say,” he says, but there's a little smile on his face. “For the most part, Michael was cool, but—”

“Michael!” You blurt out, startling the both of you. “Holy shit, I'm sorry. I've just been trying to remember the name of the previous owner for forever now and—wow, sorry. I didn't mean to shout.”

“It's fine.” Marcus has this amused expression, but it dissolves quickly. “You met him?”

“I did. I came here a couple of years ago when I first moved. Just once, but—anyway, what's his deal?”

“His deal?”

“Yeah, like, why'd he give the restaurant away? Carmy said he didn't want it anymore.”

“Oh.” You can't read the way Marcus’ face shifts. “That's what he said?”

“...Yeah?”

“I see. Okay. Uh…” He pauses, scratching the back of his neck. “Look, I know how this sounds, but just try not to bring Mike up for now. It's still kind of a sore subject.”

“Ah, my bad.” Your brain instantly supplies stories of estranged families, sibling spats, and stolen money. You suppose it's a sour sort of relationship—something you're intimately familiar with. “Can I ask what happened, or…?”

“I'll tell you later,” he replies evasively. “You know what else they got you training on today?”

“No idea,” you answer honestly. The nosy part of you wants to hear more about the Berzatto family, but the responsible part of you reminds you to cool your jets. “Carmy just told me I was on produce. Know where he's at? I peeked into his office, but he wasn't there.”

“Oh, he just left.” Your blank stare makes him elaborate. “He's off doing Carmy things.”

“Doing Carmy things?” Looks like the person in charge has abandoned you yet again.

“Business stuff, probably.” Marcus shrugs. “He does that sometimes. He probably won't be back for a while, so I can help you with training for now if you want.”

“That would be great.” There's a remark on the tip of your tongue about poor management, but you hold it. “Is Carmy a better boss, at least?”

“Compared to Michael?” You recognize sadness in Marcus’ pinched brows, even if it's only momentary. “I dunno. It hasn't been long, but this place has been running more smoothly since he started doing things.” Your shocked expression makes him laugh briefly. “I know, it used to be worse if you can believe it.”

“I'm not sure that I can,” you admit.

. . . . .

The next several days at work continue to test your patience. While Carmy keeps you on prep, keeping your tasks simple, he continues to find ways to keep you on edge. You stiffen up every time he enters the kitchen, waiting for him to point out yet another mistake.

Chef, this cut's too uneven. Chef, you're taking too much time on this. Chef, you should’ve cut this part off. Chef, you’re creating too much waste.

Yes, Chef, you always reply, even as his comments become more and more grating. A childish part of you wants to do a worse job out of spite, but another part of you is hungry for his approval far more than you would ever admit. You wonder if he's this tough on everyone.

The incident in the walk-in does not get mentioned again. A childish voice in you wonders if Carmy has forgotten about it. Of course he hasn’t, but every time he critiques you, you wonder about the Carmy who kissed you. You wonder what that Carmy's thinking, because you have no clue.

Has he been thinking of you, too?

This is how things should be, you remind yourself after you touch yourself for the fourth night in a row to the thought of him. Your fingers are wet, and your wrist is embarrassingly sore. I can't have sex with my boss again. I just can't.

Would it be different if he also touched himself to thoughts of you?

You desperately suck your own cum off your fingers, and you wish it were his fingers instead. It doesn't taste the same.

The bright lights are irritatingly bright when you come in this morning. It looks like you're the first person here again, other than Carmy. You hear his irritated voice as soon as you enter, which is clearly a good sign.

“I appreciate you thinking of me, I do. I do. It's just—” He sighs. Looks like he's having another phone call. “I can't come back. Not right now.” Silence. “No, uh, won't happen for a while, I think. The place's fucked.” A shaky breath. “What? What did you say?

“The head chef asked about me?” Carmy's voice has gone tight. “I see. Of course he said that. No, it's fine.” Pause. “...I know what they've been saying. I figured they'd look down on me.” His laugh is hollow and painful. “Look, I got shit to do. Thanks for asking me, but it's a no. I can't.” Another pause, drawn out and tense. “Sure. Bye.”

After he hangs up, you hear him muttering to himself. You can't pick out any of the words other than the curses, but it sounds bad. As you put your things away, you silently pray to the abstract idea of a god to give you both strength of patience. Seems like you'll need it today.

“Morning,” you tentatively greet him when he sees you. He's not surprised by your presence today, it seems. He nods back.

“Morning.” His eyebags are dark with a lack of sleep. Upon closer inspection, his whole everything screams sleep deprivation, perhaps a bit more so than usual. His messy hair seems particularly unkempt today. “You're doing prep again today.”

“I figured.”

“You need to get better about cleaning your station.” His words are full to the brim with irritation. “I keep having to clean it after you.”

“I thought I was—” You stop. Calm down, you think, but it's getting harder and harder to repeat. “Sorry. I didn't realize.”

“I told you the other day that it was dirty. Were you even paying attention?”

“Of course I was!” Annoyance bubbles over inside of you, potent and unbridled. Carmy barely reacts to your raised voice. Somehow, that pisses you off more. The cap on your contained anger has popped off, and there's no fitting it back on. “Are you always like this towards your employees?”

“Like what?”

“Like an asshole?” You're too irritated to hold yourself back.

“Depends. Are you always like this with your boss?” He retorts immediately.

“I don't usually have sex with my boss, so no, I suppose not,” you respond stupidly, and that makes him go dead silent. He narrows his eyes, fixes you with his gaze. Like you're a new problem that needs solving or something like that.

God damnit, you think to yourself. Why'd you have to say that?

“You've been thinking about it.” The air feels thicker, suddenly.

“I never said that.”

“Then why did you mention it?” Shit. “You said you were going to do better.”

“And I have been. I've been trying to do everything you've been telling me to do.” You don't know why you take a step towards him. “You said you were gonna be nicer.”

“And I have been,” he echoes, and his sincerity makes you roll your eyes.

“Bullshit! You've been nit-picking me all week!”

“We have standards here, and you need to learn how to follow them. That's all.”

“You're right! I'm learning,” you argue, throwing exasperated hands up in the air. “Cut me some fucking slack!”

“Then learn. Improve.” He slams a hand down on the aluminum surface next to you, enclosing you partially in. Being this close to him, you can really see how dark his dark circles are. You could easily move to the side if you wanted to, but something in you stays put. “There's no excuse for a dirty workspace in a kitchen. I thought you would know that already.”

“I'm so fucking sorry, chef,” you spit back with about as much venom as you can muster. Which, right now, is a lot.

That shifts something inside him. You see it flash across his face—surprise, anger, and then…something else.

“Dirty work station and a dirty mouth,” he murmurs. His voice is lower, quieter, and it sounds just like how it did in the walk-in. You hate how that change instantly makes your heart pick up speed. “You think you get a pass to act like this because of what happened in the walk-in?”

“You motherfucker,” you hiss, meeting his glare with your own. “So now you're going to acknowledge it? And for the record, I get to act however the fuck I want. Especially with someone like you.”

“Someone like me.” He doesn't ask you to elaborate. He just laughs, breathy and condescending, and he's so close you can feel his breath fan across your face. “You think you're above all this, don't you?”

“What?” The question takes you so off guard that it almost dissipates the strange mix of anger and arousal simmering in your gut.

“I know it doesn't feel good to have to take orders from someone you hate, but here's the thing. You have to.” He's not smiling, but you swear he's getting some sort of sick satisfaction from all this. Why else would he be saying any of this shit?

“I could leave right now if I wanted to,” you threaten him. “You won't be able to find anyone else that wants to work in this shithole of a place.”

“You're right. You could leave if you really wanted to.” His eyes narrow curiously at you. “Then why haven't you?”

You’re well within your right to leave already—it checks all the boxes. Chaotic work environment. Awful management. General workplace misconduct. Unprofessionalism between coworkers. You suppose you're partially to blame for that last one, but still.

If it's bad, I'll just find another job, you told yourself. You're not sure why you're not listening to your own advice. The simple truth of the matter, though, is that other jobs won't have him. They won't have the man that's been keeping you up at night, the man that you want to simultaneously devour and destroy. They won't have Carmen Berzatto, and for some reason, that's all it's going to take.

You don't understand yourself. It scares you, but not enough. Not enough to leave.

“...I don't know why I haven't left yet,” you say quietly after a while. “I have no clue.”

“I see.” If he's dissatisfied with your answer, he doesn't show it. “Then for the time you're here, let's make one thing clear.”

“What is it now?” You sigh.

“I'm in charge here,” he whispers. His other hand is on the counter now. You're completely blocked in. “I'm the one who runs this place, so you're going to be good and listen to me when I speak.”

“You're not really giving me a lot of incentive, chef.” You lower your gaze to the counters next to you. “Maybe if you gave me something to work with.” You don't mean for it to come out as suggestive as it does, but with him surrounding you like this…

“Incentive?” He brings a hand to your face, tucking his fingers under your chin to pull your gaze back to him. His touch is achingly gentle, but it forces it to look straight into his eyes. Your fidgety gaze catches glances of the dark blue speckles that border his pale iris. “Hey,” he whispers, “look at me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Your heart's pounding like sprinting feet thudding on concrete. You can't place what feelings are excitement or anxiety or both, but maybe no separation exists. Shutting your eyes was a weak attempt to temporarily block him out, but now all you can focus on is the sensation of his rough hand on your hot face.

Hesitantly, you open your eyes to face him. Ice blue and dark circles. His intense stare is difficult to match, but you try.

“What do you want from me?” You ask quietly.

“I want you to clean your station. Think you can do that?”

“Don't patronize me. Of course I can. I just—happened to forget.”

“Hm.” He smiles briefly. It's just a bit mocking. “You don't have a good track record so far, so you'll have to prove it to me.”

“...And how would I do that?”

“Depends,” he replies vaguely. “Depends on what you want.”

“What I want? I thought you were supposed to be in charge.”

“When I touched you, you told me you wanted to touch me.” The realization clicks in your head. “Do you still want that?”

You hesitate. Memories of the walk-in flood in. You remember the silhouette of his tight jeans over his bulge, and you ache. You shouldn't say yes. You really shouldn't. A distant voice says, you don't want to do this. What have you been telling yourself? This is a bad idea.

Unfortunately, it's far past a matter of want anymore. It's a matter of need.

“Yes,” you whisper back. Your fate is sealed. “I do.”

That's how you find yourself in the cramped bathroom with him. It's dark with one of the lightbulbs having gone out, making it feel even smaller. An eerie green cast coats the room.

“You're going to show me that you can listen. That you can clean up after your messes.” He's leaned up against the wall, broad hands unbuttoning his pants. Your eyes shamelessly zero in on the motion. “Think you can do that much?”

“Of course I can,” you reply, but it comes out a lot softer than intended.

“Good.” You force your eyes away from the outline of his bulge in his boxers to look at his face. His darkened eyes are trained on you. “Get on your knees.”

Oh, you think. So this is how it's gonna go.

You wish you could say that you hesitate even a little bit, that there’s even a shred of contemplation left in you. However, there isn't any of that remaining. Obediently, you fall to your knees, resting them against the cold, hard bathroom floor. You're at eye level with his unbuttoned jeans. Slowly, you raise your eyes to look at him.

His downturned face is framed by wild strands of hair. Looking down at you casts darker shadows across his face, but not enough to hide his expression. It's an odd mix of hunger and what you think to be admiration. Surely not, but that's immediately the thought that comes to mind.

“Waiting for directions, chef,” you murmur.

“Mm. Right,” he says, like he was lost in thought. “You look better like this.”

“Watch it,” you warn him. “I could still bite your dick off.” To that, he just briefly smiles, and then it's gone.

He's pulled his black pants down just enough to let his clothed bulge hang over the waistband. The sight of it goes straight to the simmer starting in your gut. You watch his veined hand disappear into his boxers. He's doing this far too slowly for your taste.

Finally, he pulls out his cock, nearly completely stiffened, and you can't deny the way you begin to salivate.

You were right. It's big, though not just in length. His cock is thick. You immediately know you won't be able to take the full length of him into your mouth, but what fits is going to be a stretch. You're already imagining how those bulging veins are going to feel against the flat of your tongue.

“Use your mouth for something other than talking back to me. Make me come,” Carmy orders quietly. “Enough direction for you?”

“Shut the hell up,” you mutter, ignoring the feeling of the growing heat inside you, and you pull the reddened, shiny tip of his cock between your lips.

His pre-come mixes with the saliva on your tongue. You savor the taste of his salty musk, suckling slowly, and you hear him exhale shakily above you. Looks like you've been given something of an opportunity to get him back for the walk-in. Not repayment—payback. The distinction is important.

When you pull back, thin strings of spit connect the pink head to your glistening lips. One of your hands moves to hold the base of his cock as you close the gap again. You drag your tongue down the side of his length, licking the thick vein you were eyeing earlier. You feel him twitch.

“Do that again,” he breathes. Without question, your tongue retraces its path, running back over the line of spit it created. That gets you a quiet, strangled moan, and it's music to your ears.

“Is this part sensitive?” You ask as you stroke the vein with your thumb. You suck your way down the vein again, making small, wet seals of pleasure.

“Somewhat.” He sounds good like this, breathless and flustered. A smile twitches on your lips. You lick across the inside of your hand, wetting it before lazily curling it around his cock. He slides effortlessly in your grasp.

“You gonna come already?” You can't help but tease. He's surprisingly reactive, more so than you would've thought. It's not that you're complaining—it's not that at all. The sound of his low groans is making you drip.

“Hah—no. You'll have to work harder than that.” You feel a hand pushing back your hair, and that makes you raise your head towards him. His touch is surprisingly gentle. You watch the movement of his lips when he speaks. “Open your mouth, and stick out your tongue.”

You can't quite figure out what it is about all of this that makes you submit. Just moments ago, you wanted to wring your hands around his throat. It was far too easy to abandon your anger and kneel in front of him. Maybe it's the incomprehensibly part of you that undeniably needs his validation. Maybe it's the soft, low tone of his voice, gentle yet commanding. Either way, it has you obeying with a thought in your mind.

You do as he says. You part your lips and extend your tongue. As your eyes flutter upwards towards him, you're struck with the impression that you must look obscene.

“Perfect,” he whispers, and just the one word sends something of a euphoric rush through you. “Doin’ so good for me.”

You soak up the praise, basking in the warmth of it. Then, Carmy spits onto your tongue, and his saliva slides towards the back of your mouth.

You can't hide your surprise. Your breath hitches, but you don't say anything. Fuck, that should've made you angry, but it just made your clit throb painfully hard.

He drags his thumb down your tongue, slow and sensual. You have half the mind to suck on it until he glides the head of his cock on your tongue, leading it into the heat of your mouth.

“Ah—” You lose the words you were going to say, along with the empty space in your mouth. The tip of his cock's nearing the back of your throat. You breathe shakily through your nose. You were right again—you can't take him fully in. It's enough of a stretch as it is.

“Fuck, that's it…” Carmy sighs. “Just like that…”

His hand holding your hair turns into a tighter grip as you begin sucking up and down his cock. It's an awful mess, the size of him forcing spit to drip down your chin. It's not just that, though. He's thrusting his cock back into your mouth quicker and quicker. You wish he would slow down so you could lean back and suck on his dribbling tip, but his hand has you anchored.

Time slows as he starts fucking your mouth. Your hands fall to your hands. Your knees are starting to hurt. You care surprisingly little about that fact, instead opting to care about rubbing your clit as quickly as possible. When you get your hands under your underwear, you find your whole pussy already smeared in wetness. You've seeped through the fabric.

When he pulls his cock out of your mouth (or rather, when he tugs you off), you think he's going to give you a new order. Or that he's going to say something. You don't realize what's really happening until it's too late.

You watch him bring a hand to his cock. He strokes it twice, keeping his hand tight in your hair, and with a low groan, he comes.

With his hand on you, you can't move away. Not that you try. When the first glob of cum streaks your cheek, you freeze. All you can do is pause as he comes on your face. Even your hand under your pants has frozen, your palm pressed up tight against your pulsing clit.

With each rope of cum across your face, you feel yourself throb. Carmy is a sight to behold as he comes, long-lashed eyes falling shut with his parted, gasping mouth. He's jaggedly fisting his cock as he just keeps coming. You feel the cum starting to drip down the slopes of your skin, even your lips.

By the time he's come down, he's left your face an absolute mess. Your jaw feels heavy, and his cum is hot against your swollen lips. You've come down as well, and it's left you with the irate realization that he just came all over your face without asking.

“You could've at least told me you were gonna come on my face,” you snap. Your cheeks are burning. Your argument feels weak with how worked up you feel over watching and feeling him come, but the irritation is still very real.

“Clean your station, chef,” he responds, infuriatingly smug even as he catches your breath. “Practice makes perfect.”

“Are you kidding me?” Of course. That's what this all was. A fucked up lesson, a twisted sort of discipline.

“I'm not.” He uncurls his fist from your hair. “Stand up—your knees must hurt.”

You pause for a second before you shakily get back up on your legs. One minute he's messily fucking your mouth, and the other, he's worrying over your sore knees. He continues to become more and more confusing.

“You're gonna make me clean up your mess.” You catch your face in the small, shitty rectangular mirror hanging on the wall. God, are you a filthy sight, cum and spit all over your face.

“I had to clean up yours for the past week, so yeah.” He's zipped himself back up. He's clean, not a drop of anything on him. Unlike the mess parading itself on your face. At least there's not any in your hair.

“This is not the same. This is—” You frustratedly search for the right words. He's remaining as stoic as ever. “You didn't even kiss me,” you blurt out, and as soon as you say it, you regret it.

Carmy stills. You can't tell what he's thinking with his unmoving expression. You're sure he's about to insult you again, but then he’s leaning in and sealing his lips against yours.

You're stunned. A small noise escapes you as he kisses you deeply, thoroughly. His tongue drags up a trail of cum and spit up your chin and back into your mouth. Or back into his. You're unsure, with the way they're all blending together.

“There,” Carmy murmurs against your lips. When he pulls back, you see his tongue running across his lips, collecting the pearlescent sheen that was on them.

“Um—” You start and immediately stop. You’re speechless.

“Now clean up.” You hear the sound of distant company. Your other coworkers must be arriving now. “I expect improvement now, chef. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” you reply bitterly. “I suppose I met your expectations, then?”

“Sure. Closely enough, anyway.” Potent aggravation hits you like a cast iron pan. He drags his thumb in one last infuriating line across your cheek. He sucks it into his mouth and cleans it off. “Don't take too long. I have a lot planned for you today.”

Without waiting for a response, Carmy leaves. He leaves you alone in the shitty bathroom with a now flickering lightbulb, left to clean his cum on your face with water, hand soap, and thin paper towels. You don't know if you've ever been so angry before.

The anger doesn't make the arousal go away. You rub your needy clit to orgasm, your back pressed up against the wall like Carmy's just a moment ago.

As you come with Carmy's cum slowly trailing on your face, you wonder if there is any coming back from this. If there's anything left to be done to stop whatever's happening. You can't come up with any solutions or suggestions. Only one thing is undeniably clear:

You hate Carmen Berzatto, and you're already thinking of ways to get his cock in your mouth again soon.

taglist: @zorrasucia @carmenberzattosgf @thehouseofevangelista @alastorssimp @talas-starlight @jmamas92

#carmy berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #jeremy allen white #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto smut #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto imagines #carmen berzatto imagines #my fics #blood orange #ARGHHH ITS HEREEE. i won't lie this chapter was so hard to write #im still having a hard time figuring out what this particular carmy acts like. its difficult. im getting there tho #my smut

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moviecritc · 4 months

Text

dreamer ⋆ carlos sainz

pairing: carlos sainz x old friend!reader

summary: you leave the city searching a meaning to your life, founding an old friends instead

word count: 2K

warnings: carlos isn't a driver, just a really rich guy with hobbies

a/n: here's the first track of my bewitched department <33 i love reader and carlos so so much tbh

masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd

"I'm sick of all this, Natalie," Y/N declared, throwing her phone on the sofa. Her roommate diverted her gaze from the TV to her. "It's the fourth guy that ghosted me after I ask him out."

"Become a lesbian," said Natalie, turning her attention back to the movie.

Y/N let out a sigh. "I should. I'm tired of all men being assholes and manipulators."

She grimaced, thinking that maybe the problem wasn't men but her. She had studied Art History and had been the best in her class. Now, at 28, she was sharing an apartment and teaching preteens who called her 'ma'am.' Was she wasting her life?

"I need a change," she said to herself.

"The smell goes away with a shower, don't worry." Natalie looked at her, wrinkling her nose.

"No, damn it. A change in my routine," she explained. Nevertheless, she took a sniff at her armpit, regretting it. She'd shower later. "I need to get out of here."

She stood up, grabbed her phone, and headed to her room.

"Hey? And where are you going, if I may ask?" said Natalie, following her.

"Anywhere!" Y/N shrugged. She drank a glass of water and took out a couple of pieces of clothing. "I need to change the scenery as soon as possible, I'm stuck."

She pulled a small suitcase from her closet while her roommate rolled her eyes.

"Y/N, you can't just leave suddenly. Don't you have classes tomorrow?"

Y/N paused for a moment and then shrugged again. "I'll ask for the day off. The week, actually."

"The week!" exclaimed Natalie. Y/N was already looking at flights on her phone when Natalie covered her screen. "Y/N, you don't have the financial or mental stability for this!"

Y/N swatted Natalie's hand away to see her phone screen.

"Madrid is very cheap this time of year," she said, with a small smile.

"But you don't even speak Spanish!"

Y/N boarded a plane to Madrid with the idea of not talking to any men that week. This trip was for her, to reconnect with herself, the Y/N she had lost over the years.

She still didn't have a place to stay, but she would resolve that on the go. The journey from the airport to central Madrid was tedious; she didn't know how the metro worked and people ignored her like she was nothing. Frustrated, she sat in a café. She looked up things to do in Madrid on her phone, but soon the battery died, and she was sure she had forgotten her charger at the apartment.

She let out a long sigh and ran her hands over her face. As she opened her eyes, she heard a voice.

"Y/N?"

She looked up immediately, surprised that someone knew who she was in Madrid. When she met the gaze of the individual, she recognized him instantly.

"Carlos?"

She stood up immediately, greeting him. Was he a man? Yes but Carlos and she had gone to university together; they had been friends for several years. Probably best friends, though they never talked about it. He hadn't changed much; he looked older but in a positive way, with a more flattering haircut and surprisingly stronger.

"What are you doing here?" Carlos asked, leaning in for a short hug.

"On vacation," Y/N nodded. Running into him had instantly lifted her spirits.

"Damn, I haven't seen you in… six years?" Carlos tilted his head a bit.

"Since graduation, right?"

They both nodded; it had been quite a while. Long enough to realize they had lost contact too soon.

"I didn't expect to see you in Madrid," commented Carlos, with a smile.

"It was a last-minute decision," explained Y/N, wrinkling her nose a bit. She formed a smile. "I'm glad to see you, really. Do you want to sit for a bit?" she suggested, pointing to the empty chair.

"I'd love to," Carlos accepted the invitation immediately, sitting down.

A waiter approached, and Carlos ordered a coffee to accompany Y/N's.

"Well, tell me, what have you been up to all these years?" Carlos asked, crossing one leg.

Y/N told him a bit of everything, very sweetened. That she was teaching Geography and History at a public school, that her family was fine, and they reminisced about the time Carlos practically crashed her Christmas party because Carlos Sainz Senior was mad at him for his grades and that she was happy living in her city.

