#suv category

[bryan360]

🇵🇷Me: After owning his Ubermacht Rebla GTS back in Oct. 2nd, 2021 last year, we’re safe to say that its a better vehicle than his Landstalker XL; if you know how it turns out. It was pretty reasonable to understand when reading this, but at least it’s a worthy choice if one of you guys can get it for weekly discount.

🐰🖌Maxwell: Mhm. It’s better than nothing.

[pathologicalreid]

cryptic | S.R.

You and Spencer get a surprise beyond your wildest dreams.

who? spencer reid x fem!AFAB!reader category: fluff (hurt/comfort a little bit) content warnings: oh geez. pregnancy, periods, weight, medical inaccuracy, cryptic pregnancy, traumatic birth, NICU, hospitals, maybe a little ooc i'm not sure, breastfeeding, reader is running solely on oxytocin, crying. word count: 6k a/n: does anyone else have an irrational fear of this? is it just me? that's why i wrote this anyways. also i wrote this MONTHS ago so if it's bad i'm not culpable. (yall voted for unhinged fluff, here it is) anyways i'm calling this part of my "spencer reid dilf agenda".

him

In his work life, Spencer faced fear every day – that was part of the reason he loved life with you so much. The two of you had just moved to your first house together and were still unpacking boxes when he was called away to upstate New York for a case.

You weren’t frustrated with him; you merely kissed him and encouraged him to go save the day.

So, when he told you last night that you must’ve hurt your back trying to move the couch, he didn’t think anything of it. He just told you to rest and to let him know how you were doing in the morning, but when the morning came, there was a break in the case. Spencer had completely forgotten that he was expecting your call.

As the team waited in the police precinct, he didn’t wonder why Hotch answered a phone call and furrowed his brows at Reid until he called him over to talk in private.

For once, his overactive mind went blank when Hotch explained to him that you were in the hospital and that he should call your best friend, Ivy.

In a daze, Spencer pulled his phone out of his pocket to find that he had missed two calls from you and thirteen calls from Ivy. Isolating himself in an abandoned office, he looked at your friend’s contact and pressed the call button.

The phone didn’t even have a chance to ring before Ivy answered, “Spencer! Oh my god,” she said, sounding relieved to be hearing from him. “I am so sorry for calling your boss. I pulled his number from Y/N’s contacts – I didn’t know how else to reach you, and I- “

“Ivy, what’s wrong?” Spencer asked, teetering between panic and impatience. “She told me she thought he had just pulled a muscle moving,” he explained, wondering what could’ve happened.

On the other end of the call, Ivy took a deep, shaky breath. “She’s okay, but you have to come home,” she whispered, keeping her voice down.

Now he was leaning closer to panic, “Where is she?”

“Northern Virginia Hospital,” Ivy responded. “When you get here, call me, and I’ll bring you to her,” she told him.

Spencer took a deep breath and left the empty office once he ended the call, very nearly running into Hotch, “I need to- “

Holding his hand up in a ‘wait’ gesture, Hotch nodded, “There’s a flight going out, Morgan will drive you to the airport. Don’t worry about anything here,” he instructed him, gesturing over to where Morgan was standing with the keys to one of the SUVs.

After promising to call when he could, a thirty-minute flight, and a ten-minute taxi right, Spencer called Ivy back.

“Hey,” her voice was quiet through the receiver, “are you here?”

He turned around in the lobby of the hospital, “I just came in the front entrance; what wing is she in?” He asked. Which wing would a back injury be in?  He supposed it depended on the severity of the back injury.

She cleared her throat and there was a soft rustling before Ivy answered, “Stay put, I’ll come to you.” Her words came out quickly as if she was trying to prevent him from going looking for her.

Then he began to lean closer to impatience, nonetheless, he waited the couple of minutes that it took for Ivy to come out of an elevator, motioning for Spencer to catch up before they took the elevator back up. “Ivy,” Spencer said, “What is happening?”

“She called me at six this morning, saying that she thought she had pulled a muscle in her back and couldn’t sleep. I told her to take some ibuprofen and try to rest, and if she didn’t feel better by lunch, I’d bring her to urgent care. She called me again at ten and told me something was seriously wrong, but she didn’t know what,” Ivy informed him, her voice sounding distant. “She was crying, and I’ve never heard her sound so scared. So, I called an ambulance and met her here while she was triaged…” Her voice trailed off as they exited the elevator.

Spencer’s heart ached at the thought of you being so scared, but it still didn’t answer his question: What happened?

Ivy sniffled and wiped her nose, “Spencer, have you ever heard of a cryptic pregnancy?”

He stopped in his tracks, eyes as wide as saucers, “She’s pregnant?” His words came out as a whisper, a mix of emotions flurried through him.

Your best friend smiled softly at him, “No, she had a baby. That back pain? She was in labor.”

Questions popped into his head quicker than he could ask him. He took a trembling breath, “Where are they?”

She led him around the corner, crossing her arms in front of her chest, “She’s in postpartum recovery, the baby’s up a floor in the NICU. It all happened really fast; you know? Anyways, they kind of whisked the baby away while saying things about Apgar scores that we didn’t really understand.

They stopped for a moment to get Spencer a visitor’s badge before he motioned for Ivy to continue.

Ivy shrugged in response, “She was kind of inconsolable after that, they gave her something to calm her down, but she keeps asking for you,” Ivy said, stopping outside of a door.

Spencer peeked through the blinds to your room. You’re awake, lying on the white bed, absentmindedly picking at the hospital bracelet around your wrist.

“If you need a minute before going in there, take it. Once you go in there, you need to be strong or brave or whatever,” Ivy instructed, putting her hands on her hips. “I’m not saying you can’t be confused or upset, I’d be worried if you weren’t. I’m saying she just gave birth unmedicated without ever even knowing she was pregnant, and they haven’t come back with an update,” she said, looking at Spencer like she was assessing a threat.

He nodded in understanding. Maybe when his head was clear he’d thank Ivy for being so protective of you, but he just nodded. “I need to be in there with her,” he insisted.

Ivy acquiesced, letting him know that she was going to go to the house to get clothes and was going to the store. At that point, Spencer had only been half listening to her.

You didn’t move on the bed when he opened the door. He looked at the whiteboard on the wall, his heart clenching when he saw the words ‘Baby Reid’ written below your name. Spencer quietly walked closer to you before he pulled a chair up so that it was at your bedside and took a seat. He could see tear tracks on your cheeks, “Sweetheart,” he whispered.

Your eyes closed, and two more tears streaked down your cheeks. There was an IV in your wrist and your vitals were being monitored. It wasn’t until Spencer leaned over and smoothed your hair back that you really started to cry.

Gently, Spencer sat on the edge of your bed, and you leaned forward into him. He just held you, running a hand up and down your back as he gently shushed you, “I’m here, darling. I’m here.”

“I had a baby,” you rasped, so quietly that Spencer wasn’t sure if you were telling him or trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t a dream.

He was quiet for just a moment, letting a few silent tears stream down his own cheeks. “I know,” he murmured, “I’m so proud of you.”

You hummed, leaning back ever so slightly, closing your eyes when Spencer kissed your forehead. “I tried calling you,” you whispered, looking up at him with watery eyes and lifting your hands so that you could wipe away the tears.

“I know. I’m so sorry,” he tried to apologize. There was no way for him to navigate this situation, but if he felt this lost, then he couldn’t begin to fathom how you were feeling.

Shaking your head, you waved off his apology, “Did you catch the bad guy?”

He nodded, smiling at your question, “Yeah, we got him this morning. That’s why I didn’t get your call,” he said as he took your hand and intertwined your fingers. “Can I get you anything? Have you eaten? Do you need water?”

A slight smile grew on your face at his concern, a fact that made his heart soar, “I should probably eat something.” The smile faded quickly, “We should probably talk, right?” You asked, leaning forward in the bed to reach for a pile of papers at the foot of the bed.

Noticing a pained look on your face, Spencer set a hand on your shoulder. “I’ll get it,” he said, guiding you so you were lying back on the pillows. “Please be careful,” he reached for the papers and handed them to you.

Quickly, you flipped through the stack of papers that was now in your lap. “I’ve been thinking, you know, and they gave me all of these papers with my options, but we have space at the new house. I work from home most of the time anyway, and we can afford it and- “

Spencer cut you off, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Yes,” he whispered against your lips before he kissed them again.

Studying you, he watched as you visibly relaxed into your hospital bed. He followed your gaze as you looked out the window of the hospital room, “Spence,” you breathed as a nurse wearing pink scrubs walked into the room.

She looked at him, “Hello, are you dad?”

Dad. He was a dad. Spencer nodded enthusiastically at the nurse.

“I’ve got these bracelets for you two then, they’re to help keep little families like yours together,” she says, loping the white bracelets around both his and your wrist. “Baby’s got two,” she lets you both know. “So, Baby Reid had a hard time breathing at first, but we up in the NICU cleared some of the amniotic fluid from her lungs and everything is looking much better now. Another nurse is bringing the bassinet now…” her voice trailed off when someone knocked on the door.

He wanted to make sure he had heard the nurse correctly. Did she say ‘her’?

The door opened, and it was the tiny hat with the bow that gave it away. She wriggled on the white sheet in her bassinet, looking around her new surroundings. Spencer looked from you to her and couldn’t help the tears that pricked his eyes. It was an emotion that he couldn’t quite place.

Noticing the way you leaned forward, the nurse spoke, “Would you like to hold her?”

“I- Can I? Is she okay?” You asked nervously, for the first time that day, Spencer heard the fear in your voice.

Nodding, the nurse wheeled the bassinet closer to you, helping you move your hospital gown so that you could do skin-to-skin. As she did so, she talked about bonding with a newborn, but Spencer was so enamored watching you that he wasn’t really listening. “We’re estimating that she’s about thirty-five weeks, so she’s late preterm, but she should be able to go home when you do,” the nurse informed you, making sure you were comfortable holding the baby before she stepped back.

The concept of being in a home surrounded by boxes with a newborn stressed him out, but then the tiny baby on your chest let out a squawk and he returned to just watching the two of you.

Both of the nurses left to give the three of you time, and you turned to Spencer, “What was thirty-five weeks ago?” You asked, gently rubbing your thumb over your newborn’s back.

“Exactly? July sixteenth,” he responded, watching your daughter as her eyes shut. “She fell asleep,” he observed, dropping his voice down to a whisper.

You hummed in response, bending your head down and pressing a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. “She needs a name,” you murmured, “we can’t keep calling her baby.”

Spencer leaned over the edge of your bed, “Do you have any ideas?” He asked, even though he already knew you’ve been keeping a list of baby names in your phone for years.

Shrugging ever so slightly, you peered down at your daughter, “All I know is that her last name’s gonna be Reid.” Your eyes flittered up to his, “Please don’t cry. If you cry, I’ll sob, and our daughter is asleep on me, and I don’t want to wake her up.”

“I just love you so much,” he told you softly.

“We can do this, can’t we?” You asked him nervously, narrowing your brows. “She doesn’t have a name. Our house is a disaster. Oh… Spence, we don’t have a car seat. We can’t take her home if we don’t have a car seat.”

Realistically, Spencer knew that you had at least twenty-four hours before you were released from the hospital, maybe forty-eight, given the circumstances. He also knew that you knew this, and he was afraid the events of the day were beginning to take a toll on you. He wasn’t going to say that, instead, he leaned forward and comforted you, “We’ll figure something out, I promise, okay? The name thing we can do.” He encouraged you to take one step at a time, “What about Ivy?”

Your head snapped up, “Really?” You asked, staying conscientious of the newborn on your chest.

“She was there for you through all of this when I couldn’t be,” he shrugged. “Did you know she dug through your contacts on your phone and called Hotch when I didn’t answer?” He watched a small smile tug at your lips, “I just think we should honor her in some way.”

Nodding, a full smile bloomed on your face, “Absolutely.” There was a brief silence, “Do you need to call Hotch? You can step out if you need to. We’re fine alone. I mean just for a little while not for- “

That was the second time you had nearly worked yourself into a panic. Spencer set a hand on your shoulder, “Y/N, angel. Don’t stress yourself out, okay? I’ll handle it.” He promised, after all, you had already done the hard work.

You paused and took a deep breath at his encouragement, leaving the both of you in silence while you caught your breath. “What about Eleanor?”

He smiled and looked at your sleeping baby, “It’s perfect,” he whispered.

The first time Eleanor, who had quickly been nicknamed Nell, cried with the two of you in the room was also the first time Spencer held her. He had been too nervous before, not that he’d tell you that, but when her wails started and he saw you wincing as you sat up in the bed, he instinctively picked her up.

