#feel free to keep sending me your thoughts on the show id love to hear them!

[realmofthefirebird]

OK came here before finishing the episode, but! I have this vivid memory of having mlp on in the backround, but i eneded up actually watching it inbetween whatever u was doing, and that was the only time I interacted with it until now, and it's the village from "the cutie map"!!! I don't know why, but this brings me immense joy (I've been watching it every chance I get, even when I don't get the chance. What.)

That's awesome man! I'm really glad you're enjoying it!

Also, that episode is so flipping good. What a great way to be introduced to the series, even if you didn't start actually watching it till later.

[finelinevogue]

What if a security guard wouldn’t let you back in the arena if you went out to get something. And they didn’t believe that you were harrys gf and just thought you were a crazy fan

oooh it’s been done before but here’s my version!! ;

You were running late.

It was already 7pm and you were only getting out of your car in the car park. Harry was due to be on stage in an hour and you hadn’t even seen him yet. The traffic around Dallas today has been awful. Chocker block. You’d been with Harry all day, up until 3 hours ago when he had to leave the hotel to come to the stadium for rehearsals. Normally you’d go with him, but you were so tired that you wanted a little nap before coming. The problem here was you overslept.

There were no Ubers available and a taxi would be far too expensive at this time, so you drive in Harrys car instead. You’d been following Harry on tour in his car, so when you get to different destinations you can go out on ball day trips if you want to without the obscenity of a huge tour bus or paying for Ubers everywhere. It was the main reason you were so tired though, travelling across country and into different time zones. It would be so much easier if this was the UK.

You grabbed your purse and your jacket, locking the car as you got out and started running for the backstage entrance. It was easy to make it there and you noticed security guards already standing there.

“Hi!” You smiled, slightly short of breathe. You were about to move past them when one of them shoved your shoulder back, making you stumble back unbalanced. “Wha—”

“ID and backstage pass to get through here.” One of them said, looking you up and down as if you were nothing.

If anything, you were quite shocked on how they just treated and continued to treat you. Normally, Harry would show a picture of you to these backstage security guards to make sure you’d be able to get in no problem, but it seemed like today Harry might’ve forgotten to show that photo. This was going to be a problem for you, because you’d forgotten to bring your backstage pass.

“I normally just go through? I’m Harry’s girlfriend.” You tried talking your way around the situation, not appreciating behind held up so close to show-time.

“Oh you’re Harry’s girlfriend? You must be the 7th one we’ve met tonight.” The security guy laughed and so did his friend, making your blood boil with how annoying they were being. Harry would be so pissed if he heard the way they were treating you.

“No but I actually am.”

“Then, ID and backstage passes.” One of then held out his hand whilst the other crossed his arms over his chest to make him look intimidating. Dickheads.

“I have ID just not the backstage passes.” You answered honestly, holding out your ID for them to check. They collected it and asked you questions on it, you answering them all perfectly.

“Well you definitely know you, but you have no proof you’re supposed to be where you claim to be.” They handed you back your ID and you huffed in stress.

“Well what can I show you? Photos of me and Harry together? Text messages?” You waved your arms around, getting really pissed off that this was actually happening. You’d probably miss Jenny’s whole set because of this and then 15 minutes before show-time Harry gets transported under the stage. So you only really would have half and hour with him, and that’s just not enough time. You wanted a safe and warm hug off him. You wanted a kiss. You just wanted him.

“Everyone knows they can be photoshopped.” One of the guys scoffs at your notion.

“Listen. You either show us your backstage pass or we’ll escort you off site.” The other one says a lot more firmer this time. It made you quite anxious for what you’d do if they did that - or maybe when they did that.

“Well I don’t have the backstage passes.” You sighed, rolling your eyes at the way this was going to end.

“Then let’s go.” One of them pointed to where you came from and to the car park, stepping forwards as he did so.

“I’m not leaving until you let me through those doors. My boyfriend is waiting for me.” You answered, taking a step back in stress of what they might do.

“Harry ain’t your boyfriend. Now let’s go!” They stepped forwards again and reached for you.

You swung your bag at one of them, hitting him in his side and he grunted because of the impact of your water bottle with his chest. The other one grabbed your arm and you couldn’t shake him, since you were not trained in any way for situations like this at all. His fingers dig into your skin and it made you scream out a cry, trying to kick him in any way to escape. The other one recovered ever ordered the guy holding you to escort you away whilst he stayed and guarded the door. The one holding you tugged your arms behind your body and held them tight there, it really fucking hurting. He didn’t care though and continued to walk you, asking you where your car was so he could get you out of here.

Once you reached your car he let you go and you wrapped your arms around you as he walked away again, not verbally saying anything but his eyes saying enough. Stay away. You shakily got your keys out of your bags and unlocked your door, climbing in and just sitting there. You could feel your hands really shaky and achy. Looking down with tear clouded eyes, you saw the red marks over your arms and slight bruising already. Your arms and shoulders hurt from being bent in an uncomfortable position.

You cared less about the pain though and how much of a disappointment of a girlfriend you were going to be to Harry. He was going to think either the worst for you or the worst of you. You reached in your bag on your lap for your phone, throwing your bag on the seat next to you afterwards. You wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your t-shirt and unlocked your phone to text messages, sending Harry a quick text.

To Harry: Are you free to call? x

No response. You sat there for a few minutes in silence, still shook up and teary. That had been a really awful situation to be in and you hated that you were nowhere near Harry to fix it. Your phone vibrated 3 minutes later, finding a text message from Harry. You sighed and felt safe when you saw his icon light up your notifications, knowing he was in contact with you.

From Harry: Of course, you okay? xx

You didn’t open your phone because you didn’t know how to respond. How do you tell him you’re not okay, only 20 minutes before he’s meant to be ready to go on stage? You didn’t want to worry him, but you also didn’t want him thinking you were a terrible girlfriend either.

Another vibration.

From Harry: Lovie? xx

Your eyes watered at that simple word, meaning so much more to you than five letters. It made you feel so much comfort, you only wished you could get that hug and a kiss now.

Again.

From Harry: Love, you’re worrying me now.

From Harry: Let me face-time you, hang on.

His icon lit up the screen; Incoming…

You shakily accepted, wiping your eyes quickly before. When he answered you could tell he was still in his dressing room, sat on the sofa that you wish you were also sat on with him. He looked so beautiful. His hair was perfectly styled and he was wearing a pearl coloured silk shirt and you knew he was wearing white silk pants to co-ordinate. You thought he looked ethereal. A glowing beacon of hope and beauty.

He didn’t say anything to you at first and you nothing to him. He just looked at you and instantly knew something bad was up. He kept eye contact with you and it was as if he was having a telepathic conversation with you, understanding that you needed him and just him.

“Hey, Mitch man?” Harry asked, turning his head to somewhere else in the room. “Could y’just give me a minute. Please.”

“Sure, sure.” Mitch answered and all you could hear was the sound of shuffling and the door shut. As soon as he was gone you started crying all over again. You cupped your hand over your eyes and your body shook as you just cried. Harrys heart broke that you were alone and he couldn’t hug you close to his chest.

“Y/N, baby. Look at me.” He asked urgently and you just shook your head, embarrassed that this was happening to you. “You’ll be alright lovie, I promise. Just look at me, beautiful.” You moved your hand away from your face and wiped your eyes and nose to try and make you look slightly better - not that it helped. “There’s my pretty girl.”

You smiled. He smiled.

“I-i’m so-rry H.” You whispered, sniffling in between words because of how shaky you felt.

“Hey, no. None of that. It’ll be okay.” He reassured you, keeping eye contact with you to try and decipher what was wrong. “Where are you, lovie? You’re in the car, yeah?” Harry asked, recognising your surroundings but you could get anywhere. You could have been in an accident for all he knew, but he was remaining calm so he didn’t send you into a panic.

“Yeah. In the stadium car park.” You saw Harrys eyes momentarily light up at that, before he remembered that you weren’t okay.

“Okay. Tell me why you’re upset, love. Help me understand.” He sounded urgent, just wanting to know so he could help you out. He wanted you to be okay. He wanted you with him.

“The security guards wouldn’t let me in, backstage I mean. I didn’t have my backstage pass. But..” You choked on a sob and Harry told you to just breathe. You were okay. “One of them g-grabbed me and escorted m-me of sight.”

“Baby, are you hurt? Is that why you’re upset?” Harry asked, standing up now in panic. His face looked angry, but you could tell he was trying his best to be a comfort for you. “Y/N?”

“Y-yes. Yes Harry, yes.” You voice wobbled out and you let out an exasperated sob. “I’m s-sor—”

“No don’t you dare. Don’t apologise for this. Not ever. You understand me?” He made very clear he wasn’t messing around.

“Yes.” You nodded.

“Alright. Now, you gotta be strong for me okay?” He asked, before asking, still checking that you were okay. He knew you would be though, because you were his bravest girl ever - stronger than you knew.

“Okay.”

“You’re going to make your way back to the backstage entrance, alright? I am going to be there, before you get there. Those security guards won’t be there I promise. You’ll be okay. Can you do that for me?” He asked, moving around the room and then out of the door. He was walking down the corridors, ignoring the people shouting his name. He was only focused on you.

“Yes. Okay.” You nodded, wiping under your nose again.

“I love you.” He kissed the camera of his phone, looking like he was kissing you instead.

You returned the gesture, kissing him virtually back. “I love you.”

He told you that it’d be alright and then ended the call, explaining how you didn’t need to hear him get angry when he found these security guards. They would be fired even if they weren’t on his tour crew, he’d make sure of it. You made your way back to the backstage entrance again, slowing down before you rounded the corner. Taking a deep breathe you walked around and were met with exactly what Harry promised; him.

You smiled and broke out into a run to get to him, your bag weighing on your shoulder. Once you reached him your bag was thrown on the floor in front of him and you jumped into his arms. He lifted you up to sit you around his waist, keeping his arms tight around your waist and squeezing the biggest hug out of you. Your arms tightened around your boyfriends neck and you buried your face into his neck, and god he smelt like everything homely and sweet. He felt just like home.

“See, you’re alright now lovie.” He assured you, kissing your cheek that wasn’t quite buried into his neck.

“Th-ank you.” You muttered, kissing his neck in appreciation which made him hum in delight. He tasted so hot and lush. He was insatiable. You then felt him start kissing your arms, where the harsh red and purple marks were.

“Sorry y’had to go through this.” He kept kissing your arms, until you moved your head up and looked at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“If I can’t say sorry, then neither can you.” You shook your head, kissing his nose softly. You watched his eyes flutter close and felt so special that only you could do that to him.

“You’re so amazing Y/N. Truly.”

“You’re pretty special too, my love.”

He didn’t need to hear anything else from you, those words were enough, so he pressed his lips to yours softly, filling you with the love you’d been waiting to feel all day. You smiled into the kiss and he just felt so amazing. He was so soft and gentle with you - as smooth as the silk that dressed his body. He was so pretty to watch melt away under your spell and delicious tasting. Strawberries, was that?

He was everywhere. He was everything. He always would be.

[miekasa]

okay but what about airport!levi? he gives quiet businessman vibes sitting in his slacks and turtleneck

IN HIS TURTLENECK 😭😭 He would also be quiet and to himself, but not in the emo way. You got me thinking about all of them now, so here are my other thoughts about the boys at the airport.

Levi

He thinks the idea of separating classes on an airplane is beyond stupid, but if the flight is particularly long, or particularly packed, he’s not above paying for business class for a little extra personal space for the two of you.

When he doesn’t do that, tho, he never picks your guys’ seats ahead of time, so sometimes you’ll be separated. Good thing he’s also not above lying at the check-in desk, “I’m in Zone 1, could my wife be seated next to me so that we can board together?”

They respond with an “of course,” and move your seats together, and Levi walks back with a content nod of appreciation. You are not married, and marriage sucks about as much as class separation on a 30 foot long plane, but it has its benefits.

Masks on, regardless. No debates. Pandemic or not, the mask stays on. Do not perceive him, keep the pressurized air sharing to a minimum.

Doesn’t wander much in the airport. There’s nothing in there that he hasn’t seen already, except for the marked up prices on touristy t-shirts.

And if you wander, he’ll usually just sit in the waiting area to watch your bags while you window shop and do your thing. If you’re gone for more than 30 mins, he might call, under the pretenses of, “Making sure you didn’t get lost. You know that Starbucks was near gate 41 to the left, not the right, right?” Like he’s a comedian or something 🙄

He does encourage you to get snacks before you board, tho. Airplane food is gross, and he would much rather pay for a $13 sandwich that you can snack on later, than for you to have to eat mush.

He’s got a little portable mug he takes with him for when he’s wants to buy a hot drink before getting on his flight. It’s cute.

Doesn’t fall asleep on the plane ever. No matter how long the flight is—at most, he’ll take a quick power nap somewhere in the middle if it’s over 9 hours, but other than that, he’s good to go.

Doesn’t mind if you fall asleep, and he always adjusts your neck pillow to make sure you don’t get cramps.

Jean

Travel champion. This man loves being in the airport even though he’s convinced it’s a time capsule, he fucking loves it.

King of “your airport fashion matters, babe.” Not necessarily wearing a whole three piece suit, but he does put in a little effort; it’s not just the first pair of sweats he has laying around.

Swears coffee tastes better in the airport. It does not. That does not stop him from buying it. He should learn to quit tho, especially for someone who hates airplane bathrooms as much as he does.

Charming with all the security personnel and desk assistants. You could be checking in for a flight at 4am, and Jean’s got people smiling and cheery for their shifts.

Bitches about the selection of movies on the flight, and learns to just download his own ahead of time. Gets really startled when he’s watching something and the flight attendants try to grab his attention for food or drinks—the very loud, classic, Jean Kirstein “HUH?”

On that note, he also gets startled by the loudspeaker announcements in the airport. He doesn’t know why he has to hear about American Airlines flight 2170 to Cancun, when he is not on American Airlines flight 2170 to Cancun.

Not opposed to paying extra for better airplane food or drinks on the plane if it’s the right time of day. He always finds something to toast to, plus he likes to treat you whenever and wherever he can.

Takes care of your overhead luggage and helps out the people around him if he sees they’re struggling. Gets shy when you call him a gentleman for it, and he rubs his neck, grumbling, “I was just helping the line move a little faster.”

Great timing, generous, will pick up your checked bags for you, and already rented a car a week in advance: 10/10 travel buddy.

Porco

He doesn’t like planes and there’s no solid reason why—nothing bad happened to him as a kid, and it’s not even that rare unfortunate incidents freak him out or anything—something flying just makes him a bit uneasy.

He won’t say it though, and he tries to keep it together when you’re checking in, but you can tell he’s anxious once you’re sitting and waiting for your flight to board.

He’ll ask to switch seats if you have the window seat, because somehow the feeling of being boxed in between the plane wall/window and another person makes it feel more like a car than a plane and he’s okay with that.

Going to the airport is one of the few times he hair won’t be styled, and falls in his face a bit. He usually throws on a beanie to cover it up, but you think he looks pretty cute either way.

Can’t usually fall asleep and he hates it because he just sits there thinking about the worst for the entire duration of the flight. But when you travel with him for the first time and coax him into taking a nap it’s so much better.

It’s about the only time he’ll let himself be publicly babied by you; but it makes everything so much easier that he doesn’t even mind.

So now, whenever you get on flights, he just puts his hood up, lays his head on your shoulder and waits for the magic to happen.

Bonus: you’re traveling with his friends, and Pieck and Marcel past to your seats, surprised to see Porco fast asleep on your shoulder. Pieck squeals, going on about how you must be a wizard to have gotten him to nap, to which Marcel just shakes his head, “Nah, he’s just really in love with her. Look at his face, that’s the calmest he’s been since he was five.”

Connie

Loves the airport. Not an ounce of organization in his soul though. By that I mean, yeah, he’s probably forgotten his passport at home, or forgotten that a full size bottle of body wash cannot go into his carry-on luggage.

Forgets to wear shoes that easy to take off and is fumbling over himself after the security check trying to lace them back up or put them back on.

Likes for you guys to have coordinating sweatsuits, and even though you don’t travel super often, Connie’s got at least 3 pairs of them lined up for you guys.

Sweet enough to drop plans or rearrange his schedule to travel with you if you were originally gonna be alone. He knows you can handle yourself, but he doesn’t want for you to travel alone if you don’t have to, especially if you’re going someplace far and/or for an extended period of time.

He always finds breakfast food to eat before he gets on his flight (if you two even have time to spare for food that is). It could be 9pm, but Connie’s asking for a breakfast wrap.

Hates waiting in the little pre-flight area. Claims it’s boring as hell and that’s why there’s no reason to get there 3 hours early 🙄🙄

He always spends at least 30 minutes browsing all the movie and TV show options available on-board, loudly exclaiming in excitement when they have something cool to watch—only to fucking fall asleep 10 minutes later. Right on top of you when he was oh-so-excited to watch Madagascar 2.

Always steals the aisle seat, even if it’s yours. It’s probably for the best though, because he has to get up to pee at least twice, no matter how short your flight is.

Makes some cheeky remark about you meeting him in the bathroom. He doesn’t mean it... unless he does. Unfortunately, you’ve never... successfully been able to do that out of fear of being caught by the flight attendants, but there have been a few quickies in the “family” (“It’s ethical, because technically we’re participating in the act of making a family, babe”) bathroom before you boarded. It’s his fault, not yours.

Armin

He really likes planes, and traveling in general. I think trains would be his favorite mode of transportation, but airplanes are good too.

I hate to say it but he claps when the plane lands. I will not elaborate or defend my stance on this.

Prefers the window seat because he likes to look out at the clouds as he’s in the sky.

He took his passport photo a little before he cut his hair, so the security personnel always hold it up and flicker between his ID photo and his current appearance a few times before stamping it. It makes him a little embarrassed because he can’t tell if they think he looks better or worse and sometimes he’s really fighting for his life convincing them that that’s him in the picture 😭

Listens to music rather than downloading a movie or watching a show, and always brings wire headphones to the airport so that it’s easier to share and listen with you.

If you fall asleep on him first, he’ll likely fall asleep on you shortly after. If he’s tired enough, he’ll fall asleep first, though he’s somewhat embarrassed and disappointed because he wanted to see the descent and skyline outside.

When he’s not asleep or window-watching, he’s somewhat fidgety out of excitement, rather than nervousness. He’s excited to be traveling and looks forward to wherever you’re going, even if it is just a weekend long work trip.

Hates traveling alone, though. It just feels particularly lonely to him to be going someplace foreign without company by his side. So, he’ll call you at every checkpoint and send you updates.

He only ever buys two things in duty free: shot glasses with the name of the city/country you’re traveling to, and whatever variety of button down short-sleeves are available to him.

Erwin

You knew this was coming, but this man is absolutely at the airport 18 hours before your flight takes off, and he’s driving like a manic getting there, like you don’t have all the time in the world.

Fascinated by anything and everything in duty free. Definitely spends more money than necessary on your return flight on the grounds that he was getting a good deal.

Exchanges money in the airport and keeps cash in his fanny pack. There’s no traveling without the fanny pack.

Plays crossword puzzles on his phone on the plane, and it’s just about one of the only games he has. That and Candy Crush—I get the feeling he’d be on level 500+ of that game and he always knocks out at least 10 levels on a flight.

Always a little surprised when he feels his your head on his shoulder, but he says nothing, and acts like he didn’t even notice, but there’s a telling little smile on his face.

Takes the most foul selfies of him and your sleeping self. In his defense, he had the best intentions; but that angle was flattering nobody. It’s too bad he’d already paid for the in-flight wifi and sent it to Hange because now you’ll never live them down.

You could probably get him to put on a (skincare) face mask during your flight. He forgets to take it off tho, and if you don’t tell him, he’d fully walk through customs with it on his face.

Accidentally gets drunk because he doesn’t understand that just because he can handle several glasses of whiskey in his favorite bar on a Friday night, does not mean it will translate on a plane.

[twodimecastle]

fifty bucks & six months.

spencer reid x gender neutral reader new relationship, secret keeping nonsense, 4.5k words, ao3 a/n; turns out i love writing texting fic but tumblr destroys the formatting rip

zero months.

You smile conspiratorially, extending a pinkie towards Spencer and he gives you a skeptical look.

“You know the odds of being found out immediately are-” he starts, but you cut him off.

“Astronomical, I know. I know. But don’t you think it’ll be fun to see how long we can push it?” you wheedle, not caring that your voice sounds more like begging than is strictly dignified because seeing the way Spencer’s nose crinkles in amusement at your heavy handed persuasion is too adorable to pass up. You scoot closer on the couch, tapping the end of his nose with your pinkie finger, letting him catch your hand between his as you continue “I think we’ve got a good shot at hiding it for a little while. It would be like a game.”

Spencer draws your captive hand to his lips, brushing them across your knuckles and watching fondly as you forge ahead in your campaign to persuade him, enjoying the show and the attention too much to tell you he’s already on board. Your eyes are shining with the prospect of the caper, and you’ve made no move to take your hand back from him, and Spencer’s pretty sure he’d be more than happy to sit with you in this moment forever. “I mean-” you go on, gesturing animatedly with your free hand, “you’re like-a really good liar when you want to be. And everyone else always forgets how good you are at it.”

He snorts at that and the sound makes you light up, eyes tracking the arch of his brows, the warmth in his soft brown eyes, memorising the way he looks like this; utterly unbothered, completely at ease. It might be your favourite version of him, but that race has always been a tight one with no clear winner in sight. You have lots of favourite versions of Spencer. Twisting your hand in his, you tangle your fingers together, savouring the way you feel his thumb glide delicately along your skin and the unhidden joy in his face at the simple show of affection.

Time to play your trump card.

“$50 says we can hide it from the whole group for at least six months. If everyone figures it out before then, you win. But if not everyone has worked it out by then, I win.”

The mischievous shine in your eyes is irresistible, and Spencer smiles, disentangling one of his hands from yours to extend his own pinky finger.

“You’re on.”

The words barely make it out of his mouth before you’re colliding with him, pressing your lips to his.

two months.

“So, how long has this whole thing been going on?” Derek’s question catches Spencer off guard, and, based on the way he can see you freeze in his peripheral vision, takes you by surprise as well. Sliding into the driver's seat of the SUV, Derek continues “I hope you didn’t think you were gonna be able to keep me in the dark for long, pretty boy. You should know better than that.”

Following mechanically after him, Spencer takes the passenger seat, trying to frame his next statement as carefully as possible as he hears your door close and the car start. “We were-going to tell you guys-” he begins uncomfortably, glancing back to you for support, but you look just as on edge as he feels. “We were just gonna-keep it to ourselves for a while-before telling Hotch and everything-” he tries again, the mounting tension levering his shoulders higher and higher with every passing moment, but then Derek just laughs, shaking his head.

“Hey, I’m happy for you, kid. For both of you.” He spares a look at you in the back seat through the rear view mirror, and you can feel the tension in your jaw relax, the furrows in your brow straightening out at the note of approval in Derek’s voice. “I’m glad you two finally figured it out,” he says, fondly, and you laugh.

“I bet Spence we could keep it from you guys at least six months,” you explain, reaching forwards through the centre console to link your pinky with Spencer’s, and the touch of your hand releases the last of the tension he had been harbouring as he covers your hand with the other one of his own. He knows Derek clocks the motion, filing it away in his mind somewhere, but he doesn’t care about the scrutiny so much right now. Not when your hand is so warm and comfortable in his.

Derek reaches for the dial on the radio and flicks through the channel, thinking about something, and as you watch, a slow mischievous smirk spreads across his face a moment later before he glances first at Spencer and then at you.

“I’ll tell you what,” he says to you, and Spencer can feel a familiar grin tugging at his own lips as he watches a plan take shape in his friend’s eyes. “I’m happy to sit on this information for a while for a cut of the winnings from whichever one of you comes out on top.” He snorts good naturedly as he continues “I have my own bet to win with Prentiss, so if you two help me win that one, I’ll cut you in too.”

“A quid pro quo of sorts,” Spencer says slowly, and he feels your fingers tighten around his, as you snort softly, and he knows instinctually you’re grinning the same way you always do when you’re winning a game. “I think we can do that.”

Derek grins, turning the music up as he nods, eyes on the road. “Then you two love birds have got yourselves a deal.”

two months and two weeks.

PG: youre not as slick as you think you are ;)

YN: ???

PG: ;))))))))) you should invest in some concealer for your work bag sweetness or tell the good doctor to pay more attention to whats visible in your work clothes

YN: oh my fucking god wait how do you even know thats how that happened

PG: im all knowing and all seeing im like the omnipotent goddess of the fbi

YN: derek blabbed

PG: he sang like a canary but also im an omnipotent goddess im also totally clued in on the whole bet situation with em so for the low low price of every single juicy detail about how this adorableness went down you can buy my silence :)

YN: im getting derek decaf coffee on all coffee runs from now on >:( traitors dont get caffeine

PG: darling sweet angel i need deets all of them like immediately

YN: >:( fine ok so. after that case down in georgia a few months ago? the weird one? with the creepy mother son thing?

PG: omg yuck pls dont remind me im here for the CUTENESS not the MURDER

YN: sorryyyyyyy anyway so spence was like being super weird about it all on the plane and whatever but he was doing that super annoying thing where he ignores it and says hes fine so everyone leaves him alone

PG: YEAH why does everyone here do that ALL THE TIME its SO annoyingggg

YN: ikr its insufferable and like super not subtle ANYWAY. spence was being weird and whatever and i just. refused to let him sulk on his own or whatever like i could tell there was something bothering him and so after work i insisted that we were gonna get like shitty diner food or whatever and watch a movie and he knows better than to say no to me

PG: smart boy

YN: so we got fries and milkshakes and then went back to his place to watch a movie and he was still like weird and silent and like brooding yknow? but whatever just figured hed talk about it when he was ready so i put on a movie and offered to make popcorn and then he was just staring at me and he looked so SAD and TIRED and i thought id done something wrong like the poor guy looked like he was gonna cry and i was panicking over fucking popcorn and then he says ‘why are you always so nice to me?’

PG: oh my god hes like if a sad victorian orphan was actually a triplicate phd holder

YN: i was SO thrown off i was like spencer. spencer were best friends. ive been forcing you to hang out with me for years now why do you THINK im being nice to you its bc i care about you asshole and then. like after another million years after letting me sweat it out over whether hes about to cry for like fucking years the asshole grabs my hand and says. i shit you not. ‘you know im in love with you, right?’ !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

PG: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YN: anyway hes my boyfriend now :’) dont tell anyone tho gotta win the bet

four months.

Lingering by the elevator, you glance around at the uncharacteristically silent office building, waiting for Spencer to leave the bullpen. The sound of his footfalls drawing nearer makes you smile and you mentally applaud yourself for suggesting the two of you remained behind after disembarking from the plane, taking advantage of the manufactured privacy to take the same car home, back to his apartment.

