#series: tailspin

[joaquinwhorres]

Tailspin - Part 1 (Fanboy Garcia x F!OC)

SUMMARY ››››› Having grown up just across the bridge from North Island, Carolina Alvarez has been told her whole life to stay away from the Top Gun boys. And for the most part, she has. That is, until Fanboy catches her putting quarters in the jukebox at The Hard Deck and initiates a game of cat and mouse that ends with her exactly where she swore she’d never be.

PAIRING ››››› Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x F!OC

WORD COUNT ››››› 5,721

WARNINGS ››››› None

MASTERLIST ››››› Here

A/N ››››› These two are my babiest babies. I'm absolutely in love with this couple. Mickey is such an underrated character, and everything I've been planning for this love story just has me so excited to share more of this.

If Caro had things her way, they wouldn't be here.

Instead, the group of girls would be in the middle of a dancefloor, surrounded by strangers as they downed enough shots to feel like they were living inside of a synth pop song.

She'd even be happy with taking over a line of stools at the shitty bar three blocks down from their apartment, drinking beer and alternating between telling stories and guessing at what was happening on the sporting event broadcasted on the TVs.

And if there was no other acceptable place in the vast array of options that the San Diego nightlife offered, they could have bought a couple bottles of wine and binged The Bachelorette from the comfort of their own home.

But they were here. And instead of a scandalously tight dress or shorts and a cute tank top or a soft set of pajamas, she wore a cotton sundress from Old Navy which had only been meant for Sunday dinners with her abuela. Then again, wearing it to the pseudo-goodbye party for her best friend for the past four years seemed like an acceptable exception. 

Sami grinned at her across the table. "I still can't believe you agreed to come here," she said.

Caro shrugged. "You have to finish your bucket list, and I wanted to spend time with you." 

"But you're here," Sami said, gesturing around the room. "You hate this place." It felt surprisingly cramped for a beach front bar where one whole wall was windows. If Caro had to guess it had something to do with the little model airplanes and mugs that hung from the ceiling and the fact that every wall that wasn't a window was covered with Navy memorabilia. The bar also might have felt more crowded than it actually was given that half the people here wore the same tan uniform. But as small as the place felt, there was a relaxed atmosphere that permeated the place, reminding her of her abuela's living room during a family party.

"I don't hate this place," Caro corrected, her tone suggesting Sami's ridiculousness. "Just everything it stands for." 

Sami laughed at this, and the other girls broke into smiles and shaking heads. 

"Drinks are good though," Caro said, toasting Sami with the Collins glass of her mojito. "And the company's not bad." 

"You can't tell me you don't enjoy the eye candy either," Amber added, lifting the tiny black straw and pointing it towards the group of Navy guys in the back whose loud cheers carried across the bar as one of them stood up from where they'd just taken a shot on the pool table. He was shaking his head, but a friend had already peeled off from the group and towards the bar.

"It's like they were plucked out of an Abercrombie ad," Amber said, her voice laced with awe. 

"That's their whole appeal," Caro remarked, watching as the red haired pilot drummed his hands against the bar top waiting to be served. 

Sami acknowledged this with a nod of her head and wry smile. "You're not wrong." 

"You're a little wrong," Kayleigh disagreed, punctuating the statement with a pause and a glance around the table to make sure she had everyone's attention. "They're fantastic in bed."

Caro rolled her eyes with a smile as Amber and Sami laughed. Kayleigh took a sip from her drink looking very self-satisfied. 

"I'm sure they're only half as good as they think they are," Caro remarked, and Kayleigh gave another shrug. 

"Still three times better than most men." 

As Kayleigh was the only one with experience, having snagged a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Texan pilot last year, Caro ceded the point with an incline of her head.

"Speaking of all this," Sami said, waving a hand in Kayleigh's direction. "You need to help me with strategy." 

This seemed like an excellent opportunity for Caro to slip away and make her way over to the corner of the bar that she'd been eyeing all night. "Got it," Caro said, pointing a finger at Sami. "I'm going to go find the perfect song to make someone come over and sweep you off your feet." 

Sami's brows furrowed in confusion before her eyes landed on the old fashioned jukebox that was currently belting out Creedence Clearwater Revival. Her face softened into a teasing grin. "I'm not going to see you for the rest of the night, am I?"

"Not if everything goes according to plan," Caro shook her head, scooching out of the booth. She smoothed down the skirt of her dress before looking up at her friends. "Any requests?"

The group shook their heads, and Caro turned away from them, weaving through the crowd towards the jukebox, its neon lights guiding her way.

There was something innately comforting about sifting through a jukebox's catalog of songs. Even when she found herself in the very place she'd been warned away from for most of her life, at least she was here with the Beatles and the Eagles and Patsy Cline. The familiar song titles greeted her like old friends' faces in a high school yearbook, and as she flipped through them and remembering people she'd forgotten about and finding other surprises like "Mambo No. 5" it was enough to put her at ease for the first time all night. 

Sami might be leaving. Adulthood might be before her. But her music was here and would be for as long as there were jukeboxes.

So, even when she sensed someone come up behind her, she didn't stop to look at them or feel tension creep up her spine at the prospect of conversation. She remembered that a jukebox naturally caused lines and that she had all night to peruse through its songs before making sure her friends were either going home with someone else or safely back in the Lyft with her. 

Caro finally located the song she had been searching for in the back of the alphabet, pressing in the number and smiling softly as the familiar strums of the guitar filled the bar along with the shaking tambourine. 

It was in this moment, as she listened to the first few lines of the song and fiddled with her next quarter, that the person behind her spoke. 

"This is a great song." 

Caro looked over her shoulder, finding a young Naval officer with a buzzcut standing a few paces behind her. Maybe, if he hadn't been so right that this was a great song—or if he hadn't left so much space between himself and her, honoring the privacy of her jukebox ritual–or if hadn't offered up the warm and earnest kind of smile he gave her—maybe, if he hadn't done all that, she would have just nodded or shot a quick smile and gotten out of there. But instead, because he seemed to get it and the compliment was simple and straightforward and not about her at all, she offered her own genuine smile back along with a "Thanks." 

"It's the Temptations right?" he asked, taking a step closer.

The smile faded from her lips as her lapse in judgment became all too clear. 

"Van Morrison, actually," she corrected, turning back around to the jukebox and slipping her second quarter in.

She flipped through the pages slightly faster this time, passing by "Dancing in the Moonlight," "Hey Mickey," and "American Girl" as she worked her way back to the beginning of the alphabet. Behind her, she could feel the officer take another step closer, and her back stiffened. Rather than continue to creep up behind her, though, he moved into her line of sight, standing next to the jukebox to watch the catalog pages turn.

"Need a recommendation?" he asked, shooting a slightly more hesitant smile than before, this one going completely ignored. 

 "From the man who thought The Temptations sang 'Brown-Eyed Girl?'" she asked, letting the question sink in as another two pages of song options went by. "I'm good." 

He exhaled a laugh, shaking his head at himself. "Maybe I can redeem myself."

"And maybe I'm not interested," Caro retorted. 

The words hung in the air between them, the sheepish smile slipping from his face, instead replaced by a slightly bewildered expression. She couldn't entirely blame him. The words had come out sharper than she'd meant them to, and all things told, this was far from the worst pick up attempt she'd ever faced. 

Her finger slipped from the next button as her shoulders relaxed from where they'd been raised in defense. "I'm sorry," she sighed. "I just–I don't date sailors, so you're wasting your time with me."

Confusion overtook his features, his eyebrows drawing together in a questioning look as his head tilted to the left. It was almost like he'd never experienced rejection, which, based on his boyish good looks, wouldn't be all that surprising.

"You do know you're at a Navy bar, right?" he asked, a hint of teasing in his voice.

"And you know people come to bars for reasons other than picking someone up, right?" she returned, mirroring the head tilt.

He laughed at this, acquiescing the point with a nod. "I don't suppose it'd make a difference if I told you that I was more of a pilot than an actual sailor, would it?" 

She eyed his haircut which was unusually basic for a Top Gun boy. His demeanor also seemed to hide the trademark overinflated sense of ego especially well. Compared to Kayleigh's Texan from last year, she had to wonder if he was lying in hopes that her answer would be anything other than what it was.

"Not a good difference," she remarked, a smirk curling up the corner of her lips. "I don't even talk to Naval Aviators if I can help it."

"In that case, I'm honored," he said, grinning good naturedly, and she shook her head at him, turning back to the jukebox and her selection.

He moved a bit closer to her, the smile fading as his eyebrow rose instead. "So, no Navy boys at all no matter what? No dating or flirting or letting them buy you a drink?" 

"Nope," Caro said, letting the "p" pop. 

"What about a song?" he asked, tilting his head towards the jukebox, and Caro felt a smile grow despite herself. She tilted her head to look up at him.

"I already put my quarter in."

"Another song?" he persisted, and she shook her head.

"If it means that much to you though, I'll dedicate my next song to you." Caro said, looking back down to the song selection. It was in the beat between her offer and his response that she found the perfect selection, pressing in the selection as he voiced his doubt. 

"This isn't going to be good is it?" he asked, and Caro grinned as she backed away from the jukebox. 

"It's a great song," she responded with a shrug before spinning on her heel and making her way back to her friends, enjoying the last verse of "Brown-Eyed Girl" in peace.

Upon arriving at the table she found they were down a girl. 

"What happened to Amber?" Caro asked, sliding back in next to Sami.

Kayleigh looked over her shoulder towards the bar. "She went over there to buy some girl a drink and hasn't come back." She shrugged, turning back to face the other two girls. "Looks like it's going well." 

Caro's gaze was drawn to Sami who seemed perfectly fine with Amber ditching the group for a girl despite the fact that tonight was their last night together and supposed to be all about Sami. Before Caro could comment on it though, Sami spoke. 

"Oooh, I like this song," she said, nodding along to the lyrics. "Good choice." 

"Thanks," Caro said, pausing to listen to "Fox on the Run" instead as she contemplated whether or not to push the issue of Amber's disappearance.

...you think you got a pretty face

But the rest of you is out of place

I've heard it all before…

Seeing Sami bop along to the upbeat song was enough to make Caro decide to let the issue drop. Instead, she steered the conversation into learning Sami's top picks of boys for the night and what she had nicknamed each of them. From there, Kayleigh picked out a few that she thought might be underrated–Buzzcut included–and both teased Caro mercilessly for her lack of interest in choosing any of the boys whatsoever. 

It was in the middle of pestering Caro to at least choose the one she'd find the least objectionable if they were the last two people on earth, that Sami stopped mid-sentence. "Didn't we, like, just hear this song?" 

The table quieted, each girl listening to the familiar tambourine and tenor voice.

"We definitely did," Kayleigh agreed, the confusion Caro felt mirrored on the other girls' face.

"I swear to God Caro, if you're going to John Mulaney us with 'Brown-Eyed Girl,' I'm giving out your number to every Navy boy in this place," Sami threatened. 

"I only put in the two songs!" Caro protested. "It's probably just a weird coi–" she stopped mid-thought, turning in her seat to face the jukebox. No one was there. Or anywhere near it really. But as she scanned the bar, finally finding Buzzcut sitting by the pool tables, the source of the repeat was all too clear. Because he was already looking at her. He smiled and mouthed something to her. 

As if she could read lips across a crowded bar. Or at all.

Annoyed confusion overtook her face, and he responded by tapping his ear. 

A reluctant, mildly amused smile grew as she shook her head and turned back to her friends.

"Oh my God, Caro, who are you smiling at?" Sami asked, bumping shoulders with her. 

"An idiot I met at the jukebox who keeps trying to shoot a shot he missed," Caro said, taking a sip of her mojito.

"There was an idiot at the jukebox, and you're just telling us now?" Sami asked, "Which one?" She stood slightly, looking over the crowd, and Caro flicked her arm. 

"Buzzcut, with the other Navy boys," Caro answered, fixedly taking another sip.

"The one with the smile?" Kayleigh asked, fully turning around in her seat to look. Caro flicked her too, but she just waved a hand back.

"He's cute. Even with that haircut," Kayleigh mused, nodding approvingly at Caro.

Caro gave her a very unamused look as Sami grinned. The final bit of "Brown-Eyed Girl" played out as the song shifted to the Beatles. 

And then she realized which Beatles song was playing and looked over to Buzzcut who offered her a smile and tilted his head towards the jukebox. As if to acknowledge that yes, he'd played this song too. She let out a small huff which could have easily been mistaken for a laugh as she looked back at her friends. 

Each of them were still, listening to the lyrics as if trying to deduce whether or not this was another song played for Caro. It hit them at exactly the same moment. 

So how could I dance with another? When I saw her standing there?

"So he totally played this song for you too," Kayleigh said. 

"Yeah." Caro nodded, not even bothering to deny it. She looked down at her mojito, attempting to stir the ice even more as the lyrics continued to sink in.

Well, she looked at me, and I, I could see

That before too long, I'd fall in love with her

"Oh my God, this is working on you, isn't it?" Sami bumped Caro's shoulder with her own. 

"It's not working. It's just surprisingly accurate," Caro refuted with a  jerky shrug.

"So is his heart going boom right now, then?" Sami pressed, and Caro spun in her chair quickly as the girls laughed at her quick reaction only to find no one approaching. 

She glared at them, sticking up her middle finger as the other two collapsed into giggles. 

"Look, you could at least let me live vicariously through you," Sami reasoned. "And if you won't let me have that as my going away present, you could at least continue this song battle for my enjoyment."

Caro sighed dramatically as she stood from the table, and Sami cheered. "This is for you, and just for you," she said, pointing a finger at Sami. 

"And it is much appreciated," Sami grinned back. With that, Caro took a long drink from her mojito before heading back off towards the jukebox. Buzzcut seemed to notice her approach and separated himself from his own friends, going to meet her, but instead she brushed past, not even bothering to look or speak to him on her way to the jukebox. 

Laughter followed in her wake as did, apparently, Buzzcut. 

Caro ignored his presence as she flipped through the catalog, looking for the perfect response. 

"Told you I can pick a good song," Buzzcut said, and she could hear the grin in his voice. 

"I don't think copying my song choice counts as you picking a good song," Caro responded, giving a shrug as she kept her eyes focused on the songs before her. 

"Obviously that doesn't count," he agreed. "I just had to get your attention somehow." 

"And annoy everyone else in the bar?"

He shrugged. "I annoyed you the first time it played, they can be annoyed the second." 

She shook her head, fighting the smile that was attempting to make itself known. "How thoughtful," she said flatly.

"My actual song was pretty good though." 

"It was the Beatles," she dismissed, eyes narrowing in on the jukebox's David Bowie offerings. "Of course it was good."

"Yeah, but it was so good it got you to talk to me again," he pressed, and Caro shook her head as she entered the number for "Modern Love."

She stepped back from the jukebox, arms crossed. "So is this like a bet?" 

Surprise infiltrated his face. "What? No–"

"A dare? Because if your friends told you to come over here to like get my number or something, I'm not interested, but I do have a friend who might be." Caro said, raising a skeptical eyebrow.  

"There's no game or bet or anything," the boy protested, looking back over at his friends and cringing slightly as he turned back. "I just saw you across the bar and thought I'd take a chance. The only thing my friends are doing right now is watching me blow it pretty badly."

Caro's eyes darted towards the pool tables, finding a group of boys staring in their direction. One of them waved at her when he caught her gaze, and another elbowed him. Her eyes flicked back to the boy in front of her. 

"That's pretty embarrassing." 

He huffed a laugh and looked back up at her. "Extremely," he agreed. A silence took over between the two of them, as Bowie continued his song. 