Carlos told her that he now worked at his father's company as an executive.

"Oh, I thought you’d be doing something related to what we studied," Y/N pressed her lips a bit, somewhat disappointed that Carlos hadn't continued doing what they both loved.

"I would have loved to… but there were very few job opportunities. And I didn't want to be a teacher, so I played it safe," admitted Carlos, shrugging a bit. For a moment, he thought Y/N would judge him for it, but her sweet and calm expression told him otherwise.

"Understandable not wanting to be a teacher," agreed Y/N, before sipping her coffee.

"Is it tough?" Carlos mimicked her, lifting his cup too.

Y/N shook her head a bit. "I'm sure there are worse things. But having a twelve-year-old try to cut your hair because his dad is bald is rather curious."

Carlos almost choked on his coffee from the sudden laughter. "Really?" He tried to stifle the laughter as best as he could, but Y/N was already glaring at him.

"No, no. It's not funny, it happens every damn day," she nodded vigorously. Carlos let out a laugh that ended up being contagious for Y/N too.

The conversation continued for the rest of the afternoon. It was like going back to university for a few hours, a time she missed a lot. When they decided to get up from the table, they had finished four coffees and at least one glass of wine. It was even starting to get cold outside.

"Shall I walk you to your hotel?" Carlos asked with a smirk.

Y/N grimaced, remembering she still hadn't sorted that out. She bit the inside of her cheek, embarrassed. "I haven't booked a hotel room yet."

"Oh," he pursed his lips and quickly said, "You can stay at my place, I have a spare room."

Y/N, hearing him speak, was already shaking her head. "No, no, no. I don't want to bother you."

Carlos clicked his tongue, looking away for a moment.

"How are you going to bother me? Come on, bring your suitcase. My car is parked nearby."

Y/N was intrigued by Carlos's initiative but kept shaking her head.

"Really, it's not necessary, Carlos," Y/N extended her arms a bit for Carlos to return her suitcase, but he even moved it away from her hands. "I'll manage."

She said that last part to ease him a bit, but it only sounded like she needed more help.

"Y/N, I'm not going to leave you out on the street," Carlos put his hands on his hips and she let out a sigh. "That's not very gentlemanly of me."

"You were never a gentleman, you idiot," noted Y/N. Carlos smiled, knowing that if Y/N started to insult you, she was about to agree with you. "Alright, but just for one night. Then I'll find a hotel."

"Whatever you say, cariño," Carlos smiled triumphantly, and Y/N tried to hide her smile while he put her suitcase in the trunk.

His apartment was huge, truly huge. A dream kitchen, a large living room, and definitely more than one spare room. As they entered, a beautiful brown and white dog greeted them, heading straight for Carlos's legs.

"And who is this?" said Y/N, petting his head a bit, enough for the animal to focus all its attention on her. He sniffed Y/N's shoes and licked the hems of her pants.

"His name is Piñón," said Carlos with a smile, surprised that Piñón hadn't started barking because of a stranger's presence. "I adopted him almost after we graduated."

Y/N crouched, petting Piñón's neck and behind his ears. "Hi, Piñón. You're so pretty."

"I'll show you the room," Carlos said.

Y/N got up, giving Piñon one last pet. "Thank you, really. I feel like an abandoned cat, but thank you."

They both chuckled softly.

"It's nothing," Carlos said as they went to the room.

Y/N left her suitcase in a corner and turned to Carlos. "Do you have a charger?"

She felt like she was taking advantage of him too much, even if it was just for a charger, she felt bad.

"Of course, here," Carlos handed her the charger, their hands touched for a millisecond. She tried so hard not to feel anything. He kept a flirty smile. "Are you hungry?"

"Well, yes," Y/N nodded. "But give me a few minutes and I'll help you cook."

Y/N took a couple of things out of her suitcase and went back to the kitchen to help Carlos. They quickly cooked some pasta with burrata. Y/N noticed how Carlos would get close to her or brush his hands against hers casually.

While cutting some tomatoes, the knife slipped from Carlos’s hand. "Shit!" Carlos looked at the cut and put his finger in his mouth, letting out several whimpers.

"Did you cut yourself?" Y/N went over to him, Carlos took his finger out of his mouth, showing her a small cut. Y/N pursed her lips, remembering how dramatic he could be. "It's nothing, Carlos. It's barely bleeding."

Y/N cradled his hand, gently caressing his fingers almost unconsciously. The room went silent, Carlos looked into her eyes, he adored that look. Y/N lifted her eyes, connecting them with Carlos’s. He leaned toward her, listening to her breathing and matching his to it.

"Can I kiss you?"

The question hung in the air. Y/N held her breath. This was the opposite of what she wanted. She blinked and slightly opened her mouth. To Carlos, it felt like an eternity.

"I'm sorry," Y/N said in a faint voice. She looked at him with pity and Carlos stepped back, feeling more embarrassed than ever. "It's just… it's not the right time. I'm in a bit of a strange phase and things aren't going well for me, I don't want to mess things up for you." Y/N fidgeted with her rings as she said it.

"I understand," Carlos said, nodding slowly. "I shouldn't have asked you that, it was out of place."

"No, I should have told you before," she contradicted, with a grimace.

"Don't worry," he said. "It's just that…," Carlos hesitated a bit. "In college I had a huge crush on you and seeing you again brought everything back."

Y/N blinked, absorbing those words. She had always wondered why Carlos barely dated any girls during their time in college, it never crossed her mind it could be because of her.

"You had a crush on me?"

"You didn't know?"

"No…"

"Damn, we spent so much time together,"

"Because we were friends! That's what friends do!"

They both laughed and Carlos leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.

"So, you're not having a good time?" he inquired, with a calm look.

Y/N lowered her gaze. "I'm trying to sort out my life."

"I understand," he bit the inside of his cheek. "Anyway, if once you sort out your life you feel like going on a date, I haven't changed my number."

That felt so good in Y/N's chest, as if her heart expanded a little. She laughed like a fool, taking a few steps back.

"I'm going to go to sleep,"

"You're not having dinner with me?" Carlos extended his arms, with a sad look.

"Maybe tomorrow," Y/N turned around and smiled over her shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

taglist; @theseerbetweenus

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greensagephase · 1 year

Text

Nonviolent Communication - Part Seven

***Beautiful sketches for this chapter were made by two lovely artists and I'm ABSOLUTELY IN LOVE with them!! Please go and show them some love!! They captured Miguel so BEAUTIFULLY!! You can find them here and here. Thank you so much guys, I'm so in love with them and will always cherish them 🥹❤️ @sunsetdoodler @lauraolar14 ***

Miguel O'Hara x SpideyFemReader

Summary: It's Christmas Eve and Mr. and Mrs. Morales ask you to do something for them.

Word Count: 11,729 (I'm just gonna shut up about the word count at this point and just say I'm sorry.)

Warnings: Some readers may not recognize some food items mentioned but it's not too important for the plot, however, a brief description is included at the end if you're interested; mention of reader's family and their Christmas days (good memories); Miguel (I won't elaborate)

Music inspo while writing: (I'm obsessed with the ATSV album so much that Metro Boomin has been my #1 artist on Spotify for months lmao)

"Link Up" - Metro Boomin, Don Toliver, Wizkid, BEAM, Toian

"Self Love" - Metro Boomin, Coi Leray

"Hummingbird" - Metro Boomin, James Blake

"Calling" - Metro Boomin, Swae Lee, NAV, A Boogie Wit da Hoodie

"Nonviolent Communication" - Metro Boomin, James Blake, A$AP Rocky, 21 Savage (you already know)

Part Seven

You returned to your apartment after Miguel showed you his ofrenda. You didn’t sleep. The candy and coffee Miguel gave you kept you up and so you resumed your chores, but your mind was elsewhere. It was occupied. By Miguel, who smiled at you that night. You couldn’t and won’t forget the sight of it. It’s branded into your brain forever. Even when you eventually found yourself in bed under your warm sheets that night, you laid there and stared at the ceiling.

He smiled at you. It was small but it was a smile. He showed you his ofrenda and shared food with you. You tossed and turned that night thinking that maybe… it was safe to assume you’re friends with Miguel. You couldn’t help but wonder if he thought the same about you though. You eventually decided that either way, you’re happy he has shared those moments with you.

There was a shift between the two of you, of course. It was like a door opened. A door that Miguel himself unlocked and opened for you to walk through. And he had in a sense, as that night he wished, for the first time, that you would cross his boundary lines by asking questions and sharing your thoughts with him.

As the days go on, you continue to spend time with him on missions, before meetings, and of course, when you organize his lab. You notice Lyla starts to involve him more in conversations when you’re there. He surprisingly adds to the conversation sometimes. He still doesn’t want to intrude, especially when he knows Lyla loves talking to you. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t pay more attention now though.

You’re also surprised when the following week after Dia de los Muertos, Lyla offers you snacks, mentioning that Miguel keeps candy in a hidden cabinet. He adds that you’re welcome to grab any. You don’t fail to notice that the cabinet contains the candy from that night, specifically the ones you enjoyed the most. What you don’t know is that no one else was informed about this candy cabinet.

The holidays quickly arrive. You spend Thanksgiving Day at Peter’s universe with Mary Jane, Mayday, and the rest of your friend group. For the first time in three years, you celebrate and feel the holiday spirit. With each passing day, you feel lighter. That feeling of moving forward grows each day.

As the days go by, the beautiful colors of autumn begin to fade. The leaves part ways with the trees with the promise that new ones will sprout in the spring. The days and nights are colder. The city is covered in snow. Christmas trees are displayed behind condensed windows. Lively Christmas music fills your ears almost everywhere you go when you go out on errands.

As always, the month of December flies by and suddenly you find yourself on Miles’s rooftop surrounded by his neighbors, friends, and family. It’s Christmas Eve and the building is having its annual party, to which you were invited by the Morales family.

You met Miles’s parents a few months ago, almost immediately after joining the Spider Society. According to Miles, he revealed his secret to them shortly after saving his dad from dying. The Morales not only know about Miles’s Spider-Man identity but also about the multiverse now. Due to that, Miles was able to introduce his friends to his parents, so they know everyone in Miles’s friend group. Once you were adopted by the group, you were no exception. You were introduced right away, and Miles’s parents took a liking to you quickly, which is how you found yourself invited to this party and other events in the past, including simple family dinners.

You’ve been here for over two hours now and have spent much of that time socializing both with your friends and Miles’s neighbors, who all seem curious about you and the rest of the group. You smile as you think of the many times you’ve had to say that you’re Miles’s mentor from school each time someone asks who you are. Of course, attending the party meant that all of you had to come up with excuses to avoid raising suspicions. Gwen is Miles’s girlfriend, but she lives outside of the city. Pav is a friend from school and you’re a school mentor. At least you guys had it simple and didn’t have to be as creative as Noir, who has spent much of his time up in the water tower hiding for obvious reasons with Peter Porker.

You lean over the rooftop’s parapet on your own in a less crowded section, trying to take a little break from so much socializing. You stare out at Miles’s neighborhood, listening to the music the DJ, who you were also introduced to, plays. He’s been playing some Christmas music here and there, mixed with other upbeat songs for the party. You hear the chatter and laughter. Children run in groups, excited about opening gifts soon. The city is covered in snow, and you heard from one of Miles’s aunts that a white Christmas is expected. You snuggle into your coat as you feel a breeze, thinking.

You can’t help but think about Peter. In a few months it’ll be four years since his death. You sigh. Time has really flown by. As your eyes scan the city, landing on other rooftops with people celebrating, you think about the first holidays without him. There were no decorations put out. No food was cooked. No parties or dinners were held or attended. You woke up on Christmas Day like it was any other day as you had already ended your previous friendships. There was no Peter waking you up with a grin telling you breakfast was ready, using that as an excuse to get you to go to the living room so you could start opening his gifts.

On New Years, you slept through it as the rest of the city celebrated the arrival of another year. For you, it was just the beginning of the first full year without Peter.

With each year, you’ve slowly put some decorations here and there but until this year, you hadn’t put your Christmas tree up. You smile as you think of it now. You managed to do that this year. Yet another sign you’re moving in the right direction. And of course, being here now, that’s a sign of its own.

Even though you need a break from socializing, you look fondly over at your friends. The people that have turned into your little family. Yes, things have changed. Things are changing.

You have them, the Morales family, Jess… Miguel.

Your mind shifts to Miguel. You wonder what he’s doing now. What he did today. You saw him yesterday in passing as you were busy with missions that he wasn’t on. Then, there was an emergency at your universe just as there was an anomaly detected somewhere else, which he and other members handled. You meant to wish him happy holidays as he gave the Spider Society members today and tomorrow off but unfortunately you were unable to.

You feel your fingers graze your wrist, the one with your gizmo. You could send him a message, but you find the thought strange for some reason as you’ve never done that before. Maybe it would be weird, you think, but should you send Miguel a message and wish him a Merry Christmas regardless? You debate it as you look out into the city, your fingers grazing your wrist softly as you think of him.

“Y/N!”

You turn in surprise, feeling like you were caught doing something wrong. You drop your hand from your wrist and regain your composure as your eyes fall on Mr. and Mrs. Morales, who stand in front of you. They both look pleased to see you. You notice Mrs. Morales is holding two plates wrapped in aluminum foil while Captain Morales holds two cans of soda, but you don’t think much about it.

“Mrs. Morales, Captain Morales, hey,” you say with a smile, still feeling startled.

“Sorry if we scared you, mija,” Mrs. Morales says. That’s another thing. Even though the Morales aren’t that much older than you, Mrs. Morales uses the endearing “mija” and each time she uses it, you can’t help but feel comforted by this.

You smile and shake your head. “It’s okay. I was just – thinking.”

The couple nods, giving you a knowing look. “We know holidays can be difficult with loved ones gone,” Mrs. Morales says in a tender and understanding tone as they both know about Peter and your overall lack of family and friends in your universe.

You nod and keep your smile, knowing very well that you weren’t thinking of Peter just now but of Miguel. You feel a little guilty, but you were thinking about Peter earlier, so it counts, right?

“Yes… the last couple of years haven’t been easy but I’m in a different headspace now,” you say with a pause, meaning it. “Thank you for inviting me again, by the way. I know I’ve already said it, but it means a lot to me,” you tell them.

“No need to thank us again. You know you’re like family. We’re just glad you’re here tonight with all of them,” Captain Morales says, referring to your group of friends.

You smile brightly at the couple now. You tell them you’re thankful to be there and mean it. You had no other plans in your own universe, so that means you would’ve been home alone despite feeling the Christmas spirit this year. The Morales couple pulls you in for a hug after you tell them that and you can’t refuse it, as they’ve been nothing but kind to you over the last months.

“And don’t forget, you’re always welcome to come over for dinner. So, if you ever feel alone – just use your watch and come join us,” Mrs. Morales adds with a smile that brings you comfort. Again, they’re not that much older than you but their parental energy brings you a comfort you haven’t felt in a long time.

You give them a soft smile. “I know, thank you. I appreciate it, truly. It means so much to me,” you say with your tone full of sincerity, hoping that they understand how much it truly means to you.

“No need to thank us. As Jeff said, you’re part of the family now,” Mrs. Morales says, patting your shoulder in a motherly way. “We were also looking for you to ask for a favor.”

Captain Morales nods and you wonder what it could be. You wonder if it has to do with Miles.

“Yeah, of course! How may I help?” you ask, curiously.

Mrs. Morales lifts the plates and Captain Morales lifts the cans of soda. “Well… Miles and Gwen mentioned a little while ago that you and Miguel are close.”

“And we were wondering if you would mind taking him some food to his fancy tech universe,” Captain Morales adds as they both watch you with smiles, hoping you’ll say yes.

You stare at them with a smile as you process their words. Close. You and Miguel are close. And Miles and Gwen said that? Of course, Miguel and you have grown close, but it has been something behind closed doors. You can’t help but wonder how Miles and Gwen reached that conclusion. It’s not like you and Miguel are strolling into the cafeteria together to have lunch. All your interactions have been private so far, minus the meetings of course, but even then, those can’t be enough to show the closeness between you and Miguel. You briefly wonder if the rest of your friend group talk about it if Gwen and Miles found it important enough to mention. Or maybe it’s not that important, who knows with teenagers.

And on top of that, you can’t help but feel like Mrs. Morales emphasized the word “close.” It almost makes it sound like you’re close in a different way.

“Yeah, I guess you can say we’re kind of friends,” you say, trying to clear up any misconception they may have. You briefly look at your friends, who are still under the water tower all grouped together, wondering what they’ve seen or heard.

“Right. Friends! That’s great. You know Miguel could really use some friends because Miles says he’s still a little close off even after what happened, you know,” Captain Morales says a little too fast, giving his wife a look she returns. It’s a look you can’t decipher as they quickly mask it, but you know an entire conversation took place with that shared look.

“Well, you know that man is so closed off. Anyone who says they’re friends with him should be considered close. That’s what Miles and Gwen meant,” Mrs. Morales says with a smile, probably trying to reassure you about what they said. “But do you mind? We invited him but he didn’t show up and it’s Christmas Eve,” Mrs. Morales says with a look that you recognize. Miguel is most likely alone on Christmas Eve.

You nod softly, still smiling. “I’ll gladly take the food,” you reply.

Miles’s parents beam at you before they hand you the plates and soda cans.

“Thank you, mija!” Mrs. Morales says. “If you don’t mind… staying with him for a little while. At least while he eats,” she says quieter, and you nod.

“I was planning on it,” you answer, giving her a reassuring smile because you thought about it the moment they explained their request.

“I knew you would. And hey, if he wants more, just travel back with your fancy watch and get more. Oh, before I forget!” she says and turns around.

She heads to a table and from a large box pulls out two goody bags.

“Here. One for you and for him. Take them before the kids take them all,” she says, jokingly. You slip the soda cans into your coat’s pockets to receive the goody bags, which you also slip into your pockets. “Tell him the Morales family wishes him a Merry Christmas for us,” she says just as Captain Morales puts his arm around her, pulling her closer.

You nod and give them both a smile. “I’ll let him know. I’ll head out now, that way the food doesn’t get too cold,” you say as you can feel the food was freshly served out of their containers since the plates feel hot. “If they ask about me, let them know I’ll be back shortly, please,” you say, motioning to your friends.

“We’ll tell them! Thank you again. We’ll see you in a bit,” Captain Morales adds.

You tell them goodbye and thank them again for the invitation. You make your way down the fire escape stairs, careful not to slip on ice until you reach the ground. You walk for a bit, looking for a place to open your portal discreetly. As you look around, you have a sudden thought. Is Miguel at HQ? He gave today and tomorrow off but did he also take the day off? Or is he still there? You click on your gizmo.

“Lyla?” you say, in an empty alleyway.

It takes a few seconds before Lyla’s hologram appears above your gizmo.

“Y/N! Merry Christmas Eve.”

You smile at her. “Merry Christmas Eve, Lyla. Sorry to interrupt you but I was wondering. Is… Miguel at HQ?” you ask, and Lyla raises her eyebrows.

“No. He’s at his penthouse.”

Lyla’s answer makes you feel relieved. You had a picture in your mind of him in his lab alone. The vision alone made your heart ache.

“That’s good! Do you think you can ask him to meet me there? At HQ?” you ask.

Lyla frowns. “I don’t think so. He’s – busy,” she simply says.

“Oh. Well, the Morales family are sending him food and they asked me to take it to him,” you say, not knowing what to do now.

“Just go to his penthouse.”

You stare at Lyla in disbelief at her suggestion that you should go to his penthouse, feeling like that would be an intrusion on his personal space. You know he’s been to your apartment a few times, three to be exact, but you don’t mind. Miguel on the other hand, might not be too thrilled about you visiting his place.

“Can’t you just ask him to meet me there?” you ask softly.

“He’s busy. He can’t leave his penthouse. Look, I’ll just tell him, okay? I’m sure he’ll be fine with you showing up,” Lyla says, shrugging like this is no big deal.

You sigh. “I don’t think that’s - ” you start but get interrupted.

“I’m going to ask him right now. If I send you the coordinates to his penthouse, then you know you’re good to go, okay? Merry Christmas!” Lyla says, cheerfully throwing her arms in the air.

“Lyla!” you manage to say before her hologram disappears. You sigh again and stare at the buildings in front of you. Great.

Not even thirty seconds later, your gizmo shows a new notification. You bring your gizmo closer to your face.

Coordinates.

You stare at the buildings again. The food is going to grow cold if you continue to stand here but you can’t help but feel nervous suddenly. You sigh and try to shake it off. It’s fine. Lyla sent the coordinates, which means he’s okay with it. Right? Or did he feel pressured to let you show up? Your mind starts wandering. What if Lyla made it seem like you wanted to go straight to his penthouse and not meet up somewhere less personal, like HQ? Lyla may have done that, especially because she looked like she was in a rush, which makes you wonder why she was even in a rush. It’s Christmas Eve! You release a shaky breath and try to pull it together. It’s no big deal. You’ll apologize right away and explain that you wanted to meet in HQ instead. You nod, reassuring yourself and try to calm your nerves. You look around, making sure that there’s no one around. You click on your gizmo and follow the procedure to open a portal in a specific location within a dimension.

The portal opens, lighting up the alleyway. You take a deep breath before you enter it, leaving Miles’s universe behind and stepping into Nueva York. Or rather, into a living room.

For the first time, you’re the one that stares into an unknown living room. In the span of a few seconds, you take in the sight before you. Your vision is immediately met with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city and you notice the closest building to Miguel’s building is far away, granting him privacy. Your eyes take in the living room section of his penthouse, or at least what you can see now. It’s all very sleek and modern. Very Nueva York. In front of you there’s a square table with different remotes and tablets floating above it thanks to the portal, far more advanced than those in your universe. There’s also a grey couch facing you and a few feet from it, you spot stairs to its left, leading to the second floor of the penthouse. To your right, you feel heat coming from a fireplace.

For once, Miguel is the one watching a portal fade away in his penthouse. He hears the items fall back into place as he stares at your back.

“Y/N.”

You turn around slowly, feeling Miguel’s gaze. You find him a few feet behind you, behind another grey couch you were unaware was there until now. The kitchen and dining areas of his penthouse are behind him. Everything looks like you’d imagine on Earth-928 with an advanced society. You meet Miguel’s eyes as he stands there. In normal clothes.

Miguel is in normal clothes.

“Miguel, hey,” you finally say, feeling odd. You wonder if this is what Miguel felt when he showed up at your apartment on Peter’s birthday.

“Hey,” Miguel replies looking down at you before his eyes flicker to the plates in your hands.

“Merry Christmas Eve,” you say, giving him a smile. You can’t help but feel awkward.

“Merry Christmas Eve,” Miguel repeats softly, his eyes meeting yours again.

You stand there for a few seconds, staring at each other until you finally speak.

“I’m so sorry for bothering you. I asked Lyla if you could meet me at HQ and she said you were busy,” you explain, wanting to clear the air, still feeling shocked that Miguel is in normal clothes.

Miguel nods, pushing his hands into his pants’ pockets. You continue to hold his gaze as the image of him in normal clothes burns into your mind.