When he sees you waiting for him, he can’t help the soft fond smile that tugs at his face, as he reaches for your hand, sliding his fingers into yours with a gentle squeeze, the quiet of the building allowing him to indulge in the show of affection. You return the squeeze, leaning your head on his shoulder with a yawn and as he presses a fond kiss to your temple he’s rewarded by a sleepy hum of approval from you that sends a rush of quiet joy shooting through him.

“At least we won’t be sleeping in hotel beds again tonight,” you say, voice weary, and Spencer nods as he shuffles you into the elevator. The doors slide shut and the elevator starts to move and in the moment of absolute privacy, you steal a kiss, tilting your chin up to catch his lips with yours, revelling in the soft huff of surprise he lets out, even as he smiles against your mouth. Even after months, the simple act of kissing Spencer still feels new and thrilling somehow, like you can’t quite believe it’s something you’re allowed to do.

His nose brushes yours and he breathes “unless something big comes up, we get a sleep in tomorrow too,” and the way you beam at him sends his heart racing in his chest, unable to look away from the fondness shining in your eyes.

As the two of you exit the elevator and make your way through the Bureau car park, you tuck yourself against his side, wedging yourself under his arm with a happy sigh, eager to get yourself horizontal and asleep as fast as possible. Spencer brushes his lips against your temple again as the two of you close in on his car, almost free and clear of the office when a voice behind the two of you brings you up short.

“Reid?”

Spencer is reacting before his mind catches up, turning on his heel towards the sound of Hotch’s voice echoing through the parking lot, conscious of the incriminating way you’re still tucked against his side, even as his brain is rifling frantically through any possible excuses for the current circumstances.

“Hotch-” you step away from Spencer, cheeks flaming, not wanting to chance a look at him. “I-we-thought everyone else had gone home,” you trail off lamely, trying your hardest not to balk under Hotch’s ominously impassive scrutiny. A second passes, then another, and the short silence feels like months, or years even as the three of you stand locked in a stalemate.

“I take it the two of you would prefer to keep this under wraps?” He asks, finally, and it registers with Spencer, somewhat belatedly, that Hotch’s tone isn’t admonishing. It isn’t enough to dissipate the tension coiling in Spencer’s muscles just yet, but he spares a glance at you as he nods, and a moment later, Hotch gives the two of you a curt nod of his own. “I’ll tell you what,” he says, a shade of irony colouring his voice. “If you two fill out the paperwork for in-team relationships for me, I’ll keep it to myself. I understand privacy is hard to come by in our office.”

The words take a while to fully sink in, and you’re conscious that you’re standing there blinking and gaping at your boss like a bemused fish for a good few seconds before you’ve composed yourself enough to say “absolutely, sir. Of course. Thank you.”

Hotch nods again, heading towards his own car, and as he passes the two of you, a brief smile flashes across his face.

“Congratulations, you two. Get some sleep.”

four months and three weeks.

Spencer isn’t sure how late it is, but he knows you’re not asleep yet, the faint glow of your phone screen casting faint distorted shadows across his room as your free hand rests lightly on his chest. In the dark blue twilight of his room, the space feels undefined and dream like somehow, the line between his mind and his surroundings blurry or indistinct somehow, and as you huff out a near silent laugh at something on the screen in your hand, a thought rises to the surface of his thoughts like flotsam on an unwanted tide.

The more clinical part of his mind notes the autonomic response in his body, the way his heart lurches unpleasantly in his chest, heart rate rising with an influx of cortisol through his nervous system, automatically rifling through ways to control the anxiety response. Age old instinct surges forwards, starting to push his spiralling anxiety down out of sight so as not to bother you with it, but then your hand shifts infinitesimally on his chest, fingers curling in the soft fabric of his pyjama shirt, and for once his body is miles ahead of his brilliant mind, your name is leaving his lips before he’s really aware of it happening.

Your gaze flashes up from your phone at the sound of his voice, soft and hesitant, and you let the screen go dark as you set it down. You can feel Spencer’s heart hammering against his ribs under your palm, and your brows knit together in concern as you shift closer to his side, tracing gentle circles over his shirt with your fingertips, the repetitive motion intended to soothe, though you’re not sure if it’s for his benefit or yours.

“Yeah, baby?” You ask softly, working hard to keep the rising worry from your voice. After three years of friendship and almost six months of dating, you know him well enough to sense when his propensity for overthinking and catastrophizing is slipping out of his control. You can feel his chest rise as he inhales sharply, whatever he’s about to say cut off by second guessing, doing nothing to pacify your concern. “Spence? Is everything okay?” You ask again.

“This-bet-hiding our relationship-it’s-” he trails off, throat tight as he rolls onto his side, facing away from you, and smushing his face into the pillow, already wishing he hadn’t said anything. You’re the kindest person he’s ever met, but offering up this kind of raw insecurity feels like pulling teeth. Even if it’s you. Especially if it’s you. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to find out if you care about him enough to stay when his racing mind gets the better of him. The pillow muffles his voice as he says “never mind.”

You feel your own heart rate tic up in response to that, matching the wild beat of Spencer’s that you could feel under your palm only a second ago. “Baby, talk to me. What’s on your mind?”

He shakes his head, face still hidden in the pillow. “It’s stupid.”

He can feel the rush of your breath on his back as you sigh, and your voice is almost achingly patient as you say softly “it’s not stupid if it matters to you.” There’s a long pause, and you press yourself against his back, settling close and letting your hand slide over his side to rest on his chest, the heat of his skin sinking into yours even through his thin shirt. In spite of his height, he feels so small as you wrap yourself around him, drawing closer, trying to reassure him without yet knowing what he needs to be reassured of. “Spence?”

“Are you ashamed of-being with me? Is that why you want to hide it?” The words are almost whispered, the sound almost lost against his pillow and your heart sinks, plummeting faster and further than if you’d dropped it off the side of a skyscraper. You should’ve known he might worry about that, should have realised it might have felt that way. Remorse rises hot and bitter in your throat and you swallow it down, trying to steady your voice.

“Spencer. Sweetheart. No. Never. I could never be ashamed. I love you. I’m so sorry.” Your arms wrap more tightly around him and you bury your face against the crook of his neck, the tension you can feel in every inch of his body making you feel more cruel and short-sighted than you already do. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise it might feel like that. I could never be ashamed of being with you, Spence. You’re my favourite person.” He takes the kind of shaky, shallow breath that comes with trying not to cry and your heart breaks a little more as one of his hands slowly moves to cover yours where it rests against his chest, just over his heart.

As his hand rests over yours, his thumb strokes lightly along your knuckles, and he knows you know him well enough to notice the way his hand trembles, just a little, because then your hand is shifting against his, turning to clumsily tangle your fingers with his, holding tighter to him as he tries to collect himself, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath as his eyes squeeze shut. He can hear the contrition in your voice as you say softly “I’ve never really liked having people know everything about what’s going on in my life. And I love our friends but-something like this, that’s so-special? So new? I wanted to be able to keep it to just us for a while.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice comes out a little shaky, scarcely more than a whisper, and it’s more than you can take as you pull back and gently force him to roll over to face you. He’s not crying, but his eyes are glassy and you recognise the fight to keep the tears unshed in the tight set of his jaw and the hard line of his lips. Leaning on your elbow, you lift your free hand to gently smooth out the furrows of his brow, letting your fingers linger along the planes of his face.

“Why are you sorry,” you ask gently. “You don’t need to be sorry, baby. Not for talking to me about things that bother you. We can tell everyone else tomorrow, if you want? We can call off the bet. Derek will live. If he’s got a problem with it I’ll turn all his shirts into crop tops.”

He can tell the joke is a last bid attempt to make him smile, to ease his fear, and it works. In spite of the anxious weight in his chest that feels like it’s pressing him into the mattress, Spencer laughs weakly, meeting your eyes, and he watches as a relieved smile breaks across your face, releasing your lower lip from where you’d trapped it worriedly between your teeth. The unmitigated affection that floods into your eyes renders him momentarily breathless as he takes in the moment. You’re still here, still trying to take care of him. Just as kind and steadfast as ever.

“No,” he says eventually, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you down on top of him like a living weighted blanket, letting your warmth chase the bulk of the tension from his body and luxuriating in the way you curl into him, one hand sliding into his hair. “We shouldn’t call off the bet. We still have to take Emily’s money, remember?”

Your sleepy laugh is the last thing he hears before his eyes close and the feel of your body wound around his lulls him to sleep.

five months.

SR: Can I talk to you about something?

DM: you dying or something? that’s a really fuckin ominous text to recieve out of the blue

SR: I’m not dying, why would that be what you assumed? I just have a question.

DM: just a figure of speech but what’s up?

SR: It’s about your bet with Emily. What’re the terms for it?

DM: wym?

SR: What exactly did you two make the bet about? What needs to happen in order for you to win the bet?

DM: does this count as collusion?

SR: Technically yes, but calling it collusion implies a certain degree of illegality.

DM: whatever anyway the terms i made with em were that you’d make some kind of move before your birthday but she reckoned you were gonna need some kind of near death experience to do anything about your crush why?

SR: I’m just making sure I have all the information.

DM: what’s going on pretty boy? you planning something?

SR: Maybe.

DM: not a helpful answer reid is everything good?

SR: Everything’s fine. We’re just figuring some stuff out. Nothing to worry about.

DM: is there something you’re not telling me?

SR: Don’t worry about it.

five months, three weeks and six days.

In the chaos that was the scramble from the briefing room to the jet, you haven’t yet had the chance to speak to Spencer about the outcome of his most recent thesis defence panel. By the time you’ve got a moment to breathe, the jet is underway, coasting across the country towards Montana, the whole team settled in for the six hour flight. You corner him in the tiny kitchen area of the jet as he’s making a mug of mediocre coffee, fingers tapping out an absent minded rhythm on the countertop as the coffee machine whirs, clearly not paying attention to anything outside of his head.

“Hey, boy genius.” He jumps, whirling around, eyes wide with surprise, and you smile fondly. “So?” You demand, and Spencer raises an eyebrow in confusion. You snort, rolling your eyes as you elaborate. “Your defence panel. Did it go okay?”

You’re shifting your weight and fidgeting restlessly with the belt loops on your pants and as he studies you for a moment, it occurs to Spencer that you’re nervous for him over this outcome. The thought brings an almost giddy smile to his face.

“You know this isn’t my first thesis defence panel, right?” He says mildly, deliberately burying the lede, enjoying the way you scowl in irritation too much to answer your question right away, too enamoured with this display of concern on his behalf.

“Don’t be difficult, Doctor Reid. It’s still a big deal.” He just shrugs noncommittally, and you huff, swatting his arm lightly. “So did it go well?” You ask again, eyes narrowing as you try to dissect his microexpressions, trying to discern the answer he seems determined to keep from you for yourself. A few seconds later, he relents.

“I can now add degree number six to my wall.” He confirms. Getting degrees doesn’t hold the same rush of pride for him now, the accomplishment feeling somewhat less exceptional as he acquires more of them, but the way your face lights up with pride for him reminds him how special the things he’s capable of can be. You’ve always made him feel like more than the sum of his parts somehow, like something infinitely more precious than he always assumed he is.

“I fucking knew it. That’s amazing, Spence,” you say, chest warm and full with pride and love, and his almost shy smile in return is enough to make a decision for you in a split second. Your hand dips into your back pocket, drawing something out, and you carefully hide it from view in your palm as Spencer tracks the motion curiously with his eyes.

Your eyes are shining with affection and something that looks like mischief and the way you’re smiling at him is more than enough to divert his attention as you step closer, just barely noticing as you slip something into his hand. You’re dangerously, distractingly close now, and he’s conscious, if somewhat distantly, that neither of you is concealed from the rest of the team, scant meters away in the seating area of the jet. But you’re smiling and close enough for him to feel your breath on his face and suddenly your lips are on his, and even after nearly seven months of being able to touch you like this, it’s enough to make him forget everything else as he melts into the contact, savouring the warmth of your skin and the faint smell of your shampoo.

You pull back a second later, the kiss over almost as soon as it started, but it’s enough to attract attention, and you can hear a belated ‘oh SHIT’ from Emily in the main cabin of the jet. In your peripheral vision, you can see money changing hands, your friends scrambling to react, but you don’t look at them, choosing to enjoy the bemused, affectionate look on Spencer’s face as his brain catches up to the events unfolding around the two of you.

“I was tired of keeping it a secret,” you say fondly, loud enough only for him to hear. “You win.”

Blinking in confusion, he finally tears his gaze away from yours, fingers uncurling to reveal the fifty dollar bill you had pressed into his palm right before you kissed him. The penny drops and he snorts with laughter, shaking his head in half hearted indignation as his other arm loops around you, pulling you in, letting you rest your head on his shoulder, hiding your face from the rest of the team as he kisses your temple, revelling in the way you wind yourself around him in response.

“I was gonna do this in like two days. I wanted you to win,” he murmurs against your hairline, and he can feel your faint laughter.

“Too bad, baby. I’m used to getting my way,” you say, pulling back to steal another quick kiss before peeling yourself out of his arms with a wink, turning to face the onslaught of ‘care to fucking explain that’ and ‘I fucking told you so’ from the rest of your friends, tugging him with you by your joined hands.

[internalsealpanic]

For What It’s Worth

Summary: A deal with the devil goes smoothly. a/n:  As a joke, my co-writer suggested I post daddy kink fics on Father’s Day. Here’s Roman’s bwahahhahahahahahah. No further thought process was put into this. warnings: dub con, daddy kink, cockwarming, and infidelity/cheating

Masterlist

The men drag you into a lavish room. It's sleek with large glass windows and a wooden floor shined like mirrors. You think it's pretty but you can't help but think of how impractical it is to have such large windows until you consider how much money Roman Sionis has and how he'd probably spend it on bulletproof windows. You rub your arm as one of the men shoves you forward to face none other than Black Mask himself. You try to keep your posture straight which is made easier by the fact that the man refuses to even look up from his work.

"Boss, we found this woman lurking in the halls. She said she had some business with you."

"I- I work for the Maronis… Sort of.." You didn't lie about working for the Maronis but Sal Maroni wasn't in town and he certainly didn't have a message for Roman.  "But I'm not here for the Maronis today, Mr. Sionis. I'm here to ask for an extension for my husband's debt."

This gets Roman to look up from his paperwork. "How did you get past my security?" He says, scrutinizing. Your limbs are shaking. Maybe it would have been better if you could convince Mal to just skip town but that wasn't an option. Roman already had men looking for him.

You swallow in a vain attempt to steady your rapidly fraying nerves.  "I told them I was here to deliver a message from Salvatore Maroni and showed them proof," Your voice gets quieter as you speak, "that I forged." You clear your throat trying to wrestle up some bravado. "Anyway, I'm here to try and ask if you can extend my husband's debt."

Roman waves one of the men over. The man thrusts his hand out for the ID you'd shown him earlier and the supposed note from Maroni. They all look well made. They would probably be good enough to fool even a detective given you were able to clean them up a bit. Roman is quietly impressed but he's also annoyed that you had managed to sneak in and disturb his work.  "Who would that be?" He asks, not looking up from your work.

"His name is Mal... Mal (L/n)." Your husband has worked for Sionis even before you two were married before he came clean to you. He swears he'll get out of the life as soon as he manages to pay off this debt. He swore on his mother. Roman is looking at you, brow raised and mouth drawn into a flat line like he really can't remember who Mal is. How can he not remember someone his people are hunting down?

"He-- he runs drugs for you." Still nothing. "And he- he told me he owes you a large debt and that's why you've been sending men to find him for the last few days." You say in one long breath. You were exhausted just thinking about the false facers hanging around outside your home and the number of times they've harassed your neighbors for Mal's whereabouts.

"Oh yeah, him." Roman says, setting down the ID and resting his chin on intertwined fingers.

You dig your nails into your palms. It was uncomfortable the way he's sizing you up.

Roman looks away from you momentarily, focusing instead on his glove and what you assume is a spec of dust pinched between his fingers. "So what do you have to offer?"

You hold back a relieved breath and begin rifling through your bag.  "Well, we can offer our house as a collateral and there's also the shop and  maybe... the car but that may not be worth much..." You really didn't own anything substantial. Nothing that would interest a mob boss anyway and you didn't have any valuable information from working with the Maronis. But what you could do was beg. Men in power love nothing more than a reminder of their power and even with your meager possessions with enough honeyed words, you could buy your time. You just need to buy Mal sometime and you could work something out. "If we offer up more of our possessions as collateral we could- we could pay the debt off in a couple of years. Maybe a little more. Mal and I just need a bit more time."

A dark chuckle rises from Roman's chest at the hopeful look in your eyes. "You think you can pay that off in a couple of years? How much do you think your husband owes?"

You stop rummaging through your bag. Your head tilts up slowly to look at a grinning Roman. Nervously, you fidget with your ring as you rack your brain for the exact amount Mal told you. Was it a hundred grand or was it more? Did Mal even really tell you or did you come up with some reasonable number?

"Sweetheart, I asked you a question," Roman says with a snap of his fingers.

You flinch. "He- He told me it's only a couple hundred grand-"

Roman barks out a laugh that echoes in the room.  "Either your husband is stupider than I thought he was or... Do you think I would send men after him for chump change?" He says, voice rising with his temper.

"No..." You whimper shrinking in on yourself. Mal, what have you done?

He likes that sound. "Sweetheart, that husband of yours owes me 5 mil." Roman leans back in his chair to look at you. Not bad, he thinks. "Sir that- that can't be right..."

Oh, Roman definitely likes the way 'sir' rolls off your tongue. "You're right. It's technically 5.4."

You choke. Your stomach is hurtling to the ground with a splat.

Roman beckons you to come close. You're too dizzy and numb to disobey. You don't even react when Roman slides you into his lap or when he places a hand over one of your thighs. Your body reacts to his touch but your mind is still caught up in the numbers. How could you not have known Mal had so much debt? How could he hide it from you?

"Do you want to tell me I’m wrong again?" He asks, squeezing your thigh. You whimper. The simple touch and the gravelly voice in your ear was much more attention than what you'd gotten in months. You try to shush yourself but your breathing is already starting to get labored. Roman's lips quirk in amusement as he feels your body starting to tremble. "I can show you just exactly what he spent 5 million on if you’d like."

You really don't know if you want to but it's not like your input really matters at the moment. Roman snaps his fingers and one of the men in the room hands him a tablet. He grasps your chin with a firm hand to make sure you're paying attention. You try to wriggle out of it for a second but then give up, paying full attention to the numbers on the screen. "He spent an awful lot at one of my whore houses last month."

You go completely still at the words. You look hurt but nowhere on your face could Roman find any spec of surprise. He wouldn't doubt that this isn't the first time your husband strayed from you considering how much of his debt was spent there.

Your eyes go misty. Your body begins to tremble with barely contained anger. You try to breathe and calm yourself.   Digging your nails into your palms, you walk yourself through a breathing exercise. Mal told you it was the last time when you'd caught him for the second time.  He begged you on his knees for you to stay telling you that it was gonna be the last time.

Roman's hand slides up your inner thigh, inching your skirt up. "Did you know that’s what he spends his nights doing?" Your breath hitches you clamp your thighs together.

"I bet you’ve been so lonely haven’t you darling?" Roman whispers, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. He presses circles into your flesh. "Barely touched…barely kissed. Just waiting for your dearest husband to come home."  He nips at the spot behind your ear that makes you pull his shirt into a tight fist. Your head is hazy with a swirl of emotion but all you can concentrate on is the way Roman's touch is so firm against your body. "And here he is, at the Rosette Club." Roman places the tablet in your hands for you to see your husband standing impatiently at the front desk.

You let out a strained breath and your legs easing at his touch. Roman rewards you with a pleased hum. "It's funny," he says, inching your skirt up.  "The girl he requests the most has a passing resemblance to you. Wonder why he would bother paying  if he's got you at home begging for his cock." Roman brushes his lip against your neck. Your body reacts wonderfully to his actions, leaning back to give him space to do as he pleases.  Your warm body is so pliant to his touch and your voice is so sweet. "I can’t understand why he’d pass you up for another whore."

Roman's hand brushes the edge of your lace panties and he smirks. "Darling, did you wear those for me?" He toys with the fabric before stroking your clothed pussy, feeling the wet heat. "Would you like to hear my counteroffer?"

You nod, trying to keep quiet. You couldn't bear to look him in the eyes.  Roman grips your chin to force you to look at him. "I'm going to need you to be a good girl for me first." You swallow. "Are you going to be a good girl for me?"

You nod your head vigorously. It's hard to care about how eager you seem.

"Words, doll." Roman says coolly, yanking your head back by your hair.

"Yes- Yes, sir. I'll be good."

You just miss someone wanting you.

"Good,"He releases your hair. He grips your hip tightly as he starts undoing his belt. You suck in a sharp breath when his cock springs free.  Roman can see you staring which certainly inflates his ego.  "Sit on my cock and don't move until I tell you to, got it doll?" He says, stroking his cock.

You nod again, then quickly add: "Yes, sir."

You shift to face him, flicking your eyes towards the other men in the room. Roman snaps his finger. The men leave without a word. You're not stupid enough to think it's purely for your sake but you don't really think about it much as you push your underwear to the side.

"Good girl." Roman says, gripping the back of your neck as he guides you down onto his cock.

You cry out in short pants as you slide down his length. You feel your insides stretch for him. The veins of his cock hitting all the right spots. Roman grunts as your warmth swallows him down to the hilt. You let yourself adjust to his girth, grinding your hips against his.

Roman leans forward. You brace your hands against his shirt, waiting for him to pound into you... he doesn't. You open your eyes and watch Roman put on glasses and continue to work.

You squirm, trying to get him to move. Roman answers with a warning squeeze of your hip. "Now sit still sweetheart, I’ve got things I need to finish."

You pant heavily and wrap your arms around his neck sitting as still as possible.

Roman makes this incredibly difficult as he trails a hand up and down your spine and kneads your ass while he works.

You quietly breath daddy into his ear while he works in both desperation and retaliation.

Roman's patience is waning based on how hard he grips your flesh. It makes your skin heat and the coil in your stomach wind tighter. You squirm a bit trying to shift the angle just a little, just enough to hit the right spot.

"Sweetheart," he says in a warning tone, "what did I tell you?"

"I’m sorry daddy, I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable." You nuzzle your face into his neck breathing deeply. He smells like cigar smoke and whiskey.

Roman doesn’t have the heart to scold you since you're  behaving so well. "Are you always this good for your husband?" Roman sneers, squeezing your ass and moving your closer to him.

"Yes sir. I try to be." You're incredibly embarrassed considering the situation and trying so hard not to move your hips.

"You’re this well behaved and he doesn’t fuck you?" Roman grinds out as you squeeze around him.  "Then again, you are married to an idiot."

Roman tilts your chin to look at your face. Your husband really is an idiot, Roman thinks as he looks into your desperate, half-lidded expression.

"No wonder you were so touch starved," he says, starting to bounce you on his cock, "it’s a crime to leave a sweet ass like this untouched for months."

You let out a shaky breath as he continues the lazy pace, grinding his cock inside you in shallow strokes.

"Were you hoping he'd finally fuck you if your saved his skin?"

"Maybe." You whimper. You close your eyes, winding your arms tightly around his shoulders. You push your husband out of your mind and do your best to concentrate on the cock pulsing inside you. It was far too easy especially when he'd apparently pushed you out of his long before.  "I- I just miss being touched."

Roman brings his hand down on your ass and the slap rings out in the room. Your greedy hole strangles his cock. "Don't worry sweetheart, daddy will  take good care of you." He grinds out.

It's about another hour before Roman gets done both from being purposefully slow and being very distracted by all the little things your body does to let him know just how desperate you are.

Roman, finally done with his paperwork, runs his hand through his hair and leans back into his chair. That might have been the longest hour of his life. "Get off." He orders, brusquely. His patience was a hair's breadth from completely dissolving.

You whine and pout at him but use your shaky limbs to get off of Roman, moaning as his cock drags against your walls.

He can see the desire slick on your thighs. "Get on the desk and spread your legs for daddy." Roman says, loosening his tie.

He stands up and pushes you back onto the desk. You scoot back, careful not to disturb the paperwork much to Roman's amusement.  You spread open your legs wide, the bottom of your heels catching his legs.

You're so wet for him that you're dripping onto the desk. He looks into your debauched face and Roman's cock twitches in his hand. You would definitely make a killing at the Rosette Club. Roman pumps his cock as he watches you stroke your clit in time with his hand. You purr his name softly as you look at him with hooded eyes.

"Christ sweetheart, look at you. You're such a good little slut." Roman grinds out.

"Please, daddy."

"Put your fucking hand away." He growls.

You pull your hand away from your pussy and bring it to your lips. You lick up a long stripe, lapping up your own juices.

Oh, he is definitely keeping you for himself.

Roman pulls you closer to him and hooks your legs around his waist.

You wrap your arms around his neck. "Please daddy, I need you." You dig the bottom of your heels into his ass drawing out a sharp breath from him.

Roman kisses you, running his hands up and down your sides. You melt into the kiss consumed by the touches and passion you've missed for months.

He pulls back and tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth, biting it before licking over it to soothe the sting. The head of Roman's cock teases your folds, parting them just slightly. Your hand finds its way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, and he goes readily, deepening the kiss.

Roman slides his cock back into you and you scream into the kiss. He fucks you recklessly into the wood of the desk. It screeches and scrapes against the wooden floor as his cock thrusts deep into your pussy.

Groping and claiming every part of you he can reach, Roman pulls back from the kiss. He yanks on your shirt, causing one of the buttons to pop off,  then sinks his teeth into your shoulder. You hiss his name, the stinging on your shoulder mixing with the pleasure.

"Tell me doll, has that husband of yours ever made you feel this good?"

"No, sir. Ah! He- He's never been able to- Ah! Satisfy me like this."

"That's right, baby. You'll only be hungry for Daddy's cock, won't you?"

"Yes, sir." You say in a breathy moan, dragging your nails across his neck.

Roman hisses a litany of curses in your ear as your pussy milks his cock, gripping him and making it harder for him to pull away. He pushes you flat on your back as he thrusts his cock deeper into you.

He bites your shoulder again. Your walls spasm around him. "You tighten so nicely around me when I do that." Roman hisses bites you again, then groans. "Christ, baby, just like that."

After a few more thrusts, you cum on Roman's cock with a pathetic little whimper. He empties himself inside you with a groan.

You lay on the table flat on your back, your breathing harsh.

Roman straightens himself out like nothing ever happened.  He sneers down at you. You look completely fucked out and hazy from your orgasm.

"You're going to work for me," he says. You sit up and nod as best you can.  Roman leans forward,  nibbling on your neck and caging you in with his hands. "And you're going to come to my office any time I ask."

"I-" You swallow down the raspiness of your voice and try to sound as pleasant as possible.  "Of course, sir."

Roman yanks your head to the side. "You’re such a good girl for daddy." He purrs, sucking a mark behind your ear. "Tell me the truth sweetheart, does that two-bit gangster even know you're here?"