He was still in his work clothes. Granted, he had taken off his tie and the top two buttons of his shirt had been undone, but it didn’t seem to bother Nell, the baby had quickly hushed upon contact. “Sit back,” he gently instructed, “Are you in pain?”

You nestled back into the pillows, “Just a little, they said it’s normal.”

Nothing about this was normal, Spencer wanted to say, but he knew you were well aware. He handed you the baby, knowing that it had been two hours since she last ate and that was likely why she was crying. According to the nurses, she was a good eater. He took their word for it.

Spencer watched you rock gently as Nell ate, you were staring off at nothing, so he asked, “What are you thinking right now?”

“I’m wondering why you’re not more freaked out,” you admitted, looking down at the newborn.

He leaned back in the chair, “I don’t know. I work best under pressure and with a little bit of chaos. It’s also highly likely that the entire situation hasn’t fully sunken in yet.”

You nodded understandingly, “It’s a lot to take in. If you think about it, most parents have months to fully prepare and wrap their heads around it. It’s been about ten hours for me. Maybe six hours for you.”

Nodding, Spencer watched intently as Nell fell asleep, her tiny fists falling and quiet coos coming from her. He heard you say something to him, but the words didn’t process. “What?”

Giggling quietly, you cocked your head at him, “Do you want to hold her?”

“Uh, I don’t know,” he replied honestly. You seemed like you were taking to parenthood exceedingly well, he was afraid he wouldn’t match up.

In the end, it was your understanding smile that prompted him to agree. “Unbutton your shirt,” you ordered, laughing at him when he looked bewildered. “Skin-to-skin isn’t just for moms, Spence. Besides, I want you to bond. I want her to know who you are even when you’re away for work.”

He obliged your request, undoing his shirt so that he could gently place Nell on his bare chest. She squawked while she was being moved from parent to parent but quieted again as soon as she was being held, “she’s so small,” Spencer remarked, marveling at the tiny creature on top of him.

You nodded sleepily, “Four pounds, fourteen ounces. She had to fit behind my ribcage somehow.”

The oddness of the situation began to find a place in him. Were there changes in you that neither of you had noticed? Your period was always irregular, there was no significant weight change, and even morning sickness had seemed to totally pass you by. “I can’t believe we had no idea,” he murmured as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Nell’s head.

“I went to the doctor three months ago for chest pains, do you remember? I took an at-home pregnancy test just in case and it came back negative. The nurses here told me that there’s a less than one percent chance of that happening,” you informed him, slowly starting to mumble.

Spencer looked up at you to find that your eyes were fluttering shut. “You should sleep. I’ve got this.”

You grunted in protest, “but what- “

“No,” he interrupted. “She just ate, she’s sleeping, and you’re exhausted. I can spend some time with her while you sleep.”

Sleepily, you grinned, sliding down on the bed, and settling your head on the pillows, “Daddy’s girl,” you whispered.

He loved the sound of that.

you

You had always known that Spencer Reid was perfect, and as you watched him fall into the role of father, that knowledge became concrete. You blinked the sleep out of your eyes and kept your gaze on the two of them, not daring to disturb the peace. Instead, you watched in awe as he held your daughter, softly speaking to her as if she could fully comprehend what he was saying.

For all you knew, she could understand what he was saying. She was Spencer’s kid, after all.

Gently, he whispered to her and one of her little fingers gripped his index finger. “Your palmar reflex lets you hold my finger like that, Nellie. It’ll go away when you’re six months old,” he softly swiped his thumb over her back as he murmured to her. “I don’t usually like surprises,” he admitted to the infant, “but you and your mama might just be the best thing to ever happen to me.”

You grinned, reaching your hand out and touching the green armchair, “I love you.” He reached out a hand to hold yours. “Do you want to try to get some sleep?” You offered. Your body still ached, but getting some sleep had made you feel loads better.

“I don’t think I can,” he answered candidly. “I feel so…”

“Wired? Stressed?” You suggested.

He shrugged slightly, “I was going to say hyperaware, but yes,” he responded.

You wheeled the empty bassinet closer to him, “Set her down. Babies can sense stress. Take a minute, catch your breath,” you told him.

Reluctantly, Spencer placed Nell in the bassinet, adjusting the hat on her head while you watched him. “Don’t worry about me,” he said softly.

Your shoulders drooped involuntarily, “When was the last time you slept, love?” After years with Spencer, you know he would go days without sleeping in order to break a case. His lack of a response answered your question well enough. Quickly, you pressed your call button and asked if a nurse could take Nell to the nursery.

Once you made sure the baby was taken care of, you moved over in the hospital bed and patted the open space. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he told you.

That was the problem with Spencer. He would always put you, and now Eleanor, ahead of himself. It made your heart ache. “Spence, this has been the craziest day, and I can tell you haven’t slept. So, get over here and lay down with me,” you instructed.

Rolling his eyes, Spencer kicked off his shoes before lying next to you in the hospital bed, “Do you promise to wake me if you need anything?” He asked as he gingerly pulled you into his arms, afraid of hurting you.

You hummed, resting your head on his shoulder, “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“I hate that saying,” Spencer whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your hairline.

Closing your eyes, you relaxed into him, “I promise, angel. Get some sleep.”

You startled awake, looking to make sure you didn’t wake Spencer. Your chest ached as you sat up, cringing at the noise your papery hospital gown made. Gingerly, you placed a hand over your heart, feeling the pounding of your heart and listening to the beeping of the monitor, cursing the screen for making so much noise.

This had happened earlier before Spencer arrived, and the doctor had given you something to calm down then.

When you came into the ER, they thought your appendix was bursting, but when they did an ultrasound, they found that you were in active labor. There was no time for an epidural, they didn’t have time to give you anything for the pain. A kind nurse held your hand and quickly explained what was going to happen.

Within thirty minutes, you arrived at the hospital, gave birth, and had your baby taken to the NICU.

It was too fast; your brain was so overwhelmed that it had shut down. It seemed like a ridiculous thought; how did you miss the birth of your daughter?

Hiccupping back a sob, you felt a comforting hand on your back, but the fact that you had woken Spencer up just made you cry harder. He wrapped his arms around you, and you buried your face in the crook of his neck. “Shh, it’s alright,” he cooed, rubbing small circles on your back. “I love you so much, you know that, right? I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you,” he comforted you. “It’s okay, it’s just all catching up with you, honey.”

You pulled away, wiping the tears from under your eyes. “It’s okay,” you repeated his words.

“What do you need right now?” He asked, smoothing your hair back. “Do you want to make a list? Do you want to move around?”

Nodding absentmindedly, you watched as Spencer pressed the call button and got up, helping you stand. Your legs shook, and you felt a bit like a foal, but it felt good to be out of bed. You haphazardly finger-combed your hair before stepping into hospital slippers and leaving the room. For now, the nurses instructed you to just walk around the maternity ward.

As the two of you walked around, you made several lists. Things you needed to buy. People you needed to call.

By the time you’d returned to the room, Ivy had returned. Spencer opened the door for you and helped you sit on the end of the bed.

“I’ve come bearing gifts,” Ivy greeted, grinning with bags in her hands. She gestured to a suitcase, “First, clothes for both of you. I just grabbed whatever I thought might be good. Toiletries and stuff too,” she said, rolling the suitcase off to the side. “I grabbed a couple of newborn outfits, but again, I was kind of flying blind. The lady at the department store was extremely helpful.” She handed Spencer a bag of baby clothes. “I got a car seat, the same lady recommended it, she was probably getting a commission, but it’s in my car. I have approximately zero idea how to set it up, but I figured, Spencer has a doctorate in engineering. He can do it.”

You glanced blearily at your best friend, “Ivy, you didn’t have to do all of this. This is too much,” you confessed, holding a tiny onesie in your hand.

She dismissed your insistence with a wave of her hand, “I also got this.” Ivy held out a small stuffed duck. “I know it won’t do her much good now, but I couldn’t help myself.”

After you changed out of your hospital garb, you looked at Spencer, “Go call Hotch, we’ll be good here for a while.” You gestured to your best friend, who was filtering through the suitcase she had packed, trying to find your hairbrush. At your request, he told you he’d also ask the nurse to bring Nell back down so that Ivy could meet her.

Once he was gone, Ivy sat behind you on the bed and brushed through your hair, tucking it out of your face, you were finally beginning to feel a little bit more like yourself by the time she had finished.

You watched intently as the nurse arrived at the door, “Do you want to meet her?”

Ivy nodded enthusiastically, lips parting as she observed the small baby. “Is that her name?” She rasped, looking at the card on the bassinet, Eleanor Ivy Reid. “That’s not funny, don’t joke about stuff like that.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, keeping your voice down as Eleanor slept. “It’s not a joke, and for the record, it was Spence’s idea,” you informed her, reaching into the bassinet, and scooping up the now-swaddled infant. “He’s so grateful that you were there for me, and I am too.”

She smiled, “I’m always going to be here for you two – you three now. Number one babysitter,” she said, pointing to herself. 

You sighed and looked from your friend to your daughter, “She’s got a whole FBI unit of babysitters.”

“I’ll be here when they’re away – when Spencer’s away,” she reminded you, carefully adjusting the hat on the baby in your arms.

The last thing you wanted to think of was Spencer being gone, leaving you to take care of a baby you weren’t ready for.

Ivy must have sensed your nerves, “Hey, you know I’m always in your corner, right?”

You nodded slowly, “It’s just all catching up with me. I have to call my mom. I have to call my boss. How do you retroactively apply for maternity leave?”

“One thing at a time,” she said soothingly. “Right now, just enjoy your time with your perfect little family. I’ll call your mom for you,” she offered. “If your boss gives you any grief, he’ll have to deal with me.” Standing up, she placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, “I’m going to go get food, do you two still have the same orders from the deli?”

Confirming with her, you moved so that you could feed Nell, watching her as she looked up at you. “She’s right, you know? You are perfect,” you cupped her head with your hand, looking up to find Spencer watching from the doorway.

“Hotch says congratulations,” he spoke gently, striding over to your bedside and sitting on the edge of the bed. “He also said to let the team know if we needed anything,” he let you know, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He continued to let you know that Hotch had offered to figure out Spencer’s paternity leave, and while you felt bad about giving Hotch something else on his to-do list, it felt nice to have one less thing on yours. 

You nodded, “Ivy’s gonna call my mom, so that’s two things off of our list.”

Spencer squeezed your shoulder, “They asked if they could come to visit, but I didn’t want to answer for you.” He moved back to the armchair, “I just said we’d let them know.”

“At the very least we’ll send a picture,” you murmured. “I’m surprised you’re not researching newborns right now.”

Raising his eyebrows, Spencer shrugged, “I asked one of the nurses if I could get access to the hospital library.”

You snorted, “Of course you did.”

No one from the BAU ended up visiting while you were in the hospital, mainly because the idea of too many people in the one hospital room made you anxious, but both you and Eleanor had been cleared to go home. Eventually, you would have to allow visitors.

“Spencer, you can go the speed limit,” you said from the backseat of the car, not taking your eyes off of the baby in her car seat.

He glanced back in the rearview mirror, “This stretch of road is bumpy. I don’t want to wake her.” Despite his anxieties, he was taking to fatherhood remarkably well.

You shook your head, “She’s already awake, babe.” She looked around her new surroundings, spending part of the six hours a day that she was awake going home for the first time. Part of the beauty of a newborn was that they slept for eighteen hours a day, but only in about fifty-minute bursts.

Spencer kept glancing back, and you made a mental note to get a mirror for the rear-facing car seat.

As he turned onto your street, you sat up slightly. “Who’s here?” You asked, looking at the cars in your driveway. You recognized Ivy’s car, but none of the others rang any bells.

“That’s JJ’s car, and that’s Morgan’s truck,” Spencer told you as he pulled into the driveway. Once he got out of the car, he ran around to where you were sitting. He opened the door, taking the car seat out of its base before helping you out of the car. “I had no idea they were here,” he said curiously.

You hummed thoughtfully, looking at Eleanor in her car seat. There was a part of you that felt horrible, you didn’t have anywhere for her to sleep set up. Another part of you knew that she’d be just fine sleeping in your arms while Spencer set something up. “Far be it from the BAU to abandon one of their own in their time of need,” you murmured, stepping through the front door as Spencer held it open for you.

Setting the carrier on the coffee table, you undid the clips so that you could hold the baby. As you lifted her, her legs scrunched up until you held her to your chest, at which point she settled.

“Where are they?” You asked, gently rubbing Nell’s back as she started to fall asleep on you. You peeked around the corner into the kitchen, across the counter, there were bottles set out to dry, along with other various baby things. “Oh, Spence,” you breathed.

There was a distinct lack of boxes in your house, they weren’t entirely unpacked, but there were much less than there had been when you left. A crash from upstairs got both of your attention, Spencer’s arm instinctively going around your waist.