Never gonna fall for Modern love, walks beside meModern love, walks on by

Buzzcut pointed to the jukebox, and Caro stepped aside, assuming his position on the side so she could watch him flip through the songs. He was mercifully quiet as he turned back towards the beginning of the alphabet. It took him a suspiciously short time to enter in the code, and as she matched it to the options available, she let out a laugh.

Take a Chance on Me - ABBA.

He looked up at her with eyebrows raised, and she shook her head. 

"It's my friend's last night in San Diego," she said, shrugging. "And she's the only reason I'm here. Once she's paired off with some Top Gun pilot and crossed it off her bucket list, I'm taking off." 

"Bucket list?" he repeated, quirking an eyebrow. 

Caro nodded. "It's a thing we did at the beginning of freshman year. We each made up a list of things we wanted to accomplish before we graduated and left for the real world, and she, for some unknown reason, decided that she wanted to take a Top Gun boy home." 

"I'm guessing you don't have that on your list," he said, an amused smile on his face. 

"That would be correct." 

"You know, I happen to know a couple of people that could help your friend out." 

"You could help my friend out," she returned.

He shook his head. "Not interested in your friend." 

"You haven't even seen her." 

"Don't need to." 

The comment hung between them and Caro rolled her eyes even as her cheeks warmed a bit. 

"Why don't you guys come over and join us," he said, gesturing with his head towards the pool tables and the group of pilots over there. "You get to hang out with your friend, and she gets to cross off her bucket list item." 

It was undeniably an offer she shouldn't refuse. It would give Sami the in she needed to be able to accomplish all of the major items on her bucket list, and she would still be able to spend time with her even as the other girl attempted to find her way into a pilot's pants. Knowing Kayleigh and the fact that it was practically a miracle no one had come up to whisk her away yet, she would also probably peel off with some pilot and have a great night. All Caro would have to do was put up with some admittedly respectful if not persistent flirting from a cute boy. 

There were worse ways to spend a Friday night. 

But as she looked over at her table and at Kayleigh and Sami laughing at each other, a protective jealousy rose up in her.

"As much as this might make me a terrible wingwoman, I kinda want to keep her to myself," Caro admitted, looking back at Buzzcut. 

His face was surprisingly understanding. "I get it," he nodded. "Goodbyes are weird." 

Caro pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, casting another glance at Sami, and wishing that she was a slightly better person. Instead she turned to the Navy boy and shrugged. "I'm sorry." 

ABBA started up on the jukebox and rather than responding he pointed to the jukebox as it sang the line: If you change your mind, I'm the first in line. 

Caro smiled. "Have a good night, and good luck, with everything…." 

"Mickey," he supplied. 

Her eyebrows rose. "Your callsign? Really?" 

He grinned sheepishly, shaking his head. "No, uh, it's my real name." 

Her jaw dropped. Actually hung open in disbelief. "No it isn't."

He nodded his head. "It is."

"Your parents named you after a cartoon mouse?" Caro asked, a laugh waving as an undercurrent in her voice.

He shrugged. "I think they just liked the sound of it." 

She shook her head in continued disbelief before looking back up at him. "Well, extra good luck with a name like Mickey," she said before turning around. 

"Do I at least get to know your name?" he called after her, and she looked over her shoulder at him. 

"Caro." 

He smiled, and despite herself, she did too before making her way, for the last time, to the booth that held both of her friends. 

"Aaaaaaaaaaand?" Sami asked as Caro once more sat down on the bench next to her. 

"That looked really flirty," Kayleigh said, putting her head in her palm. "You guys were smiling at each other a lot."

Caro shrugged. "He's nice." 

"He's nice," Sami mimicked, nudging at Caro. "And yet you're still over here with us." 

"Because he's still a Top Gun boy," Caro returned, pulling her mojito back over to her and taking a sip. 

Sami and Kayleigh gave each other a look before Sami turned back to Caro. "You knoooow," she dragged out, waiting for Caro to acknowledge her before continuing. "It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world for you to have one one-night-stand. Just to celebrate graduation and the last day of your unbridled youth." 

Caro snorted at this, and even Kayleigh shook her head at Sami. 

"You know, listen to ABBA, take a chance," Sami pressed, and Caro turned back to her drink, taking a sip and ignoring her friend. Sami looked like she wanted to say more, but before she could further press the issue, her eyes flicked up as two boys approached the table.

One was the bar drummer from before, with light orange hair and a scattering of freckles across his nose. He hardly looked any older than them, and looked like he could be one of the frat boys from Fiji. Next to him was a dark skinned boy, his hair cut into a close cropped fade and his hands tucked into his pockets. 

"I don't suppose any of you know how to play pool?" The drummer asked.

Sami flashed a smile up at him. Because of course she was into the drummer. "When you say 'know,' does it mean I have to be any good?" 

He exhaled a laugh and shook his head. "We can teach you. We just need partners," he said, gesturing between himself and the other man. 

It was quite obvious that they didn't. For one thing, they could play just the two of them, and for another, the girls had witnessed them playing all night with the other people in their group. But, Sami didn't seem to mind how lame the excuse to talk to her was. Instead, she told him,  "Yeah, I'll play. Kayleigh?" 

Kayleigh eyed the quieter of the two, eyes dragging from his face down his thin muscular body to shined shoes. There was a pause before her eyes moved back to Sami. "Yeah, I'm in." 

"Great," he smiled. "You're welcome too by the way," he offered to Caro. "There's a group of us in the corner." She didn't even bother looking. She knew exactly what corner he meant and who was probably there eyeing her. It was well played, she had to admit. 

"Besides, you can watch me kick Kayleigh's ass," Sami said, motioning Caro out of the booth so that she could slip out to play pool. The guy laughed as the two girls joined them. 

Caro shook her head at her friends. "You guys have fun. I think I'm going to finish my drink and head out." 

"No," the two protested, but Caro continued to shake her head to ward off any protests. 

"I've got breakfast with my parents tomorrow," she lied. "I'd have to leave soon anyway." Sami frowned but stopped fighting, instead stepping forward to wrap Caro in a tight hug. The two girls swayed back and forth as Caro fought to keep herself from crying in front of strangers.

"I'll call you on the road tomorrow," Sami promised into Caro's hair, and Caro squeezed her even tighter. 

"You better." 

Sami pressed a kiss to Caro's cheek and then released her, offering an attempt at a smile and letting Kayleigh give Caro a goodbye hug. This one was quicker and after she released there was an awkward pause before Caro told them goodbye and the boys started back towards the pool tables, the girls heading off with them. 

Caro watched them leave, not even bothering to sit as she finished off the last of her drink and started towards the door, phone in hand to summon her Lyft. 

She had barely been outside for five minutes, her ride just picked up when the door behind her opened and a familiar voice spoke. "You weren't kidding about leaving, then." 

She didn't bother looking at him, instead eyeing the distance of her driver to the beachside bar. "Nope." 

"Need a ride?" 

This time, she did look at him, eyebrows raised. "I'm not getting in the car with a stranger who's been trying to take me home all night." 

He laughed, hands raised in front of his body as if to demonstrate he meant no harm. "Fair enough." He dropped his arms and the two stood in silence, Caro looking at the 12 minutes between Faruq's present location and hers. The silence wasn't long lasting though, as Mickey spoke again. "I have a proposal for you." 

"A proposal? Already?" Caro asked, and he laughed at her. 

"If I can guess your favorite song, will you give me your number?"

She eyed him: the hope and amusement on his face and the unassuming nature of his smile. Matched with the absurdity of his request, the proposal seemed entirely harmless. Almost ridiculously harmless. More as if it were for show for her than an actual request. 

"I'll cancel my Lyft if you can guess my favorite song."

He grinned slowly and then began nodding. "Alright. Ok." He patted down his pockets before noticing something over her shoulder. He darted away but before she could even turn to ask where he was doing, he was back, holding a cocktail napkin out to her. "Here, write it down on this so you can't change it."

Caro accepted the napkin but looked up at him. "I don't have a pen." 

He looked at her and then the napkin, eyes cutting to a group of girls huddling around the side of the building with colorful drinks in hand. "One second," he said, holding up a finger before walking backwards and then turning to go over to the group of girls. 

Caro watched as they each eyed him with interest and excitement, one letting her eyes trace up and down his body as he talked to her friend. Two of the girls dug into their bags with more enthusiasm than a request for a pen necessarily warranted, and Caro felt her lips turn up as she watched his face. 

He was completely oblivious in his eagerness.

Mickey looked over his shoulder, as if to check that she was still there, and seeing her looking at him with amusement, he smiled at her and then turned his attention back to the girls, one finally digging up an ugly yellow and purple Planet Fitness pen and passing it to him. 

Caro could tell he was thanking her before he walked quickly back over to her and passed it over. 

She shook her head, leaning against the railing to write down the song name, one hand cupping over her writing as she did so. "You realize that any of them would happily give you your number, right?" 

"No way," he said, shaking his head, and Caro paused her writing to give  a raised eyebrow up at him. "They were married." 

She leaned her head out, looking again at the group of girls, this time scanning their hands. At least three of them did have wedding bands on. Including the one who very obviously checked him out. 

"Besides," he said, pulling her attention back to him. "I don't want their numbers." 

She rolled her eyes and finished off writing the band name, passing the pen over to him to return. He did so quickly before coming back and looking at her with a mock intensity. His eyebrows narrowed, and he held his hand up to his chin. 

"Am I allowed questions?" 

Caro smiled and nodded. "Three. Yes or no only." 

"So I get three yes or no questions and one guess or I lose my chance?" he clarified, and Caro nodded.

"And you'll shake on it?" he asked. 

Caro laughed and offered her hand. "Yes, I'll shake on it." 

"Good," he said, taking her hand in his and shaking it a few times before letting it go and taking a step closer. 

"Hm." He squinted his eyes at her, back in his assessing mode.

"Is the song in English?" he asked, finally.

She nodded. Wondering if it was her own bronzed skin or cleverness that prompted the question. 

"Ok," he nodded, almost as if her answer confirmed his expectation. He waited another moment before asking his next question. "Does it make you nostalgic?"

She tilted her head at this, eyeing him herself. It was a surprisingly good question. Not only did it speak to when she'd heard it for the first time and its age  but it also covered the vibes of the song. 

"Come on, you have to answer."

She smiled, shaking her head."No. It doesn't make me nostalgic ."

"No," he repeated, eyes raised. "I'll have to think about this," he said, turning out to look at the parking lot. Her phone buzzed. Your Lyft driver is approaching. 

"Time's almost up," she said, looking up at him, and he furrowed his brow, eyes focused on hers as if trying to see into her head, reading her thoughts. 

A pair of headlights pulled into the parking lot, circling a row of cars as it started towards her. She shrugged, moving towards the black Nissan that pulled up next to the curb. 

"I still have a question," he called out, and Caro looked over at him.

Sami's words echoed in her head. Listen to ABBA. 

"How about this," she started, and he walked forward, closing the distance. "I'll come back on some random night and some random time this week and stay for a drink. If you happen to be here too, I'll give you a guess. If not, I'll go about my life, and you'll find someone else for the summer." 

A smile split his face in two as he nodded. "Yeah, I can do that. Shake on it?" 

She stuck out her hand again and he shook it. Even as he stopped moving it up and down though, he didn't let go, and despite herself and the Lyft driver patiently waiting for her to get into the car, Caro didn't pull it away. His thumb ran over the side of her hand, and she pushed the feeling of butterflies aside, keeping her face as straight as possible.

"Goodnight for good this time, Mickey," she said, attempting to slip her hand out of his. He stopped her with a slight squeeze before releasing his hold. 

"Goodnight for now, Caro," he said, allowing her to get into the car.

He stayed in front of the bar until the car pulled out onto the main road, and even then, she lost sight of him before he went inside.

Next Chapter >>

Tag List: @cantfighthemoonknight @rae-gar-targaryen @akabluekat @hairringtonsteve @chrissymunson @candlelitcabin @veetlegeuse @itsjustgracy @oneirataxia-girl @kingsmakers

[perfectlypreservedpie]

I don’t even care if the fallout tv show is bad i am so starved for new content I’ll take whatever they give me and become very annoying about it regardless ok

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Tailspin

The story of Pete "Maverick" Mitchell’s wild descent into love with none other than his number one rival’s girlfriend.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

[cjbolan]

NEW EMILY WINDSNAP THEORY -- did Ms. Tailspin betray Jake Windsnap to King Neptune? She conveniently knew all the details of how he ended up in jail. And she did smile while talking about it...

“’Prison’, Ms. Tailspin said with a proud smile. ‘Neptune decided to make an example of him. He said Jake would be locked up for life.’“

(The Tail of Emily Windsnap)

[avatar-anna]

Pale Green Stripes

The Professor Masterlist

this takes place during The Professor Series!

"Did you know you're the only person who never tries to interrupt me?"

"What do you mean?"

Harry and Y/n lay on the carpeted floor of her townhouse. Their shoulders touched, but that was about it. Even so, Harry could feel that tiny bit of contact throughout his entire body. The professor probably had a word for that, a scientific term to explain why just the slightest graze—not even skin against skin—sent him into a tailspin that made him have to focus extra hard on what she said.

Y/n's hands knotted together on her lap, a thing she did when she held herself back. It was as if she had to physically restrain herself some way to keep her from speaking out of turn. Harry personally never thought she did, from their first meeting at the bookstore, he'd been fascinated by her, by the things she said.

"I don't mean to...impart information on people the way that I do. It just happens sometimes," she said, her eyes gazing up at the ceiling.

Harry knew he probably should've too, but he couldn't help but look at the professor instead. Her hair fanned out around her shoulders, she wore a string of pearls around her neck and earrings made to look like Salvador Dalí's melting clocks in her ears. Her jewelry was always a mix of something professional and a little quirky, Harry came to realize, as if even at work as a professor at Cambridge University she couldn't help but have a little fun.

Her wardrobe consisted of patterned socks and cherry red Adidas shoes and fun knitted sweaters and vests. Today she merely wore a cozy navy blue sweater and a flowy white skirt, her red shoes were on a rack by the door, but she still wore her ruffled socks with embroidered roses on them.

"I don't mind it at all," he replied honestly.

Y/n blinked a couple times, then said, "I know. I was surprised at first because everyone usually cuts me off. Or walks away."

Harry frowned. He couldn't help but notice how clinically the professor spoke about the hurtful things that had been done to her. By her family, so-called colleagues, the few friends she had at work. He couldn't fathom anyone finding Y/n anything less than wonderful. She was brilliant, yes, but funny, and charismatic, and had a knack for storytelling. Harry never wanted her to stop talking. Ever.

"I like listening to you," he told her, shrugging as best he could given his current prone position.

"That's probably because you never finished school and are trying to make up for lost time."

From anyone else, that would've been a joke, a jab, but Y/n took education seriously, had mentioned it numerous times since they met.

Still, Harry chuckled. "Maybe I just like the sound of your voice. Maybe I just like hearing what you have to say. Maybe I find your lectures highly arousing."

"Edward!"

Even as he laughed with her, Harry couldn't help but feel guilty. He knew he should tell her, he should've told her months ago. His middle name fired out of his mouth before he could think the first time Y/n asked him for his name. A desire for anonymity, that was all it was. He didn't think he'd see her again outside the one time, so he thought it would be harmless. Then they did keep meeting, and he didn't have the guts to tell her, and now he was too deep in the lie to find a way out.

"What?"

Harry had never been shy about his attraction to the professor, even if he'd only seen half of her face due to the mask she wore. There was so much to appreciate about her, so much to admire, and he let his own imagination do the rest. He could've, of course, looked her up online. Y/n had mentioned something about posting educational videos online, but he thought it was only fair that if she didn't know what his entire face looked like that he didn't either.