Miguel’s hair looks damp, as if he barely got out of the shower but it’s styled as always with curls framing some of his face. Instead of his suit, Miguel wears a dark grey, chunky cable knit sweater. The sleeves are pushed up his arms slightly, just enough that his wrists are visible. You notice he’s not wearing his gizmo, which is a strange sight on its own. To pair his dark grey sweater, Miguel wears black pants. You can’t help but think he looks so – cozy.

“She told me, but I couldn’t leave,” Miguel says, still watching you. He notices the way you’re trying very hard not to look at his clothes. He can’t blame you. In a few months, it’ll be a year since you joined the Spider Society and you’ve never seen him in anything else. “I was showering and I’m cooking,” he says quietly, and you nod.

“Oh. That’s nice,” you say, feeling happiness that Miguel is at home on Christmas Eve instead of at HQ working, on top of the fact that he’s in cozy clothes and cooking. You nod and then remember the whole reason you are here. You internally scold yourself for getting so distracted with being at his home and the sight of him in normal clothes. “Well, the reason I was trying to reach you was for this. The Morales family sent you food,” you say, lifting the plates higher. You can feel that the plates are still hot, thankfully.

Miguel looks a little surprised, but he nods. “Miles invited me to that, but I couldn’t go,” he admits, and you understand. You know that Peter and Mary Jane have been inviting him to their Friday dinners even before you were recruited into the Spider Society, but Miguel has never attended them.

“They noticed and wanted to send you some food. They wished you a Merry Christmas,” you say softly.

Miguel nods and he’s about to speak when a timer goes off behind him.

“Mierda, let me check the food. Just – follow me, please,” he says, motioning for you to follow him as he starts walking to the kitchen area of his penthouse.

You stand there for a few seconds before you start following him. You watch as Miguel goes around a long kitchen island, heading straight for a stove and for the first time you notice there’s pots and pans on it. The scent of food suddenly envelops you as Miguel quickly and efficiently checks one of the pots. He grabs the designated spoon for it and stirs its contents with his back to you.

You look around a little bit, thinking how his kitchen island is longer than your kitchen itself. You also notice it’s all very clean and organized, which you expected from Miguel.

Miguel turns off the burner before he puts the spoon away. He turns around to face you, finding you standing on the other side of his kitchen island, still holding the plates.

“Let me take that from you,” Miguel says walking around the island to retrieve the plates.

You hand them to him gently, sharing the feeling of your fingers brushing past each other’s. You offer him a smile as you take a step back.

“Oh,” you say remembering. “They also sent these,” you continue, pulling out the soda cans and one of the goody bags from your coat.

You set them on the island just as he sets the plates down, too. He looks at the cans and grabs one, looking at it.

“Thank you for bringing it to me. You didn’t have to,” he says as he places the can back on the counter.

You shrug. “Well, Mr. and Mrs. Morales asked me, and I couldn’t say no to them. Besides…” you start as he looks down at you. “I realized I didn’t wish you happy holidays yesterday.”

Miguel nods, staring down at you. “It was a busy day. It always happens right before Christmas,” he says with an amused tone but he, too, thought about that earlier. About how he hadn’t seen you much yesterday with the two of you being preoccupied with your own things. He also thought about sending you a message earlier, but he thought you might be busy and besides, neither of you have ever sent messages to each other. He thought you might have found it – odd. “But – yes. We didn’t get to wish each other happy holidays,” he says softly, thinking how both of you thought about it.

You give him a small smile as you hear his last statement. You shift in your coat, feeling a little hot suddenly in Miguel’s warm apartment. Your clothes were perfect for the party out on the rooftop but too hot to be inside. Miguel notices.

“Here, I can help you out of your coat. The party is on the rooftop, right?” he asks as he steps closer.

“Yes, it’s on the rooftop,” you reply as you slide out of your coat with his help. You watch as he drapes it, carefully, over one of the kitchen island chairs.

You fix your clothes slightly, feeling less hot now that you have one layer off. “That’s much better,” you comment, chuckling a bit. “I had to bundle up. It was freezing out there.”

Miguel stares at your outfit, noticing you’re in cozy and festive clothes but noting they are definitely too much to be inside. “I can imagine. The chilly breeze feels like it bites the skin,” he says looking out his windows. “It’s supposed to snow, too.”

“I have that forecast, too,” you reply, joining him in staring out the windows from afar. “Anyway, you should try the food. It’s amazing,” you say, remembering the food.

Miguel turns to the plates. “I have no doubt. So… they chose you to bring the food?” he asks as he slowly takes the aluminum foil off one of the plates.

Your conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Morales flashes back to your mind. They asked you because they think you’re close to Miguel.

“Yes,” you answer simply, hoping he won’t ask why you and not someone else, since he must know that Miles invited the rest of the group, meaning another colleague could’ve brought him food.

Miguel nods as he inspects the food, looking pleased, which makes you smile. “I see,” he says, his eyes leaving the plate to meet yours. He gives you a look that makes you feel like he knows you were chosen to do this specifically out of everyone else before he returns his attention to the plate.

You freeze for a few seconds. Did your face reveal something? You clear your throat and rest your hands over a chair.

“It’s – a great party. Everyone is in a good mood,” you comment.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says softly as he looks down at the food. “I’m glad they’re enjoying their holidays.”

You nod, noticing the sincerity of his words. He looks up suddenly from the plate as an idea pops into his mind.

“Have you eaten yet?” he asks, and you nod.

“I ate a few hours ago,” you say, thankful that your stomach is not embarrassing you once again in front of him. He nods, looking somewhat disappointed. “But I’ll probably eat something else when I get back,” you add before you even realize it.

Miguel meets your eyes. “This food looks and smells amazing. Please give my thanks to the Morales family when you get back,” he says, pausing. “And – I was going to ask. If you don’t have to return right away, would you like to… join me for dinner? I made too much, and I don’t think I’ll finish it all on my own,” he says quickly.

Miguel looks down at you, feeling nervous about asking you but unable to stop himself from hoping you’ll say yes, even if it’s just for a little while.

You meet his eyes feeling a little surprised, though you hide it well before you nod.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you say with a smile. You remember that Mr. and Mrs. Morales did ask you to stay with him while he ate. However, you don’t bring it up. It might lead him to believe that you’re only staying because they asked you and it would force you to admit that you were planning to regardless of their request.

Miguel’s brief disappointment fades and is replaced with a lighter expression.

“I made a few dishes, so you have options,” he says softly. “Let me show you.”

With that, Miguel motions for you to follow him to the stove. You do so, curious to know what he cooked. You have the brief thought that this will be the second time Miguel gives you homemade food. The two of you stand in front of his stove and before Miguel shows you the food, he pushes his sleeves higher up. It’s still a strange sight and you can’t stop your eyes from gazing at his skin, noticing the veins from years of physical activity and arm hair. You turn away as you feel heat on your face from proximity to the stove and how warm Miguel’s penthouse is. No other reason.

“In this pot, there’s pozole,” Miguel says, lifting the lid to show you. He tells you what it is before he moves on to the other dishes.

It turns out that Miguel did cook quite a bit of food. He mentions pozole, tamales of two kinds, and tinga. He also made atole blanco and ponche navideño, two hot drinks perfect for the Christmas season. “If I’m being honest, I was craving all of these foods,” Miguel says as if he knows you’re thinking about how much food he cooked. You chuckle.

“Everything smells amazing, so I don’t blame you for craving them all,” you reply as you bring the spoon with pozole to your mouth. The warmness of it spreads down your chest as the two of you sit on the kitchen island, side by side.

Neither of you notice how your bodies are facing each other as you eat.

Miguel takes a bite out of the food Mr. and Mrs. Morales sent him and you notice he looks like he’s enjoying it. You eat more of your pozole and think how well of a cook he is. You remember him mentioning his mom taught him to cook when he was a teenager back when he showed up at your apartment for the first time. Conchata definitely taught him well.

You finish eating your small serving of pozole as you want to try the other food he made. He notices and looks at you.

“Do you want more pozole? Or would you like to try the other food?” he asks softly, cleaning his mouth gently with a napkin.

You smile at him and nod. “I’d like to try the other food if you don’t mind,” you say, and he nods before he stands up.

“I can get it myself, don’t worry,” you say and start getting up, but he raises a hand, making you pause.

“You’re my guest. It’s only right,” he says with a determined look. “What would you like to try next?” Miguel asks as he walks to the stove. He grabs a clean plate and turns to face you, ready for you to tell him.

You sit back down slowly as he stares at you.

“May I please try the tinga?” you ask with a soft but embarrassed smile.

“Would you like it with tostadas or as a burrito?” he asks, motioning to the pack of tostadas and flour tortillas on the counter.

“I’ll have it however you prefer it,” you answer honestly.

“What if I make you one of each? That way you can try both,” Miguel suggests.

You nod. “Okay, that sounds… good. Thank you,” you reply, and he nods before he grabs both packs and starts working on your plate.

You look down at your gizmo as he preps your food. It’s almost ten now. You look up again. Miguel is busy warming up flour tortillas. You notice him flipping them with his bare hands, not minding the heat. You look around the penthouse. It really is a large place.

Miguel flips the tortillas and turns back to look at you. He notices you looking around and he can’t help but feel a little self-conscious in that moment. Fragments of your apartment flash in his mind. Yours is well decorated. It feels welcoming and warm. It’s lived in. It’s a home for you. His penthouse, on the other hand, seems the opposite of it. Even when he used to actively live in it, he didn’t focus a lot on decorating and because of that, Gabriel and his mom took the initiative to do something about it.

The fact that Gabriel and his mom helped decorate it was one reason why he hadn’t bothered to change it in the last years. Another reason it remained the same was that it didn’t matter to him as he hardly spent time here after everything that happened with Gabriella and her universe anyway.

Until recently, of course. Ever since Peter’s birthday celebration, ever since that night, Miguel made it a goal to sleep here at least once a week. So far, he has stuck with it. It’s now been several weeks, which he counts as progress. And now, as he sees you take in his home, he can’t help but think about it. However, when your eyes meet his again, he sees no judgment from you. If anything, he sees curiosity, which amuses him on the inside. You offer him a small smile.

“Everything is so sleek and modern,” you say as you take in the kitchen again.

Miguel turns around to check on the tortillas, and seeing that they are done, he puts them on a plate. “Is that… not to your liking?” he asks as he starts fixing the food.

“Oh, it’s not that. It’s great,” you say still looking around.

“But?”

You sigh softly and Miguel turns around, walking the short distance from the stove to the kitchen island.

“You can say it,” he says as he finishes fixing the plates.

“I guess, I like old architecture more,” you finally admit. “But this is really nice though,” you add, and Miguel lets out a low chuckle that makes you pause and wonder what a real laugh from him would sound like.

“I like old architecture, too,” he reveals as he finishes fixing your plate. He slides it over the counter to you gently. “It has more personality.”

“Thank you,” you say as you take the plate. “And really? I thought you’d be more of a fan for your architecture.”

Miguel nods and offers you toppings for the food before he takes his own plate and sits next to you again. As you eat, the two of you talk briefly about the architecture of different universes you’ve been to. Turns out Miguel appreciates architecture like that of your universe. You eventually fall into a comfortable silence.

The two of you sit on Miguel’s kitchen island eating quietly in peace on Christmas Eve. It’s strange how comfortable it feels but then again, this is the second time you’ve eaten together since Dia de los Muertos. Still, this moment is a big deal. It’s the first time either of you have celebrated this holiday in years but it feels right.

As Miguel eats next to you, he can’t help but think about it. He really asked you to stay for dinner. That’s a first but he couldn’t stop himself once he thought about it. And he isn’t going to lie – he’s enjoying your company. He’s enjoying sharing the food he grew up eating during the holidays with you. His mind briefly turns to his family again. To his mother and Gabriel and the last holidays he was able to spend with them.

As he thinks about his own past holidays, Miguel wonders what yours were like. He wonders about your childhood and your parents. He wonders about the holidays you spent with Peter. As he takes a drink from one of the soda cans sent to him, he looks over at you. The two of you have been eating in silence, enjoying each other’s company, or at least he hopes you are like he is. He begins to wonder if he’s kept you here unwillingly. He feels embarrassment, suddenly feeling like an idiot. Maybe you had other plans, and here he is, keeping you from them. Embarrassment runs through his body as he looks at you but then, you look up from your plate and you smile at him in a way that makes his worry and embarrassment melt away.

“This is officially the best food I’ve ever had,” you say as you finish eating. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to ask you for the recipe.”

Miguel gives you a subtle smile, and despite how small it is, it still catches you by surprise, though you are better at hiding it now. “I can give it you, that’s no problem,” he says putting his drink down. “Or I can cook it for you if you prefer,” he adds, making him freeze internally. He hasn’t offered to cook for anyone in a while. Sure, he cooked that day at your apartment when you were unwell because of your period but this is different. Or it feels different for some reason Miguel can’t explain.

You nod and smile. “Either way, I’d appreciate it. Thank you.”

“Of course,” he says softly before standing up.

Miguel begins putting away the dishes and even though you try helping him, he declines your help because he’s the “host.” So, you sit on your chair and watch as he cleans up, wishing he’d allow you to help but you know he’ll decline again. You finish your drink, the other soda can you brought, and watch as Miguel finishes up. Despite knowing that Miguel knows his way around a kitchen, you’re still somewhat in awe at how fast and efficient he is at cleaning up. You can’t help but think of Peter in that moment. He, too, knew his way around the kitchen and helped with the chores around the apartment, which was something you loved and appreciated about him as you often heard female colleagues complain about their partners not helping when you used to work. You’ve always appreciated it when a man knows how to do chores and helps instead of leaving the chores strictly to the woman, and so you can’t help but think about this as you watch Miguel.

You pull your sweater’s neck slightly, feeling a little hot. Miguel’s penthouse is warm and you’re still wearing two layers of clothes. As Miguel finishes up, you slide off the sweater you have, leaving you in a long-sleeved top. You fold it neatly and place it on the next chair from which your coat hangs. If you head back to the party, you’ll just suit up again but for now, you’ll try to cool off.

Miguel turns around then and looks at you, leaning back on the counter as he holds a towel. He dries his hands with it after washing them. He notices your sweater is gone and feels a little amused. You were definitely wearing too many layers to be inside in the warmth.

“I don’t know if you’re still up for it, but I have those two hot drinks,” he says, flinging the towel over his shoulder in a graceful way.

Of course, you notice it. It’s not every day that Miguel O’Hara wears normal clothes or that he looks this relaxed, leaning back on a kitchen counter and swinging a towel over his shoulder gracefully. It’s a sight for you and you alone.

“Well… Miles and Gwen mentioned a little while ago that you and Miguel are close.”

You hear Mrs. Morales’s comment in your head as you nod at Miguel. “I’m up for it,” you reply, and he nods. There’s a pleased look on his face before he turns around to open a cabinet to retrieve mugs.

And he is. Miguel is pleased that you’re open to trying out the hot drinks. That you’ll stay a little longer. As he pours the drinks, he thinks about what this means. Of course, he’s thought about how much he’s shared with you and how much you’ve shared with him. He’s thought about it… about how you’re the closest he has to a friend.

You are his friend.

He thought about it on Dia de los Muertos night when he came to his penthouse to sleep. Anyone could argue that Jess and Peter were friends but his friendship with them has always been different. It wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for work, or at least he feels like that. They’re work friends and he’s never shared as much as he’s shared with you. No matter how much the two of them tried, Miguel never felt comfortable enough to share his life.

And with you, there he was. Showing up at your apartment to show you his ofrenda. His memories poured out of him like they had been waiting for the right person to spill out for. It was easy to talk to you. It was different.

Miguel felt like he had a friend for once in many, many years that night. And he didn’t know that night, or even now, if you feel the same. He knows you have your group of friends, the ones that quickly adopted you into their group when you were recruited. The same ones he was keeping you away from right now, but he hopes that you see him as somewhat of a friend despite being your boss.

Miguel finishes preparing the drinks. He takes two mugs to you, one with atole blanco and the other with ponche navideño. He slides them gently over the counter to avoid spilling any before he turns around to retrieve his own mugs.He walks around the counter and takes a seat next to you as you thank him again, this time for the hot drinks.

Miguel nods at you as he picks up one of the mugs. “I hope you like it. The atole blanco might taste a little strange when you first try it, but I swear it grows on you,” he says reassuringly. He briefly thinks back to when he first tried it. He was about ten when his mom asked him to try it. The first sip made him pause but after the third drink, he loved it. Gabriel, on the other hand, took longer to try it. He was almost twelve when he finally gave in.

You take a drink from the atole blanco while Miguel’s eyes are on you. He can’t help himself from wanting to see your reaction and he’s glad when he sees you react well to it. You smile at him and nod.

“This is great! I see what you mean by strange, but I like it. It’s very… cozy and comforting,” you say as you drink more. “It’s like – it’s perfect for Christmas. I can’t explain it,” you say, and he nods.

“This was a must on Christmas growing up,” he says as he drinks some, too.

The two of you enjoy the hot drink in peace. As you place the cup down again, you’re thankful Mr. and Mrs. Morales gave you an excuse to talk to Miguel tonight despite having felt nervous when you first arrived. Miguel seems comfortable and doesn’t seem to mind that you’re here, though it should be obvious as he did invite you to stay for dinner. Miguel places his cup down and turns to you, his knee brushes past your leg slightly and he moves it discreetly away.

“What were – what were your Christmases like growing up?” he asks suddenly, quietly.

You turn your face to him, though your bodies are facing each other already. You feel a little surprised by his sudden question, but you don’t mind it. You meet his eyes before looking at the mugs before you, thinking.

“To keep it simple, they were amazing,” you say, returning your eyes to him. “I was an only child, but my parents always went all out. They loved the Christmas spirit, so our apartment was always decorated after Thanksgiving,” you say with a bright smile as you remember. Miguel notices the glint in your eyes as you talk. “We always put the Christmas tree together and they’d let me put the star at the top, even when I was a teenager and later an adult. They were always good,” you say, nodding softly as you think of your parents.

Miguel nods with a faint smile though you don’t notice it. He thinks of a younger you, a version he doesn’t know and will never know. He thinks about Peter, unable to stop himself from thinking about how he probably knew that version of you. He lifts his mug and takes a drink, trying to wash away these strange thoughts.

“Sounds like you had a great childhood,” he finally says, and you nod, making you feel a little sad as you remember Miguel telling you about his step and biological fathers. He didn’t say anything, but you felt that his childhood was not always great.

You bring your own cup to your lips and drink, wanting to change the conversation but Miguel doesn’t mind. He has put a lot of it behind him, at least those parts of his life.

“So, when you said they’d let you put the star on the tree as an adult, you mean it?” he asks, sounding a little amused.

You nod and give him a smile. “I was in university, and they still allowed me do it,” you say with a chuckle. “Peter would tease me about it, but it was fun for all of us.”

Miguel nods, thinking. You notice he has that look on his face. The one when he’s thinking about something.

“What is it?” you ask softly.

Miguel turns to you and shakes his head slightly. “Nothing. I was just thinking… Wondering, I guess.”

“About what? You can ask,” you say, your tone sincere since you don’t mind. He has already shared quite a lot about his past. It’s only fair he asks about yours.

Miguel sighs softly, continuing to hold your gaze. “When did you meet Peter?” he asks quietly, as if unsure of asking this question.

You smile, not minding the question at all. “When we were sixteen. He moved schools and we instantly became friends, which then turned into a relationship,” you say fondly before you pick up your mug and drink.

Miguel stares at you as you do this, still thinking. Since sixteen. It was Peter’s twenty-sixth birthday just weeks ago, which means you had known and dated each other for almost a decade by the time he passed away. He looks down at his nearly empty mug. Almost a decade of a relationship and you still try to live life to the fullest. Miguel grips the cup.

“How do you do it?” he asks quietly.

“Do what?” you ask in confusion.

“You knew Peter for so long. Dated him for so long. And you still… you try.”

You stare at Miguel, feeling a little startled by the sudden change of conversation but Miguel looks like he genuinely wants to know. You remember this was something you thought about in the early days. How people could move on. How they could carry day to day even after losing someone.

“Miguel…” you start and look down at your cups. “It isn’t easy. Especially in the beginning,” you add softly, knowing that for Miguel, it has been a little over a year since he lost his wife and Gabriella. For you, it’s almost four years since you lost Peter. You’re on different points of your mourning periods. You sigh softly. “It isn’t easy at all in the beginning,” you repeat as you think of your next words. “I wasn’t the woman you know now, or even the one you were introduced to months ago,” you say lightly, making Miguel turn to you, with curious eyes. “I don’t want to ruin the Christmas spirit, so I’ll try my best not to.”

Miguel shakes his head. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to. I don’t want to – take away the lightness of today,” he says with a regrettable look on his face.

Why did he ask, he wonders. Everything was going so well.

“No, it’s okay. It helps. Talking about it helps,” you say, reassuring him. You stay silent for about a minute, trying to figure out how to approach this. “I lost sight of things for a month or two after Peter’s death,” you start.

You look away, feeling shame course through you as you remember those dark days. You don’t want to see the look on Miguel’s face when you reveal something you’ve never shared with anyone.

“I’m not proud of it… It brings me great shame to say this,” you say as you stare down at the cups. “There was a time after Peter’s death – a month after everything took place to be exact – that I,” you pause. “I looked for him. I tried hunting down the man that did it,” you say quietly.

“I had a regular job back then, so I went to work. I mourned and tried my best to accommodate to my new life but at night… I couldn’t stop thinking how I could’ve done better. How I could’ve saved him. I thought of the man who did it. How he took Peter from me. The love of my life, my last bit of family…” you trail off, though your tone is still light, and you feel proud of yourself for it, for you know months ago, this conversation would’ve had you in tears. “My thoughts were consumed by it. So, I went out to try to find him. I didn’t plan on doing something to him, I swear,” you say pausing, trying to emphasize this. “All I wanted was to know who he was. Bring him to justice.”

Miguel continues to look at you with a pained expression on his face now as he hears you talk. There is a faraway look on your face, as if you were back in that time but you turn back to him and he’s like an anchor, keeping you tethered to this moment.

“One night, when I thought I had a lead – I was on a rooftop, and I finally realized that Peter would’ve never wanted to see me like that. And that I was failing my promise to him,” you say, meeting Miguel’s eyes. “He made me promise to try to move on. To be open to another love. I tried after that. It was slow progress. The last few months since I joined the society have really helped me,” you say with a soft smile as you wrap your fingers around your mug softly.

“I don’t know if we’ll ever really move on, but it feels easier as the days go on,” you tell Miguel. “I guess, it also helped that I eventually found the man. Or rather, he found me. I forgave him,” you say with a quiet sigh and offer Miguel a smile. And as he stares at you, he realizes how much stronger you are than he thought. “He was my own version of Flint Marko, otherwise known as Sandman. He never meant to hurt Peter that day. He was just – trying to rob a bank to get money for his child’s surgery.”

You stare down at the cups and think of Marko. Last you heard from him, he was trying to do better, and his daughter, who was now older, recovered from her illness. You lift the cup to your lips and take a small drink before setting it down.

“I’m not the best example of how to do it,” you say, looking up. “But I try and sometimes, that’s all you can do. For them.”

Miguel continues to stare at you and even though you thought you might’ve found judgment in his eyes, you see none of the sort. Miguel stares at you with even more respect than before. He looks down at his hands for a few seconds before he looks up again.

“I think – Peter must be happy that you are trying to honor his promises,” he says softly, wishing he could say more. Wishing he could reach out to you physically the way his hands were begging him to.