Together, the two of you walked upstairs, finding members of the BAU in one of the rooms that was going to be a guest room setting up a nursery. “Hey?” You said, peeking in through the doorway.

“Oh my god!” Penelope said, “Wait, crap, sleeping baby.” She covered her mouth with her hands, horrified at the idea of disturbing the sleeping infant.

You smiled, looking around suspiciously, “What’s going on here?”

Rossi waved a finger at you, “Your best friend is a drill sergeant is what’s going on here.”

Confused, you turned around to see Ivy with her hands on her hips. “I thought you weren’t coming home until the afternoon,” she explained, “I was going to have them all out of here so you could have a nice peaceful house.”

“You enlisted the BAU to unpack our house?” You asked her, tears pricking at your eyes.

Ivy shrugged, “It started as just asking a question, but we all came to the same conclusion. The two of you were never going to ask for help, so we had to take matters into our own hands.” She wiped her hands on her jeans, “Plus, they have kids, so they actually knew what you needed,” she gestured to JJ and Hotch.

You leaned forward to give her a one-armed hug, keeping yourself mindful of the baby. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Penelope hugging Spencer.

JJ stepped forward, “I’m around. Any questions you have,” she assured you. “How are you feeling?”

Laughing nervously, you looked up at Spencer, “Still reeling.”

The rest of the team laughed too, which brought you some semblance of comfort. “I almost thought you were playing a prank,” Emily confessed.

“No, you definitely thought they were trying to prank us. You didn’t believe them until they sent the picture,” Morgan said, exposing her.

Appalled, Emily rolled her eyes, but you spoke up, “I’m not sure I would have believed us either.” Had you not experienced it firsthand, you definitely would’ve been skeptical. Eleanor was going on two days old, and you had still woken up wondering if it was all some kind of dream.

Spencer had previously told everyone that no one could hold her. He was concerned about germs. You echoed his concerns, just maybe not as strongly. So, instead, everyone just cooed at her until Spencer gently ushered you into your bedroom.

You let out a sigh of relief when you spotted a bassinet set up next to your bed. Gently, you set her down while Spencer pulled the bedding down, “You should rest,” he told you softly.

“Spence, I just spent the majority of the last two days in a bed. I’m tired of bed,” you responded, sitting down on the ledge of the bed.

He hummed in response, “You just had a baby.”

Reaching out, you took his hands in yours, “Moving around will be good for me. I promise not to do anything to tear my stitches. I’ll just show Nell the house.”

“Babies don’t recognize their surroundings until four to six months, so she wouldn’t recognize anything you showed her anyway,” he told you.

You narrowed your eyebrows at him, “Spencer."

He held up his hands in concession, “Right, overbearing.”

“Hey,” you said softly, “We’re still figuring this out, right? So, we’ll take it one step at a time.” You offered, having already had an in-depth discussion about being okay with making mistakes. “Why don’t we go check out the nursery?” You stood up, watching as Spencer carefully picked Nell up, cradling her in his arms.

You led the way into the hallway to find JJ, Morgan, and Ivy finishing the nursery. Morgan and JJ moved the crib to a different side of the room while Ivy placed books on a shelf.

Ever so slightly, you leaned into Spencer, glancing at the sleeping infant in his arms, you reached over and cupped her head with your hand. “This is your family, Nell,” you whispered, smiling when Spencer leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

That was your first lesson in parenthood, it really does take a village.  

please remember to like, comment, and/or reblog if you enjoyed!

[doc-who]

When Green Turns Red

Emily Prentiss/Reader

Rating: Mature 18+

Chapters: 9/?

Words: 3600

Categories: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Smut

Emily stands rigidly in place as the last stitch is tied. Now that you’ve finally come to your senses, you don’t know how you ever mistook her anger for simple irritation. 

“You got lucky,” the medic says, ”a couple of inches to the left and the bullet could have hit your brachial artery.”

Finding the nerve to look up at Emily, her eyes meet yours, and you instantly regret it. You thought she couldn’t get angrier, but you were so wrong. In response to the medic’s words, Emily turns on her heel and storms off, leaving you to bury your head in your hands in exasperation.

The medic offers a sympathetic smile. “Good luck,” he says. 

You let out a huff, “Thanks.”

Sliding off the ambulance, you slowly head back towards the house, weaving through the chaos of uniforms and flashing lights. You don’t get far before you hear your name being called. Emily leaning against the SUV, keys clutched tightly in her hands as she beckons you closer. Hesitantly, you make your way over to her.

“We’re going back to the hotel,” she says curtly.

You frown in confusion, “Why? We still have to wrap up the case.”

“Hotch’s orders,” she replies firmly, leaving no room for discussion.

Somehow you doubt that’s true. You consider arguing, but the tension emanating from Emily makes you think twice. With a sigh of defeat, you walk around to the passenger side and get into the car. Emily slides into the driver’s seat shortly after, taking a deep breath before starting the engine. 

The drive to the hotel is tense, to put it lightly. Emily doesn’t say a single word, her hands gripped tightly around the steering wheel. The adrenaline has begun to wear off, and you can’t stop the involuntary tremors that rack your body. Emily notices and reaches behind her into the back seat. She finds her FBI jacket and hands it to you. 

“I’m fine,” you say through chattering teeth.

She throws the jacket pointedly over your lap, and you relent with a sigh. Pulling it up over your shoulders, you glance over at her.

“Thanks,” you say quietly, trying to break the tense silence.

She offers a terse nod in response, and you sigh in defeat at her refusal to speak to you. You study her face as she keeps her eyes focused on the road, trying to figure out what she’s so angry about. There’s obviously something you’re missing, but you don’t have a clue what it is. Leaning your head against the cool glass of the window, you let your tired eyes drift close. 

Eventually, you pull up to the hotel. Without waiting for the engine to be turned off, you get out of the car, escaping the suffocating atmosphere that had built during the drive. Before you’ve even rounded the car, Emily has already walked ahead to the entrance. Not bothering to catch up, you slowly make your way inside and up to the floor you’re staying on. Getting out of the elevator, you drag your feet down the hallway, pausing just before your room. Noticing the door is ajar, you hesitantly push it open and step through the door frame.

Emily stands at the window with her back to you, looking out to the night sky. The room is dark, lit only by the glow of the streetlights below. Closing the door behind you, you lean against it and cross your arms. You know she’s heard you come in, but she doesn’t turn around or acknowledge you. 

“Emily,” you say, attempting to get her attention. 

Her shoulders stiffen at the sound of your voice, but she still doesn’t turn around. You take a deep breath, feeling the frustration build inside of you. It’s been too long of a day for this, too long of a week, and you’ve had enough of being given the cold shoulder.

Pushing yourself off the door, you take a few steps towards her. “Do you plan on giving me the silent treatment all night, or are you going to tell me why you’re so pissed off?”

Emily scoffs, “You can’t seriously be asking me that,” she says, keeping her back to you.

You shrug, “If you have something to say, then say it.”

Emily spins around, fists clenched at her sides. “How could you be so stupid?” she snaps, voice brimming with anger, “I told you to be careful!” 

“That’s what this is all about?” you ask incredulously, “Jesus, Emily! What else was I supposed to do?”

“Not jump in front of a bullet!” she yells, her voice echoing throughout the room.

“You would’ve been shot if I hadn’t!” you exclaim, your voice raising to match hers.

“So you decide to get shot instead?! You could’ve been killed!” Her eyes burn with anger, and something else you can’t pinpoint.

Your frustration finally boils over, and you push your hands through your hair. “Why do you even care?!” 

“Because I love you!” she cries out.

The words hang in the air, ringing in the silence that follows them. You’re stunned into silence, the shock you feel reflected on Emily’s face. 

“What did you just say?” you whisper, voice barely audible over the thundering of your heart.

Emily’s eyes widen, and she takes a trembling step back, “I’m sorry,” she stammers, “I didn’t mean to... I shouldn’t have said that.”

You search her face for any sign of deception, but all you see is raw vulnerability. 

“Did you mean it?” you ask, taking a step forward.

Her cheeks flush, and she bites her lip, eyes trained on the floor. 

“It doesn’t matter,” she murmurs. 

“Emily, did you mean it?” You ask again, your voice softer this time.

Her eyes meet yours, and she nods, a single tear rolling down her cheek. “Yes,” she whispers.

Your heart skips a beat, and before you know it, you’re bridging the few steps between you until you’re face to face. Her breath hitches at how close you are, and you realise your own isn’t much steadier.

“Say it again,” you urge, needing to be sure this is real.

Emily takes a deep, shaky breath and looks straight into your eyes. “I love you,” she whispers.

Without a second thought, you grab her face in your hands and kiss her. 

For a moment she freezes, and you go to pull back, thinking you’ve made a monumental mistake. Just as your lips are about to leave hers, she wraps her arms around your waist and pulls you into her body, kissing you with a fervor that surpasses your own. It’s desperate and all-consuming.

Any lingering doubts melt away at the feeling of her body pressed against yours. It’s as if a dam has burst, and everything you have ever felt for her rushes forth, spilling from your lips to hers. Emily’s hands find their way beneath your shirt, and you shiver at the feeling of her warm hands on your bare skin. 

Tangling your fingers in her hair, the grip she has on your waist tightens, her fingertips digging into the flesh of your hips. You groan into the kiss, and she takes advantage with her tongue, exploring every inch of your mouth as if she’s starving. 

Pulling away with a gasp, you try to catch your breath. Emily rests her forehead against yours, the heaving of her chest matching your own. Without removing your hands from her body, you lean back to look at her. Emily’s dark eyes are wide and she touches her lips in astonishment. 

“Does that mean you love me too?” She asks, a mix of hope and apprehension in her voice.

You can’t contain the soft laugh that bursts from your chest, or the smile that spreads across your face. With tears in your eyes, you nod, “Yeah Em,” you say, beaming at her, “I love you too.”

Emily’s face breaks into a smile that rivals your own, her eyes so bright that it makes your heart flutter in your chest. 

“Thank god,” she breathes, and before you know it, she’s pressing her lips against yours. 

Neither of you can wipe the smiles from your faces long enough to kiss each other properly, your laughter mingling with hers as you both stumble towards the bed. Emily’s legs hit the edge of the mattress and she pulls you onto her lap, your thighs spread over hers as you straddle her. Cradling her face in your hands, you wipe away a stray tear that’s trailed down her cheek. She leans into your touch, her eyes shining with happiness in a way you haven’t seen in a long time.

Closing the gap, you press your lips gently against hers. Everything that’s not the taste of her mouth, or her body under yours, fades into the background. You savor it all, having been denied the feeling for far too long.

Emily does the same, her hands reverently tracing the curve of your waist. You arch into her, heat building inside you as you grow desperate for her touch.

Fingers hooking into your belt loops, she pulls you closer, your hips bucking against hers. Emily moans into your mouth, and you chase the sound with your tongue, pressing yourself further into her lap at the taste of her.

Tangling your fingers in her hair, you tug her head back, breaking the kiss to trail your lips down her neck. Her pulse races under your lips, and you succumb to your urges, sucking the spot into your mouth.

Emily tilts her head back even more in invitation, a groan vibrating in her throat. She gasps when you sink your teeth into her pulse point, and your hips grind down against hers in response.

Pushing your hips away, she forces you to detach your lips from her neck. Leaning back, your heart pounds when you see the look in her eyes, pupils so blown her eyes are almost black. Without breaking her gaze, she tugs on the hem of your shirt.

“Off,” she pants.

You raise your arms, and she starts to pull the fabric off of your body. As she guides your shirt over your head, the sleeve drags against your injured arm and you let out a hiss of pain. Emily freezes at the sound, your shirt falling from her hands. The arousal in her eyes suddenly becomes one of concern, and you inwardly chastise yourself.

Her eyes fall to your arm, and she gently traces the edge of the bandage with her fingertips. You can see the moment you got shot replaying in her head, emotions flickering across her face. Grasping her hands in yours, you pull it away from your arm and hold it to your chest.

“Emily,” you say softly, waiting for her to focus on you.

Her jaw clenches when she looks at you, and you soothe the spot with your thumb.

“I’m here, I’m okay,” you reassure, clutching her hand in yours.

Her eyes squeeze closed, and she shakes her head. “I was so scared,” she whispers, her voice trembling. “I thought…”

You stroke her cheek as she struggles to say the thoughts aloud.

Emily takes a deep, shaky breath, “It made me think of when you were taken, of how I found you...” the words die in her throat, and you can feel the pain radiating from her. 

You knew she felt guilty about what happened, but seeing her now, you realise just how much the ordeal affected her.

Pulling her towards you, she buries her face in your neck. Her arms wrap around your waist, holding you as if she fears you might slip away if she lets go. Returning the embrace, you give her time to reassure herself that you’re safe, that you’re alive. 