You shake your head. This was your last resort plan after your contacts backed out of helping you get out of the city. You could easily create new identities for you and Mal but getting out of the cities without being hounded down by False Facers was an entire different problem. One you didn't have time or the resources to resolve. But somehow all that planning felt like it went to waste. Mal was never going to change for you.

"Mal  thinks I'm going to my boss to beg him for a loan."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because Mr. Maroni would never lend me the money if he knew what it was for. He thinks Mal is a waste of an investment..."

"You really are wasted on that husband of yours." Roman tuts, stroking the side of your face. You soak up the affection shamelessly. You know full well it's wrong to seek comfort in someone else especially someone like Roman but... you feel lonely and used and you just want someone that wants you so openly.

"Get dressed," Roman says, taking out his phone, "and get your things from that shit hole you call a house."

You open your mouth to ask him why and where but he cuts you off with an annoyed look.

"If you're going to be my pet, I can't wait an hour to fuck you."

Your cheeks heat up as you shuffle to get dressed. You look nice bent over and flushed, Roman thinks. Maybe he should bend you over his desk sometime. No point mulling it over now. He'll have time to think about it.

You quietly mutter a thank you sir before exiting the room with your legs awkwardly clamped together, your cute little cunt still filled to the brim with his seed.

It should take you about an hour to pack your things and get back to him. Maybe longer if that husband of yours begs you to stay. Well, Roman can eliminate that second possibility right away.

He opens his phone and sends a video with the message: "Your debt is paid."

If your husband is smart, he'll skip town.

If he's stupid, he'll rack up more debt.

If he's even stupider, he'll protest.

Either way, Roman has you and if you're as smart as he thinks you are, you'll be worth the 5.4 mil in and out of his bed. If you aren't and he gets bored, he could always just stick you in one of his whore houses and make a killing. There's no shortage of men with deep pockets who'd like to get their hands on a hussie like you.

It's all a win-win for Roman.

[dreamerstreamer]

Never Meant To Be Yours

Pairing: Wilbur Soot x gn!reader

Summary: [Dream SMP!AU] Wilbur Soot’s heart may belong to you, but yours? Well...

Warnings: some cursing (hi, Tommy) + one scene with slight violence 

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: i realized that i hadn’t written a story that was strictly just angst, so... ta-da! this story takes place during the betrayal of l’manberg. inspired by both the events of the smp and also heathers: the musical. remember folks: pog through the pain <3

The campfire crackled and popped as Wilbur tossed another stick into the roaring flames, the embers leaping up and soaring into the starry night sky. His eyebrow twitched in annoyance as Tommy opened his mouth again.

“I’m fucking telling you, Wilbur. Just let me sharpen some sticks and I can win this war for L’Ma—”

Wilbur sighed, reaching over to rip the two branches from Tommy’s hands. “Tommy, if you pick up another set of sticks one more time, I will throw your discs into the fire.”

Tommy gasped, absolutely appalled that he would even suggest it. “Big man, you wouldn’t fucking dare—”

“No,” Tubbo said, smiling as he threw some more kindle into the fire, “I’m pretty sure he would.”

“Oh, he definitely would,” Fundy confirmed, his tail swishing this way and that as he looked on in amusement.

Tommy frowned, snatching another stick from the firewood pile and turning to glare at Wilbur from where he sat on his log. “Fucking fight me for them, you beanie bitch.”

Wilbur stared back, unimpressed and his patience wearing thin. “Tommy,” he said, “I’m not doing this, again.”

“Oh? Are you scared of my sharpness 1000 sti—”

Without even an ounce of hesitation, Wilbur grabbed Tommy by his arms and hoisted him into the air, his feet dangling dangerously close to the campfire. Fundy hooted as Tommy let out a piercing scream, Tubbo watching with wide eyes and a grin on his face as the flames licked at the soles of his shoes. “I swear to fucking god, Tommy,” Wilbur nearly shouted, “I am going to drop you into the fi—”

“You lot seem like you’re having fun.”

Wilbur froze, Tommy practically melting in his arms in relief. “Thank the lord, I’m saved,” he muttered.

You walked over to the group with a small wave and a bashful grin. In an instant, Wilbur had released Tommy, dropping him back onto the log as he walked over to you. The irritation seeped out of his bones as he took in the sight of your face, your eyes glowing in the golden light of the campfire.

“You’re finally here,” he said, leaning over to press a quick peck to your cheek before sitting once more.

You giggled, settling into the space next to him. “Hi.”

Beside you, Tommy made a gagging noise. “Jesus Christ, you guys are actually fucking gross. I would never do some shit like that.”

You gave him a quizzical look. “But Tommy,” you pointed out, “I thought you loved women. Don’t you want to date one, one day?”

“I do love women!” Tommy confirmed. “And I respect them! But you know me, [Y/N].” He patted his chest, smirking with pride. “I’m married to the grind.”

You tilted your head at him, bemused. “Are you, now?”

He nodded with full confidence. “Of course I am!”

“And you didn’t invite me to the wedding?”

Tommy shot you a condescending look. “The grind and I have been married far longer than you and Wilbur have even been together—hell, I’d say we’re a better fucking couple than you two!”

You feigned a gasp and turned to your lover with a dramatic pout. “Hey, Will? Do you hear that? Tommy says his marriage to the grind is better than our relationship.”

Wilbur paused for a moment, blinking, then shrugged. “Well, that’s an easy fix.”

Confusion flashed across Tommy’s face. “How?”

Wilbur stood up and turned to look at you, a serious expression crossing his face. “I suppose we’ll just have to get married.”

You felt your jaw drop, a wave of shock running through you as Tommy sputtered, “Pfft—what the fuck?”

Taking a deep breath, you sighed, rubbing your temples. “Will,” you said, “getting married in the middle of a war doesn’t exactly sound like the best idea you’ve had.”

“But Wilbur never has good ide—”

“Well,” Wilbur said, cutting Tommy off, “how else are we going to beat Tommy and the grind?”

You cocked a brow at him. “Are you implying that are relationship isn’t already stronger than Tommy’s with the grind? That we have to prove it?”

Now it was Wilbur’s turn to sputter. “No, uh, I’m just, um—”

“Will,” you said again, “you realize you have a son that we both care for, right?”

Wilbur paused. “Oh. Right.”

You could see Fundy groan from the other side of the campfire, hanging his head in his hands. “Jeez, thanks, dad.”

Wilbur flashed his son a bright grin. “You’re welcome, son.” He whirled, triumphantly pointing at Tommy’s face. “See? Do you and the grind have a physical representation of your love in the form of another living being?”

Tommy’s face contorted in disgust. “Wilbur, what the fuck, no. I’m a fucking minor.”

The smile dropped from Wilbur’s face like a dead fly. “Oh. Right.”

Tubbo let out a whistle, raising his fist in the air. “Aaand, scene! That’s a point for Tommy!” He shook his head apologetically at the general. “Sorry, Wilbur, but you lose.”

Wilbur looked offended. “How did I lose? [Y/N] and I have a Fundy!”

Tubbo’s expression shifted to something more serious. “Didn’t you know that I’m a lawyer, Wilbur? You don’t mess with the law.”

Fundy let out another groan as Tommy howled in delight. “Oh, no.”

“Big Law is back!”

It didn’t take long for the bickering to start up again, and you found yourself zoning out, simply smiling and nodding every once in a while. A lone crow squawked in the trees above you, and you cast your gaze up at the night sky, watching as the campfire sparks danced and faded into the shadows above. Something stirred deep within your chest. 

It really was a lovely night, and you were surrounded by some lovely people, even if they were rather chaotic. With the campfire keeping you warm and their peals of laughter tugging at your lips, you almost felt sad.

Only a few more days remained of this idyllic life. Just a few days more until—

“[Y/N]? Are you okay?”

Wilbur’s worried voice drew you out of your thoughts and you turned to face him, plastering a small smile to your face. “Yep! Just thinking.”

He leaned down to peer closer at you, his gaze scanning your face. “What about?”

You averted your eyes from his, your cheeks dancing with warmth. “About you.”

He grinned and pulled you into his chest, ignoring the way Tommy pretended to choke at the sight. You giggled, your hands wrapped around Wilbur’s arm in return as he held you close.

High above you, the stars winked down at you from the pitch black sky, waiting and watching to see what came next.

Wilbur sighed, staring down at the map on his desk.

Just how was he going to stage an attack on a nation as large as the Dream SMP? Every opening would have been accounted for, and Dream was not a foe to be taken lightly. Even if all of them came in, bows blazing and swords drawn, Dream was still very much capable of taking them on, even by himself. That, he knew, and that was what weighed him down.

He slumped over, dragging a hand over his face. What in the world was he going to do?

A knock sounded at his door, startling him out of his thoughts.

“Knock knock,” you greeted, leaning against the doorframe with a smile. “You doing alright in there?”

Wilbur offered you a tired smile. “Not really, if I’m being honest.”

You stepped inside, slipping into the seat next to his. “What’s going on? Tell me.”

He sighed. “It—It’s just that the odds are so incredibly stacked against us.” His eyes were sad as he stared blankly down at the parchment. “It makes me wonder, is freedom even attainable, or is it just another one of my silly pipe dreams?”

You frowned, reaching over to stroke his face with the back of your hand. “Freedom is more than just a dream, Will. You know that.” You squeezed his shoulder. “Fundy is living proof of that. Your son is living proof of that. He was born in these walls, remember?” Your voice dropped to a whisper, and it sent a shiver down his spine. “He was born free.”

You pulled away from him, sending him a sugary grin. “We can become free, Will. I know you can do it. You’re not alone. You have me. You have us.”

His smiled crookedly at you. “Even Tommy?”

The look in your eyes was kind as you giggled. “Yes, even Tommy. I’m sure of it. Why else would you have made him your right hand man?”

He chuckled, turning his attention away from the map and onto you. “You’re right. You always know how to make me feel better, [Y/N].”

You offered him a small smile. “I try my best.”

The two of you set into a comfortable silence for a moment or two with you watching Wilbur strategically move pieces across the map while he jotted down notes on a slip of paper. It was only after a few minutes had passed when you spoke up once more.

“Hey,” you said softly, reaching over his ink well to slip your hand in his, “I want to show you something that’ll make you feel even better.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, his hand freezing on its quill. “Oh?”

You nodded, smiling sweetly at him. “I’ve been working on it for a little while, and I really think it’ll help us win that freedom of ours.”

He smiled at you, his gaze fond as he stood, setting his quill on the table. “Let me gather the men and I’ll be right there.”

It only took him a few minutes for him to rally everyone together, although he did have to silence Tommy when he let loose a string of curses yelling about his dedication to the grind. In practically no time, the whole battalion stood in front of you, eager to see what you had in store.

“Alright,” Wilbur said, bowing towards you, “lead the way.”

You grinned, jokingly curtsying back before turning on you heel, a skip lining your step as you strode toward a small tree sitting near the edge of the walls. “If you come down here,” you began, sliding down the side of the hill to point behind the tree, “you’ll see that there’s actually a small entranceway here.”

Wilbur’s eyes widened in surprise. There really was a hole in the hill dug out just here. He wondered just when you made it. “How the fuck did you keep this hidden from us?” Tommy muttered, squinting as you led them inside. “You didn’t even try to hide the fucking door.”

You shrugged, still strolling comfortably. “It was pretty out of the way and it faces the wall itself, so you weren’t likely to spot it, anyways. I didn’t really think it was necessary.”

The walls were dark and dank, lit up only be the occasional torch, but even then it was still dim. “This is a long tunnel,” Tubbo murmured after they had been walking for a minute or two, his head swiveling this way and that as he took in his surroundings.

You laughed. “Well, this place was pretty well-hidden, if I do say so myself.” Suddenly, you stopped, turning to look at the rest of the group. “Well, lads, here it is.”

You stepped in and to the side, and Wilbur gasped.

Lying just within the hill was a grand room. Every surface was made of smooth, polished, black bricks, and pale blue lanterns hung from each corner of the room, emitting a faint light that painted the room in an enchanting glow. Chests lined the walls, and in the center of the room sat a single button atop a panel.

Wilbur was floored—he had no idea when you had built all this.

“What is this place?” Fundy asked, his dark eyes wide with awe.

You hummed, tapping a finger on your chin as you strode to the middle of the room. “Well, I guess you could call it a secret base, but I’ve been calling it the final control room.” Something glinted in your eyes. “I spent a lot of time gathering resources and forging weaponry that we can use to fight.” You pointed at each labelled box with delight. “Look—you each have your own chest!”

Wilbur felt his heart swell with pride. Just when he didn’t think you could be any more perfect, you just had to shatter his expectations.

Everyone split apart, each rushing toward their respective chest with anticipation thrumming in their fingertips. Wilbur grinned as he reached his, unlatching the clasp on the front and flipping the lid open to reveal... nothing.

There wasn’t anything in the chest.

Uneasiness seeped into his stomach.

“[Y/N],” he said slowly, turning to look at you, “these chests are empty.”

You still stood in the center of the room, sending him that same sweet smile you always did.

“I know,” you said, lifting your hand to hover over the singular button lying on the control panel.

Something like terror struck his heart.

“[Y/N]?” he whispered.

It was only then that he noticed how cold your eyes were.

“It was never meant to be.”

What came next happened so quickly that Wilbur almost didn’t process it. He watched as your hand slammed down on the button, and a hole in the wall opened up to reveal the Dream SMP, their swords unsheathed and armour polished to shining. Screams rang out all around him, echoing in the tiny chamber of the so-called final control room. He could only watch in horror as his men were slaughtered at his side until a sword pierced his chest as well.

With a pained gasp, he looked up to you as he fell back, disbelief and the pure, utter pain of betrayal sinking into his veins while he coughed for air.

You still wore that saccharine smile of yours, the one he had fallen for long, long ago. Something menacing shone in your eyes.

He wondered how you could still be smiling at a time like this as his world went dark.

Wilbur awoke with a gasp, lurching forward with wide eyes. Panting, his hand flew to his chest, grasping at where he was just stabbed—or had been stabbed. His shoulders sank in relief as his fingertips met unmarred skin and the softness of his shirt, a sigh escaping his lips.

Coming back after death never really got any easier after the first time. He could only wonder what Tommy and Tubbo were going through—they were so young.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

Wilbur’s head shot to the side, his eyes briefly noting the fact that he was indeed lying on the bed in his room. On the opposite side of the room, you sat on a wooden chair, a book clutched between your fingertips. Something warm flitted through his chest as his eyes met yours, and he almost felt glad to see you.

Almost.

“What are you doing here?” he spat, a cruelty he had never felt for you before brewing within his gut. “Why are you even here?”

You blinked innocently at him, shutting the book in your hands and setting it on the table next to you. It was the declaration of independence, he noted with disgust. He felt sick knowing that you held it in yours hands, that you even signed it at all.

“I’m keeping you company,” you said casually, as if nothing had happened at all, as if you hadn’t just gotten him killed. “I didn’t want you to be lonely.”

Rage ripped through him, roaring through him like a wildfire. With shoulders shaking with agony, he tore the sheets from off his legs. “‘Didn’t want me to be lonely’?” he parroted mockingly as he stood to his full height. His glare was as cold as ice. “Is this some sick joke to you?”

You tilted your head at him, your mouth remaining a straight line—hard and firm. “Not particularly, no.”

That was when it hit him—when everything came crashing into him all at once.

You had sold them out.

You had abandoned them.

Did you mean anything you ever said to him? Did you ever really love him? Were your kisses ever real? Did his love really mean nothing to you? 

“[Y/N],” he breathed, horror wracking his every word, “what have you done?”

You stared at him, your expression blank and unreadable—an impenetrable wall standing between him and your psyche. He hated it. He hated how unreadable you were in this moment, and his anger older burned brighter.

“What were you thinking?” he shouted, his voice growing louder and louder. He ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, pushing it away from his soot-stained face. “We were going to get married. We—we were going to start a new life together. With Tommy, and Tubbo. Niki. Fundy, my son.” His eyes flashed. “Our son. Whatever happened to that?”

He sank to his knees, suddenly feeling very tired. The fire burned out, and an indescribable sense of sadness flowed in instead, flooding every inch of his being. He felt his eyes begin to water as you simply stared down at him, unfeeling and harsh. His voice cracked.

“[Y/N], why?”

There was no denying what you had done. He had seen it with his own two eyes, had watched a wicked glint creep into your gaze as you pressed the button and vanished.

You were a traitor, through and through, yet he still could not fathom why.

Suddenly, you took a stood, taking a slow and deliberate step toward him. Wilbur’s breath hitched in his throat as he saw you draw closer and closer, his heart pounding in his ears. Even after all that you’d done, after you’d betrayed him, his heart still yearned for you—still ached for you.

Just a step before you reached him, you stopped, crouching down to be level with him. For a moment, you simply stared at him with those eyes—those eyes he loved so, so much. Then, you opened your mouth.

“Wilbur,” you murmured, soft enough only for him to hear. “Oh, my darling, lovely Wilbur.”

Your voice was sickly sweet, dripping like honey that stuck to the roof of his mouth. He swallowed, the tiniest flicker of hope igniting in his heart. Perhaps this was all just some big misunderstanding, some prank that you were pulling on him—you always did love your mischief.

You smiled at him, the glimmer in your eyes wicked and unkind as you stood up. The sun hung just behind you in the sky, framing your face in a heavenly glow.

In another life, you would have looked like an angel.

“I was never meant to be yours.”

His heart shattered.

The tears were now freely streaming down his cheeks, running down like tiny rivers. He half-hoped that he would drown in them, that he would never have to see your beautifully wretched face again for as long as he lived.

Bending over, you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, pulling away just a second later after gently patting his head. The spot where your lips met his skin burned, and he hated himself for wishing you would stay.

You strode over to the door, swinging it open with one last glance over your shoulder and an empty half-smile. “Goodbye, Will.”

The door closed. Wilbur stared at the solid oak wood, feeling an abyss open up inside him.

Gone—you were gone.

And he was left alone.

So much for getting married.

“Was it worth it?”

You stopped swinging your legs from the gold throne you sat upon and cast a glance up at Dream, his green eyes boring into you from where he was perched on the chandelier. How he got up there, you still had no idea.

“Was what worth it?” you asked, examining a diamond between your fingers.

He cocked his head at you, gesturing to the castle surrounding the two of you. “This life. Your new title. You gave up so much for them, after all.” He began counting off on his fingers, his lips quirking. “You faked a relationship with Wilbur, pretended to love his son, befriended that brat, Tommy, and then blew it all to smithereens for the crown on your head.”

His gaze flickered back to yours. “Well?” he said again. “Was it worth it?”

You looked at him for a long moment, your expression pensive.

You thought of soft, brown curls tickling against your face as you awoke on the couch. You thought of fluttering laughter and bashful giggles. You thought of a pearly white grin flashing at you from the other side of the campfire. You thought of an old acoustic guitar that was almost always just a little out of tune. You thought of gentle kisses pressed to hands, cheeks, necks, and mouths. 

You thought of Wilbur Soot.

And you smiled and felt nothing.

“Yes.”

[heart-strong]

The Anniversary

Summary: Spencer yells at transphobes for his kid that came out a year ago today.

WC: 1.1k

TW: transphobia, gross cishet white men (Rossi and Kevin) dead name mentioned but not actually said (ex: he deadnamed me, you deadnamed them) angry spencer swearing (let me know if I missed anything)

Spencer Reid/ Fem!Reader and enby kid

AN: So this was supposed to be the prompt "Father is asked whether their child is a boy or a girl continuously (and refuses to answer because it's no one's beeswax)" but I kinda got carried away and then kept it. This is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins Fathers Day fic challenge!

This is for the kids/ people that have parents that don’t except them no matter how they identify. I love you. ❤️

read on ao3

not beta read.

———————

It's Friday afternoon, and Spencer is watching the clock as it ticks down hoping a case doesn’t come up when his trusty satchel starts vibrating on the floor.

“Hello, this is Dr. Spencer Reid,” he answers.

“Honey, do you even check the caller ID?” you answer, laughing at your husband's formal greeting.

“No. What's up darling, I’ve got one more hour until I'm free and we don’t have a case.”

“That's great!”

“Hey Reid,” your husband quickly turns around and looks to his unit chief. You can hear the rustle of his hair against the speaker. “I’m so sorry but we got a case.”

You can hear the news yourself. Shoulders slumping and looking across the table to your child Rowen.

“Hotch,” Spencer whines. “It's Rowen’s one year, are you serious?”

“I’m so sorry,” Hotchner shouts back as you reach for Rowen’s hand, tears already forming in your baby's eyes.

“(y/n) I’m sorry. Can you put Rowen on the phone?” Spencer sounds so defeated.

“Oh yeah here they are.” you hand the phone to the 13-year-old across from you. “It's your daddy, he wants to talk to you.”

Rowen grabs the phone, “Hi daddy.” they say meekly.

“Rowen, I am so freaking sorry I was so excited to celebrate with you and mommy tonight.”

“I understand, at least I got to have breakfast with you this morning.”

“Yeah, we had a great breakfast. I want you to know that you are so amazing and brave and I need you to know how great my life is with you in it. Seriously, the day your mommy told me she was pregnant I knew that I was going to have the best kid ever and I do.”

“Thanks, daddy.”

“No problem. I know you're just a kid, but you are the reason I do this. I am going to protect you until the day I die; you and your mom, I love you, and happy anniversary baby.”

“I love you too. Thank you, daddy. Can I ask you something?

“Yeah what is it?”

And the next thing that comes out of your child's mouth breaks both yours and Spencer's hearts.

“Can you tell Rossi and Kevin I don't have a gender again? Auntie Penny called and Kevin was with her so he asked me what the anniversary was for then said my dead name and that I’m just confused.”

Spencer wanted to kill Kevin Lynch with his bare hands. “Rowen, you are not confused and I will talk to him. Did he say this on the phone or did you just hear him asking Pen?”

“He just asked Penny and I don’t think she thought I heard. But I did daddy.” a sniffle. Spencer was fuming.

“Okay and I’ll also talk to Rossi. I haven't had to in a while but if it will make you feel better I will. Anything for you.”

“He texted me, ‘I don’t really understand all this but I think your dad would kill me if I didn’t say happy anniversary.”

“Are you serious? Rowen, baby can I talk to your mom. I love you very much.” Spencer heard the small ‘thanks’ and then the phone being passed off. “Did you know?”

“I didn’t know about Kevin, but they showed me the text.”

“Permission to deck both of them?”

“Please don’t get in a fight Spencer Reid.”

“But I want to.”

“You know your best weapon is your words.” you hear Spencer breathing deep. “Plus the image I have of you at work is that video JJ showed me when you were presenting a profile and you had to keep pulling your pants up because your gun was too heavy for your belt.”

“You know I switched to a revolver after that video got leaked.”

“Yes, but that was funny.”

“I’m glad. Does Rowan need anything? I can send a cake or books or something to make up for this.”

“No, the four you got them already is perfect.”

“Okay, put me on speaker then.” you move the phone on the table in between yourself and Rowan. “Alright, my loves, I’m off, don't worry about anything. I’ll talk to those two, and I will be home as soon as possible.”

“Love you, daddy.”

“Love you, Spence.”

Spencer hangs up the phone and grabs his satchel. Then runs into the round table room where the rest of the team was flipping through files.

“Pen, get your fucking boyfriend in here.” the satchel slams onto the table as Spencer yells.

“Um, Sure thing, Boy Wonder.” Penelope exists with a face mixed with terror and confusion. Spencer only swore if necessary, or he was angry enough.

“Whoa, kid, calm down.” Fucking Rossi, “what’s wrong with Lynch.”

“You know what, Rossi, shut the fuck up.”

“Spencer,” Hotch says in a tone that was only made to reprimand.

“Hey, everyone, I was summoned?” Kevin fucking Lynch, Spencer thought as the man entered with the most smart ass smirk.

“You and Rossi,” Spencer points at the two men, “Have lost talking privileges with my child! You two refuse to acknowledge their gender identity, and even worse Kevin, you dead named them and they heard! Of all days!”

“Now, Spencer.” Rossi stood up walking to him.

“No, Rossi, Rowan is my child, and I need to protect them. So what are you going to say? That gender is binary? That gender is genitalia? Because that is so fucking backward and disgusting because they are my child and you saying that you only wished them a happy anniversary so that I could be happy is awful! What about Rowan's feelings?”

The room was silent. When Spencer threw a party for Rowen a year ago a few days after they told their parents everyone came. Everyone but Rossi, sighting a new recipe gone wrong and getting food poisoning as why. Then he showed up the next day to work perfectly fine and they all realized they were working with a transphobe.

“That's what I thought. And Penny, please dump this man. I had to hear my baby say that he dead named them on the anniversary of them coming out.”

“Already done this morning!” she’s beaming. Spencer brushes off Emily shooting her head up and shocked face towards the pansexual and gorgeous Penelope Garcia.

“Great.” Spencer picked up the file and satchel. “Now Aaron, I am going home to my wife and child because those two made them cry. I will consult from home.”

Aaron nodded his approval and gestured for Spencer to exit.

Just as he arrived at the threshold, he turned around, staring right at Rossi. “ and I am 36; I have a wife and kid. Stop calling me ‘kid’.” and ran out the door, down the stairs, and out the doors of the BAU.

Waiting for the elevator, Spencer takes out his phone from his back pocket, he pulls up the group message titled “ The Lights of my Life ” and sends the message ‘I’m going to consult from home’. By the time he arrives at the bus station, he has gotten hundreds of heart emojis.

[joheun-saram]

“Is your refrigerator running?” (jjk)

Summary- Who knew the annoying prank calls you were receiving would become the favourite part of your day.

word count- 4.2k

pairing- fratboy!Jungkook x Reader

rating- PG-13

genre- fluff, collegeau

warnings- none! just stupid jokes.

a.n- Part of my drabbles for @btsholidaybingo​, ticking off the Prank Calls tile! I’ll be posting these every week or so as I get them done. Check out the other drabbles here :)

s/o to the beautiful @heyitsmeee2​ for beta reading and helping me fix the ending! 💕

As always feedback appreciated. Send me an ask! 💌

-

“So how’s your new boyfriend?” Namjoon asked you as you chewed on your fries, almost choking at his insinuition. He laughs at you as he takes a sip of his milkshake, slurping obnoxiously, his eyes widening as he concentrates on the flavour.

“Stop! He’s just a random guy with too much time on his hands! I don’t even know his name! Although...” You stared at your burger, trying to forget what your roommate was alluding to. Two months ago you had started getting phone calls from a stranger. It wasn't something from a horror movie, don't worry. It was harmless. He would call you at random times in the day to ask you silly questions. You don’t know how he even got your number but there was something about his easy going nature and lame jokes that made you want to continue talking to him. Namjoon suspected it was a byproduct of your loneliness, but it was comforting hearing his voice to break through your mundane day to day. 

"Hi, is this Y/N?" A deep voice spoke as you picked up the call from an unknown number.