"Why do you say stuff like that?" she asked, and even without the mask, Harry could tell she was blushing.

"Like what?"

"About me. About—about your attraction to me and how you find me—or think I'm a—"

"Yes?" Harry encouraged. He could tell there was a word or phrase she had in mind but was too embarrassed to use.

"In the 16th Century, the word bellibone was first used. It's derived from French etymology using the words belle and bonne to describe a woman who excels in both beauty and goodness. There's really only one known use in the late 1500s. A poet named Edmund Spenser, though he was from Ireland. It's fascinating how a word can be used once then ceases to exist, don't you think?"

Harry blinked, not totally prepared for the tangent, though perhaps he should've been. Grinning beneath his mask, he said, "I think it describes you perfectly."

"Edward," Y/n said, now her neck was flushed too.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" he asked. "The compliments? The—" He might as well call it what it was—"flirting?"

"N—No."

"Because I'll stop if it does," he promised. "I just think you should know how devastating you are."

One of the professor's eyebrows quirked up in confusion. "That was an interesting choice in adjective."

But it was the perfect one. Harry knew he couldn't be with Y/n the way he wanted when she didn't know the truth about who he was, and he couldn't risk losing her if he finally told her. Perhaps it was unfair to play at something he knew he couldn't have, but part of him wanted Y/n to know that she was desirable, that she was more than what her intellect offered. Sure, Harry found her intelligence sexy as all get out, but she was also beautiful, and funny, and kind, and he didn't think anyone had ever complimented more than just her brain.

He would spend an entire day complimenting her if he had the time, or if she let him.

But while Y/n was confident in many things, romantic feelings weren't one of them. Despite the obstacles he put in his own way, Harry didn't think the professor was quite ready to hear how much he really liked her.

"Tell me something."

"Like what?" Y/n asked.

"Anything," Harry said, facing her and propping his head in his hand. "A book you read, something that fascinates you, your least favorite student, anything."

She narrowed her eyes at him as she positioned her body to face his. "I don't have a least favorite student."

"I don't believe you," he replied, narrowing his eyes back playfully.

Y/n scanned his face, then up and down his body. It was casual, though Harry noticed that her gaze lingered in places—his arms, his shoulders, his face. He wore a mask, but he tried to suppress his grin anyway. Then, before he could tease her more, her eyes lit up.

"Did you know the stripe pattern originated in the Middle Ages?"

He never knew, but she always prefaced her information the same way. "Did it?"

Nodding to the green striped shirt Harry wore, she said, "Stripes were used to identify social outcasts. Prostitutes, criminals, hangmen, clowns and jugglers; they all had to wear stripes so they were easily recognizable in regular society."

"Clowns?"

"Outcasts and people who were...not society's favorites, like court jesters and such. European governments even legalized the requirement of certain citizens to wear stripes. Though now, of course, stripes are popular due to Coco Chanel wearing a striped shirt similar to French sailor uniforms, which, you know, sailors were also usually the lowest rank of the French navy. Then stripes began appearing in women's activewear in the 1920s, Al Capone began wearing pinstriped suits, and the rest is history. A long, brutal history, obviously, seeing as prisoners were later forced to wear striped uniforms, and prisoners in concentration camps during World War Two, but—there you have it. A brief, slightly detailed history of the stripe."

Harry looked down at his long sleeved shirt, the thin pale green and white striped that lined his arms and torso. "Not sure if I'll be able to wear stripes again, but... that's really fascinating."

"Thought you might like that," Y/n said with a shrug.

Harry tilted his head questioningly. "Why do you say that?"

"You like clothes."

He didn't question how she knew that. With her background, Y/n seemed to know things about him that she just happened to observe. It was a little disconcerting at first, but he came to appreciate that he didn't have to pretend around her. No airs, no personas, none of the things he'd become so accustomed to in recent years. The professor might not have known about Harry's career, but she knew him in ways no one else did.

"Well," he said, playfully sighing at his shirt. "Guess I'm never wearing stripes again."

Y/n's eyes squinted and her mask scrunched a little, the way they always did when she smiled. With an unmistakable glint in her eye, the adorable one she always got when Harry indulged in her. "Wait until you hear about polka dots!"

Harry sighed, a mix of exasperation and amusement making him chuckle a little. "Tell me more, love."

[neonghostlights]

Alien Eddie’s Valentine

To The Moon and Back

Series masterlist

Sometimes you said things to confuse Eddie. Not on purpose of course, but you would blurt out things from your time on earth that would send him into a tailspin.

“Did you know we have a holiday on earth for hearts?” You giggled, wrapped in the warmth of his arms. You had your head pressed against his chest, listening to the slow fluttering of his heart. Which, thanks to a book, you knew was green and did not look like a human heart. It looked more like a small brain.

“Really?” Eddie asked in a way that told you he was trying not to offend you with how strange he thought earth customs were.

“Kind of. It celebrates love,” you said as you pressed a kiss to his chest, right above his heart. “It’s called Valentine’s Day. You give your Valentine cards and candy. People decorate everything with hearts. It’s sweet.”

“Hmmm…what ever a Valentine is then you are mine.” Eddie stated.

“You have to ask me first,” you laughed.

“Will you be my Valentine, my wife?”

“Hmmm…maybe…” you said before Eddie peppered your face in kisses until you said yes.

——

Eddie was home a little bit later from work.

You had the babies cleaned up after they ate their dinner, ready for their baths.

Eddie busted through the door, which on his planet is circular instead of square. His arms were filled with boxes and bags.

“What’s all this?” You asked as you set Aries down next to his brother Leo.

“For my Valentine!” He said cheerily as he set down the boxes. You saw a piece of paper flutter to the ground and saw the picture of a green heart drawn on it.

You felt the warmth flood your chest at the thoughtfulness of it.

Before he could even show you the boxes and bags of treats for you, you wrapped your arms around him.

“You’re the best Valentine ever.”

[nameless-ken]

Silent Confessions, Loud Masks - Billy Hargrove x Reader Series

(Please reblog!!!)

Happy reading! Comment below to be added to taglist.

Word Count: 3.7K

Warnings: lots of angst (what's new lol) & cursing

Introduction | Chapter one | Chapter two | Chapter three | Chapter four | Chapter five

Masterlist

(song for this chapter <3)

Expressing feelings for someone is like navigating a minefield of emotions, each step filled with uncertainty and potential pitfalls. Why isn’t it easier to speak what’s inside our hearts instead of dancing around the truth until it’s too late?

Billy’s confession sent your mind into a tailspin, your heart pounding in your chest like a drumbeat. Yet, when the moment came, your voice failed you, as if some invisible force clamped your mouth shut. 

Now, after a week and a half of silent contemplation, you've come to understand the tangled mess of emotions that kept you mute. Billy has morphed into an essential part of your life, straddling the line between friend and something more. Despite your unspoken desires, you've settled into a comfortable routine. You’re fine with being friends or whatever this situationship is because you’ve come to know a truth to it all. Never give more than you are willing to lose.

“I’m not understanding this chapter at all,” Billy's voice interrupts your thoughts, snapping you back to reality. “You okay?”

You nod, but your mind is elsewhere, lost in a whirlwind of worries. “This one does have some challenging plot points in it, but—”

“Can we stop with the bullshit?” Billy's tone is sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. “I know something’s been eating at you for like a week now.” He leans in, his eyes searching yours with intensity.

You pause, feeling the weight of his gaze, and finally, the floodgates open. “I’ve just been stressed lately,” you admit, meeting his eyes with a mix of relief and trepidation. “Between helping my dad with bills, failing two tests, and college applications looming, it’s been overwhelming.”

“You know you can always tell me what’s going on. If you need help, I’m always here.” He looks around quickly before sliding his hand across the table to grab yours, giving it a squeeze.

“I know and I’m sorry I haven’t been myself lately.” 

“You don’t have to apologize for the hard shit.” Billy reassures you, his smile softening the edges of his words.

But before the moment can linger, Tommy and Carol intrude upon your private bubble. Billy withdraws his hand quickly and you feel a pang of disappointment, a silent plea for him to acknowledge what lies between you.

“Ready?” Tommy speaks up as he stands next to Billy’s chair, Carol’s arms wrapped around him. “This party tonight is going to be so wicked.” 

Billy nods, standing up with a forced smile. “Yeah, let’s go.”

“See you around freak.” Tommy remarks to you and Carol snickers as they start walking off. 

“I’ll call you later.” Billy whispers once the pair is out of earshot. 

“I’m working late again so I won’t be home.” You cross your arms with a clear annoyed look on your face. Billy understands that look and nods. 

“See you tomorrow.” He mutters and leaves. You sigh heavily and gather your books, slinging the bag over your shoulder to head home and get ready for work. 

The exhaustion weighs heavily on you tonight, exacerbated by the bustling atmosphere of the restaurant. The dimly lit space is filled with the chatter of patrons, the clinking of silverware, and the occasional burst of laughter. The air is thick with the scent of sizzling food and brewed coffee, mingling with the faint aroma of cigarette smoke that lingers despite the no-smoking signs.

Amidst the crowd of diners, mostly comprised of older men, you navigate the maze of tables and booths, balancing trays laden with plates and cups. The ambiance is tainted by the persistent advances of these patrons, their leering gazes and suggestive remarks casting a shadow over your evening.

But amidst the chaos, there is Mary, a beacon of familiarity and comfort in the tumult of the restaurant. An older waitress with a kind smile and a knowing gaze, she always has your back. Having known your mother during her time at the restaurant, Mary often remarks on the striking resemblance between you and her.

Tonight, as you confide in Mary about Billy, she offers sage advice while handing you a plate and coffee cup to serve. The worn countertop serves as your refuge, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the dining area.

“Do you really think he loves me?” You ask Mary as she hands you a plate and coffee cup to serve. 

“All I know from working so long around drunk men is that their sober thoughts really aren’t that much different from their wasted ones, especially when it comes to love,” Mary advises, her words carrying the weight of experience.

You place the plate and cup down for the customer at the countertop with a smile before turning back to Mary. “I'm at a loss for how to approach him. Billy's a complex guy, and I'm worried that if I lay my feelings out, it might push him away.”

“Darling, most men aren't angels after a few drinks.”

“Oh, he's not always like that when he's had a few. Just before that, he was in a heated argument. I couldn't even catch what set it off, but he was clearly riled up about something some guy said, and—”

“Sweetie, I have a feeling that guy's words were aimed at you.”

“What? No, nobody knows about us. I can't see how that could be related,” you respond, puzzled by Mary's interpretation of Billy's behavior.

“Are you sure about that?” Mary points behind you and you turn, finding Billy standing near the countertop with flowers in hand. You can’t help the instant smile that appears. 

“I thought there was a raging party going on tonight?” you tease, a playful glint in your eyes as Billy leans against the counter toward you.

“They’re all the same,” Billy responds with a chuckle, mirroring your stance as he leans closer. “Plus, there’s this girl who I’d rather spend my night with.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, heat creeping onto your cheeks despite your best efforts to conceal it. The air between you crackles with anticipation, the din of the restaurant fading into the background as you share this intimate moment.

“These are for you,” He extends the droopy flowers. “I saw them on the way here and thought you’d like them.” 

“Oh, I’ve never received flowers before,” You timidly grab the pink and yellow buds, placing them in one of your apron pockets. “Thank you. I don’t get off for another hour, if that’s okay.”

“I can wait.” Billy responds, pulling out a red stool at the counter and settling onto it. He reaches for the book you two have been reading together and flips it open.

You chuckle at the sight of him reading amidst the hustle and bustle of the restaurant. “Now that’s a sight to see.”

Billy grins, looking up from the book as you pour him a cup of coffee. “If you tell anyone, you’re dead,” he jokes, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You laugh at his playful threat, enjoying the easy banter between you. As you continue your work, the presence of Billy nearby fills you with a sense of comfort and contentment. 

“Go ahead sweetheart. I can close up the rest tonight.” Mary insists, practically pushing you out from behind the counter. 

“Thanks Mary.” You look out the window, seeing Billy resting against his car with a cigarette dangling between his lips. You untie your apron, hanging it on your designated hook. “See you tomorrow.” You wave to Mary and rush toward the door, flowers in hand as you make your way toward Billy. 

“Now that’s a sight.” You hear Billy mumble as you get closer. You glance at your feet as you stop in front of him. “Ready?” He quirks a brow, flicking his cigarette to the ground, stomping it with his boot. You nod and he helps you in the passenger side before getting in on his side. 

Late-night drives hold a special place in your heart, especially when Billy is by your side. The tranquility of the night seems to envelop him, stirring a gentle flutter in your chest.

As you both pull up outside your house, breaking the silence, Billy inquires about your college plans. "Where are you considering applying?" he asks.

"Still figuring it out. I'll likely end up accruing debt, so I'm researching to minimize it," you reply as you head inside, Billy trailing behind with more questions.

Perching on your bed, Billy continues his curiosity. "What about your field of study?"

"I'm drawn to photography, but practicality dictates otherwise for now," you explain, absentmindedly untangling your hair.

Billy compliments your talent. "Your photos are amazing. Anywhere would be lucky to have you."

Turning the tables, you ask about his plans. "And you, Billy?"

He leans back, contemplating. "College doesn't feel right for me. I'll probably go into a trade."

"You underestimate yourself," you reassure him before excusing yourself to change.

As you return, Billy's already made himself comfortable, his boots are already off and jacket slung over your desk chair. You catch him admiring your belongings, his hand lingering over a blanket atop a basket. 

"I could crochet one for you if you're interested," you offer, catching Billy off guard as he startles slightly, withdrawing his hand from the blanket, now standing tall.

"You made that?" His eyebrows arch with curiosity.

"Yeah, my mom taught me how to crochet. She made this one for my birthday before she passed away," you explain, reaching for the blanket she crafted, the one you always sleep with, as you settle onto your bed.

"It seems complicated and time-consuming," Billy remarks, joining you on the bed, leaning against the headboard.

"Not really, it's actually quite therapeutic," you reply.

"If you're ever in need of therapy, count me in for one," he quips, meeting your gaze.

You wonder if he senses the same charged atmosphere between you. His eyes draw you in like a magnet, his trademark smirk driving you wild every time he flashes it your way. His unruly curls framing his face perfectly, though never quite neat, drive you insane.

"Would you like to have dinner together tomorrow?" The question slips out unexpectedly, surprising even yourself, before you can second-guess whether it sounds like a date invitation.

"Sure, where should I meet you?" Billy responds, seemingly oblivious to any hidden implications in your question.

"How about here? I can cook something," you suggest, snuggling under your blanket, attempting to shield yourself from the awkwardness you feel.

"Sounds good to me," Billy agrees, his genuine smile lighting up his face. "You don't mind if I stay over tonight, right?"

"You're always welcome to stay."

With that, Billy slides under the blanket with you, and you don't resist the warmth that spreads through your body as he wraps his arm around your waist, your head finding its place against his chest.

"Goodnight, B," you murmur softly.

"Goodnight, little mouse," he replies, his lips curving into a smile against your head. You used to dislike that nickname, but now you've grown to love it. Just like him.

"Want to catch a movie tonight?" Robin suggests as you stroll together towards lunch.

"I can't, uh, I've got dinner plans," you reply, nudging open the cafeteria door, the cacophony of voices engulfing you.

"With who?" Robin probes as you join the line for food. Just then, Billy and his group pass by, your gaze lingering on him.

"Oh my god, you and Bi—" You quickly cover Robin's mouth, trying to hush her before she finishes his name.

"Shh! Not so loud," you whisper urgently.