You smile at him. “I think so, too. I think he’s happy with where I’m now. You know, the whole reason I joined the Spider Society was because of him. I declined the invitation from Jess initially until she asked me what he would’ve thought about everything. I know he would’ve loved the idea of it. He would’ve loved learning about the multiverse,” you say with a grin and then shake your head softly as you pick up the mug again. “He loved science, too.”

Miguel stares at you, surprised at hearing this. Jess never mentioned you rejecting her invitation. He looks up at the ceiling a little bit and in that moment, he finds himself internally thanking a man he never met.

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” he says after a few seconds of silence. “I’m sorry if it made you…” Miguel trails off.

You turn to him again. “It’s okay. It didn’t. It helps,” you say, and your tone is still lighthearted. “I think I’m ready to try the other drink.”

Miguel continues to stare at you. “I think I am, too… This one is sweeter,” he says as he wraps his fingers around the mug. Miguel watches as you lift the mug to your mouth to try it and once again, there’s that pleased look on your face that makes him forget his worry from earlier about messing with your plans. You don’t seem to mind.

As the two of you sit there and enjoy the second hot drink, Miguel’s thoughts are on you. You’re so strong and not only in a physical way but in a way that Miguel feels he hasn’t been able to. You’re strong by trying to fulfill your promises. For forgiving the man that took Peter from you. For trying to move forward and trying at life. Miguel has never said it, but he respects you.

You’ve accepted his boundaries in a way so many others haven’t. You’ve offered him nothing but kindness. You’ve listened when he shares memories with you. You’re a hard worker and meticulous when it comes to your duties as Spider-Woman. You’re strong. So strong.

And his respect for you grows tenfold, if that’s even possible, considering how much he already respected you before tonight. Miguel thinks about this and the fact that you’re the first person that has been to his penthouse in years.

Friend.

Maybe you do consider him a friend, Miguel thinks to himself as he takes a drink, too.

“This is really good, too,” you say quietly as you drink more, and for some reason, it makes Miguel feel pleased.

“Glad you liked both,” he murmurs as he drinks more. He suddenly wonders what time it is. The two of you have been here for what feels like two hours now. He checks the time discreetly from a nearby clock.

It’s past eleven, which means it’s almost time for the annual AI Christmas holographic show. He stands up, making you turn to see him.

“It’s almost time for something my city does annually. I think you’ll like it,” he says and motions for you to follow him.

You see him take his mug and you do the same before you follow him to the windows that face his kitchen and dining areas directly, giving Miguel another sight of the city. He leans sideways on the windows and looks down, waiting for you to join him. You reach the windows and lean on them, too, mirroring his stance. You look down and see the Christmas decorations on the snow-covered ground despite being on the highest floor of this building. The decorations, which are holographic, make you realize for the first time that there’s no sight of a Christmas tree in Miguel’s penthouse. You don’t say anything about this, of course. You know with everything that’s happened, a Christmas tree is the last thing one can think about in times like these. You’re glad there’s at least a little bit of Christmas spirit in Miguel since he cooked and took the day off though.

Still watching the decorations, you think of something and wonder. You’ve noticed some of them from HQ when you walk by the windows throughout the month, but it’s been like a second thought with missions and what not. You wonder now if everyone has holographic Christmas trees or if physical trees are still a thing here. You look up at Miguel and he turns, as if feeling your gaze.

“What is it?” he asks softly before he takes a drink.

“Are physical Christmas trees a thing here?”

Miguel gives you a small smile, which still catches you by surprise. “Only the wealthy have physical trees. Everyone else has holographic decorations,” he explains, and you nod. You know Miguel is wealthy, so his lack of a tree is not because of money but because he didn’t want to put one up.

You look back outside, thinking. Miguel continues to stare at you, wanting to know what you’re thinking.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” he asks, though for him it isn’t. He’s used to the technology and to this tradition, but he can imagine how it can be odd for you when you come from a universe where physical Christmas trees are the norm.

You bring the cup to your mouth, enjoying the sweetness of the hot drink. “I was just thinking how putting the Christmas tree together as a family is a big thing. Or well, it was for my family and I.”

Miguel nods, remembering what you said earlier about your family and the holidays. He leans more into the window, crossing one of his legs over the other.

“To make up for that, families sit down and design the ornaments together through their devices. Then, they upload their designs to the tree. There’s a program and everything,” he says thinking about the process. He has an artificial tree, which is stored at HQ, but he also has a holographic one from previous years when he was too busy to put a physical one with his family. “I’ll show you,” he suddenly says, putting his mug on the window stool before he heads to the living room section. As he looks for a tablet on his table, he can’t help but think about this. How he’s comfortable showing you things. How he wants to show you things. Like how the holographic tree program works or the annual AI Christmas holographic show which should start soon.

Friend.

He finds the tablet and starts it up, which only takes about a second to boot up. He walks back to you as he opens the program. He reaches you and stands closer to show you.

“First, you put the tree up,” he says as he shows you the screen. The two of you stand side by side, looking at the screen as he clicks on the tablet. He looks up and points. “It’ll appear right there.”

Sure enough, a large holographic Christmas tree, decorated in classic Christmas colors, appears a few feet away from the two of you, near Miguel’s dining table.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur as you notice the star at the top of the tree.

“Thank you,” Miguel says as he looks at it, too. He wasn’t expecting to put up a tree this year but here he is. He looks back down at the screen. “Then, you can design your own ornaments using this program,” Miguel continues and shows you. He pulls out a stylus from the tablet, surprising you. The tablet is so thin you wonder how it’s even possible but then remember it’s Nueva York.

You watch as Miguel uses the stylus to design an ornament. He inserts lines as part of the design and changes the color of the ornament to match the theme. It takes him a few seconds to finish before he writes his name on it neatly.

“And it’s done. Now you upload it like this,” he says and shows you. “The program decides where it should go but you can manually change it if you want,” he adds.

The two of you look up just as it appears on an empty spot on the tree. Miguel then offers you the tablet and stylus. You look up at him, confused.

“Try it,” he says, still waiting for you to take the tablet and stylus from his hands.

“Are you sure?” you ask, looking down at it.

He nods. “Give it a go.”

You set your mug next to his on the window stool and take the tablet and stylus from him, your fingers brushing past his bare ones once again. You ignore the sensation and focus on the screen with the new canvas to design yours. Your brows furrow as you think for a second about what you want it to look like. You start working on it, with Miguel watching intently. He notices how quickly you figure out how to use the program and watches as you design your ornament with ease.

As you work on it, you can’t help but notice a scent. Or rather his scent. You’ve caught a bit of it before of course but it has never been this strong to your nose. Not like this when he stands by your side, so close your arms are almost touching, with him dressed in normal clothes. You add small details to your ornament as his scent envelops you, distracting you slightly as the combination of his shower products and shaving cream blended with his natural scent surround you. You can’t suppress the thought that pops into your head at that moment, which is that his scent is delightful.

You clear your throat quietly as you add your name to the ornament. You stare at it for a few seconds.

“Hmm, I like the traditional stuff, but not going to lie, this was fun,” you say and smile at Miguel, still feeling distracted by his scent. “I can see kids enjoying this a lot.”

Miguel nods, his lips curling upward again as you give him the tablet back, completely unaware of your thoughts. “You may not like the architecture, but I think you would settle just fine in this universe,” he comments, as he looks at your ornament, thinking of how quickly you figured it out and the fact that yours turned out better than his. “Now… you just upload it,” he says softly before he does exactly like that. You stare at the tree, feeling a little surprised that he’s adding your ornament, but you shrug it off. The two of you watch as your ornament, which matches the tree’s theme, appears right next to his.

Miguel stares at it, the sight of your ornament appearing next to his makes him pause for a second. It’s the first time in years Miguel has put up a tree in his penthouse. It’s also the first time that a non-family person has added their ornament to his tree.

Miguel now clears his throat quietly. “Not bad at all,” he says and nods. “Oh, the show should start soon,” he says, trying to put his thoughts away about the tree and your ornament.

You nod. “Thank you. That was fun,” you add as you turn your attention back to the decorations outside. You briefly look down at your gizmo. It’s 11:33 P.M. now, meaning Christmas Day is less than thirty minutes away now. You’ve spent a lot more time here than you expected but you don’t mind. You wonder if people back in Miles’s universe have left the party or if they’re still hanging out.

“Glad you enjoyed that,” Miguel says softly, putting the tablet on a nearby surface. You notice he doesn’t put the tree away. It’s still there as he leans on the window sideways again, looking outside towards the decorations as well. He briefly thinks about Gabriella. He only had one Christmas with her. He remembers it vividly as he looks out, recalling Gabriella’s excitement on Christmas morning. He remembers thinking how perfect it was and how, if all his future Christmases could’ve been like that, he would’ve never asked for anything else. His wife wasn’t in the picture then, so it had just been Gabriella and him. Now that he thought of it, he and his wife didn’t have much time together. It was very brief. Miguel clears his throat. He doesn’t want to think of the past like that right now. He doesn’t want to think of how rushed everything was when it came to his relationship and marriage. Not tonight.

His thoughts are thankfully interrupted when he sees the sign that the show is starting. He turns to look at you to make sure you’re watching, and of course, you are. Your eyes are on the sky as you see the announcement before it starts, filled with curiosity and awe. Miguel turns his gaze back to the sky as the show starts. Holographic Christmas trees appear from thin air, all lit up in Christmas colors. Reindeer fly by the windows, galloping here and there. Twinkling lights decorate the background as holographic snowflakes descend before they begin to form into snowmen that start dancing.

You watch in awe, finding this fascinating. Miguel steals a glance to see your reaction. He sees the awe and fascination on your face, clearly enjoying this.

“This isn’t even the best part,” he says quietly as he knows there’s always more to it.

You smile as reindeer fly by the windows again. “This is so – I wish we had this in my universe,” you answer quietly. “The closest we have to this are projections.”

Miguel chuckles lowly. “Well… You’re welcome to come watch it again next year,” he answers as he crosses his arms across his chest.

Neither of you say anything else. Was that an invitation for you to join him again next year? You push your thoughts away and focus on the show just as a holographic Santa Claus and his sled appear out of nowhere, making you smile.

“Santa Claus,” you whisper as the sled approaches Miguel’s windows. The holographic Santa Claus waves as he passes by making you chuckle. The show continues with Santa Claus flying around as the reindeer align themselves to the sled, supposedly to get ready for the flight. At one point the show presents Santa’s workshop and tiny elves working on different toys and preparing the sled. It concludes with Santa flying by the windows again, this time with all his reindeer and magical sack of toys before they fly off, disappearing into the sky. A large holographic “Feliz Navidad” message and red poinsettias conclude the show.

You stare at the message, still in awe with a smile.

“That was amazing. You grew up with this?” you ask softly.

Miguel nods. “Gabriel and I always looked forward to it.”

You smile, once again thinking of a younger Miguel. “It must be amazing, to experience this as a child,” you answer, thinking of kids.

“The kids love it,” he replies as he also stares at the message, knowing it will stay up past midnight.

You nod and the two of you just stare out the window in silence for a few minutes. You watch as you see white, tiny spots in the sky. With each second, more and more appear.

“It’s starting to snow,” you murmur, making Miguel pay more attention and sure enough, it’s snowing.

“A white Christmas,” he whispers, as the snow picks up.

“A white Christmas,” you repeat.

The two of you stand ever so closely, leaning on the window sideways, your bodies facing each other as you watch the falling snow. And in that moment, everything feels alright with the world for you and Miguel, despite everything.

You look down at your gizmo. It’s past midnight now.

“Merry Christmas,” you say, quietly.

Miguel smiles softly as the two of you stare out the window. “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

Thirty minutes later, Miguel stands in front of his holographic Christmas tree alone. You returned home a few minutes ago, looking and sounding tired after being out for so long. So, you both said goodnight to each other but not before Miguel asked if you’d want some food or if you’d prefer to join him again in a few hours for the recalentado.

You said yes to the latter.

Miguel continues to stare at the tree, or more specifically at the new ornaments, for a few minutes, thinking.

Friend.

He finally goes to sleep after storing the food away. He leaves the Christmas tree up, which you still find when you return hours later to eat dinner with him on Christmas Day.

__________________________

Translation for italicized words: Mierda - Shit Pozole - A kind of soup/stew made from hominy and meat (can be chicken or beef). Tamales - I think everyone knows these Tinga - Latin dish made out of meat (pork, chicken) in sauce with onions, chiles chipotle and tomatoes. Can be eaten on tostadas or as burritos (my experience) Atole Blanco - white atole, a Latin hot drink made out of corn meal Ponche Navideño - Mexican Christmas fruit punch Tostadas - toasted tortillas; usually used as a base for different culinary dishes Recalentado - word translates to "reheated"; this is the act of inviting your closest friends and family the day after you host a party to eat the reheated leftovers, it's supposed to be a smaller tight-knit situation and less formal because it's with close family/friends (do you see what this means for you, the reader? I'm not okay, right now)

May I just -

Miguel in a freaking chunky cable knit sweater. His damp hair. His bare skin. His scent (I KNOW HE SMELLS GOOD and you cannot change my mind). Him knowing that you were asked specifically to go drop him food. Him asking you to stay for dinner. Him serving the food. Him being a great cook. Him being a great host. His respect for you growing. Him wanting to comfort you physically (AHH.) Him showing you the annual Christmas show and how the holographic Christmas tree thing works and adding your ornament and staring at it because it appeared next to his and him leaving the tree up even tho he didn't plan on putting one up and him thanking Peter for influencing you to join the Spider Society even tho he never met him (CRYING, SCREAMING). Him inviting you for dinner again!!!!!!

So a lot of people said yes to the Christmas part but I was also selfish and wanted to write Miguel like this and get some Christmas comfort before the next part because... yeah. So, sorry to anyone who didn't want it. I needed this.

Also, I'm sorry for the late update. I meant to post Sunday but it was that time of the month and it kicked my butt. I hope you enjoy it, and if you've read this far, thank you for the support!! ❤️ I hope to be back Sunday with an update, tho I have a family event Saturday so idk if it'll be possible but I'll try.

I love Miguel so much and it's a problem but it's okay -Alondra

Tag list:

@loverlorn @saturnknows @d1lf-loverrr @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @freehentai @arithestrawberry @scaleniusrm @haradasaya @spidermanismyfav @bitchykittenconnoisseur @thecraziestcrayon @obi-mom-kenobi @natsury-kazuki @rootin-tootin-morgan @coraline750 @edgycatx @safixiovi @sunnyx07 @nxrdamp @rorel1a @oceanstar19 @happishark @carmilla01 @somebodyelsethanyouthink @adora-but-ginger @angie2274 @vampi-amora @tired-writer04 @plzfeedmebread @shadow-pancake9 @tynakub @faretheeoscar @giulscomix @luvstuffies @coffeeauthorvibing @lauraolar14 @bl0osclues @pinkiemme @lil-cinn @mashiromochi @loveletterfrommwah @mandodinstuff @muzansucker @theleftkittycollection @kikookii @www-interludeshadow-com @holographicang3l @aisyakirmann @bucky-to-my-barnes @geraskier-thots @l3laze

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littlemissthunderstorms · 8 months

Text

warp speed chic pt.1

“the shining city on the fritz”

a tranquility base hotel and casino alternate universe.

———

you were in awe.

warm, glimmering lights hung down from the ceiling, the soft glittering reflections painting the walls like a mirrorball. smooth jazz filled the reception area, muddled by various chitter chatter and conversations. the whole atmosphere was warm and welcoming, but you couldn’t help the shiver than ran down your spine when you caught a glance out of one of the big windows, vast space scattered with stars and nebulas stretching on and on above the spectacular intergalactic city lights.

you caught yourself staring, jaw agape.

“can i help you miss?” a man with a sleek suit holding a clipboard looked up at you through his thick rimmed glasses, waiting for an answer. “oh- um, yes! i’m actually supposed to meet um..” you glanced at your card, “alex turner?” the man raised his eyebrows. “mr. turner you say?”

you nodded, not really aware of his importance, or if he had any at all. you just knew you were supposed to meet with him first thing. the man glanced down at his clipboard, shaking his head and scurrying over to the phone at the desk, where he fumbled with the buttons, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose while he waited for someone to pick up.

you clacked your nails on the desk, looking around as you waited, still breath taken by the gorgeous architecture, the way design flowed so beautifully throughout the space. “good evening mr. turner! sorry to trouble you sir, i’ve got someone who’s apparently supposed to be meeting- oh! great, i’ll send her right up. thank you- you too sir.”

you smiled at the man, nervously biting your lip. another dude in a sleek suit came up to the desk, annoyed. “jeremy, i’m the phone guy. what are you doing?” the man with the thick glasses, presumably named jeremy, rolled his eyes. “mark, i don’t want to hear it. go take this young ladies luggage up to her room,” he snapped back, quickly clacking away on his keyboard. “room 505.” mark scoffed, mustering a fake smile for you as he took your luggage and scurried away.

“sorry about him. he’s got a knack for directing calls... anyway, mr. turner’s been expecting you, follow me.” you smile and nod awkwardly, following him as he treks down a long, red carpeted hallway.

———

turns out, it’s a little frightening riding the elevator up to the top floor. you’ve never been too afraid of heights, but this elevator is a round tube of pure glass, giving you a chill inducing view of all the buildings as the lift rises, just getting higher and higher, the tops of the neon buildings getting lower and lower.

it was frightening for sure, but interesting nonetheless. the booming metro city outside was a design of neon lights and intricate architecture. surely there were many lives and different storylines sprawling and networking throughout the city, as there was everywhere but it seemed so much more captivating on the moon. you wondered what it was like to live here.

once the elevator reached the peak of the building, dinging as the doors slid open, you happily slid out into the hallway. “go straight down the hall, through that big door. that’s his office.” you nodded, a little intimidated now. “thank you sir.” he smiled. “have a wonderful evening miss.”

and with that he was gone, the elevator dinging once more as it closed, followed by the low hum of the lift descending back down, leaving you on your own. the top floor was eerily quiet, the lights dim. you took a deep breath before walking towards the huge door at the end of the hall, noticing the shiny gold plaque in the middle that read alexander turner, founder of tranquility base hotel & casino.

great. you were set to be talking to the goddamn owner of this place. you seemed very mentally unprepared, all you knew is that you would be working on designing the new wing that was just built, along with a team of designers. of course you were qualified for the job, and it was an honor to design for a place this spectacular, you were just a bit intimidated.

you quickly fluffed up your hair and smoothed down your shirt before knocking, your stomach knotting up. a muffled shuffling sound followed by a few heavy footsteps were heard from behind the door before it swung open.

the man that greeted you on the other side was quite striking. you didn’t quite know who you were expecting, but he was much younger than you imagined, probably no more of an age gap of 3 years between you and him, you assumed. the man wore a crisp, perfectly tailored navy blue suit, the cream button up below equally sleek. his dark hair was slicked back, his vampire-esque hairline on display.

“hello, it’s lovely to have you, i’m alex,” he shook your hand and you smiled, trying not to show your nerves as you introduced yourself. “come, have a seat,” he moved your chair out from under the desk, sitting in his own across from you after you’d sat down.

his office was a bit of a contrast from the rest of the establishment. instead of sleek, polished furniture and vast space, the room inhabited more of a homey, lived in essence. you could tell he’d actually done work here. mahogany bookcases lined the whole wall behind his desk, sprawling with books and journals. various paintings scattered the walls, an occasional sticky note or reminder stuck to a golden frame. instead of overhead lighting, vintage lamps scattered the room, basking the space in a comforting warmth that soothed your nerves.

he ran a hand through his gelled hair, fidgeting with the fold of his sleeves. “we’re really excited to have you here. i’ve got to say, i’m a big fan of your work.” this comment surprised you. “thank you, it’s an honor, really.” you smiled, your cheeks starting to hurt. “i just wanted to see you so i could get you all set up. just before you arrived, i emailed you everything you need to know, so um- just be sure to go over that.”

you nodded attentively. “tomorrow you’ll have a meeting with the other designers in the conference hall, which shouldn’t be tricky to find, there’s a map of the place attached to the email as well,” the man rambled on a bit, telling you a bit about the place, sometimes starting sentences just to never finish them, getting lost in his own thoughts.

you liked the way he spoke, his accent, the dreamlike quality his tone held. “any questions?” he chimed after telling you about the library. you shook your head. you had a lot of questions for him, so many you couldn’t even pick, and plus, you didn’t want to worry him anymore, so you saved those questions for another time, storing them in your mind as if they were books on his shelves. alex sat up, smoothing a hand over his blazer.

“well then, i’ll walk you to your room,” he smiled. “oh, that’s alright it’s no worry,” you stood up. surely he was busy, you didn’t want to bother him. he tilted his head. “do you know where it is?” you were silent for a moment, thinking of the plethora of hallways this place had, your chance of finding the suite on your own was small. “no…” you shook your head, smiling awkwardly.

———

“here you are, room 505,” he smiled, holding out a keycard for you. the walk to the suite area had been silent for the most part. the hotel was starting to quiet down since it was getting late. every so often he’d look back and give you a gentle smile before turning back, his heeled boots clacking against the sleek wood flooring. he was so intriguing to you, unlike anyone you’d ever met. you wouldn’t be surprised if he melted into the shadows, seeping away into darkness, like some sort of creature. you couldn’t explain it.

“thank you, mr. turner,” you smiled, grabbing the keycard. “it’s no problem, and call me alex,” he added, stepping away slightly as he realized he might’ve been a bit too close for comfort. “it was nice to meet you, alex.” he grinned. “it’s been a pleasure, have a wonderful night.”

as his footsteps faded off into the darkness, you held your keycard up to the scanner, eyes widening when the door clicked and swung open.

the place was stunning. a large, circular bed sat in the middle of the room, adorned in plush maroon and silky red pillows, with a matching maroon comforter. a white sheer lace bed curtain was tied to each of the four wooden posts, making a gorgeous canopy. the room was tasteful, soft, consisting of intricately designed carpets, sleek 70’s style furniture, and a plasma tv that slid down from the ceiling with a click of a button.

you almost squealed at the sight of the bathroom. the rooms porcelain tiles were pink and cream, matching with the patchwork carpet that sat in front of the clawfoot tub, which was filled with expensive soaps. you opened another sliding door to find a nearly empty walk-in closet, a cherry red silk robe hung on one of the racks, a matching pair of slippers below.

once you were snug in bed, practically melting into the mattress, being engulfed by the soft pillows, your eyes began to feel heavy. you slowly turned your head over to the exterior wall, sleepily gazing out of the large window. most of the city lights were off now, leaving only the inky black void of stars to lull you to sleep.