"Yes this is she. Who is this?" You asked as you sat up straighter, your attention diverting from the paper you were writing. You had applied to eight jobs for after graduation and you were sure this was a call for an interview, even though it was 10 pm. Your eyes lit up as you hoped this was the big consulting firm you were waiting to hear from.

"I have a very important question that I was hoping you could help me with."

"Um.. sure go ahead." You fiddled with your pen, scribbling random shapes on your notebook, feeling somewhat nervous. Is this how employers usually talked? Did they do this to build anticipation?

"Is your refrigerator running?"

"I'm sorry what?"

"Is your refrigerator running?" 

"Are you calling on behalf of the landlord?" Your voice was flat with disappointment. Surely, this was not an important question. Oh how you wished it was an interview call. You sighed.

"Please answer my question."

"Yes. It's running."

"Then you better go catch it, shouldn't you?"

And with that he hung up and you were baffled. Which decade was this dude from? Who does these lame prank calls anyway and more importantly why does your caller ID not show who it is? Thinking nothing of it, you go about finishing your assignment, albeit slightly aggravated. However, the calls continue. Everyday this stranger would call you with questions, sometimes with a silly punchline but oftentimes even sillier riddles.

"Okay, dude seriously. This is getting annoying." You huffed after a week and a half of receiving calls from the same deep voiced stranger, although you’d be lying if you said his little laugh after he told his jokes was not endearing.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to annoy you." He seemed hurt and you couldn’t fathom why he would be hurt over a comment a stranger made over his prank calls. In fact, you were sure this was some hobby of his and he had a rotation of strangers to bother.

"Can you at least tell me your name?" You don’t know why you were indulging him, but you had to give him props for constantly calling you. It was kind of becoming part of your daily routine.

"Dixie. My name's Dixie." You could hear the mirth in his tone.

"Dixie? Oh I thought you were a dude, my bad."

"I can be a dude and still have Dixie as my name. Jeez, are you a bigot?" He scolded.

"Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean it that way, Dixie."

"That's Dixie Normus to you." He laughed at his joke, every syllable of his laugh separated as if he was a cartoon character.

"Oh my god. You're the worst!" Regardless of your words, you were laughing. Laughing hard enough to have the banana milk you were drinking to snort out of your nose, making you cough. For a moment, you were glad this stranger wasn't in the room.

"Sorry! Are you okay?" You could hear the humour in his words, shading them in anything but an apology.

And so it went, your mysterious caller, who refused to go by anything other than Dixie turned into a somewhat friend, if you can even call someone who you know no personal details about your friend. After a month the phone calls had turned from cringe worthy puns to actual conversations about your day. You had started to look forward to the unknown flashing on your screen, and sharing the mundane details of your day with Dixie.

In two months you learned a lot more about Dixie. He went to your university, he was an avid gamer, he majored in computer science, and apparently it was now part of his daily routine to call you whenever he was cooling down from his workout on the treadmill - explaining the creepy breathlessness of his voice and beeps in the background. Sometimes you had half a mind to go to the university gym during your calls and see your mysterious friend, but somehow you never found the courage. It was nice not knowing what Dixie looked like, not judging someone by their looks but just by the content of their words. There was no room for disappointment.

It also oddly comforted you that you would never meet him and during your nightly conversations you would end up sharing thoughts that you’d be too uncomfortable sharing with even your best friends. Thoughts about the uncertainty you had over graduating soon, thoughts about being sad over failed relationships, even thoughts about your random existential crisis that would plague you mid week. Dixie was empathetic and had a knack for comforting you with small jokes and his own struggles. You would never admit it to Namjoon, but Dixie was slowly becoming your closest friend, even surpassing him to a certain extent.

"You're insane you know that?" Namjoon chided as you talked about Dixie and how you considered him a friend now. Even though Namjoon was your best friend since first grade, he sometimes didn't understand why you romanticised daily events so much. He never understood why you kept giving Dixie the benefit of the doubt, why you kept picking up his phone calls even when you knew it was going to be a lame joke or two.

"I'm not insane Joon! Haven't you heard of pen pals? This is the same thing but with voice."

"Nah. I think it's your crippling loneliness. Which is why we're going to Jin's frat party tonight." Namjoon was not having any of your excuses. So what if your last relationship was a year ago. You and Yoongi were great together. He was the perfect boyfriend and after he went to LA to pursue his music career, you told him you'd wait. Turns out he wasn't on the same page as you since six months after moving, he called you to break things off. He was right though, it would have been stupid to wait for him when neither of you knew when and even if he was ever coming back. It was unfair to the both of you to keep dragging this thing along. But even if Yoongi hadn't been around the last year and a half, you just couldn't see yourself with anyone else. You still missed talking to him every night and sharing your day, laughing at stupid videos together or just listening to him playing the piano through the static line of your phone. Maybe Namjoon was right. Maybe you were lonely and the only reason you were so attached to Dixie was because of the way his phone calls had replaced Yoongi's and how you no longer waited at the end of your day staring at your phone waiting for your ex's call but instead you received real actual calls from your voice pen pal.

You sighed agreeing with Namjoon and went home, not exactly looking forward to the party and missing Dixie’s call.

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

Jin's frat was notorious for the wildest parties on campus. It was always a cacophony of drunk students and a pit of hedonism. When Namjoon and you arrived, the party was in full swing and you thanked your best friend for having the foresight of pre-drinking. The bottle of grapefruit soju you had emptied earlier at your shared apartment ensured that you were not put off by the plethora of drunk guys trying to hit on you microseconds after you entered.

Looking for Jin and let's be honest, a little gin as well, you and Namjoon made your way to the kitchen, to be greeted by your tall friend doing a keg stand. Beer dripped down his chin as his fraternity brothers held him up, his feet almost touching the ceiling. As you poured yourself a gin and tonic, Jin climbed down from the keg to a chorus of applause. Much to your chagrin, he walked over, draping his arms around your shoulders and plastering your back with his beer soaked chest.

"Ew get off me you vermin!" You squealed, shivering in the gross feeling, your backless top doing nothing to shield you from your friend’s shirt as he refused to budge.

"Vermin? VERMIN?! I invite you to my house, give you free drinks, and an array of decent dicks to pick from and I'm the vermin?" Jin finally detaches, giving you a scowl as he leans against the kitchen island, pouring himself what you gather is his tenth drink of the night.

"Jin all of these guys are as gross as you. And I've told you I don't need to get laid!"

"Sure tell that to your vibrator working overtime."

"How did you even - " you sputered, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Namjoon, obviously. And before you kill him, there are no secrets between friends and part-time lovers." He winked, making you roll your eyes. Namjoon and Jin had been on and off since the beginning of freshmen year, neither the type for commitment but to your dismay loved to tell you all about their rollercoaster of a relationship. You swear you could write a thesis on dysfunctional relationships using theirs as a case study.

"Ew. Please stop. I don't need to know about you and Joon getting it on."

"Well then let me introduce you to someone so you can get it on." He wiggled his eyebrows puckering his lips to annoy you. 

"I know all your brothers Jin and no thank you." You lightly slapped his lips making him groan as he grabbed your wrist continuing his tirade. You’d be lying if you said his frat brothers had never caught your eye - they were famous for their astoundingly good looks, in fact there even seemed to be an instagram page dedicated to people randomly spotting them on campus (@betatauinthewild). However, their good looks did not make up for the fact that they were a bunch of loud fuckboys. You loved Jin and Namjoon and would literally stab anyone who said anything against them but you had to agree that they were the biggest players of the group, finding a new person to bed almost every weekend. That is, unless they were with each other - case and point their dysfunctional relationship.

"Well we have a new brother and he's my little brother. He's a sophomore, he just joined, and he's your type. The whole quiet but nice guy type." Jin continued, ignoring you in typical fashion.

"I don't have a type."

"Please! As if Yoongi wasn’t a cookie cutter tsundere. Come on let me introduce you to him!" He grabbed your shoulder and pleaded, pouting and widening his eyes in the most adorable puppy dog face you had seen him pull.

"Can we not talk about Yoongi please." You sighed. You finished your drink and proceeded to pour another one. 

"Yes! Let's talk about JK!"

"Jin... come on. Let's just drink okay?"

"Fine but I'm telling you, you'll get along. He's a great guy."

An hour into the party, you had lost both Jin and Namjoon and were getting tired of Jin’s exceedingly drunk frat brothers trying their pick up lines of the day on you. Your head was hurting from the noise of the party and you were sure if you saw another couple subtly trying to test their exhibitionism kink you were going to puke. So as it was typical for whenever you went to these parties, you started to make your way to Jin’s room. Jin may be loud and obnoxious and being lusted after by pretty much the entire campus, but he was reliable for one thing: he never fucked where he slept. And so his room became a sort of sanctuary for you when these parties would get too much.

You made your way up the stairs almost tripping over two guys who had decided that making out horizontally on the stairs was a good idea - you did not envy how busted their backs would be tomorrow. Punching in the code you walked in to find that there was already someone there, reclined on the bed with his arms behind his head, earphones in, humming gently as he stared at the ceiling. You had never seen him before, but boy did you wish you did. His dark hair was splayed over the pillows, a smile ghosting his full lips. He was dressed in all black, much like you but unlike your lace bodysuit and skinny jeans, he was wearing a boxy back t shirt with ripped jeans, his feet in those questionable toe socks. And he was buff, even though his body was mostly covered you could make out the muscle in his arms, one of which had intricate tattoos etched on to. You’re unaware how long you stared at this stranger, but suddenly he turns his face looking at you. Seeing you there he immediately jumps up, pulling his earphones out, startling you in turn.

“I- I’m sorry. Y-you can’t be h-here,” he stutters out, a soft blush rising up his cheeks as he nervously pulls at his ear.

“I should be saying that to you. Why are you in Jin’s room?” You shut the door, leaning on it, feeling oddly territorial.

“I- Hyung needed my room.” You found the stuttering boy in front of you endearing. Something about how he bashfully stared at anything but you while speaking made you want to hug him. 

“Oh my god! You let him into your room? Drunk during a party?” You almost scream, but lower your voice seeing the alarm on his face. Walking over, you sat next to him, a few feet away so as not to make him uncomfortable. “Do you like doing laundry or something?” you joked.

Hearing your question the boy perks up, looking at you with a bright smile that made your heart skip a beat. “I do actually! How did you know?” he asks excitedly. You almost felt bad bursting his bubble.

“I didn’t… It’s just - you know Jin’s probably having sex in there right?” You look at the abject horror on his face in sympathy, so you try to change the subject. “Nevermind. Why are you hiding in here?”

“I’m not hiding. I just got bored. Everyone there just wants to hook up or get blackout drunk.”

“You do realise which frat you’re part of right?”

“I know,” he chuckles, seemingly more relaxed as he lays down on the bed, his feet still on the floor. “I honestly didn’t even wanna join but I’m a legacy so my dad really wanted me to be a part of it, Beta Tau pride and all.”

“Not to be a bitch, but dude you sound like a protagonist of a shitty college romcom,” you laugh looking down at him as he smiles, crossing your legs on the bed as you turn towards him, forcing yourself to ignore how cute he looks from this angle.

“You think you’re being a bitch, but that's a great compliment. I wish my life was a romcom. It’d be so easy…”

“Okay, emo. What’s wrong?”

“You’re going to think it’s dumb.”

“Hey I don’t even know your name! What have you got to lose?”

“Fine. There’s this girl I like and we always call each other… Well I call her.... at this time, but she didn’t pick up. So yes I’m emo, and yes I wish I was in a romcom so I’d go downstairs and randomly run into her.” He looks at you with a sad smile, shrugging slightly, and you feel yourself deflate. Not that you were interested in him or anything. You were sure it was just the alcohol in your system making you feel extra empathetic. Yup that’s it.

“Hey, that’s not stupid,” you say gently. “What if she’s down there did you check?”

“Well… I don’t actually know what she looks like… So, no…”

“Oh then maybe you should call her again! What if she was busy?”

“I don’t wanna be pushy, you know? I’m not even sure she thinks of me the same-”

“YO DIXIE! You in there?” A loud knock booms through the room accompanied by a deep voice. The attractive stranger next to you rolls his eyes before standing up, and at hearing his nickname you feel your heart kickstart, racing as you blink in disbelief. It can’t be…

“Dixie?” you stutter out.

“What’s up dude?” He opens the doors talking to Taehyung, one of the other Beta Tau brothers, as they start talking about something. You can barely hear their conversation, your brain full of scenarios and questions, your face crimson. You never thought you’d meet Dixie in real life. Do you tell him? Do you just run away? Why did he have to be so hot?!

Taehyung notices you on the bed for the first time and in typical fashion starts hollering and high-fiving Dixie. “Damn dude! The president’s best friend! Good for you!” He snickered as Dixie looked at him with his mouth agape, before turning to you. “Ay Y/N. Treat our boy JK well okay? He’s too nice for you!”

“Fuck off hyung!” JK, apparently that’s his name, shoves Taehyung as he grins widely before wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and shutting the door, seemingly getting all that he came for.

“You’re Dixie…?” You stare up at him, standing up as you try to control the overwhelming urge to wrap your hands around him. Fuck, maybe Joon was right you did have a crush on your voice pen pal.

“I- Y/N?” He looks at you, mirroring your wide eyes. “The same Y/N I’ve been talking to?”

“Call me,” you almost whisper.

“What?”

“Call me so I know it’s real.” You move closer holding your phone up as he pulls his out of his pocket to dial your number. Your phone rings, displaying a set of numbers instead of unknown for the first time, and the two of you just stare at the vibrating device in your hand. It seems like time stood still, the air thick with tension as your shitty ringtone bounces off the walls. That is until you start laughing. Not giggling, full on laughing, holding your stomach as tears spill down your face, as JK looks at you in alarm, his arms hovering near you as you double over.

“Holy shit! You are the protagonist of a romcom!” You finally wheeze out as you hold his arm for support, while he looks at you with a frown. You’re unsure why this was your reaction, but you recover quickly to start your interrogation.

“So what’s your name Dixie or JK?”

“Jungkook, actually. Dixie’s my gamertag and JK is just what Jin hyung calls me.”

“How did you get my number?”

“Umm… I might have stolen it from hyung’s phone…”

“Why?”

“Because he prank called my friends first.” He spoke with a pout, and you swear your heart forgot to function.

“Why keep calling?”

“Really Y/N? You’re gonna interrogate me?” He raised an eyebrow at you.

“Keep talking Dixie!” You chuckled as his shy demeanor gave way to the Dixie, well the Jungkook, you knew. It was weird how fast the earlier awkwardness dissipated into comfort.

“What? I thought you sounded pretty! Sue me!” He shrugged, leaning back against the door, his hands in his pocket. Your eyes followed the movement, momentarily distracted by how his forearms flexed. Clearing your throat, you continued as he smirked, not missing the way your eyes seemed to be roaming his body.

“You said you were trying to call the girl you like. So you like me?” You try to sound as matter of fact as you could, but your voice wavered slightly at the last part as you made the mistake of looking at his face. He tilted his head, causing his hair to fall into his eyes that were boring holes into you, his smirk getting larger. Oh how you wished he turned back into the boy talking about how much he liked laundry.

“I thought it was obvious. I call you every night.” He stood straight, taking a step towards you causing heat to creep up your face at his sudden confidence. You don’t respond as he moves closer, causing his steps to falter. “Do you like me?” he asks, his voice a little smaller. You’re getting whiplash from the changes in his tone, but his question makes you feel warm. You haven’t felt this way in a long time, there’s butterflies in your stomach, your hands feel clammy, and you’re sure you can feel the heat off his body, so aware of where he stands merely inches away from you.

“I think so…” you move closer and he raises his hand as if to hold your hip but stops, hovering just centimeters away as looks at you, his gaze smouldering.

“What’ll make you sure of it?” he asks in a whisper, and before you can even comprehend the question, you are leaning up on your toes to press a light kiss against his lips. His lips are slightly chapped and you’re sure he can feel your heartbeat through them. Your skin tingles where he brings his hand on your hip, gently holding you. He doesn’t push you further, just leans his forehead on yours when you separate to whisper quietly, “This.”

“And?” His nose brushes against yours as you place your hand on his chest, his pounding heart mimicking yours. He slowly rubs his hands on your hips where they lay, and it’s like your skin is electrified.

“I’m sure,” you say as he crashes his lips on yours, pulling you closer as your arms snake around his neck. His reaction is much stronger this time as he moves his lips against yours feverently. He pulls you flush against him, your body molding against his hard muscles. His hands grip at your hips as he licks lightly at your lip, groaning as they part. It seems like he can’t decide what to do with his hands, roaming them over your sides, relishing the little moan you make as one of them cups your ass. His earlier shyness disappears, and who are you to resist him, as your hands in his hair pull him closer. It’s like everything finally makes sense, why you could never ignore his calls, why your heart raced whenever you heard him call your name through the static of your speaker. You had spent this whole time convincing yourself that he was just a stranger you could vent to when it was clear to you now that you were falling for him.

He whispers your name as you break apart, but his mouth continues down your jaw to your neck, kissing and sucking at the skin. His teeth drag across your collarbone, and you whimper at the way he soothes it with his tongue as you press your body even closer into his.

“Hey Y/N! Joon’s looking for you!”

The two of you break apart at the interruption, chest heaving and faces flushed. Looking up at Jungkook, you smile as he looks away shyly, his lip caught between his teeth, before turning to your best friend who is excitedly hopping in the doorway.

“I knew you would get along with JK!” Jin exclaims as you look once again at Jungkook before you both break out in a laugh. Trust Jin to know who you’d fall for before you. He comes up to pat his frat brother on the shoulder before his proud smile turns into a glare, warning the two of you that his room was for sleeping only and abruptly kicking you out. 

The two of you giggle as you make your way downstairs, unable to keep your hands off of each other, going from holding hands to hugging to sneaking kisses in the kitchen as you make your drinks. Before the night ends the two of you end up sitting in the backyard, kissing under the stars and planning your first date later that week, even though it felt like you had known each other an eternity.

You had never felt luckier to pick up a random phone call.

[ghstandpucks]

Nothin’ Like You ~ Cale Makar

In honor of reaching over 200 followers, here is a song fic based on Dan and Shay’s Nothin’ Like You. I have a few requests in my inbox that I will be working on. If you have any, feel free to send them in using this prompt! Thank you for 200!!!

Master List

I remember when I first met you Sipping coffee in a corner booth You were twirling your hair And I just had to stare For a minute or two

Cale was with Tyson and J.T. after practice one Wednesday afternoon. The three of them decided to stop and get some coffee as it was a cold winter day outside. They were waiting in line talking about something E.J. had said earlier that day when Cale’s eyes landed on you in the back corner by a window. You had a cup of coffee and were staring at your laptop, completely oblivious to the world around you. He couldn’t help but stare as you wound and un-wound a strand of hair around your finger, every so often stopping to type something. Tyson kept talking as J.T. realized their defenseman was completely distracted by something. Following his line of sight, he chuckled. “See something you like? Or someone?” he chirped his teammate. Cale started to turn red as he looked away from you.

“I thought maybe I knew her,” he muttered. Tyson had stopped his monologue and was paying attention also now. He looked over as you had your head buried in a book, slowly typing something out.

“How did she carry all those books?” he asked with a slight laugh. Cale had noticed the numerous books you had scattered around the table. Didn’t people just do their research online now? “You like studious girls Makar?” Tyson elbowed him.

I was laughing at your stack of books Then you shot me that smile Hey beautiful girl, in your own little world Let me in it

“Man shut up,” Cale said turning on his friend. Unknowingly to them though, you had actually heard all the commotion. It was why you enjoyed doing your research in coffee shops; the garbled noises made it easier for you to concentrate. This doesn’t mean that you had heard what they said exactly, but who could really miss three hockey players walking into a small coffee shop in the middle of the week.

You looked up right as Cale was glancing back over at you. As you locked eyes, you sent him a shy smile and looked back down, trying to focus on your work again. Of course you knew who they were, all of Denver practically did. You were just an overstressed grad student with too many deadlines coming up though; he was probably just looking around the place.

The three of them ordered their coffees, and Cale noticed that you had looked sadly at your cup after taking a sip. He walked up to the counter and got the attention of the barista. “What did that girl in the corner order?” he asked, and was told it was a caramel latte. “I’ll take one of those too,” Cale said, paying for a second coffee. J.T. gave Tyson a look before he could say anything as they watched Cale walk over to you with two coffee cups.

You got all of my attention And you ain't even trying Yeah, you're my kind of different And I never seen nothin'

Nothin' like you

“Um hi. I hope you don’t mind, but I thought you could use this,” Cale said, announcing his presence at your table. You looked up, slightly startled as you had been engrossed in a thought you had while typing out your research. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckled nervously.

“No, you’re fine! Sorry, I had a train of thought going,” you sputtered out just as nervous as him. “Thank you, that’s very kind. What do I owe you?” you asked, instinctively reaching for your wallet. Cale shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said, trying to think of what the guys on the team might say in this situation. “Your number maybe?” he made a face like he couldn’t believe he just said that, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“Um, sure, yeah,” you squeaked out, writing your number on a piece of notebook paper and ripping it out to give to him. “I’m Y/N,” you introduced yourself.

“Cale,” he said, taking the paper from you. He was about to ask what you were doing when Tyson called out to him.

“Makar, are you coming?” Cale turned toward his friends who had big, goofy grins on their faces watching the interaction. You blushed slightly at the thought of others watching you.

“I’m sorry. I’ll text you,” he stuttered out, putting your number into his pocket. You smiled softly at him and nodded.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you said and he smiled at you.

“My pleasure.”  

Shades on spinning in a summer rain Dancing when there ain’t no music Just the right kind of crazy, baby

           Cale had texted you like he said he would that same evening. You honestly weren’t expecting it, but felt completely giddy when you saw the unknown number and read his message. He explained that he would be gone on a road trip with the Avs for the next week, but would like to take you to dinner when he got back. You accepted and plans were made; the two of you talking regularly throughout the week getting to know each other better.

           The Avs returned home on Thursday, and a few hours later Cale was at your apartment knocking on your door. He had brought you flowers and you couldn’t help but smile at the kind gesture. The two of you made your way to dinner, talking the whole time. He had just finished telling you a funny story from the trip, beaming at the giggle he had enticed from you when your food arrived. As you looked down at your plate, you started moving your head and shoulders in an excited fashion. “Are you dancing?” Cale questioned you with a chuckle. You stopped immediately.

           “Oh my gosh, sorry. I tend to have a happy dance with food. It’s a weird family thing. I don’t even realize I do it until it’s pointed out to me,” you rambled on, face turning red. Cale shook his head.

           “Don’t be sorry. I though it was cute,” he said in a low tone. You smiled and giggled nervously; Cale deciding then and there that he wanted to continue seeing that smile for as long as you would let him.  

Something about you Rocking that rock 'n roll t-shirt Whole party dressed up But you just doin’ your thing Ain't nobody ever seen nothin' like you

           You were working on your research the following Friday night, having the game on in the background. Cale had taken you out to dinner once more since your first date, and the two of you had been nonstop texting. The Avs had won, Cale scoring that night. After the game you were about to text him a ‘congratulations’ when your phone started to ring, the caller ID showing it was him. “Congratulations!” you said as you answered and heard him chuckle on the other end of the line.

           “Thanks Y/N. Hey, what are you doing tonight?” he asked, and you heard a few wolf whistles behind him with muttered ‘shut ups’ coming from the defenseman.

           “I’ve just been working on my research since I got out of class earlier. Why?” you asked, trying not to laugh.

           “Come out with us. We’re all going out to celebrate,” he said in a more hushed tone, and you could imagine him trying to avoid the whole locker room from hearing.

           “Cale, I would love to but I’m not dressed to go out,” you said.

           “Who cares. Please? I would like you to come,” he pleaded with you ever so slightly. You looked down at your outfit, deciding it wouldn’t take much to put on some jeans quickly. Your Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt didn’t look terrible at least.

           “Text me the address,” you said into the phone, and you could hear the excitement in Cale’s voice as he said he would.

When you're wearing them worn out jeans Purple untied shoestrings You're a light in the dark And you're stealing my heart like a gypsy

           Showing up to the bar, you became a little self-conscious. Maybe you should have changed? The second Cale spotted you though, he thought you were the most beautiful girl in the room. The front of your band tee was tucked into your ripped black jeans, your white converse showing years of wear as they were no longer exactly white and the shoelaces were frayed at the ends. Cale knew you were probably stressed with your research, and yet you still had the softest smile and a sparkle in your eyes when you found him in the crowd. “You made it,” he whispered into your hair as he hugged you close. He felt you giggle into his chest.

           “Couldn’t let you down,” you answered simply. Cale smiled at you and took your hand, leading you over to a table where some of the team was sitting.

           “Coffee shop girl!” A slightly tipsy Tyson shouted.

           “Oh my God,” Cale muttered as you giggled. You were introduced to everyone as you took a seat between Cale and someone he called Gravy.

           “So what is your research on?” Gabriel Landeskog asked when you said you were a grad student at the University of Denver.

           “The archaeology of Zoroastrianism,” you said, and caught many blank stares.

           “Zoro what?” Andre asked.

           “It’s an ancient Persian religion. Today’s modern practices of Christianity, Islam, and Judaism all have common ties to it,” you briefly explained.

           “Wait, that was the religion Freddie Mercury practiced,” Sam Girard commented, looking interested. You nodded.

           “That’s how most people have heard of it now,” you responded.

           “What is your research trying to say about it?” he asked.

           “So I’m basically writing a big literature review to make sure it is preserved in the archaeological record. It was the first dualistic religion in a time where civilizations had their pantheons to believe in. It spread with the Persian conquest, but no one they conquered was ever forced to convert to it. Now it’s a rare religion to come across, and their numbers keep getting smaller. With it being one of the oldest organized religions, it needs to be preserved and the traditions documented before we lose it all through modernization attempts.” To you, your explanation was simple and one that you had said many times whenever asked what you were studying. It seemed you had impressed the table though, and you slightly blushed as a few questions started flying your way. You didn’t notice Cale softly smiling at you while you talked about a topic that you loved so much; he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. His teammates noticed though, and boy were they going to give it to him at practice.    

I love the way that you kiss me In front of everybody So baby come and kiss me They ain't ever seen nothin'

Nothin' like you

           The following day at practice, the guys were giving Cale crap for how head over heels he seemed for you. The fact he hadn’t kissed you yet was another source of ridicule. Everyone who had met you ended up adoring you within the time span that you spent with them at the bar; and they could easily see that their defenseman was taken by you as his cheeks would turn red at the mention of your name. They were all happy for him, but that didn’t mean the chirping would stop.

           They had another home game to play the following day, and Gabe convinced Cale to invite you and have you sit with Mel and Linnea. Later that day Cale went to your apartment and handed you his jersey, asking you to be there for the game. You couldn’t say no to him, not that you wanted to anyways. That Sunday you put on the jersey and headed to the stadium. Meeting Mel at the front, you quickly got along and enjoyed the game. The Avs came out victorious again, and you followed the captain’s wife to the locker rooms. You stepped aside as Gabe made his way over to his wife, feeling a little out of place. Luckily for you, Cale wasn’t far behind.