"Ew! Have you kissed? No, wait, don't answer that!" Robin's eyes widen with excitement.

"Robin, seriously, it's not a big deal," you insist, leaning against the wall, stealing another glance at Billy. You see the way he plays with his food and the toothpick between his teeth, a habit he explained helps with his nicotine cravings during school. You even made sure to find flavored ones for him. He always keeps them in his jacket pocket. The memory brings a smile to your face.

"Um, it's a huge deal! You're going on a date with one of the most obnoxious guys in this school, whom, might I add, you confessed your love to, and he reciprocated, even though he conveniently seems to have forgotten, but that's beside the point. This is totally a date, and you know it," Robin insists.

"It's not a date," you protest, moving along the lunch line.

"It totally is," Robin persists, following you as you grab your lunch and head to your usual table, surrounded by fellow band members.

Your nerves start to jangle, the food suddenly less appetizing as you anticipate tonight. Your gaze drifts back to Billy, finding his eyes already on you. You offer him a small smile, which he returns. Tommy and Carol notice and start laughing like hyenas, causing you to turn away, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Billy's irritation reaches its peak, prompting him to take an unexpected action. The cafeteria's ambient noise diminishes, and the occupants around your table fall into an uneasy silence. Confused, you glance around, only to pivot at the sound of heavy footsteps drawing near.

"Hey, Y/N. Are we still on for tonight?" His unexpected question leaves you dumbfounded, and you can only manage a nod. His sudden boldness astonishes you, quickening your heartbeat as he finally acknowledges you in public, breaking free from his usual concealment.

Leaning casually on the table beside you, he lowers his face to be level with yours, enveloping you both in a bubble of quiet amidst the hushed cafeteria.

"Great. I'll see you later, little mouse." With a wink and his trademark smirk, he ignites gasps from the surrounding girls as he saunters away, indifferent to the attention. You find yourself gazing after him, oblivious to the murmurs circulating the cafeteria.

Robin's tug on your arm snaps you out of your reverie. "Holy shit! It's definitely a date," her excitement mirroring your own astonishment.

You make an effort to tidy up as best you can, even though Billy has been over countless times and never seemed to mind the state of your home.

"Haven't seen this place so clean in a while," your dad remarks as he emerges from his room, already dressed for work.

"Just thought I'd spruce it up," you reply, wiping down the dining table, a piece of furniture seemingly frozen in time since your mom passed away.

"I'll be working late again," your dad mentions, tying his shoes as you turn to face him.

"Have you thought about Thanksgiving? Any word from Y/S/N?" you inquire, trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy despite the underlying sadness that always accompanies conversations with him.

"I'll have to put in longer hours that week. I'll give you some money for food," he responds, and you fight back tears that threaten to spill over, a familiar ache settling in your chest.

"Okay, no worries. Have a good night at work," you manage, turning away to hide the tear that betrays your composure. You wait for his acknowledgment, but only the sound of the front door closing signals his departure.

With a few hours to spare before Billy arrives, you retreat to your room, journal in hand, seeking solace in the pages. 

Your relationship with your dad is a labyrinth of complexities, once filled with warmth and tenderness before your mom's passing stripped it away, leaving behind a void that seems impossible to bridge, especially during your teenage years.

You can't blame him or your absent sister, though the resentment lingers. The idea of leaving after graduation claws at your conscience, knowing it would only deepen your father’s sadness. No matter how many bad memories Hawkins has for you, this will always be home. 

It’s where you were born and raised. It’s where your old house is with a huge driveway where your father taught you and your sister to ride bikes together. It’s where your mom would take you for ice cream after a bad day. It’s where your mom got sick, she spent most of her last days in the hospital. It’s where she’s buried up in East Hawkins, beside your grandparents. It’s where you saw your sister start to rebel and flee, to never return. It’s where you saw your father’s smile disappear completely. It’s where the quietness and loneliness grew inside you for the longest time. 

Until you met Billy. 

Billy has submerged himself so deep into your life now that every feeling is finally starting to rise to the top. 

But it’s not the feeling of panic, it’s more of a relief. Every day or hour you spend with Billy, it feels like you’ve reached the top. He’s breathed a new life into you and you want to breathe that air for the rest of your life.

Closing your journal, you wipe away the tears, feeling a surge of intense emotions. With a few deep breaths, you compose yourself, stowing away your journal before returning to the kitchen. Amidst the flickering candlelight, you begin to cook, finding solace in the simple act to take your mind off of things. 

You steal a glance at the clock on your wall for the third time, each passing minute feeling like a weight in the pit of your stomach.

With each tick, the realization settles in: Billy forgot.

Despite your anticipation for tonight, after his triumphant performance at school, he forgot.

Anger and heartache surge within you, compelling you to extinguish the candles and discard the food, the remnants of your dashed hopes and shattered expectations. You abandon the mess, retreating to your bed instead.

Curling up with your handmade blanket, tears stream down your cheeks as you gaze at the photograph of your mom on the bedside table.

"He didn't mean to, right? He's still good, isn't he?"

The next morning, you dial Robin for a ride to school, fully aware that you'd probably stay home if not for her.

"I'm going to give him a piece of my mind. When I lay eyes on him, he's done for!" Robin declares, slamming her hand on the steering wheel in frustration.

You sit beside her in silence, avoiding dwelling further on Billy's absence. She parks in an empty spot, and you instinctively scan the area for his blue Camaro, finding none. A sigh of relief escapes you as you step out of the car and follow Robin into school.

"I always knew he was still the biggest jerk in Hawkins," Robin continues her tirade about Billy.

"Can we just try to forget about it today?" you interject as you navigate through the bustling main hallway.

"Fine, but I can't guarantee what'll happen when I see his face," Robin replies, her tone still seething with anger.

Though you want to agree with her, you remain silent as you reach your locker. "I'll be right back," Robin says, heading to her own locker.

As you gather your books, you overhear snickers behind you. Turning around, you're confronted by a group of unfamiliar girls giggling and casting glances in your direction.

“No wonder he slept with Heather.” 

"Yeah, like she’d actually ever have a chance with him."

“Do you think she knows he was at the party last night?” 

"Probably not, otherwise she wouldn't dare show her face around here today."

“How humiliating, being stood up by Billy Hargrove and not knowing he slept with Heather instead.” 

The words sting, and you feel a wave of humiliation wash over you. How could he do this to you?

You scan the surroundings, noticing the whispers of your name intertwined with Billy's and Heather's. The tightness in your chest and the shallowness of your breaths propel you outside, desperate to escape the humiliation suffocating you.

As you step into the open air, the familiar roar and screech of Billy's sports car pierce through, reigniting your panic. Frantically, you search for a hiding spot, cursing the town for its lack of concealment amidst the cornfields and vast open spaces.

Before you can flee, Billy rushes toward you, not caring who he bumps into on the way. 

"Y/N! Damn it, I'm so sorry—" he begins, but you instinctively retreat, needing distance.

"Please don't," you interrupt, stepping away from him.

"Y/N, please, I feel terrible about last night. It was the worst and—" Billy attempts to explain, desperation coloring his voice.

“Apparently to everyone else, you had a great time last night.” you retort bitterly.

"What?" Billy's confusion is palpable as he tries to approach you, but you evade him once more.

"I guess you and Heather had a blast while I waited until 11," you accuse, moving to leave.

"Y/N, please, just let me explain," Billy implores, blocking your path and holding your shoulders. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze, fixating on his shirt.

"I got into a huge fight with my dad, got pissed, and went to a party. I only meant to stay for a bit, but I guess I lost track of time," he confesses.

"And ended up with Heather," you interject sharply.

"Y/N, I never meant to hurt you. I don't even remember anything from last night. I'm so sorry," Billy pleads, his anguish evident.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" you demand, your voice laced with hurt.

"Of course not. I just... I don't know. I'm just so sorry for not being there. I should've come to be with you after the fight with my dad," he admits, regret etched in his features.

"Yeah, you should've," you agree, turning away. Robin stands on the sidewalk, waiting for your signal to intervene.

“Y/N, what can I do? How can I make this better?” Billy pleas, watching you depart, a tear slipping down his cheek.

"Time," you respond, glancing back at him, feeling a pang of sorrow at his tear-streaked face. "I need time."

Your voice wavers as you walk away, leaving Billy standing alone. Robin opens her arms for you, sensing your pain and tears beginning to fall.

"Asshole!" Robin shouts at Billy as she guides you back to her car.

Inside the car, you steal a glance at Billy, witnessing his anguish as he covers his face with his hands.

In that moment, you realize you've never simultaneously hated and loved someone as intensely as you do right now.

Taglist: @msbillyhargrove @uselessbutinteresting @milestellergfs @ghostcastaway @missingbillyhargrove @lotionlamp @billys-pretty-babe @isimpfortoomanypeople @rosey96 @girlwifteef @miheartsedthings @empathyroad @notzoey @iletmytittiestitty-russ @the-ch0sen-on3

[old-lorarri]

❨ main f1 masterlist | football masterlist ❩

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐙

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐄 → carlos sainz x fem! marquez! reader

the youngest marquez sibling posts a series of spicy pics from her boyfriends birthday and sends her brothers into a mental breakdown. twice.

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐅 → carlos sainz x fem! singer! bestfriend! reader

cheating rumors and a new song oh my leave the intent in a tailspin as they try to figure out what's going on

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐓 → carlos sainz x fem! ferrari! engineer! reader

isa and carlos are over and the f1 community is in flames and makes it very difficult for carlos's new gf who can't avoid the hate even if she tried

𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐃 → carlos sainz x fem! barca! football player! reader

the rivalry of barca and real is a tale as old as time so what happens when star crossed lovers fight the odds - and wins

𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐓 → carlos sainz x fem! rapper! reader

carlos goes on a podcast just to reveal his crush on a very unexpected person - looks like dreams do come true

𝐑.𝐈.𝐏 → carlos sainz x fem! redbull! race engineer! reader

something must be different in singapore as the death of an icon and a surprising pole leave people in shock

[artemisgrayy]

hi hello here is a totally anonymous prompt from a totally anonymous fan!!

consider: Vox & the Most Dangerous Game (short story or series/movie!)

take from that what you will and have funnnnn~ <3

Vox & the Most Dangerous Game

✨ Masterlist ✨

18+ - Minors DO NOT INTERACT

Tags: NSFW, Vox & Reader, Porn with plot, NonCon, Reader has Fem Anatomy, hypnosis, manipulation, biting until blood is drawn, claws drawing blood, penetration, breeding if you squint hard enough

“Fuck.” Another paper cut slices your thumb like butter from furiously flicking through the paperwork. Velvette will have your head if you get blood on her reports again. You set them down, sticking your thumb in your mouth to slow the bleeding. The metallic taste dances across your palate as you rifle through the basket on your desk for a band-aid. When you find one, you fumble a bit, struggling to apply it with your left hand.

Five perfectly manicured fingers slam the surface in front of you, launching your heart into a tailspin. You look up to see Velvette, the Social Media Overlord, glaring down at you.

“Where the fuck are my reports?” she demands, snapping her fingers, “I need social listening, what’s trending, engagement analytics and I needed them yesterday.” 

“Ah,” you bow your head, hastily flicking through the stack looking for the reports. You pry each one from the pile and hold them out to her, “Here they are.”

She snaps them out of your hand, the paper crinkling violently. Your mind races as you watch her ruby eyes narrow and scan the sheets. You’re nearly confident they were perfectly crafted, but a sliver of doubt shrouds your thoughts. You hear her mumble under her breath, each flip of the page more irate than the last.

“What the fuck is this?” Velvette spits out slapping one of the pages on your desk, causing you to flinch. You open your mouth to reply, nervously pulling on the hem of your skirt, but you’re cut off, “Engagement is way down. Are you sure you did these right? Did you fuck’em up, again?!” 

You swallow down the lump in your throat and point towards your screen, showcasing the information that you pulled the data from. You knew she would ask about this.

“Well Ms. Velvette,” your voice is shaky despite your attempt to mask it, “I triple-checked the data but every result comes back to this. I can try to run it again?”

The overlord moves closer to squint at your screen, the rich navy and magenta curls of her pigtails brushing against the desk. She scoffs, standing upright, and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Don’ fuckin’ bother. Un-fuckin’-believable,” she clips, massaging the spot where her fingers rest, “Go see Vox. He updated the software to change the algorithm. Get the old one back. If the cretins of hell aren’t glued to their phones, then what’s the fuckin’ point.”

You’re frozen in place, slightly taken back by Velvette asking you to see Vox — generally, she handles communication with him.

“Well?” She waves her hand emphatically, motioning at the elevator, “Get on with it then.”

“Yes, Ms. Velvette,” you nod, launching from your chair, and half-jogging toward the elevator. You nearly roll an ankle on your way and you quietly cuss about Velvette’s dress code. You jam the elevator button with such pent-up ferocity that the paper cut stings beneath the band-aid.

The elevator dings, signaling its arrival and you slip inside before the doors fully open, tapping the button to the penthouse suite. Your hands cross comfortably in front of you. 

As the elevator climbs, you become hyper-aware of the sweat pooling in your palms. You've seen Vox’s face daily since starting with Velvette - he runs the whole VVV empire — but never in person. His malicious smile, with teeth like sharpened glass, can be found on the walls, doors, and even on the elevator screen.

“Vox. Trust us.” Vox’s euphonious voice echoes through the speaker of the metal box. A chuckle escapes your chest at the prospect of trusting any of them. You know full well what these overlords are like, and wouldn't trust them to as far as you could throw them.

Your heart is nearly in your throat when you reach the top floor, the arrival bell reverberating through your spine as the doors open. Your feet feel cemented to the floor as you trudge through the cold, dimly lit hallway, but the ethereal blue glow from Vox’s office pulls you forward.

The circular, metal doors whoosh open as you approach and you're in awe of the massive, spherical room it reveals. Your heels clack against the floor, the sound echoing off the curved walls as you traverse the lit-up walkway that cuts through the center. 

As you approach the middle of the room, you're greeted by a curved wall of screens, radiating light with such intensity that you squint. Each TV, in a range of different sizes, broadcasts something different. Movies, news, porn, social media — nearly every video format you can think of had a dedicated screen. 

Your eyes trail downward, landing on the back of a slightly reclined chair at the center of it all. The mint-coloured tip of Vox’s boots can be seen next to each other, his legs crossed at the heel on top of the control panel below the TVs. 

“Ms. Velvette sent me up to ask about changing the algorithm. Engagement has been down and uh,” your heart is in overdrive, thrumming through your chest like a jackhammer as you intentionally walk through each word to avoid stammering, “she asked me to come to see you about changing it back.” 

“Uh huh,” mumbles the demon. You catch a glimpse of his hand furiously typing away on his phone as you speak, barely acknowledging your existence. 

Is he fucking kidding?

You’re sickened by the fact that you spend most of your days putting up with Velvette’s bullshit, only to be ignored by another smug asshole in this place. Rage bubbles in your chest, you take a deep breath and look around the office, hopeful for some semblance of common ground. Your eyes land on a massive dartboard with pictures strewn across it, and you realize you recognize one of them. 

“Oh, I used to listen to his broadcasts all the time. That’s Alastor, right?” you barely notice the flicker of the screens when the Radio Demon’s name leaves your mouth, “I love his voice.”

A snap pulls your gaze back towards the chair, which is now in an upright position. Vox’s feet are planted on the floor and his claws slice into the armrests of his chair. His head tilts towards you, his blood-red eyes pointed furiously in your direction. The glow of his turquoise sharpened teeth contrasts with the drips of crimson saliva bleeding from his mouth. 

You realize you must have hit a nerve with Alastor's name.