———

stepping into the conference room, you felt a little underdressed in your button down and slacks. there were about six other designers, all clad in an array of vibrancy. shiny space-age metallic tops, dynamic head scarfs, eccentric glasses. they all looked like they were set to walk a runway show, clearly you missed the memo.

you were a teensy bit late, thanks to the warm, soft bed that didn’t fail to keep you asleep through your alarm. you gave an awkward smile when they all turned to look at you, the door slamming a little too loud. you flushed, quickly setting your laptop and purse down as you pushed yourself into the seat across from alex, who gave you a gentle smile.

settling in, you looked up at the designer who was giving a presentation on his ideas for the new stargazing room. you fought to not scrunch your nose. white curtains? white furniture? white walls with gold detailing? it was cute, maybe for a suburban mom but it didn’t match the energy of the hotel whatsoever.

once it was your turn to present ideas, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. some of the other designers had okay ideas, but some were also good, and although you loved your plan, these people seemed intimidating.

for the stargazing area, you’d envisioned a more cozy, dreamlike room. the furniture and carpeting would be warm toned, various soft lamps and fairy lights scattered across the room. while you were walking everyone through your presentation, your nerves seemed to ease. when you turned back around to sit down, everyone was quiet, unreadable. great.

after each presentation was done, it was time to discuss. everyones attention redirected to alex. being the owner, he got a big say in the final decision. your heart raced once you heard him murmur your name. “i liked yours. we’ll go with that,” he concluded. “meeting over, see you guys tomorrow.”

your jaw was agape. no discussion, no nothing, he chose yours immediately. the other designers didn’t take it well either, mumbling and grumbling a bit as they gathered their things and stumbled out of the conference room.

the following week, you were in the conference room once again. everyone was discussing plans for the day spa, and you found yourself falling quiet. someone had suggested sleek wood paneled walls, which alex had liked. others had suggested fluorescent lighting installments, to which alex said no. you sat there, observing until alex turned to you. “what about you? any ideas?”

your cheeks flushed a bit. “i was thinking dim, hanging lights, a bunch of different kinds, all warm toned, it makes it more calming.” he fiddled with his pen, nodding and scribbling something down. “i like that.”

a designer across the table from you rolled his eyes subtly. you shrunk in your seat, feeling gross. you didn’t want to be known as some sort of suck up. you couldn’t help the way alex singled you out, agreeing with all your ideas.

nevertheless, it didn’t stop. you’d suggest paintings for the wall, he would agree, you’d bring up an interesting wallpaper, he’d find somewhere to put it, you’d point out curtains that complemented the room well, he’d nod approvingly and scribble it down on his notepad.

eventually, you learned to be quieter, trying to let the other designers have the spot light but sure enough, alex would ask you to share again, his eyes narrowing at you as he dismissed the annoyance that stifled the room.

every single time, you’d receive a subtle scoff or an eye roll from one of the other petty designers. you understood, it was annoying that they’d worked hard to get here and the majority of their ideas were being turned down, but still, were their egos just so fucking big that they couldn’t be at least a little happy for you?

———

the next morning, you found a loup mask outside your door. it was adorned in black satin and lace, small gold detailing outlining the eyes. underneath was a small, metallic gold envelope with an invitation inside.

you have been invited to the tranquility base masquerade party,

tonight, 7pm, @ the information action ratio, live music and free drinks.

so now here you were, clad in a black, lace dress, which mysteriously had showed up at your door later that morning, along with a stunning pair of gold earrings and a dainty necklace that matched the detailing on your mask. the black satin hugged you perfectly, making you wonder how they managed to nail your size and proportions.

chandeliers with bulbs of stars hung down in clusters, emitting a gentle glow. people danced and chatted, jazz flowing through the room from the band on the stage, the martini police. tons of different people wandered around, all masked and dressed in a variety of colors and textures.

letting your eyes linger, you spotted the group of designers all chatting at a booth. instead, you headed towards the bar, figuring they already hated you enough, why annoy them now. the bar was beautiful, lights lit up the whole structure, and as you ordered your martini, you couldn’t help but notice how good looking some of the bartenders were.

as you sipped your drink, you felt someone’s presence directly behind you, a little too close for comfort. you turned, trying to distinguish who was under the sparkly white cat mask. “so, are you fucking him or something?”

your eyebrows raised “huh?” the girl scoffed, and immediately you recognized her as one of the other designers. she had a model figure, super tall with platinum blonde hair, and a menacing scoff. she’d be a really good bully. “are you fucking alex? is that how you get him to pick all your ideas?”

you shook your head, cheeks flushed. “no. i have no idea why he favors me,” you stated, turning back to your drink when you felt a cold liquid down your back, making you gasp. you turned again, the blonde pretending to be shocked as she held her empty glass. “i’m so sorry! i’m so clumsy.”

you rolled your eyes, getting up and deciding you’d had enough. you just wanted to go back to your suite, shower and lay in bed. since you’d arrived, the crowd almost doubled in size. you fought your way through, bumping into a few shoulders as you tried not to step on dresses. a lady in a swan mask turned and bumped you, her feathery dress catching on your shoes. you lost balance, stumbling over your heels, about to fall onto another group of people when you felt strong hands on your waist, and in a whirlwind you were upright.

it was alex. he pulled you close to him and swept you away onto the dancefloor, his hand on your waist, a hand interlocked with yours. you almost didn’t recognize him at first. he wore a black masquerade mask, with dark shimmery sequins adorning the sides. his hair was fluffier, much unlike his usual slicked back look.

you looked up at him, noticing how your hand gripped his shoulder. he’d swept you away so swiftly, leaving you speechless. his dark eyes shimmered under the mask as he peered down at you, waiting for you to speak first. “i- i was just leaving,” you stuttered, hyperfixating on the way the spill made the wet satin stick to your skin. he made no remark, keeping his languid gaze, his mouth twisted into a subtle grin.

“there’s vodka all over my dress,” you added. alex shuffled, taking off his blazer and wrapping it around your shoulders. it didn’t help much, but you didn’t say anything. it was a nice gesture.

the mystery lingered in the back of your mind, you wanted to question him about his decisions to constantly favor you but his position of authority made you bite your tongue.

his position of authority. you noticed how many people were staring all of a sudden. you could sense it in his sharp suit, the expensive, musky cologne he wore. it was entrancing, he was quite entrancing himself, you couldn’t ignore it but you couldn’t do this. you didn’t want the taboo boss employee type of perception cast upon you and him. you wanted to be taken seriously. the other designers were already perceiving you as some sort of teachers pet. the thought instilled momentary nausea.

“alex, i’ve got to go,” you whispered. he looked down at you again. “i’ll walk you back.” you shook your head. “no, no thank you, i’ll manage.” you slipped out of his arms before handing him his blazer, maneuvering your way through the tight packed crowd, slipping around torsos and arms until you finally made it out into the secluded hallway.

you took a deep breath, the chatter, music, and clinking of glasses now muddled. the hall was dark, not counting the floor to ceiling window that casted a murky blue into the space. you pressed your hand up against the window. staring out, you still didn’t comprehend it all was real, convincing yourself that it was a dream, and dreams were merely fragments of space cut out and glued together, playing like a glitched out film reel in your sleep.

you snapped back to reality, the smell of vodka on your dress pungent. quickly, you headed back to your suite, heels clacking on the marble, loud in the silence.

———

hii! let me know what you think so far. sorry if this part is a little uneventful, i mostly wanted to set up the environment but trust, better things are coming.

taglist (let me know if you want to be added/removed)- @ultragirrl @inmyownfantasywrld @almluv @raven-ql @ohladymoon @yourstartreatment @missbabyjay @andulina567 @blair-s-world @rentsturner @indierockgirrl @kittyrob0t @averyzversi0n @michelleisheres-blog @kennedy-brooke @madeinuk @mathdebate00 @sstar-ggirl @tangointhequango @nela-cutie

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #arctic monkeys #humbug #alex turner fluff #alex turner one shot #suck it and see #tlsp #alex turner smut #tranquility base hotel and casino #tbhc era #tbhc

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satansapostle6 · 23 days

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Love The Sinner | Dexter Morgan

Dexter Morgan, a vigilante serial killer hiding in plain sight, loses sleep for the first time in his life when he’s met with the very last thing he expected: a kindred spirit.

Warnings: Violence. Mature language and themes. Sexual content.

Part One. Eyes of Darkness.

Most people, when they’re getting arrested, shit their pants with fear. Some scream, some cry. Some rage, and some try to run, and some just freeze. That’s what you usually see, when you’re in your parents’ living room, and your dad can’t wait to turn on the TV to the channel dickety-six news, of all things. But sometimes, people have other reactions when being handcuffed and shoved in the back of a squad car. Sometimes people enjoy it, for one reason or another. I smiled when Miami Metro put me in cuffs on the news. Laughed, even. You see my story is many things, but boring certainly isn’t one of them.

Let’s start simple. My name is Nicole Carvalho, and as of today, America knows me as ‘Murderous MILF’. You really can’t make these things up; I love this country. I keep reminding myself, if I ever go free, I need to clip that out of the newspapers. But see, right now, at this very moment, I’m sitting alone in an almost blindingly white interrogation room at the precinct, waiting for a cop to question me while they study me on the surveillance footage. I can’t lie, I’m sitting back right now in my chair, smirking. You see, I killed the men who violated and later took my baby girl’s life, and I’m currently very pleased with myself.

I don't think my grandfather pictured this when he left Brazil. This truly is the American dream; committing a crime and letting your own peers decide whether or not it was justified. In all honesty, a jury will be much kinder to me than ‘God’ has been. So, I figured I’d let myself have this one thing. I think I waited about a half an hour before they sent someone in; a female detective. They must’ve figured a matching vagina couldn’t hurt. The first thing I noticed about this detective was that she was strikingly young; close to my age. I’m thirty-six, so I would estimate her to be maybe a little younger.

But apart from her age, the next thing I noticed about this detective was that she was very robotic in how she interacted with me; she didn’t necessarily look like she wanted to be there. She barely looked up at me when she came in, holding my files and looking down at them like a teenager doing a presentation in high school.

“So. Nicole Carvalho. I’m Detective Morgan.”

She sits down across from me less like I’m a murder suspect and more like she’s interviewing me for a secretary job. I look at her, sitting forward as I join her in the conversation, still smug as ever. I think she was secretly hoping I’d say it, the four words that usually drove most cops insane that, for some reason, no one ever thinks to say in the movies.

“I want my lawyer.”

I smile as I say it. Detective Morgan also smiles, looking down at the table before getting up. I’ll never forget how pleased she sounded.

“Guess that means I can’t ask you anymore questions.”

She gets up and walks out, and that’s the end of it. In all honesty, I don’t think she was looking forward to questioning a woman about the murder of her daughter’s rapist. After the detective left me alone, I was allowed to call myself the lawyer that I had in mind. This, of course, was a friend of a friend, a perfectly shady guy named Johnny Bertelli, who was, in the nicest way possible, a fucking scum bag. You see, I work as a project manager at a marketing firm, so I’ve met my fair share of good lawyers, but Johnny was the fucking best.

He made Johnnie Cochran look like an idiot. He was the kind of lawyer who laughed at the prosecution in court, and I needed him. So there i was, in the Miami Metro precinct punching a number I’d gotten off Google into a wall phone. I looked around the precinct as I waited for someone to pick up, and suddenly it was like I felt a pair of eyes on me. I turned around, and I saw a pretty timid, mild-mannered looking guy who seemed as if he’d been standing there trying to figure out how to get my attention.

But the strange thing was, he didn’t seem to want my attention, at all, actually. If anything, he seemed perturbed by the fact that I was looking his way. I looked over at him, not knowing what the fuck his story could’ve been. Miami’s a weird place, because in this moment, I realized the guy wandering the precinct in a Polo and khakis could very well be an employee. I looked at the guy, not knowing what he could’ve wanted with me as I struggled with the phone. Funny enough, he actually just wanted to be helpful.

“You gotta press pound,” he says quietly, “For the call to go through,” and I almost laugh.

I appreciate the odd moment, just thanking him.“Thank you.”

He just nods, and says nothing as he quietly retreats to wherever it was he came from. I took his advice, and sure enough, the phone worked and patched me through to Johnny’s office. I wasn’t quite sure at the time, seeing as I was obviously a bit preoccupied, but I felt that strange man’s eyes linger on me for a moment. Even as I turned around, I could sense his surreal sort of presence that he had. Sure, I was used to having men’s leering eyes on me out in public; it was hardly unusual. But this was different.

Like he was less looking at my body and flesh, but more so imagining what was underneath it.

*****

The next couple years of my life were eventful, to say the fucking least. Johnny of course advised me to take my case to trial instead of taking a plea, for obvious reasons; there was no way any jury was going to give me the maximum sentence, or God forbid, the death penalty. I was a single mother who stabbed her twelve year-old daughter’s rapist seventeen times. In the eyes of the public, I was practically a fucking hero. Johnny’s confident that any jury would feel sympathetic to me, despite the brutality of what I’d done. As he says, the facts are still there.

My neighbor, a weasley little creep named George Randall got me, and my Isabelle, to trust him, and took advantage of her in the worst way. Then she killed herself, because of what he did, and I had to find out through a note left on her desk for me to find. So, I went to George’s with an empty baking dish of his, and once he let me in, I whipped out the knife I’d borrowed from him, the same knife I used to use to cook for my little girl, and I made his stomach burst like a water balloon. At this point, I’d already chosen to show little remorse for the crime I’d committed, feeling perfectly at peace with the possibility of prison, or the death penalty.

But Johnny said there was probably no need to be too fearful of either. He’d even told me there was a possibility I’d just get a few years, and then parole, or something, and I wasn’t sure that wasn’t bullshit, but I also liked his confidence. The reality of it was, Johnny had made much worse people look way better. To him, my case was already closed. All I had to do was play the part of the grieving mother, which took no effort on my part. I had to wait almost a year for my case to go to trial, which I of course did outside of a cell.

This gave me enough time to get all my affairs in order, or so to speak. My job was okay for the time being, and I knew I’d probably still have it so long as I wasn’t convicted of murder, given my ‘years of dedicated service’. Things were going to be relatively fine, eventually, but for now, I was stuck being paraded around like a jester on some twisted apology tour for avenging my daughter’s death. I’m a pretty good actor, but even my patience has its limits. And maybe wearing my white So Kate’s to court wasn’t necessarily the best judgement call.

But Johnny, being more than worth the money I pay him, made it work. I walked into the courtroom with him, humble and graceful, and didn’t let my eyes linger so as not to appear guilty. But even then, I caught a glimpse of him in the room. The guy who helped me with the phone. He was watching my trial, probably just as a police department employee. Probably.

“Will the defendant please rise?”

I complied with Judge Willis’s request, with my trusty guard dog by my side. I remained dignified, my head held high, but not too high, of course, as the proceedings began.

“Miss Carvalho. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty, your honor,” I told him.

The damage was done. My fate rested entirely in the hands of twelve strangers, and for some reason, there was a thirteenth who seemed oddly invested in the outcome.

Part Two.

#dexter #dexter morgan #michael c hall #dexter morgan x reader

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mynameisnotlinda · 1 year

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If metro-guy actually “didn’t” do anything.

(Okay so with that I don’t mean that he didn’t do anything. I just mean that if the coffee/miracle theory isn’t true - he’s still manipulating Azi but not technically using any dirty tricks….)

If the theory isn’t true this might be another one. Metro-guy is still manipulating him, BUT Azi also has his “own reasons”. This was also my first thought when watching for the first time.

SORRY LET ME GET TO THE POINT.

“own reasons”

Aziraphale thinks that he can be truly good again. That he sorta got a “new chance” for him to be both good AND be with Crowley. The two things he cares most about. The two things he hadn’t really been able to choose between for the past 6000+ years.

A fresh start.

It makes perfectly sense to him that Crowley would be joining him, he’s high on the idea and he knows that Crowley wants to do good things. So because he’s so caught up with the suggestion it seems like the only right thing to do - I mean he and Crowley ruling heaven? Sounds perfect. And what are the other options? That Michael is getting in charge? That hell takes over? Rather not.

He wants to be good so badly that it blinds him in the moment. It’s too good to be true! He can’t just waste that chance. He doesn’t realise that this is an awful decision.

And then there’s metro-guy. Metro guy is simply manipulating him into saying yes. He came with the idea, basically tempting him with saying that he can bring Crowley (something Azi loves) and make him an angel too (make him even “better” than the demon he is). This is so appealing to Aziraphale, he forgets the whole our side, because it’s a scenario where he doesn’t have to choose. So metro-guy is not really using any “tricks”. Just evil manipulating.

Okay this was longer than it was supposed to be but it was really hard to put in words that made somewhat sense…eh…

#I might’ve overexplained but I don’t care #yes I know his name isn’t metro-guy #i will still call him metro guy #good omens #good omens 2 #go2 #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #good omens speculation #good omens season 2 spoilers

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hoseokslefteyebrow · 2 months

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The Anomaly || JJK

Chapter 5: It's Like That

summary : In which you're isekai'd from your (own) parallel Jujutsu Kaisen universe to the canon universe.

wordcount : 2.8k

Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen X Reader, eventually Character x Reader (idk who yet tho)

Masterlist | Next

The mission you guys were called for was in fact, not top secret. That mission was about a week ago now. Your current mission? Also not top secret.

In fact, the four of you have just wrapped it up. It was in the city, and now, you're all left with what to do for the rest of the day.

" I think I'll go see a movie. "

Yuuji shares, scrolling through his phone to see the many titles which are currently playing.

" What about you, Kugisaki? "

" It's still early. I think I'll go see a movie. "

" What about you, Y/N? "

Over the past week, you found yourself growing closer with Megumi. It was quite silly. The Megumi of your universe didn't exactly get along with you all that well. Your Yuuji could stuck to him like glue, but your Megumi and you could not sit in the same room for longer than an hour before the two of you start bickering. (Yes, it went down between the two of you that often.) On the rare days, the two of you would get into a physical fight.

That usually ended with you annoying him to no end, considering your fighting style revolves around other people their movements. It would eventually also escalate with him using his Ten Shadows technique on you (yes, you manage to piss him off that bad, that often.) Which in turn, would send you running. Usually to Sukuna. Not necessarily because he could beat the Ten Shadow technique, but simply because no one but you ever dared to bother Sukuna. It was a simple, unspoken rule. One Gojo loved to disrespect often.

" Ah, I think I'll join Nobara. "

He nods while you grin, linking arms with Nobara who mirrors your expression.

" Alright. I'm heading home. "

Moments later, Megumi is on his way home.

" I'm going to the movies, what about you guys? "

Yuuji asks, waving his phone as you and Nobara are stood on the staircase leading towards the metro station. You let go of her, in turn of facing him.

" What are you watching? "

" Human earthworm 4."

He looks so proud as he says that.

" Who even watches that?! I haven't even seen 1,2 or 3."

" I think you'd be fine jumping in in 4-"

Yuuji begins, explaining the plot to her. You cringe. It's not your type of film.

" -So the theme is actually love! "

Yuuji exclaims, all excited. You blink.

Ew, worm man.

" I don't want to see some wormo man. Regardless of the theme. "

" It's human earthworm though. "

" I'm not going. "

" Awe, Y/N, what about you? "

" Uhm, no thanks. That movie franchise is... Not my thing. "

" We're gonna go shopping. Wanna join? "

" I just said I'm going to the movies! "

" Okay, see you later then. "

" Later Yuuji, have fun! "

The two of you walk along for a moment, agreeing about how stupid the whole concept of human earthworm is, when-

" Excuse me, do you know Itadori Yuuji? "

Moments later you, Nobara, and a girl whose name is Yuko, find yourselves at a simple cafe, as she explains the situation to you.

" This is me at our middle school graduation ceremony. "

She hands her phone to Nobara, and you peek over her shoulder. Woah, now that's a glow up.

" Woah, wait, that was only six months ago! What happened to you? "

" You did have quite the glow up. You're gorgeous!"

" Ah, thank you. I did grow 15 centimeters. And with moving to Tokyo and the stress of changing environments... "

" Woah... You're a real Sato Kuruko. "

" That's Itadori. -"

She's showing the two of you a different picture now. You recognize Yuuji in a different school uniform, only noticing now that he's really growing better into his features.

You hadn't gone to the same middle school as Yuuji in your own universe, instead, you were home schooled with the other kids of your clan. It's where you and Noritoshi learned to get along so well. He was a bastard child, yet next in line as the chief because of his technique. You're rejected because of your technique.

" On graduation day, I worked up the courage to ask him for a picture. I actually wanted to get his number too, but it was already decided that I would be moving to Tokyo. "

She continues to explain, her eyes downcast, a little sad about the memory.

" So when I saw Itadori earlier- I thought maybe with how I look now, I might.... "

You and Nobara catch on, giving each other incredulous looks.

" Wait, Yuko, you mean-"

You begin, looking at her like some sort of silly cartoon, Nobara finishing your sentence for you.

" - it's like that? "

Yuko replies with the same energy.

" Yes, it's like that. "

Barely a moment later, Nobara is calling someone. Ijichi, who was on his way to drop off Megumi. It doesn't take any effort for the driver to turn around. You doubt Megumi is aware of it.

" Someone who knows Itadori well is on his way here now. Let's hear what he has to say. "

" Uhm, if either of you are also interested in Itadori... "

Yuko starts, though Nobara's deadpan expression pulls a giggle from you.

" No. "

Her eyes look dead serious as she says so.

" Even if hell and earth were to dance the lambada, not happening. "

You snort at her words.

" Yeah, you don't need to worry. I'm not interested either. "

You smile reassuringly at Yuko. A few moments later, Megumi has arrived at your table, looking agitated. You smile at him.

" All right, what's the big deal? "

" Hey Megumi, does Itadori have a girlfriend? "

Nobara doesn't waste time today. She's getting straight into business.

He raises a brow at her.

" Hue? "

" This is Ozawa Yuko. She's actually something, something and something like... "

Her explanation is shady, both her and your expression serious.

He breaks out a sweat, understanding the situation.

" So it's like that? "

Both you and Nobara nod, sweating the seriousness of the situation as well.

" Yes, it's like that. "

He ends up sitting down beside you. (Figure out the seating plan yourself, I'm not gonna make it complicated.) With a black coffee.

You will never understand his preferred taste.

" I doubt it. He didn't seem particularly upset about moving to Tokyo all of a sudden. And he's got one of those posters hanging up in his room. Anyone with a girlfriend wouldn't put up something like that, right? She wouldn't like that. "

Meanwhile, Nobara seems to be more concerned about his choice of drink.

" Are you the type who drinks coffee black around girls to show off? Please stop. "

You blink as well, suddenly curious. Was he?

He's annoyed by her words.

" Don't forget, you're the one who called me. And I always drink it black. "

Yuko finally speaks up now, an adorable blush on her face.

" Um, by the way, do you happen to know what his type is? "

" A tall girl with a big ass. "

Both Megumi and Nobara turn to blink at you. You blink back at them.

" What? I grew up around him and his- around him. "

You blush in embarrassment, realizing you could be wrong. There's been enough proof of differences between your universe and this one after all.

" Well, you're correct either way. He mentioned something about liking tall girls. "

Yuko, Nobara and you seem to communicate telepathically, like some kind of electric signal spreads between the three of you. You clink your glasses together, and Nobara slams her phone on the table.

" You've got a shot! I'm gonna summon Itadori! You're okay with that right, Yuko?! "

She nods.

" Yes! "

The messages between them are silly, and fast. And now, all that's left to do is wait.

Not that you have to wait long. Soon enough Yuuji joins the scene, a paper bag of stuff in his hands.

" Oh!, Fushiguro's here too? "

Both you and Nobara blink. That was fast.

Suddenly, you hurriedly glance at Nobara. She hadn't told him why he needed to come. Hadn't told him about Yuko. There was no way he could recognize her when she changed so much- Nobara seems to realize too, sweating the situation, holding out her hand to quickly introduce the two of them to one another.

" Itadori! This girl is-"

" Oh!, it's Ozawa. How did you end up here? "

All three of you are impressed. Holding up imaginary 10s for his recognizing skill.