           He didn’t know if it was from the guys comments or seeing you in his jersey, but one second he was smiling widely at you, then the next his lips were on yours and his hands on your waist. Without a second thought, you kissed him back, your hands holding his face to yours. You were both grinning ear to ear as you separated, chirps flying all around but all in good nature. Giggling, you hid your face in Cale’s chest as his face turned bright red.

Shades on spinning in a summer rain Dancing when there ain’t no music Just the right kind of crazy, baby Something about you Rocking that rock 'n roll t-shirt Whole party dressed up But you just doing your thing Ain't nobody ever seen nothin' like you, yeah

           A year had passed and you were at the end of your grad program. You were set to present your research at the graduate fair, having been selected to present your research on behalf of your department. The Avs were scheduled to be flying back home that day, but Cale wasn’t sure if he would be there in time to see you present. You told him that it was fine, that you understood; and you really did. He was hell bent on making it though. You weren’t that surprised when you saw Cale sneaking into the back of the auditorium. What did surprise you was that half the team had followed him in. Having become good friends with them, they wanted to be there to support you too. As your name was announced, you swear you had the loudest applause.

           You calmly presented your research, smiling at Cale when you finished and a few questions were thrown your way. Having worked so hard, the questions were simple to answer. Finding Cale afterward, he took your poster from you and the two of you made your way to his apartment so he could unpack from the trip. Changing into some leggings and one of his shirts, you showed him the bound copy of your 105 page thesis. He was so proud of you and couldn’t help but share the cover on his Insta story. The two of you cuddle and slept better that night then you had in a while. For him it was being back home with you, and you finally had the stress of your research gone since the first time you met him.  

Nothin' like you Shades on spinning in a summer rain Dancing in the rain no music Nothin' like you Rocking that rock 'n roll t-shirt Whole party dressed up But you just doing your thing Ain't nobody ever seen nothin' like you, yeah

           Once you graduated, Cale asked you to move in with him. You had secured a job at a museum as a curator in their Antient History section. Setting up an exhibit all morning, you met up with Cale at the same coffee shop you had met at two years prior later that day. “Sorry I’m late” you muttered to Cale as you found him. He smiled and gave you a quick kiss.

           “You have nothing to be sorry about. I already put your order in,” he said as you sat across from him, taking a sip of the coffee he got you.

           “You know me so well,” you hummed with a giggle, the caramel latte tasting sweet. Cale grinned at you.

           “Technically, your coffee order was the first thing I learned about you, so I better get that right,” he chuckled. “That and you seemed like a huge nerd.” You faked offense, but laughed anyway.

           “It was all those books that got you. I knew my tactic of sitting in a coffee shop would work for me one day,” you winked at him.

           “It did. I’d never seen nothing like you,” he grinned, reaching into his pocket to take out a small velvet jewelry box.

Never seen, never seen nothin' like you Ain't never seen anything like you Mmm Never seen nothin' like you

Tagging: @yeahcalesy @avsfans95  @tysojost​ 

[gukvante]

the gym selfie

— pairing: namjoon x reader

— genre: slice of life, smut

— rating: nsfw

— words: 1.5k+

— note: ngl, this was completely self-indulgent and based off of this selfie namjoon posted :O also, a disclaimer, i do not own the picture of namjoon used in my banner. happy reading further <3

— warnings: explicit/detailed sexual intercourse, dom!namjoon, sub!reader, daddy kink, cum eating, oral (m receiving), some good ol’ face fucking, some praise sprinkled with a little degrading, established relationship

— summary: Namjoon posts a gym selfie and it got you feeling some type of way.

masterlist

© gukvante —all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any medium is not permitted. 

You huffed staring down at the last text you had sent Namjoon. No response. You had sent him a text asking if he wanted to meet up for lunch since you were in the area but to no avail. 

You were about to give up hope of getting to go on a cute little lunch date with your boyfriend when your phone vibrated. It was a notification letting you know that Namjoon had just posted on Weverse. 

You huffed in slight annoyance that he had time to post but not respond to your text messages. 

Tapping on the notification to open the post, you watched as it loaded for a few seconds before you were met with the most delicious sight. 

You eyes widened slightly, your jaw going slack. Namjoon had posted a picture, a workout picture to be precise. The sleeveless top he wore showed off his defined arms and strong shoulders.

It was like your hands had a mind of their own as you zoomed in further to closely inspect his long fingers. Something about the way he gripped the phone had your breath hitching.

You were snapped back into reality when someone accidentally bumped into you. It was only then that you remembered that you were standing in the middle of the sidewalk. 

Quickly apologising to the stranger and wishing them a pleasant day further, you all but sprinted to sit on a nearby bench. You checked your surroundings again to make sure no one was watching you perv on your delectable boyfriend. 

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath, somewhat preparing yourself. Once you felt you were ready to continue, your eyes snapped back to the screen. Heat spread across your cheeks as your eyes trailed lower.

Namjoon was sporting gym shorts that exposed a  little bit of his muscular thighs. You frowned slightly when you realised the angle of the picture hid his bulge. Just as you were about to zoom in closer, your ringtone cut through the air. 

Your face flushed as you read the caller ID, Namjoon. With shaky hands, you held the phone up to your ear. “H-Hello?” Your voice crocked.

“Hi, baby. Sorry for not answering your texts, I was working out.” Namjoon’s smooth voice seemed to send your body into overdrive. Rubbing your thighs together, you cleared your throat before answering.

“I-I know.” You stuttered. What was going on with you? You’ve seen him naked plenty of times, why was this one picture affecting you so much? 

“Are you okay, princess? You sound a bit off.” Namjoon asked, his voice full of concern. Taking a deep breath to calm your nerves, you answered again.

“I’m fine! Just a bit . . . winded . . . I guess.” You fiddled with your fingers as you waited for his response. 

“Well, I would love to grab some lunch with you. I just have to pack up a few things and take a quick shower. I should be done in the next twenty minutes or so.” You nodded in agreement, getting ready to hang up. 

“Baby? You still there?” Namjoon asked, confused. 

“Yes! Yes, I am. Sorry, I completely forgot we were on a phone call and nodded like a dumbass! You probably think I’m so–” 

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it. Are you sure you’re okay?” He questioned again, concerned something might have happened. 

“Yes, I’m great! D-Don’t worry. I’ll see you soon?” 

“I’ll see you soon, kitten.”

Hanging up, you let out a deep sigh before standing up and walking in the direction of BigHit. 

Once you were inside the building, you hastily made your way up to the dressing rooms. Upon your arrival, you were met with Yoongi, who seemed to be on his way out. 

“Yoongi! Hey! How are you?” You called, stopping him in his tracks. 

“Ah, y/n! Can’t complain, you?” Yoongi smiled as he acknowledged you. 

“I’m great! Thanks for asking. Do you perhaps know where I can find Namjoon?” You reached into your pocket, ready to pull your phone out to call him if Yoongi didn’t know where he was. 

Yoongi nodded, pointing in the direction of the showers before turning to leave again. “It was nice seeing you, y/n. Enjoy your time with Joon!” Yoongi smirked over his shoulder as he walked out the room. 

Your face erupted at the innuendo, shaking your head. Letting out another sigh, you moved to put your things down. Closing your eyes, you took one last deep breath before nodding and making your way into the shower room. 

You could hear the water running and Namjoon humming softly to himself. Deciding not to announce your arrival, you slowly started removing your clothes. 

You placed your clothes next to Namjoon’s before reaching out to pull back the shower curtain. Namjoon was quick to turn around in shock, almost slipping in the process. 

“Baby? Geez, you scared me!” He chuckled. “What are you do–” it was only then that he realised that you were butt-naked. His eyes seemed to darken as they roamed over your body, taking in every dip and curve. 

“Don’t worry about me, just stand back and enjoy.” You winked. Namjoon cocked his head to the side, his eyebrow raising. 

Walking further into the shower, you slowly and carefully dropped to your knees. Pushing your hair from your face, you tilted your head to look him in the eye.

“Please let me suck your cock, daddy?” You pleaded, batting your eyelashes to seal the deal. 

“Go ahead, kitten.” Namjoon said, his jaw clenching. Breaking eye contact, you came face to face with his girthy length. 

Your mouth watered at the sight. He was fully erect, his tip a deep pink. Lifting a hand, you wrapped it around his base. Your fingers barely touched, your pussy fluttering from the realisation. 

Learning forward, you placed soft kisses all over the underside of his cock. Namjoon huffed, glaring down at you and reached a hand out to grip your hair. 

“Now, now, babygirl. Who said you could tease daddy?” He’s jaw was clenched in annoyance as he grinded his teeth together. You eyes widened at his serious expression. 

“That’s what I thought. Now, be a good little cockslut and let daddy fuck your greedy throat.” 

You let your mouth fall open in obedience, anything for Namjoon. His free hand dropped to replace yours at the base of his cock. 

“Stick your tongue out, pretty girl.” Namjoon’s voice seemed to deepen and gain a certain raspiness to it. 

Your tongue lolled out your mouth, completely submitting to him. Namjoon smirked before rubbing his tip against your tongue. “Suck.” He huffed. Complying, you wrapped your lips around his cockhead. 

Namjoon let out a growl as he watched you suck on him while maintaining eye contact. He let suckle on him a little longer, his breathing becoming laboured. 

“Daddy’s gonna fuck your throat now. Okay, angel?” On cue, he started steadily inching his fat cock down your throat. Breathing through your nose, you tried your best to relax your throat to allow him in further. 

Namjoon let out a loud groan, throwing his head back. He pulled back slightly before thrusting back in again. He kept the slow pace for a minute or two before he reach down to lightly grip your throat while his other hand tightened its grip on your hair. 

Drawing his hips back, he was quick to pick up the pace. Your eyes rolled back as his cock slid deeper with every thrust. 

Tears started to form in your eyes as Namjoon continued to abuse your throat. He was panting now, his hips frantically chasing sweet release. Namjoon pulled out with a deep groan. 

“You still good, baby?” He rasped. You nodded, taking a few deep breaths before moving to take him again. Namjoon all but growled. 

He picked up right where he left off, leaning over slightly to reach even deeper down your throat. The room was filled with the sound of wet squelching and Namjoon’s deep groans. 

Lifting a hand, you cupped his balls, squeezing gently. Namjoon moaned, his hips stuttering. “Keep doing that, kitten. ‘m so close.” 

Adding more pressure, you continued to massage his balls. His thrusts becoming sloppier. Namjoon threw his head back as he moaned out your name. 

“I’m gonna cum and you’re gonna swallow it like good little cumslut.” He growled out, his hips speeding up. 

He pulled your head all the way to his base, placing a hand on either side of your face to hold your head in place. He let out one last groan before he emptied his load down your throat. 

You tried your best to swallow like he instructed but it was too much and some of it dripped down your chin. Namjoon gently pulled out. He let out a satisfied sigh before staring down at you. 

He reached down, wiping away a stray tear. He smiled sweetly, caressing your face. You leaned your head against his hand as you stared up at him lovingly.

“It’s your turn now, kitten.” 

[joontier]

Subliminal in Scrubs | V1;  report viii

pairings: dr. jeon jungkook x female reader

chapter rating: NC-17 | genre: humor, romance

warnings: someone will be leaving...temporarily....

word count: 2.3k

g/n: sorry for posting this late sdfasdfa

[taglist]: @nottodayjjk @ditttiii @zeharilisharaban @btsbunny07 @turquoiseandplaidinautumn @aamxxrii @codeinebelle​

Subliminal in Scrubs (the records) |  navi. | m.list

There’s a knock on your door, one you instantly recognize as it’s a catchy beat you exclusively share with one person alone: Ayoung. “Mind if I came over?” she asks from the other side of the door. You roll your eyes, chuckling as you walk to your doorway, “I don’t even know why you even bother asking, honestly!” 

“Unlawful entry happens when a private person enters the property of another without consent from the owner. The same shall be punished by…” 

Ayoung pauses her sentence midway as you open the door. “And does that count when said owner had long given such private person the passcode to her door, Attorney Shin Ayoung?” 

It’s Ayoung who fondly rolls her eyes this time. She raises her hands, fingers turning white as she clutches onto two bags full of food. Your face lights up at the sight.  Whoever said that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach was severely mistaken - that, or he or she hadn’t taken a woman’s true source of wellbeing into consideration.

“What’s on our menu today?” 

“Oh you know our go-to review food. Seori halmeoni’s jjajjangmyeon house special!” Your mouth falls agape, astounded at how she even managed to get those when halmeoni’s special dish always sold out in the middle of the day. 

“Please don’t tell you lined up for hours for these...” 

“What if I told you I didn’t have to?” Ayoung winks while she takes her shoes off.  You grab the food from her hands and start setting the table. “What do you mean you didn’t have to?” She chuckles at your creased forehead, knowing you’re talking about the minimum one-hour waiting time of halmeoni’s stall - and that’s on off-peak hours.

“I think the landlady might’ve mentioned me moving to a new apartment, so when I was coming home from school today, she called me over to her stall and handed me these care packages.” 

“Awh, that’s so sweet of her!” Your chest warms at the thought and the reminder that your lovely neighbor was going to move away. Not to mention Chohee has similar plans too. 

Ayoung lets Netflix pick out a random movie, adjusting the lighting of your room enough for you to eat your dinner while watching. “Right, speaking of, won’t the hospitals be sending out acceptances for your post-graduate internship?” 

Pushing your laptop to Ayoung’s side of the table, you show her the screen of your mail - the same page you have been refreshing for hours now. “Well, let’s just hope for the best then, shall we?” 

Forty-five minutes into Miss Congeniality, a notification from your mail app lights up your phone screen. You see the header display that it’s from Woocheon, and it’s as if your heart drops to the ground, and your fingers are simply glued to the side of your phone, leaving you staring at it until the screen turns black again. 

Ayoung notices your silence and pauses the movie. “You okay?” the sweet girl places a comforting hand on your shoulder, shaking you gently to wake you from your trance. Gulping, you look at her expectantly. “It’s an email from Woocheon.” Her eyes widen along with yours. “Well, aren’t you going to open it?” 

“What if I didn’t make it?” 

“Unnie, you wouldn’t know unless you do.” 

With one eye closed, you turn to your laptop and click on the new mail. “Besides, they’d be a fool if they didn't accept the application of the same woman who topped the exam now, wouldn’t they?”

Just then, Chohee’s caller ID lights up your phone. 

“_____________!!!!!!!!!” Your best friend’s voice rings in your ears, your barely comprehensible name loud and clear with Chohee’s shrieking.

“I’m already positive you got accepted to Woocheon because I had this gut feeling and you know my gut never lied to me - plus I had it confirmed by a fortune teller…” Chohee starts, then takes a breather, “BUT guess what? I also made it to Daegu Medical Center!! GAH _________ I’m literally crying right now!!” 

“I’m so proud of you Chee, I really am,” your voice wavers, and you bite on your lip to keep yourself from pouring out all your feelings. “Don’t go me emotional right now, young woman! I’ve got makeup on, and my parents and I are going out to dinner, and I can’t ruin my cute outfit with tear-stained cheeks now, can I?” 

Typical Chohee. You smile. “Of course, Chee. I know. We’re gonna be actual doctors! You go ahead and enjoy your family time. Young-ie has come over with jjajjangmyeon.” 

“It’s jjajjang-night and none of you even bothered to send me an invite?! So much for our so-called friendship huh!” 

“Well, if you’re willing to drive three hours all the way from Daegu after you have dinner with your parents, you’re free to come. Otherwise, we’ll have to finish halmeoni’s recipe all by ourselves.” 

Chohee sighs from the other end of the line, while Ayoung watches your conversation with your best friend with the fondest of smiles. Chohee doesn’t stay long after that, declaring that she has to go. As soon as you put down your phone, Ayoung asks about your best friend, “If you don’t mind me asking, why did she choose Daegu Medical Center? I thought Woocheon was like the most sought after hospital for internships?” 

“Actually, DMC is being managed by Woocheon too. If I’m not mistaken, it’s also equally as hard to enter Woocheon. Plus her parents work there too, so DMC was the only hospital for her.” Ayoung nods her head in acknowledgment, then presses a button on the remote to continue the movie when an unknown number sends you a text.

Out of all people, you weren’t expecting Soomin to send you a text. You’d been meaning to hear from her so you excitedly send her a text back. 

Just the same as the last time you went here with Chohee, the tiny bell dings when you open the door to the cafe. Soomin instantly hears the sound and waves you over to her table. As you near, she rises from her seat with a big smile on her face. 

“________! Long time no see!” she exclaims, extending a hand outward to offer you the seat across hers. 

“Soomin! It’s been some time, hasn’t it? Would you believe it’s been months since we were reviewing our notes under strobe lights and loud music? Out of all the places to review though!” you laugh, setting your bag down. While Soomin goes through the menu, you take the opportunity to look for Jimin if he was around so you could introduce them to each other too. After all, there’s no harm casually meeting your workmates before meeting them formally as coworkers right? 

“You know, I was really looking forward to this day - especially when you had invited me to this lovely place for brunch…” A smile graces Soomin’s youthful features. “I actually know someone who world here...I’m not exactly sure if he’s working today though…” Once more, you glance over Soomin’s shoulders, hoping you’ll catch a glimpse of Jimin’s golden locks. Ah, yes. Speaking of goldilocks. 

“Wow! Just in time.... He’s actually here today! Jimin!” Your calling his name surprises him, immediately causing him to look for the source of the voice. He’s sporting a wide grin when he recognizes you from the counter, until he sees who you’re with then diverts his attention somewhere and walks away quickly. 

Absolutely taken aback by his reaction, you sit there for a moment with your mouth agape until Soomin clears her throat discreetly. “Um...o-okaayy, that was awfully strange...I’m sorry - he’s not usually like that.” You discreetly hide the disappointment in your voice, wondering if Jimin just literally pretended to not see you when you had even waved him over. 

“Oh really?” 

“Yeah...um...I’ll try to approach him later…” 

“Perhaps he’s uncomfortable meeting strangers?” 

Highly unlikely. Not when Jimin had no problem interacting with the other oath takers that he managed to get the whole group and your families away from the maze they called the convention center. Plus, he’s really good with the customers too who generously fill up the tip box after experiencing Jimin’s exemplary customer service. Jimin’s ability to handle social interactions is out of the question. 

“This Jimin guy,” Soomin starts, pointing a thumb towards the till, “how did you get to know him?” 

You pause for a moment, recalling your memories. “Honestly, I just realized it now, but I actually met him the same night I met you. He was in the same club we were dragged into, and when you convinced me to approach the cute guy at the bar, he actually saved me from a spiked drink - from the dude I was supposed to hit on. The next time I met Jimin was when Chohee and I went here for brunch too and we saw him working here, so I guess that’s how we all came to be friends…” Jimin’s cold-shoulder just moments ago appears in your thoughts. “....I guess...at least that’s what I thought.” 

You figure this apparent ‘friendship’ with Jimin wasn’t exactly as real as you thought it was.

It’s all the more surprising that Soomin seems to be the least interested in your meeting, or, that she already knew who Jimin was. She was simply nodding her head as you talked, occasionally sneaking a few glances at Jimin while he was serving orders to the other customers. 

You start patching things up, trying to put two and two together to see if it would all make sense. No way. Could it be? That these two had history? 

Just then, Soomin stands to excuse herself and heads over to the toilet. The moment she disappears from your sight, you hastily call Jimin over. “Are you okay? Was there a reason why you couldn’t come over earlier? I wanted to introduce two of my friends to each other, but one doesn’t seem to be so willing....” You cross your arms over your chest, murmuring your hurt feelings loud enough for Jimin to hear. 

“I’m sorry, ________. But your ‘friend’....she’s not really just someone uh…” 

“Was she your ex-girlfriend then?” Pursing your lips, you egg him to go on with a raise of your eyebrow. Jimin’s eyes widen and he shakes his head back and forth. “No! No...it’s not like that...she’s actually my boss.” 

His hesitant explanation doesn’t convince you one bit. Surely, there’s all the more reason for him not to blatantly ignore you when his boss was seated right in front of you the whole time, wasn’t it? 

Jimin sighs as he watches your reaction, knowing his clarification didn’t suffice. “Well she isn’t my boss, per se, but she is the daughter of the woman who owns this cafe. Wait, they own the whole building, really.” 

Oh. 

“And uh…” Jimin gulps. Hard. “....the other day…” He looks around warily. “...I might have spilled coffee all over her dress...which was white…” 

Oh. 

Shit. 

“Why didn’t you just quit? It would have been easier.” 

“I couldn’t. Not when Woocheon’s results weren’t out yet. I need my allowances too!” 

Just as if on a terrible cue, out of nowhere, Soomin appears beside Jimin. You weren’t about to abort from your original mission though. “Hah! Perfect timing! Um, Soomin, this is Jim…” Before you even finish your sentence, Jimin bows quickly, apologizes, then turns on his heel, declaring that he still had to get back to the kitchen to do stuff. 

Soomin remains silent, getting back to her seat quietly. You suddenly feel bad for her, seeing how Jimin makes every attempt to ignore her, and gets away with it every time. 

Unfortunately and unlike Chohee, you are unable to get out of an awkward situation in a snap of a finger, so you apologize in Jimin’s stead first. “I’m so sorry, uh, he can be really shy at first…” Hopefully that wasn’t a complete lie?

Much to your surprise, Soomin waves it off with a smile. “It’s no worry, really. He’s probably still bothered with him spilling coffee all over my dress but I assured him a couple of times that it wasn’t that big of a deal. And that I always have extra clothes stashed in my car.” 

Soomin shrugs as she takes a sip of her lemonade. “I told Jimin it was nothing afterwards, but he wouldn’t stop apologizing...and now he won’t look at me too.” You’re at a total loss, amazed at how she calmly and easily handled that situation like a true boss. 

“Besides, dwelling on such a small thing won’t be worth it. Not when we’ll be spending an entire year together…” 

You go over her statement again, partly confused. An entire year together? She meant the internship, probably? And above all that - she knew about Jimin too, even when the boy won’t even let himself get five meters close to Soomin?” 

“Ah yes, I’m sure Jimin has told you about Woocheon as well right?” 

Well, you were aware of that, but you weren’t so sure about how she knew about yours and Jimin’s applications. “Yeah...um, but….I’m sorry, was there a list online that mentioned all the chosen applicants for the internship program?” 

“Oh right - I sort of know some people from Woocheon who have told me about those who got accepted...It still feels like it was just yesterday when I was registering my classes for med school and now we're finally here!” 

The two of you toast the future, clinking your glasses of lemonade together. Nothing could get better than having your friends become your workmates too. Surely, it’s a sad fact that Chohee won’t be going to the same hospital as you would, but you’re beyond elated that she got into DMC where she’d always wanted to work at. 

At least you’ve got Jimin and Soomin by your side now, and hopefully, new friends you’ll meet along the way.

© joontier 2021

[stargaze-issei]

Stoner Hawks being on patrol with him and maybe having a fire quirk (Dabi’s sis blue flames but you know Endevor don’t know that maybe she knows Dabi is her brother and knew that he ran away and never told her dad about it and how often she sees him but n e way she’s a hero did the whole UA thing) and being on patrol on top a building Keigo rolls a joint and moves on in readers direction like “can you spark it?🥺” maybe just smoking maybe some smut

this made me sO soft, like yes stoner hawks being the cutest 🥺 i got a little carried away with it, and somehow it ended up being 2.1k long ( ´◡‿ゝ◡`) thank u sm for requesting, i loved it.

stoner!takami with a todoroki!reader.

summary; in the request.

genre; fluff, smut.

warnings; daddy kink, praise kink, breeding kink, oral (receiving-giving), curse words, idk fucking(? smut in general.

word count; 2.1k

author's note; don't judge me it's my first time writing smut ):

 your phone rang in the pocket of your hero costume, the id showing a smiley keigo. despite knowing what was about to happen, you couldn't avoid your own smile. as you answered, the first thing you heard was wind on his side of the line, you sighed, he was probably calling while flying, again.

"one of this days, you're going to crash against a plane" his melodic laugh reached through the speaker. damn, how could you stay mad when he's laughing like that?

"i'm going to assume you're already at our spot, gorgeous" this time you laughed, nervously, takami hated waiting more than anything, and there you were, thirty minutes away from your meeting point. "send me your location, i'm picking you up" and just as fast, he hung up. flying with him was a better idea than running through the city by yourself, therefore, you did as he said.

a giggle escaped your mouth, he had that effect on you, despite of knowing each other for that long. it didn't matter how many times he called you pretty, gorgeous, angel, your face instantly heated up. and he loved it, it gave you a fake innocence, that he sure knew was oly a facade. in less than five minutes, his mighty figure covered the sun above you, looking like that, he could easily be confused by an angel send from heaven.

"i know i'm hot, but you're drooling a bit" takami, the endless teaser.

"let's just go" he picked you up, bridal style, gaining a few curious glares.

your relationship, if you could call it that, had always been a subject of gossip. not you nor him had either confirmed it or deny the rumors about it, truth be told, not even you knew what you were. it was more than friendship, but not as committed as an actual couple. you were used to kiss him, sleep with him, get high with him, and that was enough. there were feelings between, from both parts, but this was the best way. two heroes, in the peak of their careers, had no time for anything else. the ride to your usual vigilance spot was short, hawks flying at a dangerous speed, despite your complete trust in him, you still wondered if he could drop you.

"what took you so long?" he asked, once you were sitting in the edge of the tall building. you sighed, to keep that secret from him was exhausting, at least.

"my brother called".

an awkward silence grew, takami knew you were endeavor's oldest daughter, his pride and joy, wether you liked it or not. obviously he knew your brother had to be endeavor's lost son, touya. what you had kept to yourself was he went now by the name dabi, a faithful follower of the hero killer's ideals.

"is he okay?"

"mhm, he needed money".

keigo wasn't going to tell you this, but every time you said you brother called because he needed something, his blood boiled in his veins. ignoring the fact that he had to stay hidden, for some reason you wouldn't say, to hawks it seemed like he only reached out to you out of material need, meanwhile you were always preocuppied with his well. takami's hand found its way to yours, even wtih gloves you could feel his warmness. 