“What did you say?” Vox’s voice booms through the speakers of the office, vibrating through every bone in your body. 

You're annoyed by his reaction more than you are scared. The paper cut burns under the bandaid, reminding you of the constant shit you put up with in this fucking place — now you can't enjoy other mediums?

“I'm sorry, can I not like things that aren't Vox-related?” Your eyebrows furrow and your head tilts, “Who gives a shit if I listened to the fucking radio however many years ago.”

“You're playing a dangerous game.” Vox spits venomously, his voice distorted in a way you've never heard before. The chair spins and he launches himself to a standing position. His body stiffens, the shoulders of his navy and turquoise striped blazer nearly coming to his ears. 

Vox’s footsteps echo through the giant room as he walks towards you with a nefarious intent. The hungry look in his eye twists your stomach into knots. Primal fear overtakes the rage you felt moments ago, clouding your senses. You take a step back.

“Fuck this, I quit.” you sputter out. On the last syllable, Vox’s left eye swirls into a cacophony of blue and red circles. You're entranced, as if you're caught in the deathly whirlpool of his gaze, unable to escape. A faint buzz fires through your limbs, locking you in place.

“Do ya now?” Vox cackles, coming toe to toe with you. The overlord’s aquamarine index claw curls under your chin, digging into your skin as he forces you to meet his gaze. 

Vox's grin fires warning flares through your mind as his eyes take you in, swallowing you whole. Electricity zaps around the screen of his face. A baleful laugh erupts through his chest as he turns on his heel to walk back towards his chair.

“Follow me.” He demands. You don't have the opportunity to decline. Your body moves on it's own, following in the footsteps of the demented demon in front of you. He casually sits in his chair, legs apart.

“Sit.” Vox’s clawed finger points at his lap. You fight against your body with every move it makes but to no avail — you're now straddling the demon, powerless. His shit-eating grin devours you.  

“What the fuck are you doing to me?” you force out behind gritted teeth, “let me go you fucking asshole”

“oh ho ho,“ he gleams, cocking an eyebrow, “this one is spicy. I like it when they're spicy.”

You feel his claws dig into your scalp as he grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your face towards his. His teeth part, revealing his long, cyan tongue inching towards your neck. The tip of it grazes against your throat, and you grimace at the wetness of his saliva coating your skin.

You want to squirm but you can't.

“Go ahead and squirm.” He urges as if reading your mind. He leans back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head, “Show me how scared you are.”

Your body involuntarily wriggles, bringing your full attention to Vox’s hard, thick length pressing against the thin fabric of your underwear. You curse Velvette’s dress code once again. 

You're disgusted by the amusement in his expression, his hot breath blowing across your face as he reacts to your struggle. Fear crawls up the back of your neck, terrified of where this is headed.

“Please let me go.” you whimper, still squirming on top of him.

“I'll let you go when you really know who's in charge here. Radio is dead. Video is the future. And this,” Vox points towards his crotch, “is your future. Get on your knees.”

Your body carries you against your will to the floor in front of the demon. Goosebumps crawl up your shins as they make contact with the ground below you.

A vile laugh bursts from the demon, “I'm so fuckin hard right now. Taste me, bitch.” 

Reluctance floods your body, but you're unable to fight the movement of your hands as you unbutton and unzip him. The overlord's cyan cock springs free and you nearly choke on your tongue at the length and girth of it. You barely have time to process before your entrapped body forces you forward, his erection throbbing below your tongue as it runs across it.

Your lips wrap around the tip and Vox snarls in pleasure. The demon reaches out with both hands, clutching fistfuls of your hair. Strands rip free from your scalp as they wrap around his claws. He pulls your mouth down on him, forcefully closing the gap between the tip of his cock and the back of your throat.

“Mmm, good girl,” moans the demon, bucking his hips while he holds you there, cutting off any ability to pull air into your lungs. Your jaw aches. Your vision blurs. For a moment, you question if this is how you die.

Vox finally releases you and you launch backward, collapsing on the floor with a sickening thud. Your lungs heave, desperately trying to pull in oxygen as you stutter and gasp.

“You're not done yet,” he cackles, “now it's time for the real show. It's time you remember who owns you. Fuck me, now.”

Your stomach sinks at the prospect but you unwillingly climb to your feet. Distress fires through your brain like fireworks, and you plant your feet with such force that you wonder if they'll break through the ground below you. 

It's no use.

You're pulled towards the demon, your body hanging on his every demand. 

“Please no,” you plead, knowing full well the damage Vox’s monstrous cock will do to you, but that only sets his blood-coloured eyes ablaze. Your reluctance fuels him.

You straddle the overlord again, but this time you're pulling the fabric of your underwear to the side. Your body lowers itself towards Vox’s length, throbbing in anticipation of your pussy wrapping around him. His face glows a radiant blue when the bulbous head finds your slit. His maniacal expression sends waves of trepidation cascading through your chest.

“Sit.”

You do as you're told, slowly lowering yourself. He's not even halfway in when a sharp inhale dances across your tongue, your insides already stretching past the point of comfort. 

“Please, it won't fit.” you beg, your breaths becoming more urgent with each inch that slides through your folds.

Vox looks up at you, a vile grin splayed across his face. He wraps his claws around your waist, the tips of his nails breaking through the skin of your back, and forces himself all the way inside of you. You scream as you feel him bottom out.

He doesn't give you a moment to breathe.

Using the grip of your waist as leverage, Vox thrusts violently, hammering into you with such ferocity that your hands fire out, clutching the breast of his jacket for support. 

Your lips part and a moan escapes. You're unsure if it's genuine or part of the entrapment he has you in, but the cock of Vox's eyebrow answers that for you. He slides one hand to the middle of your back, pulling you into him, and you find yourself rocking your hips in tandem with his.

“Who do you belong to?” barks the overlord.

“I belong to Vox.” you moan.

“And who's better than that trash radio demon?”

“You are, Vox.” 

A distorted growl rumbles from Vox’s chest in reaction to your words. He bares his teeth, clamping down on your shoulder. You scream as warm streams of crimson roll down your tricep, splashing onto the arm rests of the chair.

You're unable to deny the fire building in your throbbing clit as the overlord’s thrusts increase in speed, signaling that he's close to his peak. You meet his rhythm, chasing your own climax as your moans and his snarls echo around you, the heat of your breath fogging up the glowing screens. 

He wraps both arms around you and growls, pulling you downward as he explodes inside of you. Your toes curl as shockwaves of pleasure fire through every nerve ending. Your orgasm pulses through your fingers and toes as you revel in how the demon fills you. His seed gushes out of you, dripping down the inside of your thigh.

“Get out.” Demands Vox, causing you to involuntarily stand and adjust your skirt. Euphoria continues to plague your thoughts and you're too lost in the haze to be bothered by any of his bullshit anymore.

You limp towards the exit, clutching the seeping wound on your shoulder when he calls after you, “Tell Velvette I'll update the algorithm.”

“Yes, Vox.” You mutter under your breath.

“And I'll see you next week.” his cackles echo through your skull as the metal doors slide closed behind you.

--

Hello super anonymous reader 👀 I hope you enjoyed your time with Vox, along with everyone else who dove into this one. "Fun" was definitely an understatement.

I wasn't expecting to enjoy writing Vox this much?? Do *I* wanna frick Vox??

Idk, I'm gonna go take a cold shower

✨ Masterlist ✨

[joaquinwhorres]

Tailspin Masterlist

SUMMARY ››››› Having grown up just across the bridge from North Island, Carolina Alvarez has been told her whole life to stay away from the Top Gun boys. And for the most part, she has. That is, until Fanboy catches her putting quarters in the jukebox at The Hard Deck and initiates a game of cat and mouse that ends with her exactly where she swore she’d never be.

PAIRING ››››› Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x F!OC (Fanro tag)

UPDATES ››››› Updates about once every two weeks. Get alerts on FFN or AO3

OCs ››››› Carolina Alvarez and Jas Lane from @bobfloydsbabe

SAME UNIVERSE AS ››››› Turning Tables by @bobfloydsbabe & Sweetheart Deal (a 2nd gen tale)

IMAGES ›››››  Tailspin in Gifs, Tailspin Playlist, Tailspin Jukebox, Tailspin in Pics

Chapter 1: Brown-Eyed Girl

Chapter 2: The Boys Are Back in Town

Chapter 3: She Way Out

Chapter 4: I'm Ain't The Same

[cosmic--dandelion]

Something I think a lot of people forget about Stolas and Blitzø is how much "Ozzies" changes their dynamic.

Before that, they're a patron and a client. Stolas might indulge in some not strictly sexual damsel-in-distress fantasies, and Blitzø might occasionally match Stolas's absurdly horny energy, and there's s few hints at affection here and there, but at the end of the day, Blitzø wants the book and Stolas wants to be the sub in a bdsm relationship, and that's that.

Their "date" at Ozzies turned their entire affair on its head. Stolas is alone and miserable at his huge empty mansion; Octavia is his only emotional outlet, and Stella's whisked her off somewhere.

He has no friends, no family who actually care about him aside from his daughter, and he's not even close to his servants like he was as a child. Stolas is desperate for any positive social interaction. Then Blitzø calls out of nowhere, asking him on a date. Stolas literally chokes on his Lucky Charms he'd so desperate to get to the phone.

Stolas is in full infatuation mode. This is probably his first real date in his entire life. He was forced into an arranged marriage with a cold, hateful woman and became a father against his will when he was around 19 at most. So he shows up dressed like he's about to be crowned Emperor of the Universe and even bows to Blitzø. Again, just like in "Loo Loo Land," he'd completely oblivious to how obviously unenthusiastic, distracted, and borderline uncomfortable Blitzø is.

Blitzø is legitimately taken aback when Stolas starts trying to make conversation and shows interest in his personal life beyond the carnal. This isn't some sort of machiavellian scheme on Stolas's part. He's being completely sincere. But he's ultimately still projecting his fantasies onto Blitzø instead of actually engaging with him, only this time they're romantic instead of sensual.

Shit goes down, and goes down HARD. Not only does Stolas hide his face in shame when Asmodeus publicly exposes their affair, Blitzø gets it rubbed in *his* face that their "arrangement" destroyed Stolas's reputation and family and is even starting to turn his own daughter against him.

Stolas tries to salvage the evening, but it's way too late.

"Stolas, don't act like what we have is anything but you wanting me to fuck you. You make that very clear all the time. Buf I just can't tonight. I'm sorry."

This is single-handedly one of the best call outs in the entire series, and HOLY SHIT does it hit home. It throws Stolas into a complete tailspin, and he probably came close to drinking himself to death that night. It's what he always does, burying himself headlong into whatever he thinks will bring him temporary happiness until whoever he's dragged along with him practically has to scream in his face.

It's telling that the very first thing he does is scroll through his phone to reassure himself that he and Blitzø have something more, only to see that Blitzø doesn't look happy in any of his photos, and he was deluding himself the whole time. Ouch. A well-deserved ouch, but an ouch nevertheless.

I think this is where Stolas actually starts to develop feelings for Blitzø, or at least realizes he has them.

Before this, their affair was more of a distraction and an outlet for his pent-up sexual frustration. Stolas went from being so emotionally and physically repulsed by his own wife he had to dissociate when Octavia was conceived to jumping right into a hardcore bdsm contract with a near complete stranger. It's incredibly cathartic for him, but not necessarily good for his mental health. It leaves him deeply psychologically dependent on Blitzø but unable to put aside the kinky bedroom stuff for the basic emotional labor and personal growth a serious, long-term relationship needs to function. For now.

Stolas changes after this. Not all at once, but the lesson sank in. It sinks in even further in "Western Energy". We see that Blitzø has been responding to his walls of text with one or two word replies and blows off his rather tepid apologies and attempts to be considerate. He doesn't visit him in the hospital, doesn't text him more than a half-hearted "git bevver swoon :(".

If Stella hadn't called off the hit, his last words would have been: "Blitzø will...[save me]", followed by a knife through the heart.

Stolas treats Blitzø VERY differently in season 2. While he'll still call him "Blitzy" on occasion, it's hard to imagine the Stolas in "Seeing Stars" or "Oops" calling him his "impish little plaything" or pinching his cheek or embarassing him in public. Stolas is trying so hard not to step on Blitzø's boundaries ar this point that it actually seems to annoy Blitzø, who's so convinced that Stolas could never love him that he seems like he'd almost rather things stay as they were. For all his good intentions, Stolas hasn't given Blitzø any reason to trust or forgive him, at least not yet. Bur he's trying, and I think that's important.

In my opinion, whether you have faith in this relationship ultimately depends on if you think people can truly change.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Ok so I didn't really wanted to read 'tailspin' for awhile for reasons unknown to me lol(maybe Iceman just isn't my thing).But the moment I started I literally didn't know how time passed. Now abt to binge the whole series. Your writing is REALLY good ❣️

Ahhh thank you so much, lovely 🥰 This is my OG top gun series and it holds a special place in my heart 🥹 I’m so excited that y’all are still out here enjoying it!

[dilf-din]

Hand Under my Sweatshirt, Baby Kiss it Better

Poe Dameron x f!reader | part two to Emergency Contact (college friends/modern au)

WC: 4650

Warnings: friends to lovers, brief negative self image talk, alcohol mention

A/N: this is honestly one of my favorite mini series I’ve ever written. Poe is so fun to write, and I hope you love him as much as I do 🫶🏼

It had been weeks since you woke up beside Poe with blurry vision and a quickening heartbeat. Nothing happened outside of the tender gaze you caught him casting your way in the gloomy winter light.

“You still snore.”

“Shut up,” you retorted, slinging a small pillow across your chest at him.

The two of you shared a late breakfast of cold pizza followed by an awkward long goodbye before he walked out of your apartment, leaving you feeling like you were once again caught in the tailspin of him. You sat on your couch feeling stunned by the events of the last twelve hours while August hopped on the arm next to you. Your fingers absentmindedly ran through the fur between his ears while you tried to remember if you said anything embarrassing the night before.

It was Poe, you reminded yourself, there is no embarrassment with him. He’s the warmest person you’ve ever known. No one can bring a room together like him. Poe was the guy in the group who always made eye contact to make sure you knew someone was listening. He opened the door at every gathering, even if he wasn’t the host, and led people to beer, the bathroom, the coat rack, their friends. You had always been proud to call yourself his friend. He had helped you fake reference calls for jobs, sweet talk professors, and get out of at least a dozen bad first dates. He would show up with the a story so improbable, you would roll your eyes if it was falling from anyone else’s lips, but he sold it every time, dragging you back to the pavement and cackling as you called him on his bullshit.

“Hey, did I deliver or did I deliver, Ace?” he would grin.

“You’re an idiot. I owe you one,” you would shake your head in disbelief.

“It’s on the house,” he would beam, leaning off the curb to hail a nearby cab.

The sound of your coworker calling your name brought you back to reality.

“Sorry, what?” you asked, pulling your glasses from your face and pinching the bridge of your nose to relieve the slight headache that had accumulated from staring at a screen all morning.

“I said, your lunch date is here,” she said in a sing songy voice.

“Lunch date? What lunch date?” you asked, scanning over the tops of the rows of cubicles to see Poe’s mess of curls standing near the neon sign at the entrance.

“Kate!” you hissed, dropping your head down, “That’s’ him,” you mouthed.

Her eyes went wide.

“The guy from the other night? The guy from college?” she whispered.

“Yes,” you hissed out as you frantically checked your reflection in your phone’s front facing mirror. You were not dressed for an outing today, wearing a years old sweater over a shirt with a stain that you had tucked into a pencil skirt. The only saving grace was the new boots you had worn that made your legs look amazing.