Yuko and Yuuji end up spending the rest of the afternoon together, with Megumi, Nobara and you tagging along behind them. Megumi even felt soft enough to hold Yuuji's stuff for him.

" Was that really okay, they could've at least exchanged numbers. "

Megumi points out, as Yuko leaves by train later that afternoon. You agree. Kind of. They had seemed to hit it off after all.

" She exchanged hers with me, so it'll be fine. More important, Fushiguro, Y/N, I've finally recognized my own feelings. "

Both of you give her a curious glance.

" Hue? "

Was she about to admit to having feelings for him? You shouldn't be surprised. The two got along really well, after all-

" The idea of Itadori getting a girlfriend before I get a boyfriend really pisses me off. "

Maybe not. You grin at her words, an imaginary embarrassed sweat drop running down your brow.

Of course she'd say something like that. That sounds more like her.

Megumi doesn't seem surprised.

" Is that so? "

" Sorry for the wait! "

Yuuji jumps back in between you and Nobara.

" Walk behind me. "

You blink at Nobara's words.

" Huh, what's this? What're you talking about? "

Yuuji seems confused. A feeling you relate to. Megumi doesn't seem to care.

" Here. "

He's handing Yuuji back his bag of stuff.

" Here, while you're at it. "

" Huh? What's this? "

" Wouldn't you feel bad for making a lady carry them? "

She's handing him her own bags now.

" Sure. "

Yuuji doesn't seem to mind.

" Want me to carry your stuff too, Y/N? "

You smile at him, shaking your head. You're only holding one plastic bag loosely between your fingers, the bag full of snacks.

" Oh, shoot! The movie's about to start, let's go! "

Yuuji's jogging before any of you actually can check the time.

" Hey! Wait up! Don't take my stuff with you! There's no way I'm watching some wormo man! "

Yuuji ignores her words, turning to Megumi.

" Fushiguro, Y/N, wanna grab some popcorn? Fushiguro, you like caramel flavoured right? "

" Don't just assume we're all going to watch wormo man. "

" I told you all, it's human earthworm. 4! "

You regret watching human earthworm 4.

There had been a little too many horror like sound effects and jumps in it, and now you didn't feel like sleeping. Your fear of horror films was a bit childish, but it rarely bothered you.

And so you find yourself leaving your dorm. You want to make dumplings. But you don't have all the ingredients, so you need to go to a 24h convenient store.

" What're you doing? "

Your skin shivers before you jump, turning around to face the intruder who's sneaked up on you.

" What the- Don't sneak up on me like that! "

Megumi blinks plainly at you.

" Where are you going at this hour? "

" 24h convenient store. I can't- I'm gonna make dumplings. "

" Why? Do you really need to at this hour? Don't we have some in the freezer from the last package Yuuji got? "

" Yeah, but I want to make them fresh. "

Megumi blinks at you again, before sighing.

" Okay, well, give me a second to change. I'm coming with you. "

You hadn't even realized that he was in his pijamas. You're in your pijamas too, an oversized sweater and a comfortable pair of leggings. You don't feel bothered enough to change though.

A few moments later, he returns.

" Okay, let's go. "

Thankfully, the walk towards the convenience store is short. Only 10 minutes. The silence between the two of you is comfortable, as you walk side by side down the stairs of Jujutsu Tech.

You eye the forest surrounding the school grounds warily, like something might jump out to attack you any second. Like you don't have powers that literally render every living creature. Megumi glances down at you, realization finally making it's way into his brain.

" Are you afraid of the dark? "

The wrong realization. But don't worry, he'll get there.

You blink.

" Oh, uhm, err- something like that. "

He's admittedly puzzled. So you weren't afraid of the dark. Maybe you've had a bad dream? He doesn't decide to push it. Instead, he softly takes your hand, holding it in his own, distracting you from your fears.

You glance at him, a blush on your face. You smile gratefully at him, squeezing his hand as your peaceful silence returns.

It doesn't take you long to get the remaining ingredients, and soon enough, the two of you are back at the dorms, now stood in the kitchen.

" Thanks. You didn't need to come with me you know? "

You smile at him as you unpack the bag. He blushes, looking away.

" I wasn't going to let you go alone at this hour. "

He mumbles it, but it's just loud enough for you to hear.

He eyes you preparing, before moving to stand at your side, nudging you away.

" I'll cut up the vegetables. "

" Ah, thank you. "

There's a certain peace that resides between the two of you as you work in the kitchen together. It was nice, getting to know him this way. Your Megumi and you would've been bickering already.

Once you've set the dough, you help in cutting up the remaining ingredients. Noticing he's deciding on the amount of ginger to cut up, you smile at him.

" You can add extra if you'd like. "

He raises a brow at you.

" You like extra ginger? "

" Not necessarily, but you do, right? "

He blinks, his eyes open in amazement. How did you know that?

" Does your universe's Megumi like extra ginger too? "

You shrug.

" Not sure. We don't actually get along that well in my universe.- I noticed you ordered that chicken dish that's ginger based, and how you were measuring just now. I just put one and one together and guessed. "

The quick smile you send leaves him blushing once more. He smiles at you. He hadn't realized you were so perceptive.

His eyes return to his chopping work.

" Tsumiki used to make dumplings with me when we were younger. "

You smile as he softens around you, before your features sharpen.

" Oh, right, I completely forgot about it, but I wondered if I could visit Tsumiki sometime? I healed her in my universe, you see. "

Megumi's eyes widen, the grip on the knife he's holding loosening. Were you that powerful? You mentioned being able to use reverse cursed energy, but were you really able to apply that to illness as well?

" I- you healed her? With your reverse cursed technique? Why? I thought we didn't get along in your universe? "

You nod.

" That's true. Our relationship in my universe is hard to explain. I wouldn't borrow the you from my universe my charger, but if he'd need a kidney I'd offer it. We originally did get along. Until something silly happened. Gojo introduced us at a young age. "

Megumi's eyes remain wide. In all honesty, he was mostly still surprised that you might be able to heal her. He also didn't exactly understand how your universe's version of himself didn't like him. You were amazing. And if he were to be selfish, he wished you'd stay.

" Hey, you guys are still up- what are you making? "

Both of you turn to see Yuuji standing in the kitchen's entryway, holding an empty bowl he must be returning. The moment is gone, the conversation something you'll return to later.

" Yeah, we're making dumplings, wanna join? "

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minawritesfanfic · 13 days

Text

You are who you eat

Dexter Morgan x Reader

Word count: 2k

Summary: You thought you were the only rational serial killer in maimi but when you walk in on a certain someone from work, you realize you’re view of the world was very shallow.

Part 1

Previous | Next

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I hummed to myself as I walked into work, Miami Metro Police Department. In one hand was four cups of fresh coffee and in the other a donut that I’d bought for myself, I greeted the girl at the front desk, Alissa, we said a quick hello and exchanged pleasantries before I continued down the hallway towards my office. I greeted nearly everyone I saw as I passed them making idly plans to visit this person, go to that persons birthday, and go swimming with another. After three more invitations I finally managed to make it to my sweet corner of the station and was greeted by familiar faces, only Jackie looked up at me with a smile. Sterling and Josefina l exhausted after pulling an all nighter.

“Good morning, you guys look like you need this.” I set down the coffees on their desks and looked up gratefully.

“You’re a godsend mi vida, you’re the reason I live.” Josefina said as she sipped away at her coffee and I just laughed as I set down my own coffee.

“You’re welcome, how come you guys are still here?”

“I’m still finishing my report but then I’m leaving.” Sterling said stretching his arms for a bit before grabbing his coffee.

“I was on my way out, just waiting for you to get here. These are for you to give to homicide, while I am going home to sleep for five days straight.” She grabbed a box off the floor and handed it to me.

“Uhh what’s this?” I asked as I damn near dropped the box from to how heavy it was, inside there were various old looking laptops.

“These are all the new computers that need to be distributed to the homicide department, but first we need to make sure they’re all using the correct and up to date software. Heads up most of them don’t.”

“So this is what all the approved overtime was for, just great. Alright I’ve got it from here, I’ll see you Thursday Josie.” I said as I set the box on the floor beside my desk.

I waved to Josefina as she left before sitting down at my desk, I booted up my computer and checked my email for my assignments for today. There were only three thankful so I decided to get those out of the way before starting on the computers for the homicide, I sent a quick reply and stood. I grabbed my coffee and took a sip as I stepped out the office, first on the agenda was a blue screen in one of the departments upstairs. I happily sipped at my coffee as I made my way to the elevator and as I pressed the button for the next floor I heard someone call out for me to hold the elevator. I did and a guy I had seen around a few times stepped into the elevator with his bag and he thanked me smiling politely. The elevator stopped at the next floor and we both stepped out, the man went straight ahead to homicide and I watched him for a moment before heading to left to internal affairs where I’d been requested and went to see what the issue was.

Thankfully I managed to finish all my assignments and with the computers for homicide at a reasonable hour, so I still have time to start preparing for my next meal, pot roasted Roger Hicks. Full time car salesman part time scum bag, he came on my radar after his name popped up in an ongoing case. After meeting with him in person and visting his home it was clear that he was exactly the kind of scum I thought he was, and tonights was the night I take him and turn him a more refined dish. I decided to stake out at the car dealership, wait for everyone to leave then strike him just as he’s leaving.

Finally the sun had set and I knew it was time as I saw Roger leaving the office, he had his bag over his shoulder and seemed to be in a good mood. I quietly got out of my car, I doubled checked my surroundings and started to cross the parking lot towards him when he suddenly turned around. I ducked back where I was and hid behind one of the show cars and realized that there was someone behind him, I peeked out from my hiding spot planning to hide until they left Roger alone but to my surprise they started to strangle him with something I couldn’t make out from afar in the dark. I was baffled and frustrated as I couldn’t even make out the other persons face as they had their back to me, all I could do was silently watch as the took the now collapsed Roger and rolled him into their van. I was speechless and frozen in place but composed myself as they got into their car, I had to find out what they were going to do to him. I got back in my car and watched as they high tailed it out of the parking lot, I turned my car on and followed them out.

It was a short drive but I made sure to be careful that whoever this was didn’t catch me followikg them, and I watched as they pulled into the driveway of a house I recognized. One of the victims houses, Ann Cohen, a chill ran down my spine as I drove past the house and parked further up the street. I got out and walked back to the house sneaking up on the side, I tried peeking in through the windows but I couldn’t see much of anything. I was going to have to break in, I sighed and went around to the back door which to my luck was still unlocked. I was thankful I wouldn’t have to lock pick anything because I absolutely sucked at it, I entered the house quietly and shut the door behind me. The house looked relatively untouched beyond some of Ann’s things being packed up in boxes, it was saddening knowing someone so full of life had it snuffed out and tainted. The thought revived my anger reminding me why I had chosen Roger for my next meal, I should be the one killing him not doing whatever this weirdo was trying to do.

I froze as I approached the living room and saw what this mystery person had done to it, it was covered in plastic and as I stepped closer I could see pictures on the wall that I realized where Roger’s other victims. Most notably though was Roger fucking Hicks laid out bare on a table covered in plastic wrap, I crouched down and decided to watch before doing anything rash. I watch through the plastic as this mystery man talked to Roger, I still couldn’t see his face as he had again had his back to me but as he began to walk around I saw him.

“Looks different under plastic but you spent an evening here… with Ann Cohen.” He said pointing to the corner of the room, “You took her last breath from her right over there. You remember?” I barely managed to supress my gasp of surprise. I know this guy, I work with this guy.

“No! You’re- you’re wrong, I couldn’t.” Roger denied adamantly and clearly confused.

“Well you would and you did, and you were about to do it again. That’s why we’re here.”

“No, this is insane. You got the wrong guy I-I sell cars, for godsake. I’ve never hurt anyone in my life- definitely not a woman.”

“Why can’t I do that?” The man asked ignoring all of Roger’s pathetic excuses.

“Do what?”

“Lie like that. I mean I thought I was good, but you, it’s.. mwah.” He said walking away to the other side of the table grabbing something that I wasn’t able to see.

“I don’t lie!”

“Okay, that one was weak.”

Roger started to try and buy his way out offering the man but he had a rebuttal to everything he said, it was almost funny watching their interaction. Roger trying everything he could but nothing seemed to work on him, as he so easily saw through his lies. Though as Roger brought up his girlfriend things seemed to take a different turn and he had the man’s full attention, even though his words were uncaring but his body language portrayed a different picture. Roger didn’t see what I saw though and started an angry tangent about how awful women were but he wasn’t rambling on long before the man stabbed him in the chest. I took that as my cue to leave, I knew who this guy was and what his intentions are but I need to learn more I do anything rash. I stood up but my legs were weak from being on the floor for so long, I reached out to the thing neared to me and accidentally knocked over a lamp.

I turned and saw him looking directly towards me but I figured he couldn’t make out my face in the dark, I bolted out the door and back around the house. I could hear him scrambling out to follow me but he didn’t follow me for long, I figured he thought it was better to clean up after himself than chase me. I sighed and got back into my car, driving off without giving it a second thought. My heart was racing and adrenaline pumped through my veins, I had seen a lot of things as a serial killer but never something like this. Sure I’d seen organized and carefully killers before but never like that, that was the king of kill room where nothing was left behind. It was the perfect crime scene, part of me was jealous I hadn’t though of it first it was so much smarter then staying in one place where I could be found. Not that I was going to give up the cozy spot that was my morgue kill room, it was like a third home to me but I couldn’t still admire this guy’s dedication to the craft.

The drive home was quiet, I was so consumed in my thoughts I hadn’t even bothered to turn on the radio. I just couldn’t get what I saw out of my mind and all yhe anger I felt over having my target stolen simply faded away, I was enamored and fascinated by him. Though I needed to do some more research as he may be another person I need to add to my grocery list, I hoped I wouldn’t have to. From his words it seemed like he had targeted Roger specifically because of what he had done to both those girls and was planning to do to another, maybe he killed murders and serial killers like me. Maybe that was me jumping the gun, but it was nice to hope because that definitely wasn’t his first time killing. My mind wandered on and on even as I started unlocking my front door, I pulled out my key and swung the door open before shutting it behind me. I carefully took off my shoes at the front door and proceeded to plop down onto my couch, a wistful sigh left my lips as I started up at the ceiling. I couldn’t wait for tomorrow to come as it would give me the chance to find out who this mystery guy was, for now all I knew was that he worked in homicide. Which was likely where he found Roger, I managed to get a glimpse at the case when I was restoring some files on one of the detectives computers. I wondered what he kept as a trophy for his kills, maybe he photographed them like me. After every meal I turn my victims into, I scrapebook it. Its perfectly inconspicuous and allows me to broadcast it to the whole world with no fear of someone questioning, because without context its just a compliantion of dishes I have made. Regardless it was getting late and I had work in the morning, with a groan I rolled off the couch and disappeared into my bedroom not even bothering to shower before bed.

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#minawritesfanfic #reader insert #x reader #my writing #fanfiction #fluff #dexter moser #dexter morgan #dexter #dexter morgan x reader #first chapter

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wannabehockeygf · 2 months

Note

22 with connor dewar 👀

Trance - Connor Dewar

“Might give her a chance, it’s givin’ her,

Out in a trance, it’s givin’ her.”

Prompt #22: “Are you trying to make me hard?”

Summary: On a couples getaway with your boyfriend and his best friend and girlfriend, you find yourself by the fire with him, wanting to take the next step in your relationship

Word count: 4k… got a little carried away

Pairing: Connor Dewar x fem!reader

Warnings: fingering (f receiving), non-consensual voyeurism (basically doing naughty things in front of others without them knowing), dom/sub dynamic

Notes:

- first prompt request thank u brave soul

- I’ve been wanting to write more heavy power dynamic stuff and doing it with Dewey felt wrong… but it looks pretty nice tbh

- and there’s also power dynamic switching

- also duhaime mention because even tho I didn’t know who he was before dewar was traded to the leafs I love his goofy ass

- my eyes skimmed over this. not really proof read !

side profile… dewey 2 fucks

***

The first time you met Connor and he introduced himself, you honestly found it kind of annoying that he would talk about home so much. How much small town superiority could a person even muster that it got to that extent?

Well, as you got to know him, you figured out it wasn’t a superiority. He genuinely just liked the calm, the atmosphere, and the familiarity of home, and letting people know about it was just a small part of his love language.

So, when he invited you back home for a couples getaway with his best friend and his girlfriend, you were excited. The town wasn’t much to sneeze at, sure, but when Connor surprised you, saying that he rented a cabin by Clearwater Lake for the weekend, all you wanted to do was kiss him all over.

Badly. Because the two of you hadn’t even had sex yet.

You didn’t even know why, and it was killing you that this straight out of heaven guy that somehow chose you, of all people, hadn’t even attempted to go past a little bit of kissing.

And you’d tried, oh, you tried to let him know you wanted more, but all he wanted to do was be sweet. Take you out on dates, buy you flowers, and double-check you were okay with it every time he wanted to do something as simple as hold your hand.

It was frankly sickening, one, because you’d never had anyone treat you that good before, and two, you were so very horny, and wanted nothing more than for him to dick you down already.

Brandon yelled from the bottom of the stairs, “You better come down now, or else Connor might throw a fit!” He said it in his usual teasing manner, making sure you were still on your way down.

You chuckled at his words. Imagining Connor throwing a fit was difficult; he was so level-headed and patient, even when things didn’t go as planned. But you knew Brandon was just messing around—he seemed to enjoy joking around and messing with people all the time.

“Coming!” you called back, running your hands through your hair in the mirror one last time to ensure you looked presentable.

It wasn’t a situation that required looking nice, but after a day of swimming and walking around, you felt rather gross and decided a quick shower was necessary before joining the others by the fire.

Descending the stairs, you heard the wood creaking softly under your feet and smelled the lingering scent of pine in the cabin’s air. Moonlight filtered through the windows, casting a cool glow that danced on the walls. Stepping outside, the fresh scent of the lake mixed with the earthy aroma of the forest filled your lungs. The cabin sat in a clearing, surrounded by tall trees that whispered secrets to the wind.

Connor and Brandon were by the fire pit, the flames flickering and crackling, sending sparks into the dusky sky. Kaylee, Brandon’s girlfriend, sat in a lawn chair beside him, with Connor opposite them.

He looked good. Dark brown hair flopped messily over his forehead, and the firelight captured the green in his eyes in a way that made your head spin. Sitting with his legs spread slightly, he smiled as he saw you join them, gesturing for you to sit in the chair beside him.

This was your chance. You wanted to make it obvious enough that maybe he would get the hint and give you what you desperately craved. However, you couldn’t do anything too crazy with Brandon and Kaylee right there.

You felt the warmth of the fire as you approached Connor, the soft glow casting an ethereal light on his features. Ignoring the chair he gestured to, you plopped right down on his lap. The chair creaked slightly under your combined weight, but Connor’s arms instinctively wrapped around you, steadying you.

Connor’s embrace was warm and steady, his heartbeat quickening against your back. The scent of his cologne mingled with the smoky aroma of the fire, creating an intoxicating mix that made your head spin. You leaned back into his chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles through his shirt. The fire crackled loudly, casting dancing shadows on the surrounding trees and the faces of your friends.

Brandon and Kaylee shared a knowing look, Kaylee not wanting to intrude. But Brandon definitely did. “You comfortable?” he probed, his voice teasing.

You smirked at Brandon, your eyes twinkling with mischief. "Very comfortable, thanks," you replied, nestling further into Connor's embrace. You felt his muscles tense slightly beneath you, a wave of satisfaction washing over you.

Connor’s hand moved slowly to rest on your hip, his thumb drawing slow circles against your skin. The gesture was tender and intimate, sending shivers down your spine. The fire’s warmth was nothing compared to the heat radiating from Connor’s body, and you reveled in the closeness, letting your hips grind on him softly, hoping he’d take the hint.

Instead, he took a deep, shaky breath, looking up at you with eyes filled with emotions you couldn’t decipher. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear, “Are you trying to make me hard?”

A thrill ran through your body at Connor's words, the huskiness of his voice sending electric currents through your veins. You turned your head slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, a playful yet serious glint in your own. "Maybe," you whispered back, your breath mingling with his, the proximity almost unbearable.

Connor’s grip on your hip tightened slightly, his fingers digging into your skin in a way that sent waves of anticipation through you. “Hmm, interesting…” he said, making you frown as the fire crackled louder, echoing the growing tension between you. You could hear Brandon and Kaylee chatting softly, their voices a distant murmur against the roar of your heartbeat.

As you shifted subtly on his lap, your movements elicited a low, involuntary groan from Connor. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, as though trying to regain control. “Please, baby…” you moaned softly into his ear, feeling your clothing more like a barrier than anything else.

Connor’s face flushed at your plea, and you felt his body tense beneath you. His eyes darted nervously to Brandon and Kaylee, who seemed engrossed in their conversation. He swallowed hard, struggling to maintain his composure, but the growing bulge beneath you betrayed his thoughts.

He cleared his throat, his voice shaky, "Uh, maybe we should, um, get you a chair." He tried to sound casual, but the way his hands tightened on your hips told you he was anything but.

You smiled slyly, leaning in closer, your lips grazing his ear as you whispered, "I think I'm good right here." You pressed down slightly, feeling him twitch beneath you, and you could almost hear the gears turning in his head as he fought to keep control.

Connor’s face flushed deeper, his breath coming in ragged bursts. He glanced at Brandon and Kaylee again, his eyes filled with a mix of anxiety and desire. "Seriously, I think..." he began, but his voice trailed off as you shifted again, pressing intimately against him.

Kaylee’s voice rang through your moment, her expression curious, “Woah, Connor, you okay? You’re like, bright red and sweating.”

Connor tried to muster a laugh, but it came out more like a strangled cough. "Yeah, just... you know, the fire." His eyes flick back to yours, silently pleading for rescue, but also filled with undeniable heat. “Babe,” he whispered in your ear, “If you keep this up, it might not end well for you.”

You can’t help but let out a soft, teasing laugh, feeling the tension in the air thicken around you. “Oh, really? What’s that supposed to mean?” you whispered back, deliberately shifting your weight on his lap to push him further.

Connor's hands gripped your hips firmly, his fingers digging in as if trying to ground himself against the temptation of your touch. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a breathy, almost inaudible moan. When he does speak, his voice is strained, a mix of desire and frustration. “It means,” he whispered, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear, “I’m trying to be patient, but you’re making it very difficult.”

You sensed Connor’s resolve wavering, his control slipping as you continued to grind against him, each movement a deliberate attempt to tease and tantalize.

“Why are you trying to be patient?” you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear again. “I’m right here, and I want you. Why not just let go?”

Connor’s breath hitched, his grip on your hips tightening as he fought for composure. “Because...,” he started, his voice faltering as he struggled to maintain a steady tone, “I like you a lot, and if you keep doing that, I might take you behind those trees and fuckin’ ruin you.”

The raw honesty in his voice causes your jaw to drop slightly , making your heart pound even faster. His words lingered in the air, charged with electricity that made your skin tingle. You met his eyes, seeing the fierce battle of desire and restraint within them, and you know you pushed him to his limits.

Before you can respond, Connor’s hand slides from your hip to your thigh, his touch both firm and tender as he rubs his thumb on the inside. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Is that what you want?”

His breath against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, and your heart races in response. You leaned back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark with desire, and you can see the intensity in them, a stark contrast to the playful, patient Connor you’ve come to know.