"oh, right, i-i've been saving this for us" he took a small plastic bag out of his pocket, letting you see those green herbs. by the looks, it had to be more expensive than usual. you gasped, in a really cute way, hawks thought. no words were needed, he grindered the pot before rolling a joint. his tongue appeared to seal it, looking straight into your eyes while licking it. he knew exactly what he was doing. "may you do the honors, angel face" a small blue flame igniciate in the tip of your index finger, just as he inhale for the first time.

takami, covered in a cloud of smoke, holding a blunt on his hand, adding that chilled look in his face. was certainly a sight to see.

unspokenly, he handed it over to you. with a smile on you face, you hit it for the first time. for a while, non of you talked, just enjoying each other's company, in fact, those moments with keigo were you favorite, you didn't have to worry for anything besides him. and he thought the same, there, he could stop being hawks, he could be just keigo, your long term friend, leaving all the responsabilities of being a hero in the ground. with you, he felt like flying.

by pure coincidence, he caught you looking at his profile. the moonlight made you have a different kind of glow, like a fairy, he thought. almost withouth realizing, he leaned over to you, his lips seeking yours rather desperately. his hand wondered to your hair, finding its place in the back of your neck, pulling you closer and making sure you weren't escaping. his experimented tongue made its way into your mouth, going through every place he already knew like it was the first time. he tasted like smoke. once he knew you were on the same page, he pushed you back on solid ground, laying on top of you. a moan left your lips, drowned by his own mouth, when his still dressed hips impacted against you. 

every touch was being enhanced by the effect of the pot. he pulled away, breaking the moment. he needed to look at you, your lust filled eyes, your half opened mouth. it was enough to get him hard in his pants. with a quick movement, he took out his gloves, fastly moving to take off your complicated hero costume. maybe it was because he was blown out of his mind, or he was just to eager to see your naked body, but he had a serious struggle doing it, making a soft giggle leave your throat. 

"you could help me instead of laughing at me" he whined, jokingly upset.

"and miss the hawks having troubles with a bra? i don't think so" that seemed to made him even more anxious, you knew he was done when a small "finally" was whispered.

between laughs, giggles and smirks, he got back on top of yours. he liked to feel you naked underneath him, having you to his complete disposal, and not losing a single item of his clothes. you weren't letting him enjoy the moment to much, a girl has her need, and touching his work out abs was certainly a need. you removed his shirt, smiling at his messy hair. 

he started to leave a trace of kisses from your lips to you r collarbone, licking, biting, leaving small dark marks on your skin. just at that, you became a moaning mess, there was something so dirty about takami marking your body.

"babygirl, i haven't even started" with that, you closed your eyes, giving into pleasure as his kisses got lower and lower. when he got to your breast, your nipples were already hard, expecting to feel his wet mouth any moment now. but that wasn't all that happened, almost at the same time, you felt a hand opening its way to your drenched cunt. "look at that, you're already so wet from my mouth only".

his tongue circle you nip at a killing pace, while two fingers found their way inside you without any warning. so thight, he said, his mind already thinking on how well you could take his cock. with his thumb in the perfect position, he started massaging your swollen clit. all you could do was melt in his touch. his free hand reached to the last bit of the blunt, which rested at a safe distance. he got up, leaving you kneeled in front of him.

"open your mouth, princess" despite his loving tone, he wasn't asking, so you did as you were told and watched him hit the last of the joint, keeping as much smoke as he could beofre leaning towards you. with a kiss, he shared it with you, entangling your tongues. he licked your lips, getting back up, his hand resting on the waist of his pants. "you're gonna be a good girl, aren't you, princess?" he got his hips so close to your face that your mouth watered.

"yes, daddy" you knew calling him that was a trigger. he took out his fat dick outside his pants, so hard that it was starting to hurt. his hand placed on the back of your head, guiding you to your objective. 

as soon as your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, he let out a unsually deep growl. takami never lasted that long, and being under the inffluence of weed wasn't helping. he couldn't even look down at you, the sight of your angel face, looking so fucking pretty while sucking him off, he was barely controlling himself from your noises. you struggled, gagging every once in a while, but never stopped, he loved to see the tears in your eyes. when he felt close, his dick twitch in your mouth, you tasted the precum coming out of him. before doing it, he pulled your hair back, avoiding it.

"my baby, you do it so good, do you think you deserve a reward?" to those words, you couldn't help but moan. his hand held your chin, making you look straight into his eyes.  

"please, daddy, please eat me out" he felt like losing his mind hearing you begging like that, who was him to deny it. a kiss left in your lips, before kneeling down facing your wet, juicy, cunt. thanks for the meal, he thought.

his tongue worked wonders. the second he met your needy clit, you were actually watching the stars. the ability he had, going between your folds, sucking just in the right spot, fucking you with his tongue. he had you a screaming and drooling mess in a minute.

"daddy! oh god, yes! there, keep going, please! fuck me, yes!" he loved hearing you going crazy because of him, he loved being able to do as he pleased with you. he could hear your moans forever. 

he knew you too well, instantly he could tell you were close to cum, he wasn't going to let that happen, he wanted you to cum in his dick, breaking your back, leaving you so fucked up you wouldn't be able to walk afterwards. feeling him leave you on the edge was torture. 

"are you so desperate for me, little bird?" he crawled to you, placing his hips on top of yours. you weren't even thinking when he kissed you, loving the thought of you tasting yourself. you wrapped your hands around his neck, reaching his back, if there was something he liked was you scratching his back until it bleed.

with a slow, gentle hursh, he deepend inside you, admiring the image of you closing your eyes at the pain. even prepared and lubed, he was just too big for you. as he felt you adptaing, his pace got faster and harder, his hands grabbed tightly into your hips, probably leaving bruises afterwards. in less than a minute, he already had a constant pace inside you, hitting your spot with every thurst. you whimpers and his groans mixed in the air. one of his hands travelled to your neck, applying a little pressure on it while his thumb fitted in your mouth. that was the view he wanted to see for his whole life. 

"you're such a slut, baby girl, but you're my slut, right?" you sucked his thumb, your mind couldn't form coherent words and his finger didn't let you speak. "oh yes, cum with me, princess, cum for daddy" his words were like music to your ears. 

the orgasm you repressed for a while felt so close, when you finally reached it, your walls clenched around his dick even harder than before, a scream of pleasure filling the atmosphere. not long after, you felt his warm cum exploding inside you, his grab hardened and a moan left his lips. he stayed there for a while, retaking his breath.his wings served as a wall for the cold wind running. finally, he retired from you, laying at your side while hugging you with one of his arms.

you looked at him, despite not being your actuall boyfriend, he loved you as much as you loved him. though tired, the fuzzy feeling inside you didn't stop, you wondered if it was just you being still high as a rocket, or if that's what love felt like.

[bechloeislegit]

My Spy - Chapter 2

A/N: I had a couple of things I wanted to mention but forgot to put on the first chapter: First, I've taken some liberties and had Beca and the freshman Bellas living in the Bellas House since they were officially Bellas. Second, I have loosely followed the timelines set out in each of the PP movies, with some literary license on some of the events. Third, I will be using flashbacks to tell some of Beca and Chloe's history from when they were together and from their individual lives; flashbacks will be in Italics.

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

The Bellas walked out of the diner to see Beca sitting on a bench, with her head down. Stacie and Aubrey broke away from the group and went over to her. The other girls stayed back to give them some space.

"What happened, Beca?" Stacie asked as she sat on the bench next to Beca.

"What did Chloe say?" Aubrey asked as she, too, took a seat on the bench.

"I didn't talk to her," Beca mumbled.

"What do you mean you didn't talk to her?" Aubrey asked.

"I called and got one of those messages stating the number was no longer in service," Beca said, wiping her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Beca," Stacie said, pulling Beca into a hug.

CR started walking over to the bench; the rest of the Bellas followed.

"Beca, can we do anything?" CR asked.

Beca just shook her head.

"I guess we'll just have to wait to see if Chloe reaches out to you," Aubrey said.

"I don't know if I even want to talk to her anymore," Beca blurted out.

"Don't you want some answers?" Jessica asked. "Answers that only Chloe can provide?"

~~ My Spy ~~

Later that night, instead of being on her way home to Portland as she had planned, Chloe was on a plane with other agents bound for Washington, DC. Her bosses decided that all the undercover agents involved in the drug bust needed to fly to Headquarters for a debriefing.

Chloe stared out the plane's window, wondering what Beca was doing now.

"She probably hates me," Chloe thought as an unwanted tear rolled down her cheek.

Chloe discreetly wiped the tear while glancing at her partner and seatmate to make sure he hadn't noticed. She was lucky; he was talking to another agent across the aisle from them.

Chloe looked up when one of the agents in the seat in front of her got on his knees and leaned his arms on the back of his seat. He looked at Chloe and smiled.

"Nice tackle on that guy, Beale," he said.

"Um, thanks, Davidson," Chloe responded.

"So, uh, some of us are planning to get a drink once we get situated at the hotel," Davidson said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was wondering if you would like to join us?"

"No, thanks," Chloe said. "I'm kind of tired. I think I'll just spend some quiet time in my room once we get there. Thanks for the invite, though."

"Sure, no problem," Davidson said before turning and sitting back down in his seat.

Chloe went back to staring out the window at the night sky. She was overthinking everything.

"I should call Beca and see if she's ready to talk to me. God, I hope she still wants to talk to me."

For the second time in ten minutes, Chloe tried to discreetly wipe a tear away, surprised to find both cheeks wet as more tears streamed down her face.

Chloe's partner, Jason, saw this and was momentarily shocked. The ever-stoic Agent Beale does not show her true emotions to anyone. Ever. He always admired that about her because it's a large part of what makes her a good agent.

Jason knew Chloe would be teased and bothered by the other agents. So he did what any good partner would do. He put his arm around her and sat sideways while wrapping his other arm around Chloe's shoulder and putting her face into his chest, essentially hiding Chloe's face from everyone's view.

"You look tired, Beale," Jason said loud enough for others to hear. "Feel free to lean on me and get some sleep."

Chloe nodded into Jason's chest and whispered a teary thank you.

~~ My Spy ~~

It had been four days since Beca last saw or spoke to Chloe. It had also been four days since her dad and the others had been arrested. Her father being arrested is still something she was having trouble wrapping her head around.

Beca's mother sent her money so she could replace her broken phone, with the promise that Beca would get a new number so Chloe couldn't contact her. Beca couldn't keep that promise, so she sat with her brand new phone with the same old number, staring at texts she and Chloe had shared over the past year.

Beca had gone back and forth about whether she wanted to call Chloe and would then remember that the number she had for Chloe had already been canceled. She was pacing around her room when her phone rang.

"Hello," Beca said, answering the call without looking at the caller ID.

"I was wondering why you hadn't called to give me your new number," Beca's mother, Sarah, said.

Beca swallowed. "I'm sorry. I'm still hoping that Chloe will call so that she can explain everything."

"Hmm," Sarah said. "I don't know if I would believe anything she had to say."

"I still need an explanation of some kind," Beca said as tears stung her eyes. "I love her, mom."

"How can you still say that?" Sarah asked. "She obviously was using you to get to your father."

"Is that what you think?" Beca scoffed. "Well, you're wrong. And stop blaming Chloe or anyone else, and put the blame where it belongs. Dad wouldn't have been arrested if he hadn't been involved in a drug ring in the first place."

Sarah sighed into the phone. "I didn't call to fight with you."

"Then why did you call?"

"I called because you've only got a couple of weeks until Spring Break, and I want you to come home. You don't have to worry about the cost, I'll pay for your ticket."

"Oh," Beca said. "I was, uh, kind of planning on coming home and bringing Chloe to meet you. I guess I can still come, but it will just be me."

It hurt Sarah's heart to hear Beca sounding so emotional and defeated.

"Baby, I know you're hurting," Sarah said. "Come home and you can forget about Chloe, your father, and everything else. At least for a little while."

Beca sniffled. "I already said I'd come."

"Good," Sarah said. "I'll buy your ticket and send the confirmation to your email. Keep an eye out for it; I know how you are about reading your emails."

"Text me when you send it," Beca said. "That way I can't miss it."

"I can do that," Sarah said. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Beca said. "Talk to you later. And, mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

~~ My Spy ~~

After four days, the debriefings were done and everyone was told they could go home.

"I'm beat," Chloe thought as she entered her hotel room. "It's been four extremely long and tiring days. The debriefings we had to suffer through for four days, could have been accomplished in a few hours."

Chloe threw her laptop on the bed and sat down. Her thoughts took over again.

"It's also been four days of no responses to texts I sent to Beca with my new number. Four days of phone calls going unanswered. Four days of missing Beca more than I've ever missed anyone in my life, even my parents. Four days of suffering the uncertainty about where my relationship with Beca stands."

"Who am I kidding?" Chloe mumbled as she fell back onto the bed. "I'm sure there's no chance of there even being a relationship anymore."

"Go home," the Director had told them before dismissing them for the day.

"Home?" Chloe questioned as she laid there wondering where "home" even was. Barden had been her home for almost four years. She was still enrolled as a student, and she only had a couple of months before she graduated. It was probably for the best if she went back and finished out the year. And if she happened to get to see and speak to Beca, even better.

Chloe's thoughts moved on to her Aunt Peggy and Uncle Matt. Her uncle is the one who got her involved in the agency to begin with, and she definitely didn't want to go to Portland and hear how she screwed up by falling in love while on the job.

Even as she thought this, she knew that no matter what anyone told her, she would never regret falling in love with Beca. She had tried not to let it happen; God knows she had tried. But, she finally accepted that it was meant to be and let it happen. And it was amazing.

Chloe quietly laid there with a plethora of thoughts running through her head. Her last thought fell back to her Uncle Matt, the man she held responsible for everything, good and bad, that had happened since he recruited her. It wasn't long before Chloe had fallen asleep and her thoughts invaded her dreams.

Chloe was a month into her Junior Year at Barden when she was surprised to see her Uncle Matt's name on her caller ID; he rarely called. He usually communicated with her via text.

"Hello, Uncle Matt," Chloe said, answering the call. "Why are you calling?"

"Chloe," Matt said. "I have an opportunity that I think you'd be wonderful for."

"What kind of opportunity?"

"I want you to help us with a case I'm working on," Matt said. "It has to do with Barden University and since you're already a student, you're the perfect person to help.

"What's the case?"

"We've been investigating a drug ring that's operating out of Mexico," Matt said. "They are moving the drugs up the East Coast and we have evidence that Barden is a major hub. We believe there are professors and students involved in the buying and selling of those drugs. We need an agent on the inside to help us gather more evidence about the drug ring and how it operates."

"But, I'm not an agent," Chloe said.

"You will be," Matt said. "We'll train you during your Winter Break. Six weeks is plenty of time to get the minimum training needed to do this. And then, if needed, we can give you more extensive training during the Summer Break."

"Can I think about it?" Chloe asked.

"Sure," Matt said, smiling. "Just don't wait too long. In the meantime, keep your eyes open around campus. If you see anything suspicious, call me."

"I will, Uncle Matt," Chloe said. "I have to go. I have a class."

A week later Chloe had seen a drug deal going down so she called her Uncle Matt to tell him about it. Agents arrived within minutes and she watched as the guys were arrested. She got such a rush from it that she immediately called her uncle and agreed to work for him on the case from that moment on.

Chloe woke up with a start when someone knocked on her hotel room door. She sat up and looked around.

"Chloe? It's Uncle Matt," Matt's voice called out from the hallway.

Her Uncle Matt coming to see her was not a surprise considering he was kind of her boss and it was his case. Chloe jumped up and ran to the door, opening it.

"Come in, Uncle Matt," Chloe said to the man.

Matt entered the room and turned to Chloe.

"Have a seat," Chloe said, motioning to the chairs around a small table.

Chloe walked over and sat down, expecting her uncle to do the same. Instead, Matt remained standing and was pacing back and forth. After a few minutes of him not speaking, Chloe became fidgety.

"So, what's up?" Chloe finally asked.

"I've been hearing some rumors that there is something going on between you and Beca Mitchell."

"Was," Chloe said.

Matt stopped pacing and looked at Chloe.

"I'm sorry, what?" Matt said

"There was something going on between me and Beca Mitchell," Chloe said. "But, thanks to you having everyone arrested on campus instead of waiting to catch them receiving the drug shipment, it's no longer an issue. My cover was blown and now she hates me."

Matt ran a hand through his hair. "We had to do it, Chloe. We got word that the Mexicans knew about our planned raid and had the shipment delivered early. We weren't prepared for that, so arresting the sellers was the only way we could keep most of the drugs off the streets. You should be proud; the agency considers this a success."

"Good for you," Chloe said, standing and facing Matt. "Is that it?"

Matt sighed and said, "Your Aunt Peggy wants to know if you're coming home."

"Home?" Chloe snorted. "I don't even know where home is anymore. My plan is to go back to Barden to finish the year so I can graduate."

"You do know you will always have a home with us, right?" Matt said. "You're like our own daughter."

"Would you have recruited your own daughter to be an agent?"

Matt swallowed and looked down. "Probably not."

"That's what I thought," Chloe said, walking over to the door and pulling it open. "I think you should go now."

Matt looked at Chloe and walked to the door.

"Please think about seeing your Aunt Peggy at some point," Matt said. "She misses you."

Chloe looked down at the floor, not saying anything. Matt kissed the top of Chloe's head before stepping through the doorway and walking away.

Chloe let the door close and went over to her suitcase. She started throwing her clothes into it.

Once everything was packed, Chloe got on her computer to book a flight to Atlanta. After confirming a flight for the next day, she bought a used car through an online car dealership near campus. She also put a down payment on a furnished apartment, sight unseen, just off Barden's campus.

~~ My Spy ~~

The next day, Chloe flew to Atlanta. She took an Uber to the used car lot and drove her 'new' car to her apartment.

Once she had the apartment keys in hand, she checked out the apartment and unpacked her clothes. Looking around she decided to drive to a nearby store to purchase a few groceries.

After a light dinner, Chloe pulled out her laptop and opened the email she had sent to herself with the phone numbers of all the Bellas. She picked up her phone preparing to send a text.

Chloe chewed on her lip, trying to decide which of the Bellas would be the most receptive to her. She smiled as she looked through the list and made her decision. She put in the number and started typing, hitting send when she was satisfied with what she had written.

UnknownNumber: Lily, this is Chloe Beale. I know you and the Bellas are angry with me, but please hear me out. I've tried calling and texting Beca but haven't received a response. I know she's angry and hurt but would you give her my new number and ask her to call me? I really need to speak to her. My number is (555) 809-1985. I'm really sorry about everything. I hope one day you can all forgive me.

Lily was shocked when she saw the text from Chloe. She was torn as to what to do. She didn't tell anyone about the text, but she did respond.

Lily: Beca busted her phone the night of the arrests. I will give her your number, but I can't promise she'll use it. And, for what it's worth, I understand you were doing your job so I forgive you. Good luck to you.

Chloe was surprised to receive a response so quickly. She knew that Lily was different and the rest of the Bellas wouldn't be so quick to forgive her. She had to admit, it felt good to have at least one of them forgive her. It also made her hopeful for the first time since she and Beca last saw each other.

UnknownNumber: Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.

After sending the final text, Chloe put all the Bellas' numbers back in her phone, hoping she' be using them one day soon.

~~ My Spy ~~

Chloe knew that if she was going to resume attending classes she would need her textbooks. All of which were still in the room she had shared with Beca in the Bellas House. She thought about asking Lily to get them and bring them to her. She quickly dismissed that idea because it would mean telling Lily she was in Barden, and she wasn't ready to do that just yet.

An hour later, Chloe was dressed all in black, sitting in her car parked down the street from the Bellas House. She knew the Bellas had a rehearsal and would be leaving soon.

Chloe felt bad because the Bellas would have to change the choreography to accommodate her absence. Aubrey would also have to give her solo to someone else. Chloe had loved singing with the Bellas and especially with Beca.

Chloe checked the time and sat up in her seat to watch the front door of the Bellas House. It was less than a minute later the door opened and the girls were coming out. Chloe watched and started counting so she would know when they had all vacated the House.

Chloe's breath hitched when saw Beca walking out after Stacie. It took everything she had not to jump out of the car and run to Beca and pull her into a hug.

As soon as the group rounded the corner at the opposite end of the street, Chloe got out of her car. She looked around and all was quiet.

Chloe stuck her hands in the pockets of her hoodie and kept her head down as she made her way to the house. She was able to enter with no trouble.

Once inside, Chloe stood and listened to ensure the place was empty. When she was sure, she made her way to Beca's room, stopping outside the door for a moment as memories of the intimate moments she shared with Beca in the room, rushed into her head.

Chloe took in a deep breath and opened the door, scanning the room before quickly gathering her books and stuffing them into the backpack she was carrying. She saw Beca's favorite hoodie lying on the bed and picked it up. She put it to her nose and inhaled deeply; it smelled of Beca. She shoved the hoodie into the backpack and took it with her, quickly making her way out of Beca's room and the Bellas House.

Chloe didn't breathe again until she was safely back in her apartment.

[something-fanfiction-ie]

Tips and Tricks

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Spencer scares you for a second. And your mom is disappointed.

A/N: I know I have so many things going at once but I couldn’t help myself with this! I’m sorry. Forgive me. Like, comment, reblog, send me asks and shit. I love you! Enjoy!

___

A true book enthusiast knows that the most beautiful smell in the world can be found in the middle of a book. Whether it’s old and it’s pages are yellowed with age, or its so new that the text wipes off onto your hands when you open the cover, the smell is like a drug that gets your engine running the way no actual drug ever could.

It’s that thought that makes your pull your car into the nearly deserted parking lot of the bookstore as the rain crashes around you. You’ve seen enough ID Channel to know that waiting for the storm to pass while parked on the side of the road is about as dangerous as walking into a serial killer club meeting with a sign around your neck that reads, ‘kill me, I look like every person who has ever wronged you in life.’

Pulling your bag up over your head, you dash inside as fast as you can. The bell rings through the empty store, the smell of books hitting your senses and putting you at ease.

Even with your bag over your head, your hair is drenched and your clothes stick to your body in the most uncomfortable way possible. The store is manned by one forlorn looking teenage girl with short black hair, you can hear the gum she’s smacking behind the desk from four feet away.

Classical music filters down from the speakers, nestling among the thousands of books that take up every available space in the room. While some books fill the floor to ceiling bookshelves, the rest have been stacked on the floor like a maze of knowledge. Some stacks go up so high that even if you stand on your toes and stretch your arm as high as you could, you would still be a good ten five-hundred paged books from the top.

Every turn into the book maze reveals another secret of the store, like the collection of vinyls tucked into a corner beneath a record player that is older than your grandmother. Down a narrow path of towering novels, is a small reading nook with two red armchairs that have seen their fair share of readers.

It feels like you’ve stumbled upon the house of an immortal book-lover, the rugs that stretch across the floor feeling just as ancient as the words around you. But it’s peaceful, relaxing. You find yourself humming along to Chopin’s Nocturnes, Op. 9: No. 2, the spines of books bumping under your finger. Unsure how the books are organized, or even if they are, you’ve decided to look at the book your finger is on once the song is over.

When the last notes fade into a brief quietness, you stop on a book written by a ‘David Rossi.’ You can’t help the breathy laugh that comes from your chest in surprise that the first book you look at is a true crime novel.

Ever since you were a little girl, stealing your mom’s police badge to play ‘cops and robbers,’ and sneaking into her office to read case files you weren’t supposed to, you’d been in love with the puzzle-solving of the investigative world. You’ve always had a mind for finding clues no one thought to look for, it was the only reason you didn’t get in trouble when you left sticky notes full of observations and theories in your mother’s case files.

It was this background that made everyone around you so sure you would become a detective just like your mom. It was this same background that surprised everyone when you became an author instead. To say your mother was disappointed was an understatement, she’d been the most shocked when you showed her a four hundred page manuscript instead of an application for the police academy.

“Who gets a master’s in criminology only to write books?!”

Even still, she was the dedication in every book you published. So far, that was two, you’d been in the midst of your third book for four months now. Something about the story didn’t feel right, and no matter how many times you rewrote every page, it still didn’t click together the way the first two books had.

You don’t let the thought bug you as you flip open the hardcover, the pages falling to the side as you read the synopsis printed to the inside flap. The ringing of the bell barely registers in your mind, falling somewhere behind the book in your hands, the sound of the rain beating at the roof, and Beethoven’s Sonata No. 8. After reading the first page, you decide to give the book a chance and you tuck it beneath your arm for safe keeping.

This time, you turn your eyes up to the tops of the shelves, scanning for something that might be interesting. Each binding tells a story of its own, with spines creased from frequent readings or smooth spines begging to be cracked open. There are titles in gold and black, silver and red, the backgrounds varying in more colors than the words.

By the time you’ve wandered back to the reading nook with armchairs strategically placed to face each other at a diagonal, Beethoven is coming to a close. The notes vibrate for just a moment, and you choose the book tucked into the end with a dark purple cover and gold lettering. You can’t quite see the title but something tells you that this is something you want to read, that this books is going to be a good one.

Call it a reader’s instinct.

It’s just that, there are no step ladders to get to the top shelf and you aren’t exactly tall enough to reach it. Climbing the shelf just sounds dangerous, and you aren’t too eager to die at the hands of hundreds of books and a large bookcase. You contemplate moving one of the armchairs to assist you, but ultimately decide against it when you imagine that teenage girl coming to the back with a disappointed look on her face at the sight of you.

Instead you stretch like your life depends on it, your toes cramping a little as you push up on them as high as you can go. The tips of your fingers bump the spine when you curve your hand around the lip of the shelf. The wood digs into your wrist but maybe if you keep pushing and pulling at what you can grab, it will wiggle itself free.

That’s your plan until a warm body unintentionally brushes against you, an arm longer than yours coming up beside you and taking the book from its place up high with ease. Falling back to your feet, you’re quick to turn around and come face to face with a man you’ve never met before.

His expression is kind and gentle, crinkling his eyes and dimpling his cheeks when he offers you a shy smile and the book he grabbed for you. He’s definitely in the department of tall, tilting his head down a little to meet your gaze with eyes that you can’t quite describe as brown but you can’t quite describe as hazel either. Everything about him makes your heart stutter in your chest, from the color and shape of his lips, to the sharp cut of his jawline.

He’s curls himself down a little, his empty hand palm up and open as if he is trying to seem less threatening. It’s such a stark contrast to most of the men you meet, who invade your personal space and eyeball your breasts like they’re human bra size detectors.

You don’t realize you’ve been staring until he clear his throat, a dusty pink color rising to his cheekbones as he shuffles nervously in his spot. Blinking away the cloud of initial shock from the angelic being before you, you grab the book and mumble a ‘thank you.’

“Are you a big fan of David Rossi?” He says, shoving his hands deep into the recesses of his pockets.

“Who?” Internally, your facepalm yourself at the absolute stupidity that must be radiating off of you in waves strong enough to affect the whole population of Virginia.

“You’re holding two of his books.” Sure enough, not only is the book tucked under your arm David Rossi, but so is the book in your hands. The laugh that sputters out of you is even more surprised than the first laugh, the sheer coincidence of grabbing two random books by the same author in this whole building pulling the laughter from the pits of your stomach.

His lips flicker into a confused smile. It makes him that much more adorable.

“I was choosing books my eyes or finger landed on when the song ended. I couldn’t really figure out how everything is arranged so I thought I’d let the music decide for me.” He looks around now, his male-lead, love-interest eyes flying across the room to confirm that there really was no form of originization, his brows furrowing in thought. His bottom lips is sucked between his teeth and the vividness of the lewd fantasies that come from the small action are enough to push you back a step.