“Tell him I’m grabbing my stuff,” you said to her as you bent down to fish your purse out from under your desk, promptly hitting your head in the process.

“Mother fu-“

“Is today a bad day, Ace?” Poe’s voice called from much closer than you expected him.

Heat flushed into your face as you tried to delicately pull yourself out from under your desk without snagging your hair or a loose thread on anything.

“No, sorry, I just. I just wasn’t expecting this,” you stammered.

“No, I should’ve called first,” he said, suddenly feeling awkward himself. “I was just literally in the neighborhood. I had a meeting four floors up this morning. Do you have time for lunch?”

“Yeah! Yeah I was just about to stop. What did you have in mind?” you smiled.

“Let’s get sandwiches and go for a walk,” he smiled, offering his arm for you to pull yourself up. He held open your jacket for you to slip into, and handed you your purse once you had secured your buttons.

Poe looked dapper as always, dressed in a sleek pair of slacks with an orange button down tucked in under a black peacoat and houndstooth scarf. The late winter wind was doing God’s work to muss his thick curls and kiss his cheeks a lovely shade of red. You walked arm in arm with him, waiting for him to spark up a conversation, but he was oddly quiet, his brow furrowed as if he was preoccupied.

“Did things blow over with your roommate?” you asked casually. Your question seemed to draw him back to the present.

His eyes widened and brightened as he responded, “Oh yeah, we’re fine. Our lease is up next month anyway and I’ve got a place lined up pretty close to yours, actually,” he shared nonchalantly.

Hearing that he would be closer made your heartbeat quicken in an achingly embarrassing way. Suddenly, you felt like a teenager with a crush again.

“Oh. With roommates or alone?”

“It’ll be my first big boy apartment,” he smiled cheekily.

“We’ll have to throw you a housewarming,” you nudged his ribs with the elbow that was linked with his, “Get everyone together, some beer and take out, we’ll get you set up in no time.”

“That would be nice, Ace,” he smiled thoughtfully, cocking his head to one side, admiring your caring heart and the way the sun brought out the brightest flecks in your eyes.

The conversation flowed easily after that as you followed him into his favorite sandwich shop and then into the park across the street. It was mostly filled with people running alone on their lunch breaks, with headphones in and sweat glistening even in the chilly air, but there were a few pairs chatting on one of the walking trails.

By now, you had unlinked elbows so you could tear into the parchment paper wrapping the sandwiches you had picked out. Poe of course had paid for yours, sending you a wink as you rummaged through your bag for your wallet.

The first bite was heaven in your mouth. The sandwich gods shined down on you as you took in all the fresh baked bread and hand sliced meat and cheeses. A groan slipped out involuntarily, but you were too shocked to care.

“Right?” Poe asked through a mouthful, swallowing before continuing, “I can’t believe you’ve never been here before.”

“This might be my new go-to lunch spot,” you said, eagerly taking another bite.

Conversation was light as you both ate your lunches, taking care to move out of the way for joggers and bikers as you walked slowly around the track. Dappled sunlight kissed the ground where it could find it through the cover of the trees. A wind stirred the waters of the small pond while a family of ducks floated in the very center, like a painting in real life.

The two of you had just rounded the last corner of the track when Poe’s watch buzzed on his wrist. He checked it with a furrowed brow and sighed.

“I’ve gotta start making my way back, Ace.”

“Me too,” you agreed, checking the time on your phone.

“Teeth check,” he announced and you both flashed a wide grin at each other to make sure there was nothing stuck, a practice you had started in college after a cilantro incident.

“All clear,” you nodded.

“Perfect,” he said, warm brown eyes lingering on your features fondly.

You suddenly felt uncomfortable and cast your eyes to the ground, toeing at a pebble stuck in a crack.

You both spoke at the same time, chuckling, while you gestured for him to go first.

“Ace I can’t stop thinking about you,” he blurted out, “Please let me take you out sometime?”

A date with Poe Dameron? A cocktail of joy and insecurity brewed in the pit of your belly. You’ve always wished to be one of the girls on his arm, but that was just it. Poe had experience, he was charismatic and fun and spontaneous. Sure, you had dated here and there, but nothing ever stuck. In the back of your mind, you knew you had never really been able to fully give yourself to someone because they weren’t him.

“I don’t know,” you said hesitantly, “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“I think it’s a great idea, maybe the best I’ve ever had. I’m just sorry it took me so long,” he said, stepping further into your space.

Poe drew in a deep breath before continuing, “Ace, call me crazy, say the word and I’ll drop it forever, but there’s something here. There always has been, and I think there always will be.”

You swallowed hard before casting your gaze up into his eyes, rich with sincerity and longing. The anxiety that this was all an elaborate joke dissipated when you saw the way he looked at you. Poe always saw you, even when you were gawky kids. He loved you steadfastly through flings and summers abroad and finals and midterms. And here, now, you could feel just how much he meant the things he was saying.

A lump in your throat formed and tears pricked at your eyes. You tried to hide it, but he saw the change in your demeanor, causing his own face to fall.

“Hey, talk to me,” he pulled you to the side of the path to give another runner space to pass and to allow you a little more privacy. His hands stayed cupping your elbows, a thumb rubbing the sharp edge sweetly through the thick fabric of your coat.

“What if we’re wrong? What if we can’t go back to the way things were?” you whispered bittersweetly, a single tear slipping down your cheek. You had lost him so many times before, watched him date and charm so many others. You weren’t sure your heart could handle it again if this ended poorly.

Poe shook his head adamantly, “Ace, I’ve never been so sure. Please give me a chance. Friday night. I’ll pick you up. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

You nodded and he drew you into a hug, gentle hands rubbing right between your shoulder blades. The scent of him on the collar of his jacket smelled like home, and you nuzzled into his neck for a single, indulgent second.

His own eyes closed as he relished the familiar scent of your shampoo, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

Poe hesitantly let you out of his embrace, giving you one more smile before you parted ways back to your separate offices.

Your head and heart pounded with each step as you tried to convince yourself that this was reality. You were going on a date with the boy you loved, and you were starting to think that he might love you too.

——

When Friday rolled around, things could not have gone worse from the moment you woke up late. It was like an avalanche of bad luck had been waiting to crash down on you. August threw up in the shoes you were going to wear, resulting in an unplanned outfit change and missing your train. A late train meant no breakfast, and your entire department got reamed by your boss for something that wasn’t even your fault. So when you finally trudged through the door with the clock nearing six, you tried to rally any pleasantness that still lied within you, faked a smile in the small flower mirror hanging by the door as you shed your coat and the shoes that had rubbed blisters into your heels.

August mewled quietly, staring up at you with apologetic blue eyes as he rounded the corner of the kitchen island.

“Don’t eat my leftovers off the counter next time,” you chided lightly, giving his head a rub. A sigh escaped your lips as you headed to your room in search of an outfit for tonight. Poe had specified somewhere between cocktail and black tie for the dress code, snd you hoped you could scrape something together that fit the bill. There were a few dresses hanging at the very end of your closet that you typically saved for weddings. None of them were spectacular. Most of them came off the clearance rack, just picking whatever they had in your size. None of them were a real representation of your style or things that made you feel confident.

As you were perusing your options, your phone buzzed on the end of the bed, showing an incoming call from Kate.

You put her on speaker and explained to her your dilemma.

“The green one is nice!” she enthused.

“Yeah but it has that ruching that’s so,” you couldn’t even find the words to finish the sentence.

The two of you bounced ideas back and forth as you became increasingly upset at your lack of options. Your hair still needed some love and there was the burden of makeup to face as well.

Your phone buzzed again, and you checked to see Poe calling.

“Shoot, I’ve got to answer.”

“Good luck, babe,” Kate said, trying to sound cheerful as you switched to the other line.

“Hey, Ace! How goes it?”

“Um, I’m a little behind schedule,” you admitted sheepishly.

“That’s okay. I’m actually done early so I don’t mind waiting. I’m headed out the door now,” Poe explained as he propped the phone up on his shoulder and fished his keys from the hook by the door.

The tears were back and you tried your best to mask the heavy emotion in your voice.

“Okay, I’ll do my best to be ready,” but it came out shaky.

“Ace? Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing, I just had a hard day. I’m really looking forward to this,” you said, which was actually true. But the words came out with a sniffle, and he was fully unconvinced.

“Hang tight, I’ll be there soon,” he responded with a determination you knew all too well.

“Drive safe,” you called out as the phone went silent.

You squeezed into a dress and did your best to fix your leftover hair from the work day, still more displeased than pleased with the results. You had just pulled on another pair of shoes that rubbed your fresh blisters and winced as you made your way to the knock at the door.

Poe was standing there in sweats with two large paper grocery bags and a bottle of wine.

“What’s this?” you asked, taking a step back and allowing him space to enter your apartment.

“I’m not gonna make you go out when you’re crying, Ace. I know that’s not even close to your first choice on a good day,” he explained as he set the bags and bottle on the counter. He shucked a backpack from his shoulders and handed you a pair of his sweatpants and a grey tee shirt that he fished from the biggest compartment.

“Go put this on, and I’ll get started on dinner.”

For the third time, tears welled in your eyes and you were speechless as he pulled you into a strong embrace.

“I got you, sweet girl,” he murmured in your ear, nuzzling his nose against it.

It was the first time you felt so fully known, and it terrified and comforted you, as love often did.

“Go,” he urged, “Go shower. You can help me when you’re done,” he smiled sincerely.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, as any other words failed to come.

——

The warmth of your shower was like absolution from your day. You dried off feeling ten pounds lighter, and stared fondly at the clothes he brought for you to wear. They fit like a hug from an old friend, the embrace of a lover. Steam escaped into your room as you exited and rejoined Poe.

You two had hung out together countless times, but this time felt different, because it was. Anticipation threaded your veins as you rounded the corner back into the kitchen.

The sound of your favorite Chicago album carried over the noise of the kitchen, and you smiled at the thought of him thumbing through your records to find something you would enjoy. Poe hummed softly along as he diced a shallot and scraped it next to a neatly chopped pile of herbs. He was wearing black joggers with a white stripe down the side and a tight fitting black tee that hugged his lean frame.

Overcome with a shot of boldness, you crossed the space separating you and wound your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek into the chiseled space between his shoulders. His hips were swaying lightly to the music playing, and you joined him in the subtle motion.

“Hey beautiful,” he said softly, lifting an arm to pull you against his chest, “Feeling better?”

You nodded and peered into the pans of sizzling food.

“Shrimp scampi,” he explained, giving you two squeezes on your waist to signify he needed to move his arm and continue cooking.

Your favorite meal. A smile crossed your lips as you stepped back to see what needed to be done.

“Can you get the bread in the oven?” he asked over his shoulder.

With a nod, you got to work.

As much as he wanted to press about the state you were in when he arrived, he gifted you with even more time to unwind your thoughts as the two of you only traded comments about the meal you were preparing.

It didn’t take long for the last elements to come together and for the two of you take a seat at your small dining set. Poe lit a few candles he had packed, and dimmed the kitchen lights to wash everything in a warm, orange glow matching his aura.

He uncorked the wine, and poured it with a flourish. It was a white Zinfandel, but a few labels above what you would normally indulge in for yourself.

He sat across from you, taking in the sight of your features in the candlelight, your still wet hair and fresh face. Poe swallowed down a lump as he willed himself not to mess this up like he had so many other things in the past. He waited a few bites before striking up conversation.

“How is it?” he asked, twirling some pasta onto his fork.

“Perfect. This is perfect,” you smiled warmly, allowing yourself a moment of happiness before guilt started biting at your ankles again, and your face fell. “I’m sorry about your reservations. I feel like I spoiled the whole evening you had planned.”

“Hey, don’t do that. Spending time with you was the plan. Now, unless you secretly think this scampi is horrible, nothing has been ruined,” he teased.

“No! It’s really great. This was all so thoughtful.”

“Tell me what happened today? What got you all bent out of shape?” his hand closed the small gap between you and rested on top of yours.

Heat spread up your arm to your neck and cheeks, seeming to radiate from the small point of contact he was offering you. So many nights spent wondering what his hands would feel like on your skin. It was enough to make you short circuit almost, but you collected yourself, and began to recount the details of your day from hell.

His brow set heavy as he hung on every word, eyes rising and falling with sympathy as it kept seeming to get worse. The grip of his hand tightening around yours when your voice faltered on the portion of getting yelled at by your supervisor.

“That guy’s an ass,” he said bitterly.

“He’s just a nepo baby,” you rolled your eyes, “His uncle is one of our chief partners.”

“Take me to your next Christmas party and I’ll spill a drink on him,” he promised, picking up the wine glass with his free hand and taking a long sip.

Christmas was almost a year away. You couldn’t help but wonder if he really saw a future with you.

The two of you continued your meal as he shared about his own day and upcoming moving plans. When your plates and glasses were empty, Poe stood up and offered you a hand which you took without hesitation.

“I brought a few of your favorites,” he gestured at the coffee table. The hand he had used to help you out of your chair was still intertwined with yours, causing your heartbeat to drum all the way to the top of your head, and you were worried he would see you shaking with each thump.

“Hmmm. The Princess Diaries,” you smiled.

“Perfect,” he squeezed your hand, “You pop it in, and I’ll get one last surprise.

Poe headed into the kitchen while you cracked open the old dvd case and slipped it into your beat up player from college.

The familiar title music had just started playing when he sat down on the couch presenting a plate with the biggest cannoli you had ever seen.

“I was gonna grab forks, but that seemed like a lost cause,” he chuckled.

“I don’t mind sharing with you,” your hand slid to his lower thigh, rubbing a thumb over his knee before retracting.

It felt like playing with electricity, toying with a live wire to finally touch him beyond a friendly hug. He felt it too.

The pink in his cheeks gave you a smug feeling, to know you weren’t imagining the effect you had on him.

He cleared his throat a little and leaned farther back into the sofa, creating space for you to join him. You pulled your legs up and shook out your faded blanket over them before settling into his side.

“You still have this old thing?”

“It could say the same about you,” you teased, wiggling your shoulder against his ribs and drawing out a chuckle.

“That’s fair, that’s fair,” he conceded.

Several minutes later, when the cannoli was as long gone, you were fully stretched across his lap while his hand traced lines up and down your back. Featherlight touches and rougher scratches made you melt into him. He reveled in the feel of you against him, almost coming undone at the sight of you in his shirt, hair messily fanned over his lap and torso.

When his hand rested at the small of your back, you took a deep breath.

“Poe, what are we doing?”

You felt him tense beneath you, and righted yourself so you could look him in the eye.

“Did I do something wrong? Did I make you uncomfortable?” he instantly questioned, filled with worry at souring his chance with you.

“No, no it’s not that. Can I just be honest for a minute?”

“‘Course, Ace,” he brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, fingers lightly brushing your cheek.

One moment of bravery was all you needed to finally know peace.

You looked down at his feet and drew a deep breath before looking him in the eye again.

“I have loved you since I was eighteen years old,” your voice wavered, coming out as barely a whisper. “I have watched you try with girl after girl, heard about date after date, all the time just wanting so desperately to be one of them. But now that I’m older, I don’t just want to be one of the girls in your life, Poe, I want to be the girl.”

His soft eyes locked with yours as you felt emboldened to continue spilling your guts.

“I know my worth, and if this is just another fling to you, I want out. I owe myself that much.”

He waited another beat to make sure you were finished before responding.

“Ace,” he breathed out your name so tenderly, “Do you know why it never worked with those other girls?” he ducked his head down to meet your gaze again.