“Yes,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible above the crackling fire and the murmur of Brandon and Kaylee’s conversation. “That’s exactly what I want.”

Connor’s eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw tightening as if he’s still trying to maintain some semblance of control. He glanced once more at your friends, who are now laughing about something, oblivious to the charged atmosphere between you two. When he meets your gaze again, he does something unexpected and smiles. “Hmm,” he started, his thumb still rubbing your thigh, “That sucks for you, then.”

“You’re going to play hard to get now?” you whispered, trying to mask the frustration in your voice as you shifted slightly on his lap.

Connor’s gaze remained locked on yours, his thumb continuing its slow, tantalizing circles on your thigh. “Not exactly,” he said softly, his voice low and steady. “Call it getting even.”

You swallowed hard, the frustration and desire making your head spin. His teasing was maddening, each touch and word stoking the fire within you. Every breath, every slight movement felt amplified, heightening your senses to the brink. It was an exquisite torment.

"You’re evil," you breathed, attempting a playful tone, but your voice emerged husky and raw. "You know that, right?"

Connor chuckled softly, the sound resonating deeply, sending a thrill through you. "Maybe," he replied, his hand sliding higher up your thigh, just brushing the edge of your shorts. "But you like it, don't you?" His voice was a seductive purr, each word carefully measured to elicit a response.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress a groan. His touch was light, teasing, promising so much more if only he would give in. You shifted again, pressing yourself against him, hoping to coax him into action, but he remained maddeningly calm. His fingers continued their exploration, always holding back just enough to drive you wild.

"Connor," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, "please..."

His eyes flashed with something dark and primal, but he maintained his composure, his smirk widening. "Please what?" he asked, his tone infuriatingly casual.

You swallowed hard, feeling a flush creep up your neck. "Please," you repeated, struggling to find the words as his hand crept higher, “Touch me.”

Connor's eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and desire, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on you. His thumb continued to brush the sensitive skin of your thigh, each stroke sending a jolt of electricity through your body. He leaned in closer, his lips just inches from your ear, and you could feel his warm breath against your skin. "Touch you?" he murmured, his voice low and seductive. "Right here, in front of them?”

The thrill of being so close, yet so far from what you craved, was intoxicating.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice needy, “Right here. I don’t care.”

Connor’s eyes darkened, his fingers tightening slightly on your thigh. He leaned back, a frown playing on his lips. “But you’re such a pretty girl,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire, “I wouldn’t want to make a mess of you in front of our friends.”

His hand slid slowly up your thigh, his touch light and teasing. His fingers danced along the hem of your shorts, never quite moving where you wanted them to. You shifted on his lap, trying to press closer, but he tightened his grip on your hip, holding you in place. “Stay still,” he urged you, “Or they’ll know what’s happening.”

The way he controlled your movements, the firmness of his grip, was both maddening and exhilarating. You nodded, trying to stay still, your breath hitching with every teasing stroke of his fingers against your thigh.

He leaned in closer, "You know," he whispered, his voice low and dangerous, "I could slide my hand inside these shorts right now, and make you come with just my fingers. But then we'd have to explain to Brandon and Kaylee why you're trembling and breathless." His lips brushed against yours for a moment before straying away to nuzzle his face in the crook of your neck. "You're such a good girl, aren't you?" he murmured, his breath hot against your neck. "Trying so hard to behave, even when you're desperate for me."

You could feel his breath against your neck, each exhale sending waves of anticipation through your body. His lips brushed your skin, trailing soft kisses along your jawline and down to your collarbone. “Where’d all of this come from?” you breathed, your voice trembling with need, “Why haven’t you done this yet?” You questioned as you tried to shift again, hoping to get a reaction out of him, but he held you firmly in place, his grip unyielding.

Connor's lips curved into a slow, mischievous smile against your skin. "I like being your boyfriend. Wanna make you feel cared for," he whispered, his voice low. His hand continued its torturous path up your thigh, this time his fingers brushing against your underwear.

You bit your lip to stifle a moan as his lips found your ear again. He whispered, "I could make you beg for it, right here and now. But you like that, don’t you? Knowing that anyone could see what’s happening if they look a little closer…” His voice was a seductive growl, filled with a confidence you hadn't seen before. It sent a wave of excitement through you, and you shifted slightly on his lap, desperate for more contact.

His hand slid over your panties once more, pressing against your core with just enough pressure to make you gasp. "God, you’re fuckin’ soaked," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I think you can wait a little longer, don’t you? Be a good girl and sit still for me."

The mix of his commanding tone and the gentle pressure of his hand was intoxicating. You wanted to cry out, to plead for more, but you knew you couldn’t risk drawing attention. Instead, you nodded, biting your lip hard to keep from making any noise. Your hips involuntarily pushed against his hand, seeking more friction, more of him.

Connor’s chuckle was low and husky. "Such a needy little thing," he mused, his fingers tracing lazy circles over your panties. The sensation was almost unbearable, the teasing strokes making you ache for more. He leaned back slightly, slipping his other hand beneath your shirt. “Is that one of mine?” he questioned, referring to the worn-out Minnesota Wild branded t-shirt you had on.

You nodded, feeling the heat of his hand against your skin. “Yes,” you breathed, trying to keep your voice steady. “I like the way it smells.”

Connor hummed in approval, peppering a few kisses along your jawline. “Good,” he murmured, his hand sliding up beneath the fabric to caress the bare skin of your stomach. “You can have all my shirts if you want them. Let everyone know you’re mine.”

His hand beneath your shirt moved higher, his fingers brushing the underside of your bra. His touch was light, teasing, as if testing your patience. "Are you sure you can handle this?" he whispered, his lips brushing against your earlobe. "You're already so worked up, and I'm barely touching you."

You shivered at his words, your breath hitching as his fingers continued to explore. "Please," you breathed, barely able to contain the desperation in your voice. "I can't take it anymore."

Connor chuckled softly, a dark, throaty sound that made your pulse quicken. "Calm down, I’m not going anywhere.” he murmured, his hand sliding back down to your stomach, just above the waistband of your shorts. “If you only knew the things I’ve imagined doing to you,” he whispered, his hand underneath now purposely rubbing slow circles on your clit.

"Tell me," you whispered, your voice trembling with need. "Fuck, please."

Connor's fingers pressed down just enough to elicit a gasp from you, his touch driving you wild with frustration and desire. "I've been thinking," he said, his voice low and rough, "about how you'd look with your back arched, fingers tangled in the sheets, begging for me as I have you pinned down, taking you apart piece by piece.”

You swallowed hard, your body reacting instinctively to the images he painted with his voice. His fingers continued their torturous exploration, his touch just shy of what you needed to push you over the edge. You could feel the heat rising, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you struggled to maintain your composure.

Connor’s hand slipped under your panties, his fingers pressing against your core with a firmer touch. "And there’s more. Couldn’t stop thinking about how your body would feel against mine with nothing in between, how your moans would sound, how you’d wrap around me and take every fucking inch of me,” he paused, looking up at you with innocent eyes that didn’t match what he was saying at all, “But that’s just skimming the surface.”

You whimpered, your body aching with the need for more. "Please," you begged, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need you."

Connor's fingers slipped inside you, the sudden intrusion making you gasp. He moved slowly, his touch gentle but firm, each stroke sending shivers of pleasure through your body. "There we go…"

You could barely respond, your mind clouded with desire and the sensation of his fingers inside you. "Yes," you whispered, your voice trembling with need. "Fuck, yes, Connor. Please."

His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that made you gasp and squirm in his lap. "Stay still," he commanded softly, his voice firm. "Or do you want them to know what you’re letting me do to you?"

You shook your head, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you fought to keep quiet. The pleasure was overwhelming, your body trembling with the effort to stay composed. Connor's fingers moved faster, his touch sending waves of ecstasy through you. "You’re so close, aren’t you?" His voice was a tantalizing mix of control and desire, a reminder of who was in charge. "I can feel you shaking, baby. Just a little more, and you can come. But you have to stay quiet for me. Can you do that?"

You could barely breathe, your body trembling as you fought to keep your moans silent. The fire crackled loudly, masking some of the soft sounds of your labored breaths and the wet, rhythmic motions of his fingers inside you. Brandon and Kaylee's conversation was a distant murmur, their laughter and casual chatter a stark contrast to the intense, intimate moment you were sharing with Connor.

Connor's fingers curled inside you, hitting just the right spot, and you couldn't hold back a soft gasp. He immediately tightened his grip on your hip, his other hand stilling on your clit. "Shh," he admonished gently, his breath hot against your ear. "I said stay quiet, didn't I?"

You nodded frantically, biting down harder on your lip to keep from making any more noise. “I’m sorry, I just—“

Before you could finish your sentence, Connor’s hand which had been holding you still by your hip came up to press against your mouth, “I’m not asking you,” he mumbled, his fingers resuming their movements, “I’m telling you. Be quiet, and you’ll get what you need.”

You nodded frantically, your eyes squeezed shut as you focused on the sensations coursing through you. Connor's hand pressed more firmly against your mouth, his other hand working you with a relentless, maddening rhythm. Your body trembled, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak.

"Baby," he murmured, his voice a seductive growl that only intensified the heat between your legs. "Just a little more. Stay quiet for me."

The gravity of his touch was too much, and you felt your body tense as the orgasm built within you. Connor's fingers moved faster, his thumb pressing against your clit with just the right amount of pressure. The world seemed to blur around you, the only thing you could focus on was the disorienting pleasure he was giving you.

And then, with a final, expert stroke, he pushed you over the edge. Your body convulsed, the orgasm ripping through you with a force that left you breathless. You bit down on his hand to stifle the scream that threatened to escape, your body shaking as waves of pleasure washed over you.

Connor held you firmly, his fingers still moving inside you as he guided you through the intense climax. He whispered soothing words in your ear, his touch gentle and reassuring. "I’ve got you," he murmured. "Good girl. Just let it all out."

As the waves of your orgasm subsided, Connor's hand stayed pressed gently over your mouth, muffling any stray sounds you couldn't contain. He slowed the movement of his fingers, easing you down from the intense high while maintaining his teasing touch. His hand eventually shifted from your mouth to cradle your face, his thumb brushing tenderly against your cheek.

You opened your eyes, still dazed and breathless, to find him watching you with a slight grin. The fire's glow reflected in his eyes, giving them an almost feral intensity. "So good for me," he murmured, his voice a mix of praise and satisfaction. He slowly withdrew his fingers from you, causing a shudder to run through your body. The loss left you aching, craving more of his touch.

Connor brought his hand up to his lips, licking his fingers clean with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving yours. The sight sent another thrill through you, making your pulse quicken. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, possessive kiss, tasting the remnants of your pleasure on your lips. His tongue teased yours, deepening the kiss and making your head spin.

Breaking the kiss, he nuzzled his nose against your cheek, whispering softly, "Should we go inside?” He asked, his hand trailing back down your body, tracing lazy patterns on your thigh. The touch was both comforting and electrifying, a reminder of what had just transpired, and what’s still to happen. You could feel the evidence of your arousal still wet between your thighs, and the knowledge that he had seen you so vulnerable only fueled your desire.

You nodded eagerly, unable to form coherent words. The desire still burning within you was insatiable, and the thought of being alone with Connor, away from prying eyes, made your heart race. He gently lifted you off of his lap, standing up shortly afterward and holding your waist to steady your still-shaking legs. “We’re gonna call it a night,” he announced, his eyes locked on yours.

"Have fun," Brandon called after you, his voice laced with amusement. Kaylee waved, giving you a knowing smile. You barely registered their goodbyes as Connor guided you back into the cabin, his hand firmly on the small of your back.

This was going to be one hell of a night.

#toronto maple leafs #connor dewar #nhl fanfiction #nhl x reader #nhl imagine #connor dewar fanfic #cd24 #Connor dewar x reader #minnesota wild

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odxrilove · 2 years

Text

☆ VERNON BOYFRIEND HABITS

pairing: vernon x reader

genre: headcannons, fluff, established relationship

a/n: 5th part of the seventeen boyfriend habits series (requested) !! sent an ask to suggest the next member! ask to be on the taglist or fill out the form!

back to seventeen boyfriend habits masterlist!

☆ covers your lap with his jacket whenever you wear skirts or dresses

vernon isn’t the jealous type, he never ever even thought he would be that type. he lets you wear whatever you want, doesn't get angry at you for having guy friends and doesn’t even blink an eye when one of his band members greets you with an arm thrown over your shoulder. but the one time he felt a bit of jealousy creep up was when you two were going home by metro after a party and this guy sitting opposite of you two was eyeing your naked legs and short skirt continuously and with no shame. vernon nearly wanted to land a punch when the creepy guy licked his lips, but how could he when you looked at him with those pretty pleading eyes of yours. so your boyfriend only took off his jacket, covering your lap with the clothing, making sure you were as comfortable as possible as he kept an eye on the guy, glaring at him from time to time and holding you close to him in a protective manner. now, his jackets always cover your lap when you wear dresses or skirts, the warm material keeping you comfy.

☆ traces little hearts on your skin when his hand is on your thigh

vernon is always doing something with his hand, specifically his fingers. as a man with a passion for music, he always taps his fingers on whatever surface he can find. at first, it was a table or a counter, or a railing, or even his own phone sometimes. but now that you two started dating, he quickly caught himself using your thigh as surface, the skin soft under his finger tips. you didn’t mind any bit and redirected his hand to your thigh when he pulled back in embarrassment. you think it’s nice to feel the soft tapping of his fingers on your skin, even more so when he pats and squeezes your thigh right after as thank you. but you think that what you love the most about it is the little shapes he often draws when he’s thinking about something. he would sometimes stop in the middle of tapping and draw little hearts on your skin, and the first time he did it, shivers ran down your spine.

☆ always makes you listen to his music first

music is a very important aspect in vernon’s life. it’s his passion, his studies, his job, his career. vernon isn’t vernon without his music, it’s a well known fact. another fact is that you are a very important part of his life too. you’re his partner, one of his biggest supporters, the person he cherishes and wants to share his life with. it’s beautiful how grateful vernon is for you and he couldn’t think of any way he would be able to repay you for the years of support you’ve given him. so, in his mind, the least he could do is show you how much you inspire him, how much he loves you. you’re always the first one to hear his music, the first one he calls over to the studio when he’s finished writing or producing a song. the first time he made you listen to a new song of his, shyly placing his headphones on your head, he tried to explain the song was for you and you only, to thank you for staying by his side. to this day, that special song is still your most played by his.

☆ sharing earphones while walking and holding hands

like i mentioned before, music is very important for vernon. he couldn’t spend a day without listening to music, it’s like a drug to him. to fuel his very impressive but scary music obsession, he has a giant collection of headphones, earphones and walkmans. some are old, borderline prehistoric, some were gifts from when he was young and some are new; it’s a very diverse collection and he’s very proud of it. however, between all his headphones, earphones, walkmans and music players, vernon has one item he cherishes the most. it’s the most boring pair of earphones to exist, a simple white one with no buttons to change the volume or pause the song. it’s his favorite because it’s what you two use to listen to music while walking around the city, swinging your interlocked hands together back and forth on the beat. but it was also the earphones he wore when he first saw you, and it was the earphones that were in his pocket when you shared a first kiss.

perm. taglist: @0x1lovebot @fairybinie @blaqpinksthetic @odetoyeonjun @pockyandme @soobin-chois @soobisms @junityy @kaimal @laylasbunbunny @jaeyunverse

svt bf habits taglist: @baldi-2 @soov @ggyulicious @enhacolor @shuabby1994 @mariecoura @rosellerinfrost @jaemicr @just-here-to-read-01

please do not copy, repost or steal any of my work. all content belongs to @odxrilove

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universitypenguin · 8 months

Text

Chapter 25

Summary: Doubts about Nguyen arise in the stalker case and the murder case. Princess and Lloyd review the evidence and decide where to focus their efforts as they race against the clock to rescue Laine Cruz.

Word Count: 6,182

Masterlist

Warning: This story contains content that is intended for those who are at least eighteen years old, such as strong language, sex, sexual content, and references to murder, kidnapping and criminal elements.

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Chapter XXV

Jake Jensen was in nerd heaven and you loved that for him.

He sat at a desk in the middle of the D.C. Metro Police station bullpen. A female detective from cyber crimes was leaning over his shoulder. She was slender with a pixie cut and delicate facial features that reminded you of Audrey Hepburn. Jake’s fingers flew over the keyboard of your work laptop as he explained how your system had been hacked.

You hung back, settling into the guest chair across from Detective Diskant’s desk, fifteen feet away from the computer nerd fest. Diskant hadn’t shown up yet. He’d called after your allergist appointment to ask if Jake could bring in your work laptop and go over it with cybercrimes. You looked around the semi-deserted bullpen. A few uniforms stood around, talking near the front desk. There were a couple offices around the central area that appeared occupied, but it seemed most of the detectives were out and about. This gave you mixed feelings. It might be good to have the police force on the street, present in the communities they served, but where was their back up? Was everyone else at a conference or a training in-service or was the station always this empty?

Trying not to stare at Jake and the lady cop, you searched your purse for a nail file. It had been ages since you’d gotten a manicure and long past time for a good re-shaping. As you filed, you tried to be subtle about glancing over at the computer nerds. The lady cop laid a hand on Jake’s shoulder and smiled.

You couldn’t catch the words but you knew body language. That head tilt and the sly glance that darted away once eye contact was made was straight out of Flirting 101. Despite the clear signals the lady cop was throwing down, they still went over Jake’s head.

“Princess, can you come over here?” Jake asked.

You winced at the expression that flashed across the lady cop’s face as she withdrew her hand from Jake’s personal space.

“What’s up?” you asked, moving to stand behind Jake’s chair but keeping a respectful distance between you.

“Look at this,” Jake said, pointing to the screen.

You examined the string of numbers he indicated. “What am I looking at, again?”

“It’s an IP address from Bishop & Howard.”

“Uh-huh.”

“This is where the attack originated. Also, it came through our server.”

“So we know who was behind the attack?”

Jake sighed. “Not exactly. We know where it came from. The naming convention of the IP address doesn’t exactly match the company’s standard, but some departments do use unique identifiers.”

“Don’t you guys keep an inventory list of all the active IP addresses?”

“I already ran it through the list. No match.”

“But it came from our server?”

The lady cop cleared her throat. “Is there any reason a particular department would have a computer with a unique IP address?”

“Usually they’re marking computers that are designed for sensitive information, but most of them aren’t connected to the internet.”

“We should ask what departments use unlisted computers,” she said.

“I doubt they’d just hand that information over,” Jake replied.

“But this narrows down the suspect list to employees of Bishop & Howard,” the female detective said.

“How else can we match this IP address?” you asked.

“I’ve set up one of the specialized computers for an investigation before. The format of the IP address includes a project code, security level, and identifying number for the system. If I do some digging, I might be able to figure out who’s computer this is.”

Reading between the lines, you knew ‘digging’ meant ‘hacking’ but didn’t call him on it in front of the cyber crimes detective.

“I didn’t realize those specialized computers were connected to our servers.”

Jake rubbed a hand over his face. “They’re not supposed to be. But clearly whoever’s stalking you is tech savvier than we thought. It’s like someone deliberately used the untraceable system to cover their tracks."

Detective Diskant finally entered the room, carrying a laptop under his arm. He stopped at the desk where Jake sat and placed it down.

“You need to see this,” he said, pressing play on a video file.

At first it seemed like footage of an airport, but when the angle shifted you recognized the platform at Washington Union Station. A train pulled up and passengers disembarked. Diskant pressed pause when the video reached a certain frame.

“Recognize anyone?”

“Nguyen,” Jake said.

You scanned the crowd, looking for the familiar face. It wasn’t until Jake pointed him out that you recognized Shun Nguye. He was in the center of the screen, blending into the blur of travelers.

“We need to reconsider the prime suspect in your stalking case,” Diskant said.

“What?”

“Look at the time stamp,” Jake said.

“August 16th, at 11 A.M,” you read.

“Unless Nguyen has developed the ability to be in two places at once, he couldn’t have attacked Princess in Lloyd’s backyard and been in the train station.”

You closed your eyes feeling weak. “That explains the photos,” you murmured.

“What photos?” Diskant asked.

“The pictures left on my car. It was right after the birthday dinner with my family. I remembered them yesterday. The timing didn’t make sense. Nguyen couldn’t have taken them, not by himself.”

“Right. Based on this, we can rule him out, but it’s suspicious that he’d return to Virginia.”

“We’re back where we started, with no idea who my stalker is,” you said.

Diskant inclined his head, acknowledging your statement. “No, we don’t.”

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Lloyd spent the afternoon in a coffee shop transcribing his interview with Tate Corbin. Despite his aversion to such establishments, they offered reliable internet which was a service he desperately needed. Still, the saccharine sayings painted on the walls, boldly advocating the joys of chemical dependence in Brush Script font, were hard to stomach. He didn’t find the artistic photos of coffee plants hanging beside his table any more palatable than the quotes.

The pictures grated on his nerves; at least the drug dens he’d frequented hadn’t been plastered with photographs idolizing the coca plant. In truth, these images were captured with the same propagandistic intent as the works of other renowned visual manipulators like Dmitri Baltermants. However, the Soviet photojournalist had composed his photos with nuance and emotion - qualities sorely lacking in these uninspired shots.

Lloyd glanced at his watch and saw that it was still too early to call you. He sipped the last of his mint tea, watching the crowd queuing for their 2:30 fix.

“I can’t get anything done after noon unless I’ve had three shots of espresso,” a woman in line declared.

He waited for her companion’s response, anticipating that three shots of espresso per day ought to warrant some kind of self-reflection, but the woman’s associate nodded understandingly. Really? That was it? Why did no one offer her the intervention she clearly needed?

Behind the counter baristas poured beverages into plastic and styrofoam cups and passed them to waiting addicts. Cocaine was an indefensible habit, but at least its packaging wasn’t a significant driver of microplastic pollution. Those damn cups had to rank among the worst inventions society had ever dreamt up. They were somewhere near the top, probably right in between Jake Paul’s career and neonicotinoids.

At 2:45 his patience had worn thin. Lloyd grabbed his keys and headed for the door. Driving back to D.C. wasn’t part of his agenda, but he was on the cusp of an outburst that would earn him an invitation to never come back, so the forty minute drive to Zach’s office was worthwhile.

He set up in the spare office you’d taken over and laid out his notes when the door swung open, and you stalked in, looking upset.

“Princess?”

You shrieked and jumped a foot in the air. Lloyd blinked, ears ringing from the assault on his eardrums. You were pressed against the wall clutching your heart with one hand and cradling your purse to your abdomen like it was a shield. He sat very still.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

You groaned, closing your eyes and sinking down the wall, crumpling. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah? Well, you don’t sound fine. Or look it.”

Lloyd stood up, moving around the desk and approaching you. He took the purse from your hands and dropped it on the spare chair, then dragged you into his arms. You melted into the embrace, tucking your head in the crook of his shoulder. He smoothed a hand down your back and listened as you breathed deeply.

“Bad allergist appointment?” he asked.

“Not really. It turns out that I have an aspirin allergy, which we already knew. How was your interview?”

“Unsatisfying.”

“Why?”

“It ended up killing more leads than it generated. What’s wrong?”

“I had a meeting with Detective Diskant after my appointment. Nguyen isn’t my stalker.” You filled him in. “So, Jake’s running down the information from the hack but we’re back at square one.”