Only, you’re already pretty close to the bookcase, and when you step back to get some distance your back bumps into the wood and his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head to keep it from hitting the corner. You’re not even sure how he knew to react so fast, those eyes coming back to meet yours.

“Careful there, your head almost hit the shelf behind you.” Putting just a little pressure on the back of your neck to guide you out of harms way, he doesn’t let go until his back is to the case and you’re standing in his old spot. The new smile he gives you is lopsided, causing your heart to trip over itself. What you wouldn’t give in that moment to capture that smile on camera or canvas, to hold onto it forever.

You don’t even know this man, what are you thinking?!

Pulling the books to your chest like a shield for your heart, which has digressed to the same emotional maturity you had as a thirteen year old girl when you were in love with every member of New Kids On the Block, you tighten your grip around the covers to the point that your knuckles turn white.

“I’m (Y/N).” Somehow his smile brightens even more.

“I’m Spencer.”

“Are you hiding from the rain too, Spencer?” Everything about you hates small talk, you always wanted to jump straight into the nitty gritty of getting to know someone. You wanted to know what made them tick, what made them who they were. But you were willing to do the normal thing and lure him into an actual conversation, if only to keep him talking.

“Actually, I came to this bookshop with a specific purpose.” Spencer schools his features, suddenly all business. The brown blazer with elbow patches and the lavender button up certainly help to make him appear serious. You still imagine reaching for the dark purple tie around his neck and pulling his lips to yours, the severity of his expression only adding to his sexiness.

“I work in the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI, I came here because I’m in the middle of an investigation that led me here,” You blink in surprise, all kinds of questions popping into your mind. “You see, I got a tip that I may find it here. I wasn’t sure, but after some looking around it appears they were right.”

You open your mouth to ask him what he’s talking about, thinking of all the local cases you’ve heard about in the last week or so. Nothing that would involve the FBI comes to mind, especially not the BAU.

Between the end of his sentence and the opening of your mouth, Spencer has time to reach out to the side of your head, his fingers brushing against a few strands of hair.

“I only want to know two things; how you got ahold of my favorite pen, and why you thought you could get away with it?” Balanced in his thumb and index finger is a black pen, the writing tip pointed toward the ceiling. He holds it between you, a silly grin stretched across his face as you reach up to touch your ear.

Of course you’ve seen the old ‘coin behind the ear’ trick before, never with a pen but it’s the same concept. It’s just so funny and out-there that you cant help being a little amazed.

“Is this how you flirt with women, Agent?”

“Actually it’s Doctor. Doctor Reid,” he smugly goes about tucking the pen back into the breast pocket of his blazer, you can briefly recall it being there before he distracted you by switching places just seconds ago, “I do work with the BAU, that wasn’t a ruse. I have my credentials if you want me to prove it.”

He isn’t boastful, he’s just trying to distract you from the answer to your question. The answer was yes, this is how he flirts with women. It was the only way he knew how to flirt with women that worked, having stuck to the method since Atlanta, Georgia. You wouldn’t be the first woman who thought it was cute, you were the first woman to call him on it though.

“As long as you don’t try to arrest me for the kidnapping of your pen, I’ll be inclined to believe you without proof.” He chuckles, the first time you’ve heard it since the both of you started talking, and you didn’t realize he could get better. The sound warmed every part of you so much that you felt like you were glowing from inside.

“I knew you were framed. I’ve had my suspicions on the girl running the store.” You nod your head, trying to keep the smile from pulling on your lips as you tuck a piece of your still wet hair behind your ear.

“I knew something hinky was happening with her.”

“My best law enforcement advice is to always trust your gut when it comes to crime, ma’am.”

With the ice broken thanks to the magical Dr. Reid, the conversation flows naturally between you. You both gravitate toward each other like opposite ends of magnets, unaware how close you are to touching until you absentmindedly kick your foot out and hit the tip of his shoe with your own. In an attempt to keep yourself rooted, you sit in the armchairs.

Anyone, FBI profiler or not, would have been able to tell what was going on when they found you both leaned against the arms of your seats, heads together as Reid explained how the serious looking man in the back of your book is actually one of his team members. He names all of his team members, affectionately describing them to you as if they were characters in a new book you were reading.

Normally he would keep all of this information reserved, but something about you made him feel so at ease.

You too, reveal more information than you normally would to a stranger you’d just met. You tell him about your books and your mother, you tell him how you aren’t sure why your newest book isn’t working and ask his advice on it all. He takes each question into careful consideration before answering.

It isn’t until you’ve been there for two hours, talking about anything that you could think of, that Spencer’s phone starts to ring. It’s a case. You want to ask, the young girl from your childhood coming out at the mention of a case you could help on, but you don’t.

“I’m really sorry, (Y/N), but I have to go.” He fluidly rises from his seat, all at once the carefree air falls around him to reveal the intelligent, elegant, crime-fighting, doctor underneath the nerdy, magic-loving young man you’d spent the last couple of hours getting to know.

“I’ll walk you to the door.” You offer, hoping to figure out a way to cheekily ask for his number before you make it there. His answering smile is infectious, reaching out and tugging your own cheeks into a smile that hurts. The books hit the wood of the desk with a thunk, Spencer standing just beside you as the girl, her name tag reads ‘RAveN,’ rings up your purchase.

“Watch out for your pens.” Spencer teases, that boy-like amusement coming out. You’ve noticed that when he tries to make a joke, he looks so nervous that you won’t get it in the seconds immediately following it. It isn’t until you laugh or crack a smile that he visibly relaxes, glad to have someone that understands his humor.

Earlier, he’d told you the joke about the existentialists and the light bulb and had been absolutely elated when you doubled over in laughter. The joke wasn’t even that funny, but he’d been making you laugh for so long that your ribs had started to hurt.

“That’ll be $12.78.” You slide your card across the desk, pulling your eyes away from Reid longer than you wanted to. When you look back, there’s a look on his face that takes you a minute to recognize. It’s just on the tip of your tongue when the smack of pen and receipt paper hit the counter.

Quickly, you sign your name on the stores copy of your receipt. You flip your copy of the receipt to the back, using the pen to scribble out your phone number.

“Call me if you ever learn any new magic tricks you want to show off.” The bell dings when you lean back against the door, your books in a bag that dangle from your left hand while your right hand comes up in a wave.

Spencer still stands at the counter, the one in a hurry being the one who still isn’t out the door. The lopsided smile is back, that look crossing his face again as you let the after-storm sun shine on your face.

“Sir, can you take your longing elsewhere? I’d like to close early. I have a thing to get to.” He pats his hand on the countertop, ignoring the buzzing of texts coming through his phone as he makes his way to the car in a bit of a daze.

[cozy-the-overlord]

Now, Forever, and Always

Summary:  She was perfect—intelligent, entertaining, kind, beautiful... but mortal. Loki was determined not to lose her.

Word Count: 7,031

Pairing: Loki x OFC

A/N: So this idea came from a made-up fic title sent to me by @the-emo-asgardian for an ask game a few weeks ago and has been living rent free in my mind ever since. I don't know why that out of all the nice, happy fic ideas I got out of that game, it was the depressing one I decided I had to write. Oh well. Hope you enjoy!

Tags: @lucywrites02 @gaitwae

If you want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask :)

Read it on Ao3!

He knew better.

He hadn’t planned on remaining on Earth for any extended period of time. His forced servitude to the Avengers, his punishment—it was a nuisance that he would have to endure for a bit, but like everything else on the planet, it was temporary. Human lives passed with the beat of a heart. They would not hold him for long. Loki only needed to keep his head down and wait.

He knew better than to get involved with a mortal.

In his defense, it hadn’t been something he could have prepared for. At first glance, Madelyn Robbins was hardly anything remarkable. Her role as Stark’s personal assistant kept her in the periphery, the type of person one didn’t notice was in the room until she stepped forward with the answer to their question mere moments after it left their tongue. She was forgettable, unexceptional, a background figure that you weren’t supposed to notice.

But Loki noticed her.

He noticed her intelligence, how easily she picked up on concepts most mortals could never even begin to understand, how she seemed to remember anything and everything she heard and saw. He noticed her focus, how she was able to filter through the chaos of the Tower and retrieve the information she needed without ever having to raise her voice. And he noticed her boldness.

The first time he spoke with her was a week or two after he had first joined the Avengers, back when it seemed there was not one employee in the whole building with enough backbone to look him in the eye. Loki told himself it was fine with him. It wasn’t as if he was interested in making friends with any of them.  He had been reading in one of the common areas when he noticed her standing over his chair, waiting expectantly.

He frowned. “Pardon?”

Madelyn’s smile didn’t waver. “I said Mr. Stark’s sending me out on a coffee run,” she said, clutching her tablet to her gray blazer. “I was wondering if you wanted anything.”

Loki glared up at her coldly, out of instinct more than anything else. “I do not drink coffee.” He had expected her to cower, but she only laughed.

“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” she nodded as she turned to leave. “But I just wanted to make sure.” Loki had watched as she made her way across the room to where Thor was talking with two agents he didn’t recognize. He didn’t hear what they said, but her musical laugh carried over his brother’s booming voice. When he turned back to his book, he found himself reading the same page over and over again.

She didn’t ask him for his coffee order again. Loki should have been pleased with that—she got the hint, she wasn’t trying to bother him—but as he watched her make the rounds with the other Avengers, joking together as she balanced the plastic cups on her tray, he felt only disappointment.

He started watching her from afar without really realizing he was doing it: during briefings, in the lab, at Stark’s godforsaken “teambuilding exercises”—she was always there, standing in the background, waiting to jump into action the moment someone needed something. She was quiet, but not a shy sort of quiet—she’d dive into conversation with anyone who gave her the opportunity to do so. No, Madelyn was a professional quiet. Loki found himself wondering what she was like outside the Tower, beyond the boundaries of her employment.

She was notoriously private about her personal life. Stark would tease her about it often, asking her loaded questions everyone knew she wouldn’t answer.

“You don’t mind staying late tonight, do you?” he’d smirk. “You won’t be keeping anyone waiting up, right?”

Loki would have been driven mad by such interrogation, but Madelyn always laughed it off. “I’ll worry about that, Mr. Stark. You just stick to your robots.”

Perhaps this was why it was treated as such a shocking turn of events when Thor announced that he had seen Madelyn’s boyfriend.

“It was in front of the building, on the street. They were embracing.” His brother seemed unreasonably proud to be the one to break the news to everyone. “He was tall, light-haired. Very handsome. I’d say they looked to be very much in love!”

As the others tittered over this gossip, Loki slunk from the room. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Madelyn was clever, kind, attractive—of course she had a lover. What did it matter? It wasn’t as if it affected him. Still, he couldn’t shake the hollow feeling in his chest.

What kind of man would she love, he wondered? Someone gentle, probably. Someone who she could sit down and talk to knowing he was genuinely listening. Someone who would respect her choices and trust her decisions. Someone who could make her laugh—Madelyn loved to laugh. It seemed she was always giggling at something someone said, hiding her mouth behind her palm as her eyes sparkled with mirth. It was rather adorable. He had made her laugh before, once when Stark and Rodgers were arguing over some inconsequential thing. Loki didn’t even remember what it was he said; he had just rolled his eyes and made some dry remark, and Madelyn ducked her head into her hands as she chortled. When he turned towards her, she was smiling brightly at him. He found he was smiling too.

It was stupid, but Loki didn’t like the idea of anyone else making her smile like that.

The other Avengers didn’t seem to mind, and to Loki’s chagrin the mystery man remained a hot topic of conversation for the next several months. He couldn’t look at her without Thor’s words bleeding through his ears like poison in his mind: “I’d say they looked to be very much in love!”

Loki was thinking about it the day before New Year’s Eve, when Madelyn joined him in the elevator as he was returning to his rooms with her usual cheerful greeting. He nodded his hello. For a moment, they only stood in silence, but soon enough she turned to him.

“Are you going to Mr. Stark’s party tomorrow?” she asked.

Ah, yes. Stark’s infamous New Year’s celebration. Loki thought that he would prefer the scorching heat of a Muspelheim prison to spending the night with a skyscraper full of drunken mortals who despised his very existence, but Thor had made it clear that he had little choice in the matter.

“I’ve been told that I will be in attendance, whether I like it or not.” Madelyn chuckled, and Loki felt that familiar warmth rising in his chest. He cleared his throat. “Are you going?”

“Yeah, I guess. It would look bad if I didn’t,” she sighed wistfully. “I don’t know, I just always feel like such a loser showing up to these things alone.”

Loki frowned. Surely, attending alone was not her only option. “Your boyfriend is not accompanying you?”

Madelyn cocked her head, giving him a strange look. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” she said slowly.

For a moment Loki thought he was hearing things. “You don’t?” he repeated.

She shook her head, frowning. “Why did you think that?”

His mind was racing. “Thor—he said he saw you embracing someone in front of the building.”

“What!” she cried. “When?”

He told her the whole story, repeating his brother’s tale practically word for word in bewildered confusion. By the end, she was laughing incredulously.

“That was Dave!” she choked. “My brother-in-law, Dave! I left my purse in my apartment, and I needed my ID to get into the Tower. He was just dropping it off for me. Did everyone think we were a thing? Oh, that’s hilarious!”

She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her sleeve as Loki stared in disbelief. For so long, he had buried his thoughts under the belief that she was taken, that even if he allowed himself to want her she could never be his. This revelation seemed unthinkable.

“You’re not seeing anyone?” he asked.

“No!” She was still laughing as she shook her head. “I’ve been single for the past two years.”

“Oh.” Loki swallowed. He knew he should have left it there. She was mortal. She was temporary. Indulging the wild longing in his chest would only lead to more suffering. He knew better.

And yet he didn’t.

“Well, in that case,” Loki inhaled. There was a tremble in his voice—where had that come from?—that he hoped she didn’t notice. “Perhaps you would honor me with your company at the party tomorrow night?”

Madelyn turned back towards him “Are—are you asking me out?”

He burned. “I believe that’s the proper phrase.” This was a terrible idea.

But she didn’t appear to be offended. Rather, she sounded … confused. “Really?” she asked. “I just—I didn’t think you liked anybody here.”

“I like you.” He did, he realized, although it was strange to admit out loud. The simple truth was that the room lit up whenever she entered, and he lit up with it.

“Really?” Madelyn whispered. He nodded. “Well,” she said, a soft smile breaking out across her lips, “I like you too. And I’d love to go with you tomorrow night.”

Something bloomed in his chest, something lovely and wonderful and warm. He loved the way she smiled.

“Excellent,” he said, fighting to keep his elated grin from seeming too over-eager. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

It was scandalous, to be sure, when they walked onto the penthouse floor arm in arm on New Year’s Eve. It seemed the whole room fell quiet for a moment. In the back, Stark nearly choked on his drink.

Madelyn didn’t seem to mind. She pulled him through the hordes of people, the voluminous skirt of her dress swirling around her in an emerald sea. He didn’t know where she had managed to find a gown that so flawlessly matched his colors on such short notice, or how she had even known to look for one in that shade, but it was perfect.

She was perfect.

Stark’s holiday celebrations were always an adventure—they weren’t quite up to par with the unhinged chaos of Asgardian feasts, but they usually were hectic enough to keep Loki looking over his shoulder the entire time, half expecting to find some demon from his past lurking amidst the drunken partygoers. That night though, there was only Madelyn. She pulled him through the madness with the easy assurance of an expert, gliding with him across the dance floor as if they owned it. She knew all the nooks and crannies, all the little alcoves to which they could retreat when they wished to break from the noise to talk.

They talked a lot. She told him about her family, about her mother who went around telling all her brunch friends that her daughter worked alongside the Avengers for a living (“she leaves out the fact that I’m basically a glorified intern”), about her older sister who gave up her dreams of Hollywood to settle down with her high school sweetheart.

“He’s the one who dropped off your purse?” Loki interrupted as they sat at a bench against the wall on the balcony, overlooking the festivities below.

Madelyn laughed. “Yeah, Dave. He is a sweetheart.” She shook her head, still chuckling. “I can’t believe you guys thought he was my boyfriend. That’s so funny to me.”

“Well, my brother does have a tendency to jump to conclusions,” Loki sighed, watching Thor and his crowd of inebriated fools attempting to take shots off of Mjolnir’s handle. He turned back to his lady. “But you can’t place all the blame on him. We all knew next to nothing about your personal life. How was he to know better?”

“True,” she mused. “I like to keep an air of mystery at work. It keeps people interested.”

“Oh?” Loki raised his eyebrows. “If that’s the case, then why have you dropped the mystery with me?”

She scowled at him with mock outrage. “Am I not interesting enough for you, Asgardian?”

Laughing, he pulled back on to the dance floor.

It was fitting that the party marked the beginning of the New Year, because afterwards everything changed. It had been a while since Loki had courted anyone, and of course Midgardian “dating” was a bit different, but it brough a levity to his life that he hadn’t realized he needed. On the surface, it didn’t even seem that drastic a shift. Sometimes, it was as simple as a glance from her across a crowded room, that warm smile meant just for him, and suddenly the whole world lit up. Stark groaned that the two of them making heart eyes at each other all day made him sick, but Loki couldn’t care less. For once, life didn’t seem quite so wretched.

At first, they only spent time together within the Tower—after all, Loki was confined to SHIELD’s surveillance. He was rather ashamed of it, ashamed that he wasn’t able to take her out and show her a good time the way she deserved, but Madelyn insisted that she didn’t mind. She’d pick up sandwiches at a bakery down the street and they’d have dinner in his rooms while watching a movie.

He had to laugh—Madelyn had a list of film she claimed were a critical part of Midgardian culture that he just had to see, but inevitably they’d turn it on and spend the entire time talking over it about a subject only tangentially related. He didn’t mind though, and Madelyn didn’t seem to either—she’d rest her head on his shoulder and tell him all the differences between the film and the book which it was inspired by, and he’d wrap his arm around her shoulder and hang on to every word.

The first time she stayed the night had actually been an accident. It seemed that they both had miscalculated how tired they were after a week of wild missions and had fallen asleep together whilst cuddling on the couch. Loki woke up with the gentle pressure of her head on his chest and the warmth of her in his arms. He was smiling before he was even fully awake.

After a while, he began finding ways to sneak out of the Tower and meet her elsewhere. Her tiny apartment became the center of his world. He’d meet her for coffee or for dinner or just for a walk, and she’d take him home with her, so often that she stopped asking him if he wanted to come in. It was a peaceful kind of domestic that Loki had never thought to dream about. Madelyn was perfect—intelligent, entertaining, kind, beautiful, everything he could ever want. Sometimes, he almost forgot that she wasn’t Asgardian.

Her mortality would rear its head in other ways, though. One day, she tripped walking down the stairs as they were leaving her apartment building, tumbling to the ground before Loki could catch her. It wasn’t a bad fall, and Madelyn had scrambled back to her feet in seconds insisting she was fine, but her ankle had swollen up almost immediately. When she tried to take another step, she almost fell over again.

This time, Loki scooped her up into his arms. “Fragile little thing,” he teased, carrying her down the steps to a nearby bench.

They had laughed about it, but a week later Madelyn was still walking with a limp.

One night, he awoke with a start, sweating and shaking and gasping for air as Madelyn hovered over him anxiously.

“It’s a dream!” she was crying. “Loki, it’s not real!”

The bed was too hot. Loki ripped himself from the covers, hunching over the side as he struggled to catch his breath. Madelyn followed, rubbing his back soothingly as he fought to control the trembling in his hands. For a moment, the room was silent but for his labored breathing.

“Are you okay?” she finally whispered.

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

“You were crying in your sleep.”

Must have woken her up then. He tried to swallow, but his mouth tasted like sandpaper. “I’m sorry.”

Madelyn shook her head. “No, it’s fine! I was just worried.” She squeezed his hand. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Loki inhaled. “It was just a dream. No matter.” Even in the dark, he could feel her eyes on him, studying him in concern. When he moved to lie back down, she laid next to him, a protective arm around his torso.

“You’re safe here, okay?” she whispered. “Nothing can happen to us here.” Loki didn’t answer, only staring at the ceiling.

For once, it hadn’t been about him.

No, he had dreamed of Madelyn, stiff in a hospital bed, her cheeks hollowed and gaunt, her once vibrant hair now a thinned and faded halo on the pillow beneath her head. Her wrinkled skin sagged with the weight of infirmity. Her clasped hands rose and fell with her chest as the death rattle stained her wilted lips.

Loki tried to forget about it, but the image was seared into his memory. He couldn’t look at Madelyn without picturing her face caving into a haggard old woman choking on her last breath. It would happen soon, he realized, horrifically soon. Mortals had a hundred years if they were lucky, less if they weren’t. He spent sleepless nights lying awake in bed, listening to Madelyn’s steady breathing in the dark. 100 years—that was nothing. That was a blink of an eye, a beat of his heart, and then she’d be gone.

He couldn’t bear to think of it.

There was a story, he remembered suddenly on one such torturous night, a story his mother used to tell to him and his brother when they were small, about a goddess with magical apples that could grant immortality to those who tasted them. It was probably nothing, just a childish bedtime tale, but once it flitted into his mind Loki couldn’t get it out. After all, didn’t most legends have some basis in fact?

It was a myth on Midgard, too. He found it within moments when he looked it up—the story of Idunn’s apples. Of course, that didn’t mean anything. The human versions of Asgardian history had a tendency to be quite muddled. But … it was an idea. There had to be something, some way to extend a mortal lifespan. Without telling anyone, Loki began devoting his free time to research.

They had been together for several months when Loki decided to take Madelyn to Asgard for the first time. Frigga had extended her invitation to her a bit prior, but accepting hadn’t been an easy decision. He had watched Thor take Jane home many times over since he began his stint with the Avengers. He had seen firsthand how Asgardians looked upon mortals in their midst, even when the mortal in question were on the arm of their golden prince. He couldn’t imagine that Madelyn could expect any better treatment— in fact, given his reputation, it seemed safe to assume that she could expect worse. 

But in the end, they decided to go. Madelyn was excited—her first time traveling off world— and Loki was eager to introduce her to his mother, who he knew would just absolutely adore her.

Secretly, he was also hoping that she would be able to help him with granting Madelyn immortality.

His mortal lover was a bit overwhelmed at first by their trip to the Golden City. 

“I think I’m going to be sick” she whispered, clutching his wrist so tightly it almost hurt as they stepped off the Bifrost, and for a moment Loki feared that the visit had been a mistake. But she recovered quickly, and soon curiosity bubbled over her anxiety.

“What’s this made of?” she asked, wide eyes staring at the bridge beneath their feet as he helped her mount his horse. “Is it some kind of crystal? How does it work?” He couldn’t help but laugh as he climbed on behind her, pressing a kiss to her neck before spurring on his stead.

As to be expected, his mother took Madelyn under her wing immediately, greeting her with an embrace before swooping her away to help her unpack and dress for dinner. 

Unfortunately, she was less helpful when Loki approached her later about his search.

“Oh Loki,” she sighed when he asked if she knew of any way to extend a human lifespan. “That’s the quandary of becoming entangled with mortals. Their lives are fleeting. You have to be able to accept that.”

No. Loki shook his head fiercely. “There must be some way,” he insisted. “The stories you’d tell us as children, Idunn’s apples—“

“Those were stories, my son.” He hated the pity in her eyes as she studied him. “She is mortal. She will grow old, and she will die. It’s the way of things.” Frigga took his hand in hers. “Enjoy the time you have with her. Don’t waste her life trying to save it.”

He ripped his arm from her. “That’s not good enough!”

She inhaled, holding the bridge of her nose. “You could ask your father,” she finally offered. “He may know something I don’t.”

Loki huffed in resignation.

When he brought forth his question before the AllFather, he had known Odin would never take it seriously. Still, he found himself tasting blood as his father’s ragged laughter echoed across the empty throne room. 

“Is this the reason why you brought her here, then?” he asked. “You seek a cure for inferiority?”

“I seek to expand my lady’s lifespan,” he said, struggling to maintain his even tone. “She has no inferiority to cure.”

“Your lady,” he mocked. “Your lady, who you might snap in half with a wayward flick of your wrist. Would you not call that inferiority?”

Loki held his tongue. Try as he might to ignore it, there was truth to Odin’s words and he hated him for it.

“I seek to expand her lifespan,” he repeated. “Do you know of any method do do so?”

His father raised his eyebrows. “Unlike my sons, I’m not in the habit of keeping mortal pets.”

Loki seethed. “She is not a pet!”

“Your time on Midgard has made you as childish as your brother.” Odin shook his head, leaning back in his golden throne. “The mortal’s life is fleeting, insignificant. You would waste your time and mine trying to raise a dog to godhood.”

“She’s not a dog!” he snapped. “She’s not a dog, she’s not a pet, she’s my love and her name is Madelyn.”

“And in a century, she’ll be dust!” the king retorted. “Will it matter then what name marks her headstone?”

Loki stormed out. 

It was pathetic, pathetic, that his father’s words still cut him so deeply, that his inconsequential views could still send him running with tears burning in his eyes like a slighted child. He stomped through the palace halls with no real destination in mind, heaving like some kind of animal. 

He’d show him. He’d show them both. He’d find a way to save her. Somehow, he’d find a way to make her immortal, and then they’d see. They’d see.

He was shaking uncontrollably by the time he found Madelyn in the gardens, gathered in the middle of the brick pathways with Frigga and several of her ladies. It was strange— swathed in an Asgardian gown, with her hair done up in the latest fashion, one would never have known she was of Midgard. 

She turned as Loki approached, her eyes lighting up as they always did whenever they landed on his. However, her gaze turned to a frown as he got closer.

“Loki, what’s wro—“ he planted his lips on hers before she could finish, cradling her face in his palms as he drank in her smell. Madelyn stiffened at first, but in moments she had melted into the kiss even as the court ladies tittered around them. 

When they finally pulled away, she let out a flustered giggle. “What was that for?”

He studied her face, her sparkling eyes that seemed to hold whole galaxies, entranced. “I love you.”

Loki had never said the words before, not to her or any other woman, and yet they flowed from his lips as easily as a downhill stream. Madelyn’s breath hitched.

“What?” she breathed. 

“I love you,” he repeated, his heart glowing with all the confidence in the universe, and he kissed her again.

When they returned to Earth, Loki threw himself back into his research with a new ferocity. He scoured the history of the Nine Realms, seeking just the slightest hint that what he was searching for existed. The myth of Idunn’s apples was a recurring subject, and he tried frantically to trace it to reality, but unfortunately, his mother’s assertion that it was naught but a child’s bedtime story appeared to be true. He couldn’t find any proof of them actually existing. Still, he spent nights at his desk, hunched over the scrolls Frigga sent him from the palace library, praying for something that continued to elude him.

Madelyn, unconcerned with her impending mortality, fretted he wasn’t getting enough sleep.

“Just come to bed,” she pleaded with him one night. “Whatever it is, it can wait until the morning.”