“They weren’t you. They could never be you. I’ve been such a mess since I was a kid, and I didn’t want to get you tangled up in that, in me. I know what you deserve, which is why I feel out of my mind for even asking that you would give me a chance,” he swallowed hard, “No one knows me like you, they never could.”

The air was thick with things left unsaid for nearly a decade, heavy words that left a decision to be made by the both of you.

Poe reached out to cup your cheek, and you couldn’t help but lean into it, always chasing his warmth.

“I’m in if you are,” you smiled, your voice low, only for the two of you.

His pupils widened, a physical embodiment of hope sparking, and another laugh spilled from his plush lips.

“I’m in. I’m so in. You’re crazy if you think I’m ever letting you go,” he laughed, pressing his forehead to yours and wrinkling his nose.

“Poe?” you whispered, so close he could feel your breath on his lips.

“Yeah, Ace?”

“Please kiss me,” your lips brushed his as the words fell, and he took the invitation with open hands, an open mouth, and an open heart.

He swallowed your question until you were sharing one breath, his lips moving against yours fervently. His hand never left the firm hold he had on your cheek reaching around to the back of your neck, using it as leverage to angle you closer.

You sighed into his mouth as his other hand found your waist, and he finally knew what heaven felt like.

Taut, sinewy arms enveloped you in a way you had only know in your dreams. His curls invited you to tangle your hands in them, drawing a groan from him as you tugged.

“You’re killing me”, he laughed against your lips.

“Let me live my fantasy for just another minute,” you nipped at his neck and he threw his head back to further expose his throat to you.

You could’ve sank a pair of fangs into him, drained him of all life, and he would’ve let you, thanked you, even. Poe was completely under your spell.

“I didn’t know you had this side to you, Ace,” he teased, breathing heavily. Lips parted, hair mussed, breath coming in shallow draws, the set of his jaw above his thick neck. He looked like an Adonis.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you retorted with a grin.

“Hmm, I doubt it. After knowing you had a fat crush on me, I think I’ve got all your secrets,” he pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of your mouth, barely grazing your lips.

“Ooh, that’ll cost you,” you said in an accusatory tone.

“I’ll pay whatever you’re asking,” he murmured, completely wrapped around your finger.

——

“We’ll wash dishes tomorrow,” you commented on the state of the kitchen, pausing before asking, “You’re staying, right?”

“You’d have to chase me out with a broom,” he wrapped his arms around your waist, peppering your neck with kisses.

The two of you got ready for bed with an abundance of playful hip bumps and nudges as you fought for space in your small bathroom.

You pulled back the covers and crawled under them together like you had done it a hundred times before, every movement coming naturally.

You snuggled up into his bare chest, resting against one of his biceps, and it felt like new beginnings. When you woke tomorrow, everything would be different.

His heartbeat was calmer now, drumming against your fingertips as your breaths synced to his.

“Hey, Ace?”

“Yeah?”

“I forgot to mention one thing.”

You angled your head to see the faint outline of his profile in the moonlight.

“I love you too.”

[fandomxpreferences]

I Won’t Apologize

Summary: Jake hasn't seen you since he came home to an empty house and his number blocked. Things don't go as planned when he sees you sitting on the lap of his rival, Bradley Bradshaw.

TW:Cheating, swearing, I think that's it?

Pairing: RoosterxPilot!Reader, Ex!HangmanxPilot!Reader (reader is female.)

Word count: 2k (Part 2) (Part 3)

A/N: Im considering making a part 2 to this or potentially making it a series? I think there's definitely some different storylines that could be explored. Let me know if that's something you guys would want, and as always please leave any feedback you have!

Your heart drops as you watch Hangman stride into the hard deck. You've been called back to Top Gun along with your boyfriend Bradley, and Jake is the last person you want to see. Rooster looks over at you trying to get a read on your expression. He knows you well enough to see the hidden panic in your eyes, but he also knows you won't allow your mask to falter no matter how anxious you are. You quickly make your way over to Bradley and sit on his lap. He wraps his arms around you and squeezes, a silent reminder that he's here for you. 

You had gone to Top Gun with Jake and Bradley. While you had always gotten along with Rooster, you and Hangman were sworn enemies. Until you weren't. You remember the night it all changed. 

You had just completed an exercise when you marched up to Jake and bumped your chest into his, knocking him back. Up to this point, you and he had been neck and neck for top of the class. He had pulled a particularly risky maneuver to show off and almost had to eject. On top of that, you had gotten stuck In his jet wash and barely recovered from the tailspin it threw you into. "What the hell is your problem, Seresin? Are you trying to get me killed?" You were fuming. You wanted to believe it was because he had been your wingman and he fucked you over just to impress the instructors. You wanted to believe you were angry because he had probably just cost you your top spot in the program. That would have been easier. But the nagging feeling in your chest begged to differ, and you tried your best to reason it away. Jake stared down at your flushed cheeks and heaving chest before having the gall to smirk. "Not everything is about you darlin'. Don't worry about it." But that's the thing. You did worry. And deep down you knew it wasn't anger you were feeling, it was fear. You had been scared for Jake. More scared than you had been for yourself. You leaned up to get in his face but stopped before saying anything. You looked over his expression and noted how irritating it was that his cocky fearless persona never wavered. You stood there contemplating for a second as he glanced at your lips before looking into your eyes. How had you never noticed how handsome he was? There was a split second where you felt his breath fan over your lips and before you could comprehend what you were feeling, he was smashing his mouth against yours. You hesitated for a millisecond before matching his energy and kissing him back. Your mouths met in a messy kiss filled with tongue and clashing teeth. Months of sexual tension had finally snapped and it was more than you had ever expected. You pulled back and looked at each other, knowing you were both fucked. 

Jake makes his way over to the pool table and greets the rest of the group before turning to look at you. He glances at Bradley's arms wrapped protectively around you before meeting your eyes. "Bradshaw. Y/L/N." He has his signature smirk on his face but there's venom in his tone. The rest of the group looks between the three of you before sharing confused glances with each other. You give a sickly sweet smile before answering. "Seresin." You look at Bradley and give him a quick peck before standing up. "I'm gonna go get us a couple more beers. I'll be right back." Jake scoffs before looking at Bradley and shaking his head. "Nice to see you two still together. At least throwing our relationship away seems to be worth it." You freeze in place before snapping your head towards him so fast you hear your neck crack. "Excuse me? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Any facade you had is gone as unbridled anger bubbles to the surface and fire fills your eyes. Is he seriously insinuating that you left him for Rooster? 

Jake was gone for the umpteenth time this month and you didn't even remember what his excuse was this time. You didn't care. You had enough and you respected yourself enough to know when to leave. You had both been stationed in North Island for a year after completing Top Gun and had moved in together. This morning was your breaking point. Jake had told you he was at the Hard Deck all night when he rolled in at 3 am. You had a familiar feeling in your gut telling you something was wrong but didn't push it. But your instincts never failed you. The Hard Deck wasn't open that late, and you had an inkling of what he was doing after he left. After Jake left to do god knows what, you called Penny. "Hey, Penny. What time did Jake leave last night?" You could hear her frown as she answered. " Jake? He wasn't here last night. Is everything okay?" You sputtered out a quick "Yea, everything is fine. Don't worry about it." Before hanging up. Jake had been distant lately and you weren't stupid. You had just chosen to ignore it. You had noticed the late nights, the showers as soon as he got home, the bruises he poorly attempted to hide. But you were in denial. This proved your worst fears. Jake had been cheating, and by the looks of it, it had been months. You maybe could have worked over it if it was a one-time fluke, but this was something he had no remorse about. He didn't even care to hide it that well. He knew how easy it would be to check his story, but he assumed you were in the dark. Either that or he assumed you didn't have the nerve to confront him or leave. You weren't sure which was worse. That he thought you were stupid, or spineless. Boy was he wrong.

You and Bradley had stayed in touch and you knew he was nearby for a detachment. So as you started packing your things, you called him and explained the situation. He had been fuming and you heard his keys as he started towards his truck. He was there in ten minutes and helped you load everything into your cars and brought it back to his place. He would let you stay with him while you requested a transfer and waited for your new assignment. You took the next couple of weeks off to avoid Jake and blocked him on everything known to man. All Jake knew was he came home to an empty house, and a few months later he had heard you and Bradley were together. 

"I think you know what it means, darlin'. You couldn't even wait to hop off my dick before hopping onto Bradshaws." You let out a low chuckle as your face turns to ice. You notice a momentary flash of fear in Jake's eyes before his walls go back up. Behind you, Rooster goes to say something but you put your hand up and he closes his mouth. "I don't think you want to do this here, Bagman. Not in front of all your friends." Jake should stop and he knows it. He knows better than anybody how cold and cutting you can be, but he thinks he has the upper hand. He laughs before shooting back. "Do what? I'm not the one making their way through the group." The smile that splits your face is off-putting. Even Rooster shifts uncomfortably at how you're sizing up your prey, deciding how you can make this as lethal as possible. You chuckle at the way Hangman is starting to fold under your gaze. He had forgotten just how calculated and diabolical you are when provoked. For someone who looks so nice, you are extremely intimidating when you choose to be. That's how you got your call sign, Bubbles. You had been named after the Powerpuff girl who was sweet and unassuming, right up until she needed to be lethal. It suits you, leads people to assume you're nice and non-threatening, giving you the upper hand. Just how you like it to be. "I never cheated on you Jakey," Hangman cringes at the use of your old nickname for him. Not because he doesn't like it, but because he knows it's a calculated choice meant to cut open old wounds. It works. You continue, "That was your area of specialty." 

For the first time since this started, Jake's bravado falls and his face blanches. You tilt your head and quirk an eyebrow. "So I guess that answers the age-old question. You did think I was too stupid to notice." Jake starts to internally panic at the dirty laundry being aired as your teammates turn to him with wide eyes. They didn't know you two know each other, let alone that you have this kind of history. Phoenix is loving every second. It's like a soap opera and she can't wait to hear what you say next. Rooster sits with bated breath, waiting to see how far you're going to take this. Jake clears his throat, trying to backtrack. "I don't know what you're talking about." You roll your eyes so far back you're sure you see your brain. You vaguely notice Bradley scoff, but keep your eyes set on your target. "Don't play dumb now, Jake. You wanted to start this, and now we're in it. Did you really think I didn't notice? The late nights where you rolled in at 2 am and immediately took a shower and washed your clothes? The way you started flipping your phone over so I couldn't see it? The looks women would give you when we were out, before giving me the death glare?" Your voice is completely calm and even and it sends chills up Hangman's back. He's never seen you like this, especially with him. Yelling he's used to, you've always been fiery. But this is different. This is stone cold and it scares him. You circle him before continuing. "I gave you time to stop. To come forward. You kept on for months, thinking I was too stupid and naive to pick up on it. You didn't even try to hide it after a while. You really thought I wouldn't notice bruises and scratches on your skin I didn't give you? Either you're really dumb, or really arrogant. Probably a combination of both." If Jake was pale before, you're almost certain he's going to pass out now. It makes you proud to know that the tables have turned and you have control while he spirals.

Jake goes to respond but you cut him off. "Rooster is the man you think you are, but deep down know you can never be. He picked up the broken pieces of your mess and put them back together. Over time, we realized we had developed feelings. He was patient for months as I worked through the paranoia and trust issues you gave me. I won't apologize for how I chose to move on from you. So before throwing around accusations trying to slander me, why don't you just shut the fuck up?" Jake swallows hard before composing himself. Phoenix chokes back a laugh and the rest of the group has their mouths hanging open. "Y/N, can we go talk?" You actually let out a genuine laugh at this. "About what? There's nothing to say. You fucked up, and Bradley was smart enough not to do the same. End of story. If you keep on, I'll tell the real story of how you got the name hangman." Rooster chokes on his drink and you look back at him. "Come on, bubbles. Even I wouldn't do that." He says with wide eyes. You just smile. "That's up to Bagman." Jake gives a curt nod before agreeing to drop it. You turn to Rooster and grab his hand before addressing the group. "As interesting as this has been, we have an early morning and I for one need my beauty sleep. We'll see y'all tomorrow."

You're met with a chorus of goodbyes and a hug from Phoenix as she demands to know more later. You just laugh and promise to fill her in on all the gritty details. After closing out your tab, you follow Rooster out to his Bronco. He opens the door, helping you in before buckling your seat belt and racing to the driver's side. He couldn't wait to leave. You stare out the window as you pass trees and houses. It's silent for a few minutes before you hear Bradley's voice. "I'm proud of you, pretty girl. Even if it did terrify me down to my bones, I'm glad you finally got to say what you needed to." You squeeze his hand and pause before whispering. "Thank you. I was worried you'd be mad. We do still have to fly with him" He glances over at you, his eyes softening. "I would never be mad at you for getting closure, no matter what the circumstances are. I love you." You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding and feel your body finally relax. "I love you too. Tomorrow will be interesting." He laughs as he turns onto your street. "That it will baby. That it will."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One False Move

Series Masterlist

Warnings: dark elements, some sexiness in this.

Note: this is what yall asked for, remember that.

Please leave me some feedback either in a reblog or an ask! Likes are always appreciated as well. You know I love yall and hell yeah, you love Professor Steve.

Jake ignores every text and every call. When you pull up his Insta, you find yourself blocked. The last revelation crushes you, sending you into a tailspin and your bed. You burrow under the comforter and cry yourself to a restless sleep.

When you wake up, the sun is still down. It's not even four in the morning. You've never felt like this. So hollow and heavy at once. You drag yourself out of bed and make yourself drink a cup of instant coffee that makes your stomach rot.

You sit at the kitchen table in your empty dorm and hold your head. It's all a mistake, just lies. Professor Rogers knew what he was doing and it worked so well. Why didn't Jensen believe you? He knows better, he should've listened.

Your despair turns to anger and frustration. You don't know why you wasted your time. You get up and rinse out your mug before shuffling back to bed. Well, at least you have groceries for the break. You can make what you bought last a while. You're going to have to.

You lay down and try to fall back asleep. You drift in and out but feel worse as the window pales to a dim grey. The winter morning chills you and keeps you nestled under the blankets. It's only the urgent need that draws you out to the bathroom.

You're more away as you return to your room and grab your phone, stomach wobbly with anxious hope. No replies from Jensen, but a message from a private number.

'He's not worth it.'

You know who it is. He can hide his number but you know he's taunting you. What does he want? He's already ruined everything.

You ignore him and put your phone down. You think of putting a video on your laptop but that just makes you miss Jake even more. He should be here waking up with you. Last night should've been the best night of your life.

Maybe...

You get dressed before you let the thought break through clearly. It's desperate and stupid but you're not going to give up. You zip up your coat and shove your feet into your boots, pulling a toque onto your head. You grab your keys and phone and leave your lonely dorm behind.

The pavement is trimmed with frost and in some places, patches of ice crack under your treads. You keep your hands in your pockets as you chatter, walking with purpose along the curving paths. You stop in front of Jensen's building and look up. He's not going to answer your messages and you can't get in on your own, so you'll have to get creative.

You grab a pebble and count the windows. You're pretty sure it's that one. You huck the stone and it pings off the frame. From your side, it sounds pretty loud. You wait, nothing. You do it again. Several times before the window above opens.

Shit, you were close.

Jensen pokes his head out and lets out a huff that clouds in front of him, "go away--"

"Jake, please, just listen. You know I wouldn't... I wouldn't do that. Not with him."

"Pfft, come on, I'm not an idiot."

"Ugh, what did I ever do to make you believe I would--"

"I don't know. Late office meetings, sending me texts about staying late then calling it off, sounds like cold feet to me."

You lean your head back and whine, "he did that, okay? He took my phone--"

"Convenient story."