When the tremors in her body relax, she turns her face into your neck, her breath hot on your skin. A shiver runs through you at the sensation, and Emily’s arms tense from where they’re wrapped around your waist. 

Her mouth hovers over your skin, and you can tell she’s deliberating, torn between her want for you and her worry.

Tilting your head back, you expose the long line of your neck, persuading her to make the choice that you so fiercely need. Her breath hitches, and ever so slowly, her lips inch closer until they’re pressed against your pulse point. 

Your sigh of relief turns into a quiet moan when her tongue traces a path up the skin of your throat. Spurred on by the noise, she lavishes the skin of your neck with her mouth and tongue, relishing the feeling of your beating pulse under her mouth. 

When your hips instinctively rock into her lap, she pulls back with her gasp, the dark look of arousal in her eyes firmly back in place.

“Emily, please,” you whisper, grinding your hips down in desperation.

Her self-restraint snaps, and she guides you off her lap until you’re standing in front of each other, chests heaving. 

“Lay down on the bed,” she says, her voice so low it makes you shiver. 

Eagerly, you abide, climbing onto the bed and laying down propped up on your elbows. Hands gripping the bed covers, you look at Emily standing at the end of the bed, lit only by the glow of streetlights that seep through the window. Her silhouette is striking against the darkened room, and your heart races at the sight of her.

Slowly, she unbuttons her shirt, one button at a time. Her eyes never leave yours, glinting in the darkness as she lets the fabric fall from her shoulders. Automatically, your eyes fall to her chest, captivated by the sight of her.

After a moment, Emily chuckles, and your eyes dart back up to her face, cheeks burning at the knowing look in her eyes. Her hands fall to her belt, the leather snapping as she pulls it from her waist. You struggle to keep your eyes on her face, and she arches an eyebrow at you, giving you permission to let your eyes wander.

Immediately, your gaze drops to where her hands are flicking open the button of her pants. She slides the waistband over her hips, and you push yourself up off your elbows, eyes following their descent down her long legs. 

Free of her outer layers, Emily saunters forward, kneeling on the edge of the bed. Slowly, she slides her hands up the insides of your thighs, stopping at your waistband to tug open the button of your pants. Her eyes meet yours in question, and you nod wordlessly, urging her to continue. Not wasting time, she drags the fabric down your legs, letting them fall to the floor.

Leaning back on her heels, her eyes travel hungrily up your body, making you squirm under the attention. When she reaches your eyes and she sees the raw, unbridled arousal in them, she can’t restrain herself any longer.

Swiftly making her way up your body, she guides you to lie flat on the bed, her dark hair falling in curtains as she hovers above you. She stares down at you with a look that makes you tremble, and you arch your neck upwards, silently begging her to kiss you.

After a painful moment of anticipation, Emily obliges, lowering herself down against you to press her mouth blissfully against your own. Her tongue pushes past your lips, and you moan at the feeling of her mouth claiming yours, of the press of her body against your own.

Emily grinds her hips down against you, apparently just as affected by the proximity as you are. Hands trembling in need, you trail them up her spine until you’re hastily undoing the clasp of her bra. Sitting up, she lets the straps fall down her shoulders, leaving you captivated by the sight of her bare chest. 

Slowly, your palms slide up the curve of her waist, stilling for a moment before you cup her heavy breasts in her hands. Emily’s head falls back as your thumb strokes against her nipple, a moan slipping from her lips as you work it to a stiff peak. The sight of her above you makes your stomach coil, and you pull her back down, flipping her over so that she’s pressed beneath you. Looking down at her, you can’t help but take a moment to admire the sight of her. The way her lashes flutter as she looks at you, the way her tongue darts out to wet her kiss-swollen lips.

Hit with the sudden need to feel her, you strip off your bra and throw it to the side. Emily's eyes fall to your bare chest, and your core clenches at the look on her face as stares at you. Before you know it, she’s pulling you back down on top of her, gasping at the feeling of your chest pressed against hers.

As if you’re trying to devour each other, your lips meet in a frenzied kiss, every moment of withheld affection set free. Emily bites down on your lower lip, distracting you enough to slip a thigh in between yours. The change of position goes unnoticed by you until she presses her thigh up against your aching core. Your entire body tenses and her hands fall to your waist, encouraging you to grind against her. With her fingers digging into your hips, you rock yourself against her firm thigh, groaning at the sensation.

You can feel the wetness that pools in your underwear, and Emily must do as well, as her hands slip down to slide your underwear off your hips. With one last grind against her thigh, you pull away and take them off, eagerly dragging Emily’s down her legs as well.

Making your way back up her body, you spread your legs over her hips and straddle her. The feeling of your wetness gliding across her stomach makes both of you moan, and Emily fervently seeks out the source. Hands slipping between your legs, she lets out a curse as her fingers tease a path through your folds. 

“Fuck,” she groans, “Is all this for me?”

Nodding your head, your hips desperately chase her fingers.

“Em, please,” you whine.

The smile that spreads across her face at your begging makes the ache between your legs almost painful. Reaching down, you grab her wrist, guiding her hand to where you need it most.

Emily gently teases your entrance, working you up until you can’t take it anymore. Just as you’re about to beg for relief, she suddenly sinks her fingers inside of you. The moan you let out makes her hips jerks in response, causing her fingers to bury themselves even deeper inside you.

The hand that isn’t busy between your legs grips your waist, urging you to ride her fingers. Working yourself into a rhythm, you look down at Emily through your lashes. The pure arousal on her face as she watches you chase your release makes you clench tightly around her fingers. 

The sight of you riding her fingers is driving her wild, her core throbbing with need as she watches you. Desperate for relief, she flips you over, keeping her fingers buried inside of you. Ignoring your gasp at the sudden movement, she wastes no time in straddling your thigh. 

Emily matches the rhythm of hips with the thrust of her fingers, and you feel yourself clenching around her digits. Your head spins at the way her hips move, at the feeling of her hot and wet against your skin.

“Look at me,” she breathes, her free hand coming up to pinch your nipple in a way that makes you moan. 

You do as you’re told, and the intensity in the way she looks at you sends a fresh surge of wetness to spill around her fingers. 

Knowing you’re close, she curls her fingers inside of you, firmly pressing her palm against your clit. Hands falling to her waist, you pull her down against you, captivated by the sight of her feverishly chasing her high.

“Emily,” you whine, her gaze darkening as she feels you fluttering around her fingers. 

The roll of her hips against you becomes more erratic, and you know she’s just as close to the edge as you are.

With a frantic thrust of her hips, she groans, “Come with me.” 

Her breathless command sends you hurtling over the edge. Arching off the bed, a cry tears from your throat as your orgasm crashes through your body. Feeling you clench around her fingers, Emily’s hips stutter, and she moans her release as her thighs tighten around yours.

Breathless pants fill the room as you both come down from your highs, your body’s trembling. Emily's fingers stay buried inside you, relishing in the aftershocks of your climax. When she eventually pulls her hand away, you whimper, which she soothes by pulling you into her arms.

Smoothing your hair off your face, she kisses you so tenderly that it makes your eyes sting. Bodies intertwined, you catch your breath, feeling her heartbeat against yours. Emily’s arms tighten around you, and yours do the same, refusing to let there be any space between you.

“I missed you,” Emily whispers against your neck.

There’s an underlying sadness to her words that makes you pull back to look at her. A tear falls down her cheek, and before she can wipe it away in embarrassment, you kiss it away with your lips.

“I missed you too.”

ao3

[fangirl-dot-com]

Chapter 4 - They Call Me Kid

AN : So second person won the poll so I guess I will continue in this POV…I love seeing comments so keep at it. And don’t forget that I have a tag list, so just ask if you can be put on it! Enjoy! 

The blare of the alarm from your phone was not fun to wake up to. Arthur had told you many times to change it, but you never listened. If there was a nice tune that was supposed to wake you up, you never would. A sleepy groan escaped your lips as you stretched. You wanted to rub your eyes, but you knew better. Taking a shower was the first thing on your agenda. 

The shower was definitely smaller than the one you had back home, but it would have to do. The water pressure wasn’t great either. You just hoped that the water wouldn’t leave your hair feeling greasy all day. At least you could use the hair dryer. It didn’t take long for the water to warm up. Your muscles instantly relaxed under the stream of heat. 

You definitely fit into the category of “girls who love molten lava water temperature.” Cold showers, or just any cold water, were not your thing. Your trainer often had to force you to get into the ice bath. 

The water helped the sleepiness go away, but a red bull would really get the job done. Knowing the time crunch, you quickly washed and conditioned your hair, along with shaving and exfoliating. You needed to make a good impression on the first day. 

Drying your hair barely took anytime. Since you knew that the simulator would be a big part of today, you forwent the contacts and decided to use your glasses. 

The real driving started on Sunday. Which, you couldn’t help but be excited for. However, you knew how to use a sim, but not the physical car. 

The basics would only help you out so much. 

You shook your head, trying to get out of the oncoming detrimental mindset. You needed music. And there was only one song that you knew would help. 

“Hey Siri, play Life is a Highway by Rascal Flats.” 

The female AI voice responded, “Now playing, Life is a Highway by Rascal Flatts.” 

The familiar sound of the drums and eclectic guitar filled the small bathroom. Your head started to bob as you began your skin care routine. Your makeup didn’t take long since you had decided to go with your glasses. 

“I’LL BE THERE WHEN THE LIGHT COMES IN – JUST TELL ‘EM WE’RE SURVIVORS!” 

Your hands pretended to play an air guitar as you jumped on your bed. You flung your hair left and right at you went into the chorus. 

“LIFE IS A HIGHWAY, WELL I WANNA RIDE IT ALL NIGHT LONG!” 

You, however, were stopped once there was a knock on the door. You quickly turned the music off before clamoring down from the bed. You almost tripped on a loose shoe as you quickly opened the door. 

Standing there was Vito. He took in your appearance before smirking. He pushed passed you and walked further into the room. 

“Well ok then,” you muttered, “just let yourself in I guess.” You ran a hand through your hair, trying to tame the fly aways from your one person concert. 

“Heard you singing down the hallway.” Your mouth gaped. 

“No you did not.” Your shoulders brushed as you walked back into the bathroom. You heard him chuckle as he sat down on your stomped on bed. You quickly finished up. Grabbing your bag, you let Vito know that you were ready. He stood up and walked to the door, with you following behind him. 

You said a quick good morning to the desk workers before walking out the sliding doors. Outside, a nice SUV with tinted was waiting. 

“Front seat or back seat?” you asked. 

“Back.” 

Your hand reached for the back handle and popped the door open. The driver turned around a bit and gave you a smile as you slid on the nice leather. You greeted him before he turned around. The car started to move a bit as you put your seatbelt on. 

“What is on the agenda for today?” you ask Vito as he pulls out a fancy tablet. It looked very similar to the one that Christian had yesterday afternoon. 

“So you have a simulator run, then a suit fitting, and then you need to quickly decide on a helmet design. You could use your current one, but it’s Vegas,” Vito replies. 

“Viva Las Vegas,” you murmured the tune. “When do I need to send in a helmet design?” 

“Probably by the end of the day. They mentioned they needed it soon.” 

“Gotcha.” You quickly took out your phone to start looking over saved designs that you had. Scrolling through your ideas, a couple stood out to you. You reached over to show Vito a few pictures. “Do you think it’s too early for this one?” A bright red and yellow helmet was on display. 

Vito only laughed. “Quite possibly.” He took your phone and scrolled through the rest of the designs. “Your current helmet is white and silver. Do you want to continue or do you want to go with a darker shade?” 

You let out a hmmm. “Let’s keep it white,” you pulled your lip in between your teeth, “and can we add the sparkles?” You were basically a child when it came to glitter. 

“Sure kid.” Vito seemed to screenshot the design and send it to an unknown number. You were satisfied with what you picked. You just couldn’t wait to use the rest of them. You had one picked out for your first actual race, one for COTA, one for Halloween, one for…you got pulled out of your thoughts when the car stopped. 

The building, once again, was very impressive. You could get used to the view. At this point, you never wanted anything to be different. You heard the unbuckling of Vito’s seatbelt and followed suit. You both used the back entrance once again to get into the building. You guessed that RB was very particular about what news they wanted to get out and what news they wanted to keep secret. 

Passing the posters, you felt better about the future. You would be up there, if it was the last thing you did. This time, you followed Vito down a different hallway than the first time. Through a door at the end of the hallway, the two of you entered a giant room with multiple sims. Your heart started to race. You couldn’t decipher if it was from anxiety or excitement. 