Lloyd reached behind you and closed the blinds to the office window, then took your hands and guided you to the office chair behind the desk. He sat down and drew you onto his lap, positioning your legs to rest over the arm of the chair.

“I wrote up some timelines for the Harmony case,” you said, looping your arms around his shoulders.

He glanced over at the murder board you’d arranged on the office wall. Part of him wanted to dive into your meeting with Diskant but looking at your face, he knew that wasn’t a topic you were ready to pursue. Not right now, at least.

“I see that. Did you learn anything at the bible camp?”

“Li Wei had a secret boyfriend during the spring of 1999.”

Lloyd groaned. “Not another secret relationship. What is it with women and hiding their love lives from investigators?”

“Don’t ask me. Anyway, that revelation was the highlight of the trip, but it got me thinking about the timelines of the case.”

“Timelines, plural?”

“Yeah. I’ve been playing around with the theory that the cases weren’t actually connected since the beginning. I know it might seem unlikely for two prolific killers to be operating in the same area at the same time, but the differences in victimology are so stark it has to be considered.”

“And the timelines changed your mind.”

“If there was evidence of two killers, it seems like we’d have found something pointing in that direction by now.”

“But you’re not letting the theory go?” Lloyd asked.

“Not yet, but I’d rather focus on the evidence. I started by reviewing the events from 1999,” you said, pointing to the wall. “Li Wei’s boyfriend is the first event. Then, on June 14th, she and her daughter, Zoe, disappear. Two weeks later, the first of Harmony’s missing women, Stacey Moore, was abducted.”

“You think there’s a connection?”

“The timing makes me wonder if that killing was a trigger for the perpetrator. Another possibility is that he viewed Li Wei and Zoe as a… test run, of sorts.”

“That speaks to his behavior. He’s controlled, premeditated, and careful. If he captured Zoe first that would have given him leverage over Li Wei.”

“Exactly. And if we look at our suspect list, something else that comes up on the 1999 timeline is the connection between Shun Nguyen and the other parties.”

Lloyd straightened, adjusting you on his lap. “There’s something linking Nguyen and Li Wei? What is it?”

“Nothing. I looked high and low, but there’s no connection. I can’t even establish that he was ever in Fredericksburg. His only connection to Li Wei is through Julia, who he didn’t meet until late 2000.”

“When was his residency interview at the hospital?”

“June 18, 1999. After the interview on Friday, he spent the night at a hotel, drove back to D.C. in the morning and took a train home to New York.”

“Which we already knew,” Lloyd grumbled.

“I know, I’m just trying to organize things so they make sense. And you know what really doesn’t make any sense?”

“The idea of Nguyen commuting between New York City and a small town outside of D.C. to kill random strangers almost a full year before he knew he’d be living there,” Lloyd said.

“We don’t have much in terms of physical evidence, so we’ve been using behavioral profiling to try and understand the killer’s actions. Know what’s more accurate than behavioral profiling? Geographical profiling. Scientists use it all the time.”

“I’m not arguing with you. The case against Nguyen always hinged on his connection to Julia and his knowledge and access to chemicals.”

“There’s a distinct pattern in these early crimes and it points to someone local. Abducting nine people and never leaving behind a trace requires planning and preparation. Nguyen couldn’t have spared the time for all that in 1999.”

“Which brings us to 2000, when he moved to Harmony.”

“He moved in July. A week later, Kayla Ballesta went missing, which sounds damning until you account for the car accident Nguyen had been in two months earlier.”

Lloyd grunted. “Yeah, but who could fake an injury better than a doctor?”

“Radiology doesn’t lie. He wasn’t in any shape to abduct Kayla that July.”

“Do we have his radiology reports?”

“No, but Peter Shaw had them. According to his article in the Rolling Stone, he had two different orthopedic surgeons review the images. They both confirmed the severity of Nguyen’s fracture.”

“It’s compelling, but you know what else is compelling?” Lloyd asked.

“What?”

“After Nguyen was arrested the disappearances stopped. That’s too much of a coincidence to ignore.”

“You know what else is too much to ignore? An open book pelvic fracture.”

“Mmmh.”

You chuckled at the wrinkle of disgust that passed over Lloyd’s face and stroked his jaw with the back of your fingers. “I went through all the evidence from 2001, which didn’t take long because there’s almost no evidence to speak of.”

“There was more evidence at Julia’s crime scene than any of the others,” Lloyd said.

“She went missing either on April 17th or 18th and her body was found encased in concrete beside Cub Run Trail a few days later. Police identified the remains about a week after finding them and Nguyen was arrested in August.”

“Going back to the behavioral evidence, we can establish a few things for sure. Starting with the obvious, the serial killer is knowledgeable and capable at using chemicals. He has access to them somehow and might have a secondary location where he can treat the bodies.”

“Which we know from the remains found at the trail,” you said.

“Right. Julia’s bones were brittle and crumbled when touched, which is a property of exposure to a strong base. If they’d been soaked in acid the bones would’ve been rubbery and flexible. Nguyen’s chemical training and access to materials through the hospital led the police to focus on him.”

“But he was never tried for any of the other murders and everything that made him a suspect was circumstantial.”

“Ninety percent of the case against Nguyen amounts to fact that the disappearances stopped after he was out of the picture,” Lloyd reminded you.

“It’s also interesting that Li Wei, Zoe, and Julia’s remains were all treated the same, even though there’s three years between their cases.”

“All the bodies found beside the trail were disposed of by the exact same method. It’s too specific for a copy cat - unless the original perpetrator told someone precisely where they left the first two victims.”

“Wouldn’t they have had to describe the chemicals and methodology, too?” you asked.

“For the results to be this uniform? Absolutely.”

“What about victimology? That’s always been a huge question for me. All the killer’s known victims are female but aside from that, things start to get murky.”

You gestured to the photos on the wall, where the six portraits of the missing women were grouped. “They match a specific type. They were average build, natives of eastern coastal Virginia, with advanced degrees and professional jobs. Li Wei doesn’t match the pattern, and neither does Julia.”

“But the real outlier is Zoe,” Lloyd pointed out.

“Agreed. Which is why we’re paying Annabeth Green a duke’s ransom to run a paternity test on her remains and identify her father.”

“You set me up for that one, Princess.”

“I have to spread the blame around. Do you know what she charges for that kind of a test?”

Lloyd snorted. “Do you?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Her secretary just emailed me the invoice.”

“What’s the goal of the paternity test?”

“To identify a new suspect. After going through all the evidence, our suspect list is pretty barren. Nguyen was too far away to have killed the victims from 1999 and there’s no connection between him and Li Wei Chapman. He wasn’t able to kill the first victim from 2000 because of his injury. And when it comes down to it, I don’t think he killed Julia, either.”

Lloyd ran his tongue around his teeth.“I agree. He didn’t have the opportunity. That was established by the Virginia Supreme Court beyond any reasonable doubt. Did you find anything on Leo McKenzie?”

You shook your head. “Nothing new. The Fairfax Sheriff’s Department hasn’t sent me a copy of their file on him, either.”

“They’re not known for their inter-agency cooperation.”

“Well, it probably doesn’t matter if I have their file or not, because Zach got a copy of McKenzie’s discharge papers from the Army. His back injury is serious enough to exclude him from suspicion. That leaves Tate Corbin. How’d your interview with him go?”

“Not great. He has an alibi for two of the abductions thanks to a biennial fishing trip with his merchant marine buddies.”

Lloyd gave you the details of Corbin’s alibi and you scribbled down the information, making a note to contact the witnesses tomorrow morning.

“Also, get this. There was only one other person who bothered checking out Corbin as a suspect. You’ll never guess who it was.”

“Detective Roth?”

“Peter Shaw.”

You chuckled. “Ouch.”

Lloyd gathered you closer, his eyes falling half closed as he nuzzled your neck. “Yeah.”

“He didn’t give an alibi for Julia’s murder, though.”

“I knew he wasn’t the one before he produced the alibi,” Lloyd said.

“How?”

“His reactions were off. This killer has flown under the radar for too long. His public mask is impeccable.”

“And Corbin…?”

“Corbin is weird. There’s no mask. He wasn’t interested in talking about the missing victims. Then, when I finally got him talking, he wasn’t curious.”

“Why would the real killer be curious? He knows more about them than we do.”

“He’d want to know what we had. The question of evidence would’ve been brought up, but Corbin couldn’t have cared less. The real killer would’ve been excited by the conversation, but he’d have masked the reaction. Corbin was ambivalent. And the last reason is the same as the first,” Lloyd said. “He’s too weird to be the killer. He’s loud, opinionated, and obnoxious. He doesn’t fly under the radar at all.”

You giggled. “Eliminated from suspicion because of his personality…”

Lloyd rolled his eyes. “We’re looking for a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Corbin is a peacock.”

“Well, we’ve shaved the suspect list down to zero. Nguyen’s off the list for lack of opportunity. McKenzie isn’t physically capable of abducting anything bigger than a puppy. The most promising suspect, Tate Corbin, is off the list for being sane, and he has an alibi for multiple abductions.”

“We’re out of suspects.”

“Which sucks, because there’s a missing woman who needs us to figure this out.”

“Well, at least we know we’re looking for a strong base. Corbin completely sealed his innocence in my mind when he brought up an acidic mine as the potential disposal site.”

You sat up in Lloyd’s lap, nearly elbowing him in the stomach. “What acid? Where?”

Lloyd grumbled and caught your legs. He wrapped an arm around your knees, holding you captive. “Copper Ridge Quarry. It’s south of Harmony and it’s been abandoned for decades. The government has spent billions containing the toxic sludge.”

“Copper Ridge Quarry. That sounds familiar.”

“It’s a super-fund site. Every year the exposed ore reacts with rain and ground water and produces new runoff. Until someone figures out how to stop the reactions, the acid will keep getting more concentrated every year.”

“Gross. Hang on, let me check something.”

Lloyd eased his grip and let you reach your laptop. He waited as you typed, flipping through pages of the database you’d organized months ago.

“Here. Copper Ridge Quarry is in the database.”

“They already checked it out?”

“Mmmhh… According to the file summary, NASA sent a robot into one of the acid pools in the 80s and it was never seen again.”

“Did it return any data?” Lloyd asked.

“No. It looks like the investigation into Copper Ridge wasn’t very thorough. The first time they checked it out was in October of 2000. The local police’s resources were stretched thin. Between processing evidence from the abduction sites, organizing massive searches, and running down other leads, Copper Ridge didn’t get much attention.”

“What about later?” Lloyd asked.

“They tried again in 2001 when Stephanie Young disappeared, but there were conflicts with the search warrants. Some of the land around Copper Ridge is privately owned and required a compelling reason to search private property, which they didn’t have. In the end, they searched all the public land they had consent to access, but that’s it.”

“An acidic mine site is an intriguing lead, but we don’t have any evidence the killer uses acid.”

“Is that really a logical jump?” you questioned.

“Scientists use strong bases in labs to remove flesh from skeletons. If you expose the bones for longer, about five to six hours with some heat, they crumble.”

“That’s not possible with acid?”

“It would work,” Lloyd admitted. “It might even do a better job of completely dissolving them, but it’s more dangerous. The acids strong enough aren’t safe to handle. Sodium hydroxide on the other hand, comes as a salt. It’s much easier to obtain and if you got it on your skin it might cause a rash, but that’s it. You have to dissolve it in water before it’s dangerous.”

“But Copper Ridge would eliminate the need for him to obtain chemicals. Assuming he had a way in, it mitigates the risk of being caught by purchasing records or his professional access.”

“If he had a traditional education, he’d lean towards a base,” Lloyd said.

“If he’s smart enough to use a base, why not use an acid? It’s all chemistry at the end of the day.”

“Following the same logic, why not dispose of Julia’s body the same way as Li Wei and Zoe’s? The crimes were three years apart. He’d have had time to perfect his methods,” Lloyd said.

“That’s been my biggest gripe with all the victims being connected. But this afternoon, I remembered something Marco said when I explained the case. He commented that it was ‘like he put the sisters together,’ with how he disposed of Julia. It meant more to me before we learned Li Wei was actually Julia’s cousin. But now, what if he had the same motive both times?”

“We haven’t considered his motives.”

“I have. If you lay out the whole timeline, Li Wei and Zoe were his first victims and they’re both anomalies in victimology. Li Wei wasn’t born in the U.S., but she did grow up here. She dropped out of college freshman year and didn’t finish a bachelor’s degree, let alone a masters. She worked at her parent’s bible camp, which was a far cry from a professional job, like the other victims. And she doesn’t fit the physical victim type, either. She was too tall.”

“And Julia’s the same. Too tall and too thin, no degrees, no job. Plus, she really was foreign.”

“Right. Li Wei could have passed for a Virginia native, but there was no way he mistook Julia for an American. Where’s the motive, though?” Lloyd asked.

“If they don’t fit victimology there must be a motive. That’s why I really wanted the paternity test on Zoe. Usually, with a child victim, the perpetrator is one of the parents. We can rule out her mother, which leaves the father.”

“What about Julia?”

“She was digging into Li Wei’s death. If the killer found out, wouldn’t he have been compelled to interfere?”

“Yes, but why not dispose of her like he did all the other victims? If your theory about Copper Ridge is correct, he had the perfect disposal method. I can imagine him failing on his first attempt to dissolve a body with a strong base, but going back to the failed method three years later? That’s stupid.”

“Or it’s incredibly smart. Anyone who found all three victims, encased in two different concrete slabs, beside a popular jogging trail, albeit, in a remote area of said trail, would’ve connected the dots. Then they would’ve connected the victims. Julia arrived in the U.S. in 1997. It’s plausible to imagine a connection. We only know there wasn’t one because of Aliyah.”

“The killer was making sure the cases would be connected.”

“But when no one found the second slab, Nguyen was arrested and the rumor mill started up, claiming he was connected to the six missing women,” you said.

“The killer was handed the perfect scapegoat on a platter. So, he stopped killing and as far as public opinion went, no more disappearances meant they’d collared the right guy.”

“I know it’s a lot of theory, but looking at the whole sequence from 1999 to 2002, how the killing started with Li Wei and Zoe, then stopped after Julia, it’s almost like a full circle.”

“He didn’t stop, though. If he had, Zach and I wouldn’t be spending our Monday night on a search party for Laine Cruz,” Lloyd said.

“What if this is a copycat?” You sighed at your own question and shook your head. “The problem with all this theory is that we don’t have any evidence to back it up. Paradoxically, we have more evidence than anyone else who worked the case ever did.”

“We’re here because Roth searched an old crime scene and got lucky,” Lloyd said.

“There’s solid evidence suggesting the killer is knowledgeable in chemistry. He’s proven capable with them, and we have physical evidence that two of his victims were disposed of with a strong base. We also know his access to these chemicals wasn’t a fluke because he used them twice - once in 1999 and again in 2002.”

“And the concrete slab itself is evidence,” Lloyd said. “He knows how to mix, form, and set a concrete slab by himself. It’s not as specific as his advanced chemical knowledge, but it’s still a proven ability.”

“He’s prepared and careful, so disposing of the bodies wouldn’t have been the first time he worked with concrete. That makes sense,” you said.

“He’s also shown to be quite knowledgeable of the local area. Abducting six women without leaving any witnesses isn’t easy. Also, he’s familiar enough with Cub Run Trail to dispose of bodies there twice. It was a remote section of the trail, sure, but that points to him knowing the area.”

“And getting them up there? He’s got to be physically fit.”

“Unlike Leo McKenzie. We have evidence that Julia’s teeth were destroyed with a gunshot, and the .22 shell casings found in Nguyen’s yard after she went missing. It’s not difficult to get a gun in the D.C. area, but let’s add it to the list.”��

“Also, the last fact, but maybe the most important: he had the opportunity to commit all nine murders.”

Lloyd grunted. “How do we know so much about him, but still don’t have a suspect?”

“He’s careful and prepared. Speaking of that, what about the woman that went missing on Friday night? Have they found any evidence at the scene of her abduction?”

“Laine Cruz. The search isn’t going well. They found her car abandoned in town with a dead battery. It could have been sabotage or the perpetrator saw an opportunity and took advantage. Her purse was in the car, but not her cell phone. There’s been no activity on her bank cards and her phone is turned off.”

“What are they doing to find her?”

“The usual - tracking dogs, a search grid. It seems futile,” Lloyd said.

“Isn’t the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over and hoping for a different result?” you asked.

“According to Einstein.”

“Search grids and dogs didn’t find any of the other missing women, did they?”

“No,” Lloyd conceded.

“We were brought in to investigate the new evidence and figure out if it was connected to the missing victims.”

“Are you saying they should call off the search?”

“No, but searching is their job - not ours. I think we should focus on following the evidence and investigating what we have.”

“You’re saying Zach and I shouldn’t join the search,” Lloyd said.

“Copper Ridge Quarry is a fresh lead. I think that’s where our time would be best spent.”

“Alright. We’ll do it. Are you okay with staying late at the office? I don’t know how long this’ll take.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got a mountain of paperwork to catch up on.”

Lloyd studied your expression and noted that you still looked upset. He slid a finger under your chin, turning your face up to his.

“Hey. It’s okay. Jake will find a new lead.”

“What if my stalker isn’t someone we would suspect?” you asked. “What if it’s totally random?”

“Don’t think about that. Let Jake and Landon worry about the stalker. Let me worry about him.”

Your eyes scanned his, filled with concern. There was nothing he could say, Lloyd realized. He changed tactics and lowered his gaze to your chest.

“How do your nipples feel? Still sore?”

“I…” you squirmed.

He ran a hand over the curve of your breast, feeling the gentle curve through the thin silk of your blouse. There were three layers of cloth between his fingertips and your flesh but he still felt the hardening of your nipple. You hissed and he paused.

“They’re not sore,” you said, reassuring him. “Just… tender.”

His lips curved. “What’s your current opinion on nipple clamps?”

“It’s an eighty-twenty split.”

“For or against?”

“For,” you admitted, lashes fluttering as you fought back shyness.

Lloyd squeezed you tight and explored your throat with soft, teasing kisses. You relaxed instantly, muscles loosening as your head fell back to give him more room. His free hand went to the fastenings on the front of your blouse, flicking open each tiny pearl button.

You caught his hand. “There’s a window on the door.”

“I closed the blinds,” Lloyd said.

“Oh.”

You let go and when he arched a brow, you nodded. He carefully undid each tiny button, flashing you an amused look.

“Did you plan on making it hard for me to undress you, or this coincidence?”

“Actually, I just thought the buttons were pretty.”

“They are. However, this is prettier,” Lloyd said, pushing open the silk and sliding off the thin straps of your camisole. He purred at the sight of your cream colored bra. “Front-clasp. I forgive you for the buttons.”

He flicked open your bra and you shivered at the sensation of cool air on delicate skin. Lloyd shifted you again, turning your body so your back was positioned to the door of the office. It wasn’t necessary, but you appreciated his awareness.

“Mmmhhh… still a little swollen,” he murmured, caressing his thumb over a puckered nipple. “They’re warm.”

You trembled when his hand moved up to curl around the back of your neck. He kissed your sternum and his mustache brushed your skin in a teasing dance. His facial hair wasn’t bristly, but it wasn’t soft, either. His hand slid from your throat to your collarbone and slowly cupped the weight of your left breast. Your eyes closed in pleasure.

“Lloyd.”

His cheek pressed to your sternum and you felt his hot breath against your tight nipple. The slow, gentle stroking of his thumb over your breast was restrained and controlled. You shuddered. Part of you wanted to beg for more. The other part knew the office door might have the blinds lowered, but it was still unlocked. Lloyd’s tender stroking was making your head go fuzzy. You arched your back in offering, but he didn’t react.

“Please,” you whined.

Lloyd made a rough sound and dropped his head, kissing a slow path across your chest, down your sternum to suckle the inner curve of your breast. Your fingers threaded into the cool strands of his hair as you pulled him toward where you needed him the most. As his mouth fastened around your nipple, you felt his lips curve into a smirk, but couldn’t bring yourself to care.

He’d finished lapping at the first straining nipple and moved onto the second when the door to your office swung open. You were so caught up in the moment that the noise barely registered. It wasn’t until the sound of a masculine voice cut through your mental haze that you gasped.

“What the fuck, Lloyd?! Hang a damn sock on the door next time!”

Zach’s shout brought your head around. The man had turned his back and clamped a hand over his eyes. Lloyd slowly released your nipple and raised his head.

“Have you heard of knocking?” he asked.

“I didn’t know you were in here!” Zach protested.

For some reason, you weren’t scrambling to fasten your bra in a panicked rush. Instead of embarrassment you felt dizzy with lust as Lloyd re-fastened your bra and returned the straps of your camisole to their original position. His eyes caught yours and he smiled, eyes glinting with something like pride. Whether it was at his own work or your lack of reaction to the embarrassment of being caught, you weren’t sure. He started from the bottom as he re-buttoned the tiny pearl fastenings of your shirt.

“Can I turn around?” Zach asked.

You grined at Lloyd, who’d only fastened two buttons of your blouse.

“Sure,” you said.

Zach turned half way, peeking from the corner of his eye. He nearly wrenched his neck out of place when he spun away again, unleashing a string of curses that would’ve made a sailor blush.

“Do you two mind? I don’t like walking into the middle of a porno in my own office!”

Lloyd snickered. “Please. Grow up, Zach. There were racier scenes than this on T.V. when you were a kid.”

“I’m going to wait in the truck!”

You giggled as Zach raced out of the office like something was chasing him and smirked at Lloyd when he finished doing up your blouse. “I take it you don’t share details about your sex life with Zach anymore?”

“If did, he’d probably knock my teeth out.” He wrapped his arms loosely around your waist. “Speaking of things that would send me to the dentist, why are you so calm about me forgetting to lock the door?”

You linked your hands behind his neck and shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought getting caught in a compromising position would be embarrassing but it wasn’t. I mean, Zach didn’t see any parts of me he hadn't seen before. We weren’t hiding the fact that we’re sleeping together, so he didn’t learn anything new.”

“Funny. You were a virgin three months ago and Zach’s the shrinking violet,” Lloyd snickered. He bent down and kissed you thoroughly. “I won’t be back until late. You’re sure you don’t want one of the guys to give you a ride home?”

“No. I’ll wait for you.”

Lloyd reached for his jacket and paused. “Princess, if you have time tonight, can you do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Go back through the footage of Nguyen’s interviews. There was a moment in there, something he said that I didn’t quite catch. It was like he had a slip of the tongue and then backpedaled to cover it up.”

“You just described his whole communication style,” you said.

“Yeah, that’s why I was driving myself nuts in Qatar, listening to the tapes over and over, trying to figure out what it was.”

“Okay. Do you remember which day it was on?”

“It was on the first day of interviews. I didn’t notice the slip until I listened to the audio of the interview on the flight out of Singapore. Maybe it’s nothing, because I haven’t been able to find it again, but at the time I was absolutely sure he’d said something important.”

“Maybe another set of ears will help.”

“Thanks, Princess. Don’t expect me until late, okay?”

“Good luck tonight.”

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Next - Chapter XXVI

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Masterlist

#series: the princess & the lawyer #the princess & the lawyer #series: the princess and the lawyer #the princess and the lawyer #lloyd hansen au #lloyd hansen fanfic #lloyd hansen x princess #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen x female reader #lloyd hansen #chris evans characters #chris evans characters au #the gray man #the gray man fanfiction

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