"Jake!" You holler, "why can't you see I'm telling the truth? I... you were going to be my first."

He just stares, quiet. You feel yourself wilt. He shakes his head and pulls back, disappearing behind the frame and slamming the pane down. There's your answer.

You turn slowly on your heel. Your eyes well and you quickly flick away your tears. Happy Holidays, indeed.

📚

You're in no rush to get back to your dorm, even with cold nipping at your cheeks. You don't care. You have nothing to look forward too. You waited weeks for your break, to spend time with your boyfriend alone, and now you have nothing.

Typical. Just your luck. Even the wafting aromas of the cafe can't tempt you in as you pass. You carry on, keeping your head down outside the English building, and tramp along in a glum fog. Your feet carry you without a thought, the path etched into your mind and muscles. You look up at the familiar brick facade and fish out your keys.

It's frighteningly still and quiet outside. Most of campus is home and happy, but here you are. You pull out the keyring and scan your fob on the censor. The door beeps and you open it, puttering inside reluctantly.

Suddenly you feel the door open wider and you're shoved forward. You trip as someone skirts in behind you and pulls the heavy barrier shut with a clang. You throw your arms out and steady yourself, turning to face the unceremonious intruder.

"Hey, sweetheart, what's got you down?" Steve asks as he stands tall, hooking his thumbs in his pockets.

"What the hell? Get out? What are you doing--"

"Shhhh," he puts his finger to his lips, "listen."

You blink and hush, listening to the empty hall. What? It's quiet. There's... no one there. The epiphany strains your face as he smirks.

"That's right, sweetie, just you and me," he takes a step closer and you back up. "Sounds like a merry Christmas to me."

"No..." you exhale as you retreat along with his advance, "get away--"

"You can't spend the holidays alone," he says with dripping sympathy, "what kind of man-- boy would abandon you like that?"

"Stop," you hold a hand up, "Steve, you're scaring me."

"Well, baby," his cheek dimples, "you've hurt me so I think I get to return that favour."

He lunges and you stumble backwards, hitting the wall and rolling out of his way. You turn and race down the hallway, pumping your arms wildly. You surpass the elevator and yank open the door to the stairwell. You hear him behind you. He's close.

You grab the railing and swing yourself around, kicking over each step frantically as you struggle not to fall on your face. You're dizzy as you turn up the next flight and the next. Your lungs burn as you feel yourself slowing. You hear him, footsteps echoing up towards you.

You burst onto your floor and fumble with your keys desperately. You can't get a steady grip as you search for the key to your door. Finally, you slide it into the slot as the stairwell door clicks. You hurry inside but as you go to shut the door, it stops short of the frame.

You squeak as Steve gives the door a jolt and flings you back easily. You cry out as he enters and blocks you into the narrow hall that adjoins the rooms. You raise an arm, shielding yourself as your knees shake.

"Please, Steve," you beg as he shuts the door behind him.

"Oh, you don't have to say please, sweetie, I'll give you exactly what you need," he grabs your arm and pulls you close, "I told you, the minute you think you're alone, I'll be there."

[strawbeerossi]

Soulless

Pairing: Unsub!fem!reader x Spencer Reid

Description: Whenever a femme fatale killer rises in the Greater Quantico area, it sends the BAU in a tailspin trying to figure out who this mystery woman is. What Spencer didn’t realize was that his sweet and doting girlfriend is the one committing the dark and sinful acts haunting the city and the team.

Content Warnings: Criminal Minds case matter, alcohol consumption, suggestive thoughts,some coarse language.

Word Count: 2.6K

Part one || Part two || Part three

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Alright! This is a three part series. I’ll upload part two tomorrow and part three on Sunday. If you remember, Soulless and Heartless were two fics I posted very early on in my account and I decided to make some modifications and come up with a third (and final) part.

A femme fatale killer exudes an intoxicating allure, her every move a calculated seduction. With a glance, she ensnares her victims, drawing them into her web of deceit and danger. Behind her enigmatic eyes lies a deadly combination of beauty, charm, and an insatiable thirst for power and control, typically things she never got before. The description was what they’d seen before.

Cat Adams and Megan Kane being perfect examples. Women who yearned for the power that men before them had taken away. It was reclaiming what was theirs in any means necessary, even if relatively innocent men were murdered for the sake of their thirst.

A femme fatale killer leaves behind a trail of bodies, each one a meticulously planned masterpiece of seduction and demise. Her victims succumb to her intoxicating charms, unaware of the danger lurking behind her captivating façade until it's too late.

Her level of sultry charm would allow her to convince them to be tied up in either a chair or to a bed, submitting to her every move before their life was abruptly ended by a razor sharp blade slitting their throats in cold blood.

This woman had erupted from nowhere within the past three months, wreaking absolute havoc on Quantico. With six bodies under her belt, the BAU was working their hardest to prevent any more. It was like this woman was yearning for power, control. She’d use her hypersexuality to her advantage.

They suspected she’d been scouting out bars or clubs, places where she would only have to flirt and entice men to come home or to some random hotel with her. It was meticulously planned. She picked the shadiest hotels meant for the likes of prostitutes, the type of people who took cash and didn’t ask questions, not having cameras or any of the like.

Nobody could ever get a description of her, any faint recollection being that she had brunette hair and a charming smile. It could’ve been any fucking woman in Quantico, there not being anything distinctive about being a brunette with a beautiful smile.

All they knew was: her personality was a lethal concoction of allure, seduction, and calculated manipulation, leaving a trail of destruction in her wake. Her voice, a smoky velvet caress, carried an irresistible allure that leaves a lingering imprint on the hearts and minds of those who hear it.

The type of woman who was capable of dangerous things, maybe even being able to convince the strongest willed of men that they were well deserving of her love, her care.

The whole BAU was stumped, unsure of where to start. There was no way that they’d easily find her, so that plunged the attentive team into months and months of investigation. Even in other cases, they would always manage to fall back on the woman who was terrifying the city where they resided in when they had even a second of free time.

Garcia was doing her best to dig up the information that she needed, however with a woman who can cover her tracks, she was very careful. There was never a weapon left behind, not even single strands of hair or other DNA they could pick up on.

It was a Saturday evening whenever Spencer was being taken away from the file in his hand when he could hear a knock against his front door, only letting out a frustrated sigh due to the fact that he felt so fucking helpless. His brain normally could piece this shit together by now but whoever this woman was, she had even the greatest mind on the team stumped.

After closing the file that he’d put together himself full of his own personal research back in its spot on the shelf, he was heading over to open the door to his apartment.

He offered a warm smile seeing Y/N on the other side, holding up a bag containing some takeout along while a cup holder holding two drinks for them. “I figured you were delving into work related stuff again when you didn’t call back.” She wrinkled her nose with a smile, the woman calling at least three times while he was engrossed with the file on her. He didn’t know that quite yet, although she really did hope he wouldn’t end up figuring it out. She really did like this one, not wanting to slit his throat from the smallest interactions.

It started out as a thing where she knew she’d have to slowly attack the team personally, which she wasn’t expecting to actually fall in love with the loving, sometimes awkward genius.

“Buy a girl a drink?” Her voice, like a melodic symphony, gracefully cuts through the calm atmosphere of the bar, captivating the patron beside her with his undivided attention. “Consider it done.” The man chuckled, holding up a moment to catch the bartender’s attention when he got a moment.

He had a tall and lean physique, wearing a signature tailored suit, which accentuated his refined and intellectual demeanor. His light brown hair was styled in a tousled manner, his curly hair falling to his shoulders yet still brushed back from out of his face. His expressive hazel eyes conveyed both a hint of brilliance and deep empathy, catching the essence of his good natured soul.

His voice could’ve been described as a soft-spoken and articulate tone, often filled with a hint of curiosity and genuine enthusiasm. His voice carries a unique blend of intelligence, empathy, and a touch of vulnerability, drawing anyone who listens to him in. He was a man who could get anyone’s attention. “What’re you drinking?” He asked, his eyebrow raising as he offered a slight smile.

“A cherry vodka sour.” Y/N answered, her chin resting against the palm of her hand as she was mesmerized by Spencer’s captivating features. He had hair that she wouldn’t mind pulling by roughly while she was focused on getting herself off, her hips rocking back and forth on top of him in an effort to get herself off and worry about him later, eyes that she could already see being glossed over with tears from begging for his own release that she wouldn’t grant until she was damn good and ready.

Once her drink was brought out to her, the woman was letting her fingertips slowly trace over the rim of the glass, her gaze still laser focused. “You got a name, stranger?” She asked, reaching in her drink for the cherry that had been dropped in. “You don’t look like the type who has to sit alone at a bar at the end of the night.” She began, her tone dropping to a more flirty one. “I’d think you have a wife you need to get home to, ready to greet you at the door.” She continued on, her eyes fixed on the luscious red cherry resting atop its stem. She brought the fruit to her lips, parting them ever so slightly. She captured the cherry between her teeth, savoring the tartness that exploded upon her tongue.

At this point, her gaze was locked with the man beside her as she pulled the stem from the cherry with a tantalizing slowness, her lips glistening with a hint of juice. As the fruit disappeared into her mouth, her tongue danced, relishing in the flavor. With each sensuous bite, her movements became a seductive display of pleasure. As she noticed those beautiful hazel irises disappearing because of blown out pupils, she knew she had him reeled in.

“Sp-Spencer Reid.” The man’s voice stuttered, leaning against the bar while his gaze was fixated on the captivating and down right sinful looking woman beside him. “And no, no wife at home.” He chuckled at the thought. After Maeve, he didn’t see himself settling down if he were honest. Max was someone who he was seeing for a while, although things just didn’t seem to work out between them. Dating a man who had a non-stop busy life was hard, he recognised that. He didn’t blame her when she let him down gently.

“That’s too bad.” Y/N tutted, her tongue collecting the cherry juice that was shining on her lips. “A man like you deserves to have a lady to take care of him.” She was now slowly moving to the edge of the bar stool in an effort to get closer. To her joy, Spencer didn’t even move the more she got closer. “Maybe I can show you just how you deserve to be treated, wouldn’t you like that, Spencer?” She had a glint of mischief in her eyes, her hand coming out to rest on his upper arm.

The mere touch sent electricity through Spencer’s whole body, falling right into the potential trap of a murderous woman who he was hunting, who he had long forgotten about as the conversation with Y/N began. She was captivating, a succubus who was slowly luring him in with her intoxicating charm, already starting an addiction that Spencer feared he wouldn’t be able to get over, knowing that once he’d gotten even the smallest taste of the mischievous and beautiful creature beside him, he’d be a goner.

The night went on from there, the woman straying far from her usual routine and ending up at Spencer’s apartment instead, where the two spent all night having delicious, toe curling sex that was enough to make the woman want to marry him and give him everything he ever needed right on the spot. It was late, nearing four in the morning and five orgasms later when the two were finally collapsing on the king sized bed, ending up with Spencer grabbing her by the waist and pulling her frame up against his, the male whispering about how he wanted her to stay overnight with him and allow him to hold her, rather than throwing her out or calling a cab.

That led to an obsession. An obsession that had taken over Y/N’s life. She continued to kill in brutal ways but then she’d go over to her boyfriend’s place and spend the rest of the night with him afterwards. That was always the thing she needed after a killing. Her boyfriend. She knew that the plan of destroying the behavioral analysis unit had been foiled, due to the sheer fact that Spencer loved all of them like family. Last thing she’d ever do was take his family from him.

“How is the case going?” Y/N asked as she had already gotten their food distributed on their own plates, however she knew there would be a point where Spencer or herself would swipe something from each other’s plates. “It’s exhausting.” Spencer answered honestly. He was frustrated, angry. This should’ve been something he’d have figured out by now, there could be another body or two discovered by the end of the week and he wouldn’t have any idea where to look.

“I’m sorry, baby..” Her eyebrows furrowed as her hand was reaching over the table to take his much larger one in her hand, giving it a loving squeeze. “You’re gonna drive yourself crazy thinking about it. Why don’t you take the night off?” She asked, knowing that Spencer had his own obsession with solving the puzzle. He was forcing the pieces together, so it was no shock he hadn’t had any leads yet. “I can’t take a night off, Y/N. This bitch isn’t gonna take a night off.”

Ouch.

“I can understand that but losing your mind isn’t gonna help anyone.. It’s okay to step back from a case.” Y/N argued, a frown washing over her previously calm features. “Just trust me, okay?” She spoke, a soft smile on her face while she was walking around the table, sitting herself in her boyfriend’s lap. He was tense, presumably from every ounce of stress that was winding him up. Grabbing his fork from the table, she was getting a forkful of rice before holding it up to his mouth, just contently feeding Spencer while he was still overly wound. “I’ll make you feel much better. Promise.”

She knew she was the reason he was getting too lost in his job, sometimes neglecting food and sleep just to try and get answers. She’d have to take a break from all of this, just so she could take care of Spencer and bring his stress levels down. She’d pick back up whenever he wasn’t at a near stroke level of stress.

Dinner went by quite smoothly, the woman lovingly shushing her boyfriend when he’d try and bring up his frustrations with the case, just calmly cutting him off so she could talk about lighter topics. She asked about Henry and Michael, watching that frown on Spencer’s face falter while he was happy to talk about both of his godsons, who Y/N hadn’t met just yet. It was still a little too early on, she thought so anyway. There was a lot that came with meeting the team. She wasn’t afraid of being found out, mainly because she had Spencer infatuated with her, it wouldn’t be hard to get the rest of the team to adore her. JJ would be easy, so would Penelope, Luke and David. The trickiest one would more than likely be Emily from what she had heard about her.

As Y/N focused on washing a few dishes and silverware used with dinner, she was sending Spencer off to the couch, giving him strict instructions to relax and to leave the damn file alone. However, she shouldn’t have been surprised the moment that she exited the kitchen to see the file open, Spencer leaning back on the couch with his legs spread as he was trying to get comfortable. With a shake of her head, Y/N was heading over to the couch.

“What did I say?” Her voice was sweet, though the way she took the papers from his hand was purely out of frustration, practically snatching them. “Baby. You need to take a step back.” She sighed while moving to climb in her boyfriend’s lap again, a soft smile on her face while she could see just how tired he was the closer she got. Her hands were slowly resting against his cheeks, thumbs caressing over his cheekbones in an effort to relax him. “You’re worrying me..” She whispered, worry laced in her voice. “I don’t want you to lose your sanity over this.” She expressed her concerns like she’d done about two million times in the past, moving to lay her head on her boyfriend’s shoulder as she was holding him. The good news was, he seemed to let his body relax while he was being squeezed by the loving embrace of Y/N.

Things would be okay. He’d be okay and she’d be okay.

There were a few moments of comfortable silence, until the sound of Spencer’s phone was taking them out of tranquility. Now Y/N knew this meant that Spencer would more than likely be pulled away on a case, so she braced herself. At least she knew that she didn’t do anything this time, so it wouldn’t be about the bitch Spencer mentioned earlier.

Her gaze was fixated on his face, reading his every emotion as her tired boyfriend was picking up the phone. “Yeah, Emily?” He asked, his lips in a thin line at first. Y/N was pressing a sweet kiss over them with a reassuring smile, her hands rubbing over his chest. However, all of her hopes of it being a normal call were wiped away whenever she noticed Spencer’s face contort into one of agitation, anger. “Are you serious? Okay, okay. Yeah I’m on my way. I may bring someone with me because if it’s who we think it is, there’s gonna be trouble. I can’t risk anything.”

As soon as the phone was hung up, Y/N was looking at him in curiosity, her eyebrows raising as she waited for an explanation of why she had to go with him to the office. “The killer struck again, this time close to my apartment.”

What the actual fuck?