Vito continued to walk forward with you hot on his heals. You didn’t want to get too far from him, but your eyes caught the new DMG-1. Even Dams didn’t have this grand of machinery. You had strayed just enough from Vito to be “alone,” but you were still close. Your eyes raced over the sim. Excitement started to buzz in your veins. Your hands itched to touch the wheel. It was all impressive. You didn’t expect anything less from the all-time dominant team. 

“You like it?” A voice interrupted your thoughts. 

You turned your head and your eyes met a pair of brown ones. A woman, taller than you, in an official RB polo stood with one of those tablets. 

You could only nod your head, eyes glistening like a kid in a candy store. This is basically your candy.  

“It-it’s amazing,” you stuttered, suddenly feeling shy. 

The woman let out a small laugh before putting a hand out between the two of you. You grasped the hand firmly as she shook yours. 

“Michelle Williams, your Race Engineer. I’m here to see how you do on the sim.” She gave you a nice smile. 

“Nice to meet you Miss Williams,” you shyly said. This time, her laugh was a little louder as she waved her hands. 

“None of that, people often call me Mitch, and I want you to do as well. You have anything you want me to call you by?” 

Your head cocked. With eyes shifting quickly to Vito, you answered, “They call me kid. I don’t know why, but Vito started calling me that during F2 and it kinda just stuck.” Your shoulders shrugged. You knew exactly why he called you that. You had just turned 17 days before your first F2 debut. You were a kid. Thus, the nickname still stuck. 

She nodded. “Alright kid. You want to show me what you can do?” 

Your eyes widened. “Right now?” 

“Yep. Don’t worry about the others. They’re here for other things. It’s just going to be me and you. A test run for the real thing if you will.” Her smile was comforting. 

You took a deep breath and took a step towards the simulator. You carefully climbed into the machine with the help of Mitch. Once you had gotten situated, you pulled the straps down and buckled in. Mitch handed you a headset and explained that she would have one as well on the outside to get you used to her talking. 

She started up the sim from the outside. You were now in your element. 

From your headset, Mitch talked, “Ok kid. We’re going to do a couple of laps in Vegas to get you used to the layout. How does that sound?” 

You replied, “Sounds good Mitch. Just so you know, I have a borderline photographic memory, so I think I can have it memorized by the first lap” There was a reason for your dominance on the F2 tracks. Tiny details that people might forget after a lap were always noticed by you. Because of your communication with the team, you were able to overcome things that sent drivers into the barriers. 

“Sounds good. Ok, starting the first lap, stand by.” 

You inhaled and exhaled before pressing on the pedals. It was definitely harder than an F2 car, but you could manage. Taking things slowly, you took your time to get the layout of the track and how it felt. You were able to communicate a few things with Mitch as you leisurely drove around. After about 7-10 laps of just driver, Mitch told you to line the car up with the animated P1 spot. 

What you didn’t know, was that the rest of the crew, including Christian had gathered around to see how you did. Vito stood with bated breath. He knew you could do it. 

From you headset came, “This is ‘for real’ now kid. Let’s set an official lap time for the simulator.” 

“Yes ma’am.” You wanted to mock salute, but you needed to focus. You shifted down in your seat to make yourself smaller. 

Once the animated lights changed green, your pretend tires spun as the car accelerated at an amazing speed. You weren’t expecting it but you accepted it with open arms. This is what you were meant to do. 

You eyes stayed laser focused on the track as you went around the first corner. This track definitely had a lot of straights, and you knew that the track was going to be colder than normal. You commanded the car with excellence. You hadn’t even realized that you had already gone around the track. 

Christian leaned over to Vito, “Where’d you find this kid?” 

Vito could only smile and shrug his shoulders. 

You were pulled out of your mindset when Mitch spoke in the headset, “And that is an excellent time of 1 minute and 32 point 799 seconds. Well done kid.” You could practically hear her smile, which made you smile in return. 

“Do I need to go another time?” you asked as you taxied the “car” around the circuit. 

“That’s all for today. I think you need to go with your manager for the suit fitting.” 

“Thanks Mitch.” 

“No problem kid.” 

You parked the pretend car and looked up at the time and smiled. A click caught your attention as a photographer had his camera to his face. He sheepishly smiled as he brought the camera down. 

“Could you send me that?” you asked him as you unbuckled the seatbelts. He nodded and walked away. As you climbed down out of the sim, you finally noticed the crowd. You averted your eyes as you walked over to Vito and Christian. 

“Nice to see you again Mr. Horner,” you said as Vito passed you a water bottle, which you chugged gratefully. 

“Mega job there kid,” he paused, “I can call you that right?” You never would have thought that the great Christian Horner would be hesitant about things like that. 

You let out a little laugh, “Yes sir. Seems like it sticks with me wherever I end up.” You poked Vito in the side. The three of you talked for a bit. Things about the upcoming schedule were discussed before you had a question. 

“Am I meeting Max and Checo at Vegas, or will I meet them before?” 

Christian brought his hand to his chin. “I think we’re going to fly you down on Tuesday and we can all go out to eat.”

“Does, um, Max know yet?” You really didn’t want him to meet you for the first time and just then find out that you were going to be his teammate. Your worries must have shown on your face as Christian put his hand on your shoulder. 

“He already knows. He knows what it’s like, being young and all.” 

“And he doesn’t care that I’m…” you trailed off, leaving the words unspoken. 

Christian gave you a sympathetic look. “Kid, he’s eager to meet you. The guy likes a challenge and I think he’s ready for a new dynamic.” 

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Ok, thank you.” 

“No problem kid. I think though that you are needed in room 3A for a suit fitting.” He pointed in the direction of the room. 

You thanked him and walked over to the door, with a new found confidence you didn’t know you had. 

Opening the door, you were met with another man and a woman. 

“Hey kid. You ready for your fitting?” the woman asked. 

“I was born ready.” 

Tag List : @awekbachira @lightdragonrayne @leilanixx @angsthology @digitalizeduniqueness @topguncultleader @landosgirlxoxo @gods-menace @itsjustkhaos @alwaysboredsworld

[talkfastromance4]

If you still accept titles for the made-up fic title thingy:

"I wanna be that somebody for you."

This is very long! My imagination got away from me and I would LOVE to continue this story if you and others are interested!

Also couldn’t help myself and made a lil moodboard.

Enjoy!

***

You own a small flower shop inherited by your grandfather and you curated the floral arrangements for Penny and Maverick’s wedding. You were busy perfecting the bouquets and that’s when Jake saw you wearing a very pretty sundress with pink flowers on it. You even had a headband of flowers in your hair and he pictured you in a cottage with little woodland creatures surrounding you.

He admired your work ethic and the need for things to be exactly perfect with the arrangements.

“Excuse me,” he said approaching you, “could you help me with my boutonniere?”

You looked him over in his dress whites then glanced at the others behind him.

“Um, you don’t get them with your uniform.”

“Oh. I know,” he grinned, green eyes dancing.

“Then why would you ask–”

“I’m in another wedding. I’ll be wearing a regular civvy suit.”

“I see,” you nod gathering up the fallen stems and leaves from your work. “Shouldn’t the bride and groom be asking for those?”

“I’m the best man, they’ve entrusted me with it.”

“I see.”

He liked how curt you were with your responses.

“Well, I’d love to help but not while I’m in the middle of another wedding, sir.”

His eyebrows raised at the formality of ‘sir’ and only made his Cheshire grin widen.

“Wonderful, I’ll stop by tomorrow. When do you open?”

“Eight,” you sigh.

“I’ll see you at eight. And it’s Lieutenant, darlin’,” he winks then left you flabbergasted.

***

He’s already waiting outside the shop door by eight o’clock on the dot when you go to unlock them. He’s in his service khakis and you run through some options from most expensive to least. Then by category of flower and what season would be best for which flower. It wasn't until you pulled out a box of ribbon that he placed his hand over yours, you felt an electric current course through you.

He admits it was all a ploy.

“What? Why?” You ask then realization and anger clouds over your eyes. “So you can joke about it with your naval buddies? Get out of my store–”

“No, no, no, you misunderstand,” he holds up his hands in defense. “I have a proposition for you.”

“A proposition?”

“An arrangement,” he flashes a smile. “Come to dinner with me tonight and I’ll explain.”

“Like an arrangement of flowers?”

“No, sweetheart,” he shakes his head then slides his hands in his pockets. “I’ll have a car pick you up at seven. Wear something nice.”

He winks again then left.

Throughout the day you were thinking of the whole altercation. The smart, rational part of you knows you shouldn’t have dinner with him. But the curious part of you is intrigued by his cryptic meaning of ‘proposition’ and ‘arrangement’ and you wanted to know what it was.

It isn’t until your friend and coworker has come over with an armful of dresses for you to borrow that she jokingly suggests it might be a sex arrangement. You laugh along but the pit in your stomach and the warmth spreading in your ears signifies she might be right. You pick out a pretty black dress and the car arrives promptly at seven o’clock.

The Navy is prone to being good with time, you guessed.

A man named Reynolds opens the very sleek black SUV and asks what kind of music you’d like to listen to for the drive. Forty minutes later you’re in the Valley pulling up to the top five star restaurant in the state. A valet opens the door and gestures to you inside where a hostess greets you by name and leads you to the main room.

The Lieutenant is sitting at a white clothed table in a very nice suit. As soon as he saw you he stood up, eyes taking you and your dress in with a faint smile.

“Wow, as I live and breathe,” he drawls then pulls out your chair. He offers his hand for you to take as you sit down and he pushes you in a little bit. You murmur a thank you and take in the restaurant.

Men and women are wearing high-end clothes, luxury watches wink at you and diamonds sparkle amongst the candlelight. There’s a massive fireplace and chandeliers everywhere. When you look back at him, he’s already looking at you. You feel your cheeks warm.

“You look beautiful,” he compliments.

“Thank you. This is very…extravagant.”

He notices the nervous way you touch your hair and bite your lip. You take in how handsome he looks, his suit is crisp, his hair perfectly styled with a little bit of the bangs hanging over his forehead. There’s a start to a five o’clock shadow on his cheeks and chin but it looks anything but rough to the touch.

“Y/N?” he asks and you notice a waiter is next to you.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Red or white, madam?” the waiter asks.

“For what?” your brain is a little behind because of the circumstance.

“Wine,” the Lieutenant smiles patiently.

“Oh. Right. Um…white.”

“A bottle of your best white wine and I’ll also have a whisky. Neat.”

When the waiter is gone you lean in closer to the table.

“What is all this?”

“Dinner and drinks.”

“No. I mean…your proposition?”

“It’s not time to talk about that yet,” he shakes his head then hands you a menu.

The drinks arrive and you take a hearty sip to ease your nerves. You nearly choke on probably the best wine you’ve ever had when you notice the prices. Some of them are in the hundred dollar range.

“Lieutenant–”

“Please, call me Jake.”

“Jake. these are very pricey–”

“Don’t worry about the cost, y/n,” he shakes his head. “Anything that looks good, please order it. And don’t go for the cheapest one.”

You glance over the top of your menu to see him giving you a knowing look because that’s what you were honestly planning to do.

After you finally order and drink some more wine, he starts to ask many questions. Your birthday, where you grew up, schooling, your favorite classes, friends, family, siblings. So many questions about you. When dessert is finished you’re holding the mug of coffee between your palms.

“Why do you want to know all this?” you ask.

“Penny told me how caring and open-hearted you are, how much you do for others. And how you help your grandmother. She said no one has really taken care of you.”

His green eyes are smoldering in the candlelight.

“Okay…” that didn’t really answer your question.

“I wanna be that somebody for you.”

“Be what?”

“I want to take care of you. Anything you need. Pay off your house, expand your flower shop,a new car. Whatever you need.”

You stare at him blankly trying to absorb his words then it hits you.

“You want to be a sugar daddy?” You hiss and nearly spill your cup of coffee. “I’m very capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much. I get by. I don’t even have a house! And what, you’d want to pay for things in exchange for sex? I’m not a hooker and that’s illegal!”

“Shh!” he hushes placing his hand over yours. His eyes are wild as he looks at the other occupants but they were none the wiser of your accusations. “No. Of course not.”

“I won’t send you feet pics either–”

“Y/N, Y/N, stop,” he’s earnest. “This is not what that is, I promise.”

“Then explain yourself better.”

“What I’m suggesting is that, I help you with some financial things and in return–” he gives you a look when you gasp–”in return, I ask that you be a companion. A date to Navy balls, family gatherings. We can have dinner as frequently as you’d like, or coffee, or nothing at all unless it’s for a function where I need you.”

“So not a sugar daddy–you aren’t even that much older than me, by the way!”

“I’m aware,” he nods patiently while you visibly flip out on him.

“So, what then? A piece of arm candy? I��m not the greatest–”

“You are. From what I’ve heard you are exactly right for me.”