He laughed softly. “I don’t need as much rest as you do, love. I think I’ll be fine.”

“But you stay up all night, and then they send you into the field in the morning!” she insisted, rubbing his shoulder. “That can’t be safe.”

He covered her hand with his own, gently stroking her knuckles. It never ceased to amaze him how soft her skin was. “You don’t need to worry about me, darling.”

But Madelyn was right, as always. He wasn’t getting enough sleep at night, and it was beginning to affect his reflexes. It was only a matter of time before it all came to a head.

In Loki’s defense, it wasn’t entirely his fault. The mission had been flawed to begin with, everything that could have possibly gone wrong went wrong, and Loki had ended up trapped in an underground Hydra base with no backup, no escape plan, and hordes of enemy agents closing in. Still, it was manageable—far from ideal, but manageable— until he miscalculated a dagger throw and hit one of their Tesseract-powered devices.

Shit—

He felt the blast more than he saw it, felt the burst of scorching heat that flooded the hall and ripped the air from his lungs. His vision burned bright white.

Huh, he remembered thinking, perhaps Madelyn and I will have closer lifespans after all.

She was the first thing he saw when he awoke, head buzzing and limbs too leaden to move. He opened his aching eyes and she was there, glowing in the light of the hospital room, his guardian angel watching over him through the night. When he croaked her name, her eyes swam with relief. She reached out to stroke his cheek, the chill of her fingers soothing against his feverish skin. He melted against her touch. Suddenly, nothing else mattered.

“Madelyn,” he gasped. “Madelyn, marry me.”

He passed out before he could hear her answer.

They were wed on Alfheim, atop a picturesque cove overlooking the gardens of Ljosalfgard. Madelyn was absolutely radiant, her silver gown bathing her in a pearly glow as she practically sang her vows to him. Loki drowned in her eyes, drowned in the desire to sweep her into his arms and kiss her until they were both out of breath. He could have almost ignored the vow "til death do us part" had it not been for the pitied glance the Elvish officiants exchanged as she said them.

"I'm going to find a way to save you," he whispered against her hair that night as he held her to his bare chest.

Madelyn shifted, craning her neck so that she could fix him with a frown. "What are you talking about?"

A wayward strand of hair clung to her forehead. Loki pushed it away absentmindedly.

"Death will not part us, my love. I swear it."

She sighed. "Don't think about stuff like that. Not tonight." She leaned back against him, covering his hand with hers as she drifted off to sleep.

Loki didn't say anything.

Stark bought them a house in Upstate New York as a wedding present—a sweet, cozy little place not too far away from the new Avengers base. It was quiet, secluded, peaceful, everything he could have ever asked for.

If only he hadn’t known it was temporary.

Madelyn didn’t understand. She’d get up in the morning to find Loki pouring over his scrolls at the kitchen table, having never come to bed at all, and scold him for not taking better care of himself.

“This is ridiculous!” she snapped. “You’re going to kill yourself over this wild goose chase!”

“I have to!” he insisted. “I have to find a way to save you!”

She sighed. “You don’t need to save me.” Kneeling besides him, she took his face in her hands. “Don’t you see? I don’t care how long my life is, as long as I get to spend it with you.” Loki closed his eyes as he leaned into her palm, covering the back of her hand with his own. It was so simple for her. She didn’t understand how the image of her decaying features haunted his every waking moment.

They had been husband and wife for quite some time when he finally found something—a lead that might have the capability to save her from her ephemerality. Loki was ecstatic, more hopeful than he had been in years as he prepared to make the journey across the galaxy. Madelyn was less so.

“Look,” she worried as she watched race about the house packing a bag. “I’m glad that you’re so happy, but is this really worth the trip?”

“How could it not be?” he asked. “Once I return, you will finally be immortal, as you deserve. We will be able to live out our lives together forever.” Loki glanced up at her. “Don’t you want that?”

“Of course I want that, Loki!” Madelyn cried. “But more than that, I want you, here, safe. You don’t know what you’re walking into. You can’t even know how long you’ll be gone! What if something happens to you?”

He laughed softly. “You need not fear for me, my love. I will always return to you.”

Still, she remained unsoothed. “Please,” she said. “If you have to go, let me come with you. We’ll stay together!”

“No. It’s far too dangerous for you.” The very thought sent a shiver down his spine. “I’ll not allow the Norns to take you from me as I attempt to save you.”

“Loki …”

“Darling.” He kissed her, relishing the way she melted against him. “All will be well. I swear it.”

But all was not well. Months of searching in the very corners of deep space brought him nowhere, his false hopes dashed across the barren landscape of the planet her salvation. The scrolls had been wrong. There was nothing.

At first, Loki stayed out there, still frantically searching for something that could save her. He had promised, sworn, to her that he would find a way. He couldn’t return home empty handed. And so for a while longer he remained on the edges of space, traveling from planet to remote planet as he fought to find even the slightest hint of the solution he sought. But the time away weighed heavily on his soul. He missed Madelyn—he missed the curve of her smile, the melody of her laugh, the way she never seemed to tire of listening to what he had to say. He missed waking up to the comforting pressure of her head on his chest. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He had barely made it up the driveway before Madelyn had thrown her arms around him, clinging him so tightly that he almost couldn’t breathe even as her tiny body shook with her tears. Loki tugged her closer, burying his face in her neck. She smelled like home.

Still, something held him from smiling when they finally pulled away.

“I failed,” he whispered, hanging his head. “I failed you, Madelyn.”

She shook her head, cupping his face with her hands. “You’re back,” she said sternly, “You’re back and you’re safe and that’s all I will ever care about.”

Loki hadn’t realized how long he had been gone until he returned. Madelyn was the same gorgeous creature he had always known, but he began to pick up on miniscule differences within her. She was thinner, her face more worn than when he remembered. He found himself repeating the same tales to her over and over again—she’d ask him questions about his journey, he would answer them, they’d talk about his answers until she was satisfied … and then she’d ask the same question a few days later as if she had never spoken it before. It frightened him.

At first, he would point it out to her, his fear manifesting in frustrated questions: “Didn’t I already tell you all this?” But he hated the way she flinched, how her face would fall as she murmured apologetically that she must have forgotten. He hated feeling as if he was causing her pain. So, Loki repeated his anecdotes and kept his worries to himself.

He feared for her physical health as well. Her hands had become stiff and swollen since he had seen her last, painful to the point that she now took prescribed medication to help her cope. On some days, it seemed hardly noticeable, but on others she could barely bend her fingers. Still, Madelyn insisted that it was fine.

“It’s no big deal,” she told him. “My mom had arthritis, I knew I was probably going to get it eventually.” With a dry laugh, she added, “I’m probably lucky—she always had it much worse than this.”

Madelyn’s mother had passed away while he was gone, the victim of the horrible human disease known as cancer. Madelyn didn’t speak much about it, not even to him. Loki felt guilty—he had unknowingly her left alone and without support in a time when she had probably needed it the most. He was also increasingly anxious—if Madelyn had already inherited one disease from her mother, who’s to say she wouldn’t also develop the far more deadly one? Loki found himself returning to his research.

It wasn’t until he started on the texts Thor had gifted him from his own travels that he thought he found something. A necklace of myth, purported to be held deep within the twisted forests of Terma, enchanted to bring eternal life to those who wear it about their neck. Loki arranged to leave for it immediately.

 However, his wife put her foot down. “You’re not going again.”

Loki sighed. “I have to. Madelyn, there’s a chance that this could work—”

“That’s what you said last time!”

“I know. But I have to try.”

“Why?” she demanded, tone verging on hysterical.

He turned around incredulously. Why? “Because I love you!”

“No you don’t!” The walls rattled with the weight of her words. It was only then that Loki realized his wife was crying. His eyes widened in horror. “If you loved me, you wouldn’t keep leaving.” Her voice cracked, her breath coming in unsteady hiccups. “You were gone for so long. I didn’t know if you were okay, or if you were coming back—I was so scared—”

Loki pulled her into his arms, where she sobbed freely against his chest. It was as if someone had stuck a dagger in his gut. Everything he had done, every action he had taken—it had all been for Madelyn. That’s all he ever wanted, to protect Madelyn! And yet, it seemed he had caused her more pain than the forces of nature he sought to protect her from.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered against her hair as he held her to his chest. His vision prickled with tears of his own. “I won’t leave again, I promise. I’m so sorry, my love.”

He resolved to be strong. He would not think of what the future held; he would keep his mind in the here and now, safe and warm with his perfect wife at his side. And so he did, for a time. He’d read poetry to her out loud as she rested her head on his lap, telling himself that he was only imagining that the creases in her face seemed to be deepening with every passing day. Some nights, they’d join the others for dinner at the Avengers base, where the conversation would inevitably devolve into Barton and Stark arguing over who had the more accomplished grandchildren and Madelyn would doze off against his shoulder on the way home. There was a steady sort of domesticity to it, and Loki enjoyed it—he enjoyed every moment with her—but he could only ignore time’s dark specter for so long.

It reared its ugly head in the form of a bottle under the sink. When Loki had first found it, he had only been confused, but when he presented it to Madelyn, she wouldn’t look him in the eyes.

“It’s hair dye,” she finally admitted. “I’ve been using it for a few years now.”

Loki didn’t understand. “What are you talking about? Your hair color hasn’t changed.”

Her laugh was soft and tinged with sadness. “I went gray a while ago, sweetheart. I’ve been dying it my natural color.”

It was as if someone had ripped the air from his lungs. “Wh—” A few years? He gulped. “Why would you do that?”

“I—” Madelyn seemed ashamed. “I was afraid it would upset you. You’ve always been so worried about me, you know—” she inhaled sharply. “I was afraid you’d leave again.”

The heartbreak in her voice was killing him.

“I’m not going anywhere, darling,” he assured her, reaching out to pull her closer. “I promised, remember?”

She nodded, resting her cheek against his chest. “I do remember that, at least.” Loki laughed as he held her close, but inwardly his mind was racing.

He was running out of time.

This time, when he returned to his research, he did so in secret. Madelyn was suffering enough—he didn’t want to contribute to her pain. At one point, keeping her in the dark about his activities would have been difficult, back when she caught every little shift in his personality, but these days she didn’t seem to notice as much. Still, Loki couldn’t spend whole nights at his work the way he used to. Madelyn slept lightly, often waking up in the darkness to a fit of hacking and gasping for air. He’d be at her side in a second, glass of water in hand and notes abandoned.

“Sorry … for waking you up,” she’d wheeze. “Didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” he’d choke.

But one night, she caught him. It was chillier than usual, and he had moved from his desk to the living room and the fireplace. The crackling of the flames masked the padding of her feet down the hall.

“What are you doing?”

He jumped. Madelyn was standing in the hallway, wrapped in a blanket and leaning against the doorframe for support. Her eyes seemed to glow in the light of the fire.

“I—” He didn’t know how to respond. Perhaps that was enough of a response. She sighed, hobbling forward on unsteady legs. Loki rushed forward to support her. “Darling, you shouldn’t be up.”

“No.” She gripped his wrist, nodding towards the couch. “Sit with me. Hold me.” Her expression left no room for argument. He wasn’t certain he wanted to argue with her anyway. Loki scooped her up into his arms and carried her across the room, surprised by how little effort it took him. Madelyn had always been light, but it seemed she had become even more so since he had last picked her up. He found himself thinking about the first time he had carried her, when she twisted her ankle on the steps of her apartment. It felt like just yesterday that he had held her in his arms as he teased her for her mortal fragility. For Madelyn, he realized with a start, it had been a lifetime ago.

He sat on the couch before the fire, still holding her in his lap. She fixed him with a stern glare.

“You said you were done with this.”

As words failed him, Loki let out a pained breath. “It’s you,” he whispered finally. “I can’t—I can’t just give up on you.”

“It’s not giving up.” She reached out to stroke his cheek with wrinkled fingers. He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch. “Loki, I’m old. I’m going to die, soon rather than later. That’s not something anybody can change. Not even you.”

He wished he could accuse her of lying, that he could stand up and prove how she was wrong, how he could stop time’s work. Instead, tears blurred his vision when he opened his eyes. “I can’t lose you.”

She smiled, shaking her head. “You’re not losing me! I’m right here. With you. Now, forever, and always.” She kissed the corner of his mouth, leaning her head against his. “I love you, Loki.”

He pressed his lips to her temple. “I love you too. So much.”

The fire had gone out when he awoke in the morning. She was still in his lap, at rest and peaceful.

“Madelyn?”

She didn’t move.

Loki brushed his fingers across her cheek. Her skin was cold.

His voice broke. “Madelyn.”

But Madelyn only lay against him, still and silent and perfect as could be.

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

The One with the Engagement Picture

Ayy, using this to try new ones. Another for @thatesqcrush​’s FRIENDS challenge.

Peter Stone hadn’t always been as much of a partier as he’d become, and he would certainly reject the term womanizer. Anyone he dated or slept with knew that he just wasn’t ready to settle down anymore. Maybe it was because he’d tried to do that once and ruined it. When he tore his ulnar collateral ligament, he’d accepted he wouldn’t be pitching anymore, and slowly an ocean seemed to settle between himself and his teammates. He was bitter, and they were busy. As the partying stopped for him to heal and return to school, there was one woman he found himself content to spend nights with on the couch with. It was the first time since he’d been an adult that Peter was in a serious, monogamous relationship, and he thought it suited him.

Dahlia had moved to Chicago for graduate school, and she was thoroughly unimpressed with his baseball background. Did she think it was cool? Sure. Was she understanding they’d be going to games? Yes. But, he had to teach her how the game worked and let her know which of his friends even played when she met them. She was more interested in dragging him antique shopping or to old bookshops where he’d have to keep her from falling off of a ladder. While she learned his world, Peter got far more comfortable than he ever expected to with pin curls, vintage compacts, and inspecting dresses for sweat stains or cigarette burns. It made her happy to invest time in it, so if she’d wear his old jersey tucked into her high waisted jeans and go to a game with him, he’d take pictures of his pin up at the rockabilly festival they drove out to.

When he proposed, he was nauseatingly proud to find a mid century ring at the vintage jewelry store she loved. The owner knew him from each time he had followed her through, shopping bags in hand as she purused. That meant he had help from a woman who knew Dahlia’s ring size and which cut she’d like the most; he picked correctly anyway, she’d said. He’d been careful to plan an outing to the park, packing a picnic and red and white checked blanket. He had a friend hiding to capture pictures, and it felt like the timing was perfect. Soon enough, he had a picture of her, hand over her mouth as he asked her to marry him sitting on his desk at home, and one with her showing off the ring as she pressed a kiss to his cheek, his arms slung around her waist, sitting on his office desk.

Things were easier then, when he was working and she was in school. Their schedules still aligned, so they could see each other in the evenings.  Then, she finished her MFA and taught night classes in order to make ends meet while she worked on her next novel. They’d met not long before the first was published, and he’d read a preview copy the first weekend he knew her and dug up poetry she’d published in volumes stored at the university. His brain didn’t work like that and he liked that about her. He was more about practicality and comfort. She was creative and artistic, comfort be damned.

The change in schedules made things hard. Peter wasn’t good when things got hard. The transition to not seeing each other much during the week, even though they lived together, quickly coupled with wedding planning stress to create arguments they hadn’t had before. Instead of quiet togetherness, they’d bicker. He got home late, so they didn’t see each other before she left to teach. She had to pick something up after work, so he was asleep when she got home. Dahlia wanted to plan the wedding, and Peter was getting nervous because he hadn’t watched many marriages stay happy. He pushed off decisions, avoided picking a venue. After a while, she got an offer to teach creative writing in New York. 

“I could have normal hours, Peter. We could see each other. You know you’d get a job in New York.”

“I’m not going back there, Dahl.”

“It’s a big city. You wouldn’t even have to see him. We wouldn’t even have to tell Ben, would we?”

“No.”

“So we just keep not planning a wedding and not seeing each other? Do you even want to marry me?”

“You know I do.”

“No I don’t!” 

“Then maybe you should take the fucking job without me.”

The minute he said it, he regretted it. The way Dahlia’s face fell and tears came made him feel stupid. She’d spent her weekends helping him with physical therapy. She’d taken the shitty adjuncting job to stay in Chicago until he was a little more established. She was patient about maneuvering the strained dynamic between Ben and Peter Stone. Hell, she wasn’t even asking him to go back to New York forever. It was a year and then the university would evaluate if they’d offer her a permanent position. They could be back in Chicago after a year. And now she was crying. He hadn’t made her do that before, not because she was sad.

“Fine,” she managed, jaw shifting as she tried to get the tears to stop. “I’ll go then. I can’t keep doing this. You won’t plan the wedding. We fight all the time. And now you want me to go? Here’s your fucking ring.”

If Peter had been used to having a girlfriend or wanting her to stay, Peter might have developed the skills required to do more than stare as Dahlia shoved her clothes into a suitcase and clutch the ring in his outstretched hand. He might have thought to fly to the city when he realized she’d actually gone ahead and moved and show up at her apartment unemployed and ready to go to the courthouse to prove he needed her there. 

Instead, he steeled his jaw over the next few weeks. His arm had healed the first year of law school, so he simply returned to his circle of friends that went out and dated whoever and covered for each other. He always ignored the ones in a vintage dress or with dark curled hair. Those were the ones who could hurt him. Who let him pretend afterwards that it was Dahlia beside him, and they were married and happy. 

When he moved out the apartment they’d shared-it was too much there now- he picked a painfully modern place and filled it with sleek modern furniture, The antiques she hadn’t taken were sold, and he finally felt that maybe he’d scrubbed his life of Dahlia, save the engagement pictures he kept in the top drawer of his desk. She had probably responded to the break up like an actual adult and moved on. Had a husband and career. Maybe even a baby. He hated the thought, so when he thought it, he’d pour another drink. And it was fine, because he’d just distanced himself from everything that could make him think of her. And that was fine, really it was. Peter had been a playboy before. He was a partier. He was an ex-baseball player. And he was fine.

Then his father died. 

Peter felt the solitude then. There hadn’t been anything new and hard to process since Dahlia left. He wandered New York and wondered if she was still there somewhere or if she’d gotten another teaching job somewhere. When McCoy convinced him to take the ADA position after Baba’s trial, he couldn’t say no, and one of the engagement photos found a new home in the top drawer of his new desk. SVU was harder, and it found its way out more. He’d hold it in his free hand, sipping a drink as he tried to channel the advice she’d have given him. 

“Ben liked her,” Jack said softly one day. “He had a copy of that picture until the engagement ended.”

“I was an idiot.”

“Aren’t we all at some point? Learn from it.”

Peter left it out after that. It faced him from the corner, and he remembered feeling grounded. That was what he really missed. Dahlia had given him a place to land. His dad had always felt unstable, and he wasn’t close with his mom. He wasn’t even always at home, staying with his aunt periodically.  And then he’d made a happy stable home with Dahlia and ruined it. 

When Pamela died, he stopped partying for fun and started using it to numb himself, but one night, he met a woman with dark brown pin curls and fair skin. She’d left when Dahlia’s name fell from his lips. That’s when he knew he had to reach out. He had to know if there was a family or a set of kids or a job in another city. He needed closure.

“Hello?” She sounded confused when she answered, and he suddenly remembered it was nearly midnight. He also remembered she never checked caller ID. Oh God, or she’d deleted his number.

“Dahlia?” Papers stopped shuffling and he could hear her sharp intake of breath. He could almost picture her, perched in an armchair, probably a yellow velvet one, with wide eyes and hair pinned up for the night and tied in a silk scarf as she graded or proofed her own manuscript. Maybe it was a friend’s manuscript.

Oh God, what if it was a husband’s manuscript. Another writer. She’d like that.

The cool metal of the picture he kept at home was pressed into the skin of his palm before he whispered, “Dahl, it’s Peter.”

“I know,” she said softly. “You don’t sound okay.”

“I’m not.”

“What happened?”

“Pamela.”

“What happened to Pamela? I can be on a plane to Chicago if you need someone. Or if you need help in the city, I can arrange things. Check on her.”

“How do you know I don’t have someone?” 

“Would you be calling if you did?”

“I’m in New York. Where did you end up?”

“They offered me a permanent position. How long have you been in the city?” He could tell she was trying to mask hurt that he hadn’t called before now. But what was he supposed to say? Dad’s dead so I live here now.

“Since January. Dad died. I prosecuted an ADA. Then I took his job.”

“Ben’s gone?”

“So is Pam.”

“Pam’s gone?” He let out a shaky breath, chest tight. “Send me your address.”

“You don’t have to--”

“Address or I start calling your baseball buddies.”

“I’ll text it.”

“I’m not hanging up until I’m there.”

“Is it creepy I keep the engagement photo on my desk?”

“We’re not touching that right now Peter. You’re drunk and not okay.”

She was true to her word, not hanging up the phone until she arrived at his apartment. When he opened the door, he saw her just as he’d imagined her. Her hair was pinned in the silk scarf and a silk robe was tied over her pajamas. She had thrown it on over the same babydoll top and short sets she’d always been hunting down patterns for so she could make them herself and she’d slid on flats. 

The sight of her made him feel tethered again, though he had had enough more to drink between the initial call and her arrival that he had gone from tipsy to unsteady. He went to hug her, and Dahlia carefully kicked the door close, locked it, and maneuvered him to his big leather couch that she looked terribly out of place on. 

“Let it out, Peter,” she whispered, and he buried his face into the crook of her neck like she might float away or vanish. The cry wasn’t like anything he’d let her see before. He’d been careful and controlled anytime something hurt, glossing over details that could make it worse to give her a pig picture. But now, he cried like he was alone, heaving sobs with snot and tears and drool as he clutched her. 

She settled into the couch enough he was basically curled in her lap. That’s how he woke the next morning too, curled against her torso with his head on her shoulder. She’d fallen asleep with her cheek pressed against the top of his head, and he was both embarrassed and relieved she was still there. Carefully he untangled himself from her, wanting to clean up before he had to face her. Face the fact it was his own fault he’d had to deal with it all alone.  

He came out to find her having obviously used the guest bathroom to rinse her face, though she was clad in his boxers and henley now. She was too averse to pants for his sweats. And like the angel she was, Dahlia was cooking. He was, however, mortified to see what she was holding as whatever she’d put in the oven cooked was the engagement photo he’d been clinging to when he called. But he could also see she seemed to be looking at it fondly. 

“Your interior design is terrible,” she teased gently, setting the frame aside. “I left you so much of the good stuff.”

“I couldn’t bring it from Chicago.”

“Peter, you forget I brought it from Chicago.”

“When I looked at furniture we found together, it made me miss you, so I got rid of it.”

“I kept mine because it made me remember you.”

“I’m the one that was an absolute moron.”

“It was easier then, huh?” she said softly, picking the picture up again. Their smiles were wider. There were fewer lines on their faces. Ben and Pam were in New York alive, and Dahlia and Peter had forever in front of them. Peter didn’t need to talk to her about something he didn’t want to remember.

“Yeah,” he whispered, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I’m sorry I let you go.”

“I’m sorry I let you. I shouldn’t have left the first time we fought. I knew how you were.”

“You were right to. I went for what I knew would hurt.”

“We can address all of that later. For right now, do you want to start talking or eat and then talk?”

“It’s my fault Pam’s dead.”

“You need to elaborate on that one, Peter. Because I’m sure there is more happening than you’re saying.”

“I didn’t drop a case. A victim tortured her attacker. We didn’t know for sure at first. A cartel was involved and they threatened to hurt Pam if I didn’t drop the case. We had guards, but they massacred Pam’s facility and took her. Diaz killed her in the gunfire. Dahl, she recognized me. She called for me, and he killed her. It’s been months, and I just, I feel so lost.”

“Peter,” she whispered, pulling him close. 

He stiffened at first. He’d expected disgust, not sympathy. This was his fault. That’s what he’d been telling himself for weeks, distracting himself with booze and bars and women like he had done when he wanted to pretend his family was fine, that Pam wasn’t sick, that he was close with his dad. This time though, the hurt was bigger.  

He was crying into her shoulder again, and he suddenly wished he’d been smart enough to call the minute he’d arrived. That she’d been there at dad’s funeral and for the trial of Rafael Barba. Maybe then he wouldn’t have even taken the job. He’d have recognized something bad was brewing. Instead he’d gotten his sister killed and was clinging to Dahlia in the early morning light of his kitchen. 

“It happened in May.”

“Why didn’t you call sooner?”

“I didn’t mean to call now.”

“How have you been coping?” He was quiet, shifting awkwardly. “Baseball methods?”

“Yeah.” He was ashamed to tell her, and she squeezed him gently. 

“I went with baseball methods after we split. You’re a single man. I don’t like the thought and it’s not healthy, but it’s better than other things you could’ve done.” They didn’t speak much as they ate. Neither one knew what to say to the other any more, but she didn’t want to leave him alone and he shouldn’t be left alone. When he did speak again, his voice was gentler than it had been in a while.

“Can we go antiquing?” 

“You want to go?”

“I want to carry your bags and think about sweat stains.”

“How does that help you?”

“Is it manipulative if I say that’s the last time I was really happy? Because if you say no I won’t be mad. It’s just true.”

“It could be. But I believe you. I think it’s the last time I was really happy too.”

“Really?” 

“Depends? Did I pretend to understand baseball between our last antiquing trip and moving?”

“No. You moved in the off season.”

“Then really. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve been fine. I love work. I love writing. I love the city. But I like everything more with you. Even if you’re a jock.”

“I thought I was happy before you. But I wasn’t.”

“You have to take me home first so I can get ready.”

“Deal.” And that’s what found him in her living room while she got dressed. He wasn’t stupid; Dahlia was the same as she’d always been, so he was waiting patiently as she brushed out her set curls and did her make up. She came back out in a pretty shirtdress, one he felt sure he’d found for her a long time ago, and keds, and Peter knew he’d do anything to get this back. The feeling of groundedness, that maybe they could be a team again, awe she was even agreeing to comfort him on any level. 

She led him through new vintage shops now. They were in a whole new state after all. He decided that maybe baseball methods didn’t work, and he talked to Dahlia. This time he really talked though. He’d brushed over stories about his father and Pam. He didn’t like the bad ones or the feelings they could bring up. Besides, Ben Stone was a saint, didn’t you know? Peter hadn’t ever been talk about his father, so he kept that habit up with Dahlia the first time. He also told her the truth. He’d panicked over marrying her because she was his first real girlfriend and the prospect of settling down and having her grow to hate him like his mother had his father scared him. That one was a revelation to her. 

He’d basically moved in with her a month after their outing to go antiquing. She preferred their old furniture and her vintage collection. Besides, Peter, I have a built in vanity here! The engagement photo in the park was replaced on his desk a year later. It showed them now in a different park in a different city with different lives to the ones so long ago. They also had different methods of communication, meaning they’d weathered fights as they adjusted to things again. The same ring was on display, however, and the same smile was plastered on Peter’s face as Dahlia pressed a kiss to his cheek.