“How? Why do you need a companion? You can have any person you’d want.”

“I can’t disclose that with you right now unless you agree. I’ll have paperwork set up–”

“Paperwork! Wait,” you lower your voice, peeking at your neighbors to make sure they’re not listening when you ask, “is this like a…a Fifty Shades of Grey thing? Are you like a Christian Grey?”

“Of course not,” he snorts, “I’m not into that, I’m not going to ‘own’ you. You picture me as Christian Grey?”

“No! You’re way hotter than he–” you clap your hand over your mouth but he smiles. “So, no whips and chains or a play room?”

“No. Unless you’d want one,” he shrugs. “This is why I’m calling it an arrangement. You’re a good person who deserves to be taken care of.”

“You hardly know me, Jake. Or am I some kind of charity case? A means to a redemption arc you’re looking for? Have you murdered someone?”

“My, my, my, you certainly are entertaining,” he chuckles. “And quite the imagination.”

“I watch a lot of movies,” you sniff.

“You don’t have to make a decision right now, of course. But think about it. I have more than enough money and I give a good portion of it to charities I’m keen on. We can be as exclusive as you’d like or you can shoot a text and I’ll send money over for whatever it is you need.”

“And all you want back is for me to be a companion to you?”

“Yes.”

“Like a fake relationship?”

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it.”

You side eye him dubiously.

“Are you sure this isn’t some sort of sex thing? Is this a new kink I’ve never heard of?”

“Oh y/n, if it was I would have already pleasured you at your shop.”

“What?!” you squeak but he just smirks.

“That’s a discussion for another time, sweetheart. If you choose. I want you to know the ball is entirely in your court. I’ll have Reynolds drive you home but leave you with my card…” he pulls out his wallet and slides a business type looking card with his name on it and a number underneath.

Your mind is racing, your palms are sweaty and you feel warm all over because you never in a million years would have expected this type of predicament.

“It’s late, I know you need to be up early tomorrow,” he pulls away from the table and you stand automatically following him out the restaurant in a daze.

Reynolds opens the door but Jake grabs your elbow and turns you around to face him. He’s wearing a very fresh smelling cologne, it clears your nose and makes your head swim because it gives off the aura of sophistication and wealth. Your head doesn’t even come up to his chin so you really have to move your head up to look at him.

“Think it over. I’ll send over the papers so you can examine it. Call or text or email if you have any questions. I want to be that somebody you can rely on and call on whenever you need it. Okay?”

“Okay,” you gulp.

“Good. Have a good night, Y/N,” he bends down to kiss your cheek then helps you climb into the car. “Reynolds will also be your driver. He knows where to bring you to me when and if you’re ready.”

He closes the door and your head is still swimming going in a million different directions. Your cheek is tingling from the softness of his lips, the insides of your thighs are burning because you’re thinking of what he said earlier. How he could have pleasured you in your flower shop. The curious part of you was very curious about that.

[forgave-me-not]

I DON'T THINK I LIKE YOU ANYMORE ☆ B.S.

Ben would sew you into the fabric of all of his clothes if he could. But alas, he cannot, so kissing you is the next best thing. Now he just has to figure out how to do it. word count: 3.2k warnings: fluff, like two curse words, a bit suggestive at the end

There's flying - with its long lines, endless bag checks, whining children - and then there's waiting on a flight. Today, you've been placed in the latter category, patiently waiting for your best friend to come home. How long had it been since you'd seen him? Two, three months? It didn't matter. What you did know is that his presence was sorely missed.

You and Ben had managed to do almost everything together - from growing up to playing sports and attending the same college. But that was before the world was big, before things were different. He had his own thing now, something you could only observe from afar. And as much as you loved that he'd found success in his niche, you were glad he was taking a break and finally coming home.

You'd paced the waiting area near the terminal for nearly 45 minutes. I look antsy as hell, you thought as you glanced at your watch again. You weren't nervous. That's impossible. It was just Ben. You simply hadn't seen him in a while. It wasn't anxiety; you had a lot of pent-up enthusiasm that needed to be let out in one way or another. Still, you looked wound up. You sit down and look around at the people around you. A mother feeds her toddler some animal crackers. Hmm, maybe she's waiting on her part-. Before you can finish your thought, you see that familiar form striding its way over to you, and you're back on your feet in a flash.

He's wearing a baseball cap, typical Ben, but you can see his face perfectly fine. Eyes just as bright, smile just as toothy. He's been just fine.

You walk around the young man, looking for any discrepancies.

"Why are you appraising me like some prize-winning bull," Ben said, slightly amused at you circling him in close inspection.

"I've gotta make sure you're all here," you declare, looking up at him. "Did you get taller?"

"I dunno. Let's get outta here, you little scumbag," Ben says with a laugh.

"Anything in baggage claim," you ask in an attempt to check off all the boxes he could miss.

"Nope."

"Alright then," you say with a smile. Ben wraps one arm around your shoulders and pulls his carry-on with the other as you lead him toward your car. You lean into him, wrapping an arm around his waist. He smells familiar with his sandalwood cologne and shea butter lotion. Oh, how you missed that smell.

The two of you make it to your car, an older model SUV your dad had handed down to you once you'd turned sixteen. There were a lot of memories in that car, some you and Ben swore to never speak about again. The sound of the trunk slamming snapped you out of your thoughts.

"Geez, Benjamin. Always so rough," you remark with an eye roll.

"My bad, my bad," Ben says defensively, putting his hands up to show he's genuinely sorry. You shake your head and lean against the driver's side door.

"The sky looks beautiful," Ben says quietly, leaning beside you. He was right. The red, orange, and pink shades made the surrounding area look otherworldly; not even the sounds of planes taking off and the nearby highway could detract from it. Ben tore his eyes away from the sky and glanced over at you. He bit the inside of his cheek. "Pretty," he whispered, not meaning to say it aloud. "Hmm? What'd you say," you said, taking your eyes off the drifting clouds. Ben froze, feeling his face get hot. "Um, nothing. The sky's pretty, that's all."

"Oh...alright. Well, B, the sky is wonderful, but I've gotta get you home." You turn to open your car door, but a firm hand reaches over and closes it. "I don't want to," Ben whines. Sometimes, you're shocked he's actually twenty-one years old. You cock an eyebrow at the hand on your car door. Ben quickly removes his hand and clears his throat.

"We haven't seen each other in a while, and besides, I have like two weeks to be home. Let's do something." His arms are crossed, Ben's signal that no will not be an answer that comes out of your mouth.

"You sure? Not too tired from your flight," you say with furrowed eyebrows.

"Nuh uh. Besides, I need a burger."

"Ugh," you groan. "I oughta make you drive." Ben lets out a laugh and spins you around in excitement. He quickly trots to the car's passenger side, opens the door, and plants himself in the seat, adjusting it for his long legs. You laugh. Like a child. "You're a punk, you know that, Shelton," you say accusingly as you start your car and back out of the parking spot.

The two of you sat in one of those authentic American diners. There was a coffee pot on every table, paintings of the food they served on the windows, and floors that were a bit slick from the kitchen grease. Ben had smashed his burger in five minutes flat; he'd said something about missing seed oils and red dye. You'd snorted and told him he better appreciate it since you were paying.

The waitress came over with the chocolate milkshake you had ordered. You thanked her and stirred the drink. Ben was attempting to build a pyramid out of toothpicks. You smile at him.

"So, how's the tour going," you ask, sipping your drink.

Ben leans forward against an elbow and begins to trace the squares of the checkered pattern on the table. "Good. You win some, you lose some, but it's fun." He picks at the fries he didn't eat and flicks the salt off his fingers. "But we always talk about me. What's up with you?"

A grin spreads across your face. "Well, there's this guy," you start. Ben's nostrils flare. He sees a flash of confusion on your face and tones down his obvious displeasure. You let out a slight cough and continue. "He's in my World Philosophies course this semester, and uh, he's pretty cool." You say the last bit quietly, sensing that Ben is judging everything you say and do. Honestly, you only brought it up because it was the first thing to come to mind. You didn't want to discuss the guy anyway, so you changed the subject.

"I kept the letter," you said casually before taking a long slurp from your milkshake.

"What?"

"Remember when you had that phase of sending people handwritten letters?" Ben nods. I only wrote you letters, though, is what he wanted to say. You always talked about the men in those classic books you love to read writing letters.

You smile and reach into the pocket of your jean shorts. Out came a folded, yellowed piece of paper.

"I usually carry it in my wallet, but I wanted to remember to show you. God, your handwriting was so funky."

"Was not," an embarrassed Ben responded, putting his head in his arms so you wouldn't see him blush. The tips of his ears were still red, though. You giggle.

"Was too, you bum."

"I was nervous, okay. What 19-year-old is sending handwritten letters nowadays anyhow," Ben stated, rolling his eyes. You tilted your head and pointed at yourself. "Uh, this guy." Ben let out one of his signature laughs, and one of the veterans sitting at the counter turned to look at the two of you. Ben shot him an apologetic look and turned back to you.

"I'm ashamed to admit that I barely even remember what I wrote," Ben said, running a hand through his hair. The waitress came by and placed the check on the table. Before you could do anything, Ben put his card down.

You chuckled. "Well, let me read you my favorite part to jog your memory then." You cleared your throat and began:

"Something you said once popped in my head after the win today. You told me that when I matured, I'd be a great; how do I do that? I know that we're thousands of miles away, and you'll probably be asleep or out to lunch when this makes it to you, but I promise now, right now, that I'll be great, for you, ok?

And I wanted to say that I miss you — like, a lot. Take care of yourself; I'll be home soon."

You didn't even need to unfold the paper; it was imprinted on your brain from reading it over and over.

"Wow. I really wrote all that, huh," Ben murmured with a smile. Damn, she really likes that letter. Didn't even glance at it. He picked up his card off the table and signed the check. "Huh, maybe my handwriting is a little funky." You grinned, threw a ten-dollar bill on top of the tab, stood up from the table, and headed out of the restaurant. Ben jogged after you.

"Wanna do something fun," Ben asked, a little out of breath from chasing after you.

"You wouldn't know fun if it spit in your face," you quip back, letting your Southern accent come through.

"What about, I don't know, carnival fun?" He smirked and pointed at a sign across the road. You stood on your tip toes to look over his shoulder.

CARNIVAL IN 3 MILES!

"Good grief, always dragging me into something. You're driving this time, by the way." You threw your keys at his chest and tried to hide your smile.

All carnivals smell alike. Animals, fried food, sweat, and vomit will always produce the same odors, no matter where you are. But the scent that hit your nose, nor the joyous screams and yelling, didn't dampen your mood. The multitude of necklaces you wore clinked as you bounced on your toes.

Ben hands the man at the ticket booth a twenty, and the two of you make your way inside. "Here." You hold up Ben's hat. "Might wanna put this on."

"Oh, thank you," he says as he bends down. Understanding the message, you push his hair back and snugly put the hat on his head. "There you go, B."

Neither of you wanted to do anything particular, so you just milled about looking for things to do. Ben beat you at the high striker, but you got him back with your perfect shot at the duck shooting booth. He was now, begrudgingly, lugging around your three-and-a-half-foot panda for you while you snacked on cotton candy.

The sun sank behind the treeline, but it was still sweltering with the humidity and the other sweating bodies surrounding you. Ben watched as a bead of sweat rolled down your neck. He swallowed thickly and shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts. After meandering around a bit more, both of you grew tired of walking around and decided to sit down. The benches near the food trucks make for a perfect spot; you could watch people, Ben could watch you.

You scanned the area. A little girl wailed at a game booth nearby. Ring toss. But she's so tiny. You looked at the two adults beside her, most likely her parents. They appeared at their wit's end and on the verge of breaking down themselves. You glanced over at the bear. He still needs a name. Oh well.

"I'll be right back," you told Ben, who looked at you confused. Grabbing the panda from the spot next to you, you adjusted the straps of your tank top and made your way over to the family. Her parents noticed you first. "Is it okay if I talk to her," you asked with a sheepish smile. "Be our guest," her mother said, surprised.

"Hi there. What's your name?"

The girl sniffled and wiped her nose. "Maia."

"That's a beautiful name. Well, Maia, I won this panda right here, but I think you could use it more than I could. You have to promise me one thing."

Maia nodded enthusiastically, very ready to receive a stuffed bear almost as big as her. "Promise me that you won't give up so easily. And don't make things too hard for your parents," you said with a soft smile.

"Yes, ma'am. I promise," Maia said sweetly, tears all dried. "Are you a fairy," she asked as you handed over the bear. You barked out a laugh. "I guess I am now, sweetie. Bye for now. And be good." Maia grinned up at you and hugged your legs tights. You bent down to hug her back and glanced at her parents. "Thank you," her father mouthed at you. "No problem," you whispered back. Maia waved at you and skipped back to her parents. You waved back and turned around to where you were sitting.

Ben sat with his head against his hands, grinning like an idiot. "What are you looking all dopey at," you asked him. He stood up and looked down at you. "Just watching you. It was cute, that's all."

You chuckled as you walked away. "You sound like a creep out of context," you called over your shoulder. You walked for a bit and then stopped in front of the Ferris wheel. The bright lights and colorful seats swinging caught your attention. The sun had set, and the wind was finally picking up. You closed your eyes and rocked back and forth on your heels, humming a tune. Ben studied you from the side. All of your piercings. How your thumbs hooked around the belt loops of your shorts. That tattoo on the back of your elbow.

"Shit," Ben sighed. "I'm not sure I like you anymore."

Your eyes snap open as you turn to look up at him, the colored lights of the carnival dancing across your face. "What," you say incredulously.

"I said," he says with a drawn-out breath. "I don't think I like you anymore." A mischievous smile spreads across his face, adding to your confusion.

"What the hell is he on today," you murmur. Ben steps in front of you and places his hands on your shoulders. "What the hell am I on? You're what I'm on, that's what." He sighs. "And I'll shout 'Hey, I love this girl' from the rooftops if I have to. What can I say? I'm in love with you. Who in their right mind wouldn't be?" You push him off of you and put your hands on your knees. Ben's face drops from excitement to worry, worry that you might hate him and never see him again after his very public confession. But all of his anxieties are soothed once he hears your laugh. "Ben," you say through incessant giggling. "You're such a dork." The man frowns at you like a sad child.

"I'm sorry for laughing, B," you say, looking at him. "Come here." And it's the first real hug either of you have had all day. Ben feels you press your ear into his chest. "Are you listening to my heartbeat," he asks with a confused smile. "Yeah. Just want to make sure you're real before I say anything else." You give him another quick squeeze before stepping back. "I love you too, Ben. With all my heart."

"Promise? You're not lying, are you?"

"Pinky promise, baby. You know I don't lie to you."

"Yeah, I know." He had that dopey look on his face again. He really is in love. I got lucky.

"Let's continue this conversation in the car, shall we?" Ben asked as he wrapped his arm around your waist and kissed your forehead.

"We shall," you said with a smirk.

The cooler temperatures of the night had brought out the crowds. Still, neither of you would be there long enough to experience the carnival full of people. Not that it mattered anyway. There were more important things at hand.

Ben held your hand and led you through the droves of people back to the entrance. You watched his broad shoulders move under his t-shirt as he uttered his apologies and excuse me's to passersby. When you made it out of the gate and to the parking lot, which was really just an empty field, it took everything in you not to break out into a sprint. You wanted to scream and dance and cry all at once, but you suppressed those feelings and calmly walked to your car.

Ben led you to the front of the car and patted the hood, requesting that you hop up. You obliged and sat face to face with your best friend, the man you loved. He smiled and bit his bottom lip. "You're so pretty," he whispered before taking your face in his hands. "Hmm, you should see yourself," you hum.

"What? You think I look pretty?"

"I always think you look pretty."

You caress his face and look into his eyes. The two of you stare at each other for a beat. Ben quickly gazes at your lips, breaking eye contact first. Having had enough of the silence and suspense, he leans in and kisses you. You snatch his hat off and throw it on the windshield behind you to keep it from being awkward. Ben smiles against your lips. The kisses are soft, like he doesn't want to break you. His lips trace your cheeks, jawline, neck as you whisper sweet nothings in each other's ears.

"Could y'all get a room or something," a voice calls out, bringing you back to reality. Ben bristles, and you hide your face in the crook of his neck from embarrassment.

"Jesus Christ, Robert. Leave them alone; they're just kids. Besides, you're the one invading their privacy. This parking lot is empty, hon." The man mumbles something to his wife.

"Sorry, dears. This old man won't bother you anymore. Have fun," the lady says as she drags her husband to the ticket booth. You lift your head from Ben's shoulder and wave at her shrinking form. You turn back to Ben, who's trying his hardest to stifle his laughter, and you smile. "Here, I have a better idea," he says. Ben helps you down from the hood of the car and leads you to the rear door of your vehicle. You grabbed his hat off the windshield before either of you could forget. He opens the door and swivels his head to face you. "Only if you want, of course."

You looked down at the ground, suddenly shy, and nodded. "Yeah. I want to." Ben beamed at you before moving over to let you clamber in ahead of him. He climbs in and shuts the door behind you. Once again, you two are side by side, face to face. Ben's fingers snaked under your tank top and traced patterns on your lower back.

"So, what exactly is the plan," you asked softly, gazing into his eyes.

Ben leaned in to kiss your neck. "I was just going to figure it out as we went," he said, kissing behind your ear. "If that's ok."

"That's perfect," you hummed, running your hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. The two of you were in your own little world, and neither had to tell a soul. It would end up as just one more secret that your car would have to keep.

author's note: finally getting this out of my system lol. can't believe I wrote all of this, geez

[ferrstappen]

ur Grammy piece is sosos good!!!! May I request a Charles x actress reader for the Oscar’s?? Thankuuuu

thank you so much 💘 I’ll write a small blurb since my phone is dying, but thanks for requesting! Requests are open (Charles, Lando, George, Max… whoever you want)

AND THE OSCAR GOES TO

“Are you sure you want me to walk the red carpet with you? It’s your moment,” Charles asked you, his girlfriend, while his stylist fixed his tie.

Yes, the stylist was a must-have if he wanted to go with you to awards ceremonies. Both your managers agreed, much to Charles’ dismay.

“Yes, please stop asking me,” you snapped a bit, but immediately realized. “I’m sorry, Char. I’m just so nervous I want to cry and throw up,”

“Please don’t” your make up artist said while studying your face for any flaw on his work.

Everything went by quickly, as a black SUV picked you up, Charles tightly holding your hand as the both of you were dressed by Valentino from head to toe. You were trapped on a line of the same cars, screams from reporters and photographers could be heard even two blocks away.

“Bebé, did you bring your speech?” Charles asked, watching you down a glass of champagne, courtesy of Hollywood lifestyle.

You gulped: “I didn’t write it,”

“What?!” Charles asked, his accent getting thicker while his voice raised. “Chérie, what if you go on stage and forget what to say? We should write something now,” he started patting his pockets, even though he knew he wasn’t carrying anything.

“Honey, we both now I’m probably not gonna win. What am I even doing in the same category as Angela Bassett? How am I supposed to look people in the eye after I lose?” You said and Charles noticed you were really hyperventilating.

“Okay, okay… look at me” he squeezed your hand and carefully placed his thumb and index fingers on your chin. “You can win or lose, and you’re still gonna be the best, it doesn’t matter if you win,” he softly kissed your lips. “Why is it named the Oscars, anyway? Who was Oscar?” You laughed loudly at his question.

“I have absolutely no idea” you answered and now it was his turn to laugh, leaving one last kiss on your glossed lips.

“Why is this burning?” He asked placing a finger on his lips.

“Oh shit, baby this is a lip plumper, I’m so sorry” you laughed as he pouted and tried to rub it of.

—————————

“Here are the nominees for Best Supporting Actress,” Pedro Pascal smiled to the audience while the nominees appeared on the screen. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N), Women Talking”

You felt the camera on your face, but the only think you could focus on was Charles very tightly holding your hand, giving you his best smile, his eyes connecting with yours as the camera stopped focusing on the two of you for a couple of seconds

“I love you” he whispered, almost touching your lips as the attention returned to the presenter and the camera was on you again.

“And the Oscar goes to…”

[justafriendofxanders]

buffyverse eclipse poll can be sorted into the following categories:

"oh cool, there's an eclipse? where?" *looks up*

buffy

xander

cordelia

harmony

"the sun can't hurt me" *looks directly at the sun on purpose*

anya

spike

faith

illyria

"these are my specially crafted eclipse goggles that are worth as much as a new SUV, are illegal in 37 states, and make me utterly impervious to any forms of eye damage" *gets burned anyways*

willow

riley

*knew they shouldn't be looking at the sun but forgot*

angel

andrew

[female-malice]

Women's freedom of movement and freedom to cycle have been at the heart of feminism for 130 years

And men know this. And that is why they harass female cyclists. They want to intimidate us and keep us from claiming our freedom through cycling.

The most recent counts by the City of Portland estimate that only three out of every 10 bicycle riders are women and the gender split hasn’t budged since counting started in 2006. In east Portland, the City tabulated just 17% of all bike riders as women. As we ponder the reasons for this disparity, a survey has revealed one factor that’s causing it: the high rate of demeaning interactions and aggressive behaviors some women experience while riding.

A survey conducted in February by nonprofit BikeLoud PDX asked women to describe the worst or most common incident of abuse they’ve experienced while cycling. A shocking 311 out of the 329 women who answered that question reported some level of traumatic incident. The woman who led the survey project, Cathy Tuttle, analyzed the results and found that 229 respondents experienced a Level 3 Trauma (swearing, honking, catcalling, rolling coal, etc), 53 experienced a Level 2 Trauma (deliberate close pass, tailgating, menacing, etc), and 29 experienced a Level 1 Trauma (hit and run, throwing projectiles, aggressive stalking, etc) — the most severe category of abuse.

The vast majority of these aggressive behaviors came from people driving cars. Respondents said 88% of the aggressors were in cars, 7% were identified as homeless people and 5% were other bike riders.

In a summary of the survey results made public Monday, Tuttle shared several examples of the responses. I’ve pasted a few of them below:

A man screaming “get the f*ck off the road” repeatedly while I was cycling on a low traffic route downtown, revving their engine constantly and pulling up too close behind me. I finally got off the road, shaking and crying and called 911. The dispatcher told me there was “nothing we can do, it’s not illegal.” She didn’t want me to report the behavior, even though I had the license plate.

I had a driver stop to tell me that I needed a rear bike light so they could see me. I didn’t respond so the continued to verbally harass me. When the light changed they followed me and kept trying to yell at me. Eventually I came to park and biked into it so they couldn’t follow me. I was scared to bike for a while after that.

A woman yelling out her (passenger) side window “hit the bitch” after I pointed to the stop sign that they were rolling through when I had right of way.

Tuttle also included a longer response from someone who took the survey that is worth reading (edited slightly for brevity):

After he physically threatened me with his car, and after honking, I was told by a man, “I’m going to kill you the next time I see you” while I was biking — legally — on a typically busy (but not at all busy right then) 3 or 4-lane one-way road that has no cycling-specific infrastructure and doesn’t see much bike traffic, but which was at the time a crucial connector that I needed to be on to get across a freeway without going extremely far out of my way…

He didn’t yell it. He said it slowly, deliberately. I’ll never forget it. It wasn’t inflamed reactive rage; it was a slow, methodical, simmering threat. He looked right at me. I can still hear it many years later: I’m going to kill you. I’ve had men in SUVs and trucks deliberately swerve into me, almost, but not quite, hitting me more times than I can count. This is a cross-Oregon problem, in urban, suburban, ex-urban, and rural areas, all of which I’ve biked in extensively. I’ve been called a dumb c—, a stupid b—-, and other misogynist slurs, again, more times than I can count. I’ve also been treated to yelling misogyny from male street joggers, who run in the street against traffic all the way to the side of the road, right where cyclists typically are… This is weirdly common in Portland, and they are often very rhetorically and even physically aggressive. I’ve also been in collisions with street joggers, and their dogs, and I, the cyclist, have always been the more injured person, so it’s a real problem actually. I’ve encountered groups of 3 men jogging with 2 or 3 huge dogs who are taking up literally the entire street and are very aggressive when confronted with a cyclist — me, one woman — trying to get to work. Once I was biking to work in Portland with a male cyclist who was behind me, and a truck deliberately swerved into me at a high rate of speed to threaten me or worse, and the man who was biking behind me chased the driver down and yelled at him because he saw it all happen in a way I did not have the vantage to and he was pissed. The truck driver was likely annoyed by my male companion, who he encountered first, but didn’t do anything. Then when he encountered me, he became enraged and deliberately tried to intimidate me by swerving into me. If anything had “gone wrong,” I’d probably be dead now, due to the speed of the driver. Still have a pretty visceral reaction to light blue Leer-brand pick-up truck toppers to this day because of this decades-ago incident. None of these described incidents are rare, aberrant, unusual, or even, really, worthy of note anymore, but they’re the specific ones that come immediately to mind with no thought at all, but that are representative of a whole problem. They happen ALL THE TIME, for seemingly no reason often. The misogyny comes out almost immediately, reflexively. I feel that if a female cyclist doesn’t preemptively display deference to motorists — of any sex, but especially male — they will be targeted, and if we’re assertive, then all the more so. But cyclists need to be assertive to be safe. Male cyclists too often seem like they’re not our allies (aside form the aforementioned male cyclist — this was actually a rare instance in my experience). The dismissive ‘male glance’ is real, on the bike as in all of life. I can distinctly recall men realizing another cyclist (me, almost 50) is behind them, at a red light or whatever, and looking back, only to discover a woman who is older than he is, on a not-interesting-to-him bike, with no interesting blingy gear on it, and have him turn away, barely able to acknowledge I was there at all. What was he expecting to see? A sexualizable object young enough to be worthy of his attention? Men are far more sexist than they can admit. As many jobs become more gender-integrated, men find new ways to assert their male supremacy. There seems to me to be a distinct strain of “biking everywhere with no infrastructure makes me a man” in the Portland bike ecosystem and it’s detrimental to a lot of folks, not just adult women. We live in a deeply sexist society and misogynist backlash to feminist gains is observantly real across both dominant culture and most if not all subcultures. Women already experience this whether they have the interpretive lens to see it or not. Many women I know just don’t want to be extra-burdened by the physical and emotional danger of biking routinely for transportation, because they’re already burdened enough in a way men just aren’t.

The responses to this survey give us all a lot to think about and should add urgency to create a better cycling environment in Portland.

Tuttle based her survey on one conducted by the Women’s Freedom campaign in London. She said after hearing similar responses to their survey, bike advocates in London built an entire campaign around it with rides, petitions, letters to city council, etc.

What should Portland do to address this problem?

— Read the survey summary here.

[diocletianscabbagefarm]

Looking at comments in this silly bike helmet debate does show me how many people are used to painted bicycle gutters without separation from car traffic as the optimistic high end of cycling infrastructure.

I suspect helmets never caught on here (though the authorities are trying) because of a number of factors such as 1) overconfidence due to riding a bike - often alone - since being a preteen if not a toddler, to the point it’s second nature 2) most trips being short and a part of other activities such as riding two-three streets over to the local shop or public transport, rather than being classified as a separate category of activity like a sport, like “jogging” is different from walking. It strikes me that North-Americans often classify it more like a sport and I’ve heard multiple cycling advocates talk about the way this is a hurdle as cycling is dismissed by car drivers as a leisure activity rather than legitimate means of transport 3) the benefits of a helmet are seen as rather marginal because the streets are already pretty safe here (car fatalities occur at one tenth the rate they do in the US for example) because a) since the 70s Dutch street design has tried its best to physically separate bikes from the biggest danger on the road (cars) through segregated bike lanes, curbs, barriers and foliage in between. According to design guides mixing is only allowed in places where cars drive very slowly (30km/h, or about 19mph) and the volume of traffic is very low b) city design routes cars and bikes through different routes through the city to common destinations (the most direct route for a cyclist might be a straight shot through a residential neighborhood while the cars are routed along the highway around the city) to avoid them coming into conflict with each other. This is called “ontvlechten”, meaning ‘to disentangle’ c) most drivers are not overtly and actively hostile to cyclists. Almost all of them cycle too, so they tend to be aware and deferential to cyclists because they know what it’s like to be outside their steel cage.

Because of this, the hassle of using a helmet is likely seen as not really worth it, because the context doesn’t necessitate it as much. Here’s some typical Dutch street design.

Look at that sweet sweet separation.

I mean if I had to cycle on what passes for biking infrastructure in North America where you’re wedged on a tiny painted lane between SUVs trying to run you off the road for daring to infringe on their sacred asfalt while needing to go onto the road to circumvent rows of cars parked in the bike path, while trying not to get launched into the air like a SpaceX rocket due to potholes, before the bikelane inevitably simply ends and you need to bike on the road for a couple blocks before it resumes… I wouldn’t be wearing a helmet because I simply would not be fucking cycling at all.

[daisies-daydreams]

Angel in Red - Pt. 2 (Jason Todd x F!Reader)

Image Source(s): Pexels & DC Comics

Pairing: Jason Todd x F!Reader Category: Angst Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Depictions of Gun/Knife Violence, Blood/Gore, Kidnapping, Attempted Murder, Swearing Word Count: 2.8k+

Summary: Your actions from last night have endangered you. Will you be able to make it out of the mafia’s grasp?

A/N: Pt. 2 of @maybethatfanfictionwriter's request. I hope you enjoy!

Pt. 1 <- -> Pt. 3 (WIP)

You took a deep breath as you walked back from the bathroom. You looked down at your phone as you took your seat, tilting your head when you noticed that it seemed to slightly change from where you left it. You peeked behind your shoulder to see Sullivan still in a meeting with Montoya. A lump swelled in your throat as you opened a new text from an unknown number. 

“This is John, your driver. I’ll be waiting for you out front in a gray SUV” 

You liked his message before Montoya suddenly stomped out of Sullivan’s office and slammed the door behind her. Her nostrils flared as she gritted her teeth. 

“Are you alright?” you asked. She glanced over at you, her features softening as she sighed. 

“Sullivan just re-assigned me. And I was this close in getting a major break on the Marchetti case!” she scoffed as she stared into his office, the police chief busying himself on his computer. You frowned. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. Montoya sighed. 

“Not your fault, (L/N). It just doesn’t make any sense to me…” she shook her head as she walked away. You bit the inside of your cheek as you tapped your pen against the desk. While you were relieved that Sullivan didn’t have Montoya killed, the fact still remained: your boss was working with a major crime syndicate. You looked up at the clock hanging on a nearby wall.  

One more hour. 

Minutes seemed to crawl by as you filed paperwork and did other various clerical tasks. Your palms were sweaty by the time five o’clock hit, your mind racing as you tried to remain calm. You sighed as you shut down your computer and grabbed your purse.

“(Y/N),” Sullivan called from his office. You tensed, your body shaking a little as you slowly turned around. He motioned towards himself with his index finger. You swallowed thickly as you shuffled inside his office. 

“Yes, Chief Sullivan?” you asked as you gripped the strap of your purse. Your boss glanced over at his computer, then back to you, his gaze steely with a hint of suspicion. 

“I noticed the date on this form is incorrect. Could you please change it for me?” he asked as he slid a police report over to you. You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded. 

“Yes, sir. I’ll get it taken care of,” you said with a slightly nervous smile.

"Keep it together," you thought. He only grunted in reply as you shuffled out of his room and plopped yourself down at your desk. You quickly made the edit before stepping back inside. 

“Thank you,” Sullivan said. You nodded and turned around. “Oh, and one more thing,” he added, his voice calm and slow. You held your breath as you heard him stand up and lumber towards you. You nearly squeaked when he held his hand out. “You forgot your umbrella here last night,” he said with a soft grin. You felt the tension in your chest relax as you took it from him. 

“T-Thank you, sir,” you said. “Goodnight,” you added before shuffling your way down the hall. Almost there, just a bit further. Your heart glowed when you saw a gray SUV parked in front of the building. A thick sheet of rain drenched the cracked pavement before a sudden flash of lightning streaked across the sky. You shivered and opened your umbrella before stepping out, your heels clicking against the sidewalk as you made your way to the vehicle. 

You opened the door and threw your purse and umbrella over as you grinned at the driver. 

“Thanks again for picking me up,” you said as you climbed inside and shut the door behind you. “I’m sorry it took me a bit-” your eyes widened when you felt a cold blade held against your throat. Time seemed to slow down as you faintly heard the sound of the car doors locking while someone pulled a bag over your head.

“Drive!” a gruff voice behind you barked. The car lurched forward as you remained as still as a statue - your eyes wide and heart racing wildly. You hissed as someone roughly grabbed your arms and tightened a zip-tie around your wrists. You gasped when the man behind you dipped the tip of the knife between your clavicle.

"I say we kill the little bitch right now," a low, soft voice behind you lilted. You swallowed thickly as you felt him trace circles over your collarbone.

“You better not. The boss doesn’t want us to get the seats dirty,” the driver said, his voice deep and gravely. You shivered as you felt the knife disappear from your skin.

"Honestly, I wonder how you even made it into Marchetti's," a new voice sighed.

You couldn’t help the tears that fell down your burning cheeks as you desperately tried to think of something...anything to get out of this.

"Knock it off," the driver barked. The two men in the back settled down and shuffled in their seats. Your tears soaked the bottom of the sack as the space around you grew stuffier. You gasped when you heard something loud bang against the roof of the car.

"The hell was that?" one of the mobsters gawked. The sound of hail started to bang on top of the car before a roll of thunder cascaded down the streets of Gotham.

"Just the storm - don't be such a twat" the first voice taunted.

“Shut up, both of you. We’re almost there,” the driver said as the car slowed. The road grew bumpy as you kept your head low. Your heart sank as the car came to a slow stop.

"C'mon, princess," the second voice grunted into your ear as he popped the car seat out and roughly shoved you out of the car. You scowled and tried to flinch away, only to be hit on the back of your head. You yelped as he grabbed your wrists and dragged you through the cold, rainy night.

This was it - your forced footsteps bringing you closer to your demise. You heard the sound of a heavy door creak open before you were hastily shoved inside. The rain drummed on the roof above you as you heard the thud of their shoes surround your drenched form. You blinked as you heard the sound of a boat horn and seagulls squawking. 

"The docks?" you murmured to yourself. You hissed in pain as a heavy boot swung into your stomach. You coughed and fell onto your side while the men around you laughed, their dark chuckles sending chills down your spine.

"Can you believe this is the bitch who nearly ratted out Sullivan?” one of the men teased as he kicked you again.

"Stop it!" you wheezed as a sharp pain ran through your side. Your heart stopped when you heard the click of a gun.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart…it’s almost over,” the first voice “comforted” in a venomous voice. You squeezed your eyes shut as you clenched your fists, your heart pounding inside your ears and drowning out any noise surrounding you. You waited for the split second pain that would shoot through your skull…but it never came. Instead, you heard the sound of gasping. 

“What the fuck?!” one of the mobsters yelled before the sound of a punch being thrown echoed through the room.

“S-Shit, it’s Red Hood!” one of the other men stammered. Your jaw dropped as you laid on your side.

“What the fuck are you doing?! Shoot him!” the first voice barked. You yelped when the sound of gunshots rang out, followed by the sudden noise of more punches being thrown. You tried to scramble away from the chaos, your bag falling off of your head in the process. You blinked as the fight continued, men grunting and groaning while you squirmed behind a large crate. You panted as you sat yourself up, your head pounding while you snagged the tail of your restraints between your teeth. 

The sound of something cracking made you flinch as you tightened the zip tie before holding your hands above your head. You squeezed your eyes shut before bringing your clenched fists into your stomach. You huffed as the tie suddenly snapped, another sharp wave of pain rolling through your abdomen. You gasped when one of the men suddenly flew over the crate and slammed against the wall, his gun sliding across the dirty warehouse floor and next to your feet. 

You turned when you heard a new voice suddenly groan in pain. 

“Thought you were so tough, huh?” the driver’s voice chuckled. You bit your lip as you gazed down at the gun gleaming beneath the red exit light. You slowly picked up the weapon before peeking around the corner. You gasped when you saw how huge the driver was: a hulking man who lumbered towards the vigilante crumpled on the floor. You furrowed your brows when you watched the driver kick Red Hood in the spine, the masked man grunting and writhing in pain. 

“I’m afraid this is your last fight with the Marchetti’s,” the driver sneered as he aimed his gun at the vigilante’s head. You suddenly pulled your gun up and fired without a thought. The gunshot rang out through the large room as the driver yelped, the bullet grazing over his shoulder. You remained glued to the floor as you dropped the gun with a clatter.

The Red Hood quickly rolled over and shot the man in the arm, crimson spraying across the floor in a filthy splatter. You didn’t even hear yourself scream as the driver wailed in pain and clutched his arm. You trembled as you slowly sank to your knees, the masked man groaning as he slowly rolled back up and grabbed the mobster by the collar of his dark coat.

“Go tell Marchetti that I’m coming for him next,” he growled in a low, husky voice. The driver’s eyes grew wide before he quickly nodded. He scrambled out the door, his blood trickling across the pavement before he started the car and drove off. 

You felt your heart drop into your stomach when the Red Hood turned his unreadable gaze towards you. Your chest felt unbearably tight as your knees shook. 

“P-Please, don’t shoot me,” you sobbed as you shrank beneath his gaze. The muscular man before you rose to his feet as he silently stared you down. You flinched when you felt his shadow loom over you, his breathing ragged as he stood tall before you. 

You blinked as he knelt down in front of you, his hands draped over his thighs. You recoiled as he reached his hand out, your breath shaky as he wiped a tear from your cheek. 

“Are you alright?” he asked in a hushed voice. You blinked and raised your head ever so slightly. The sound of police sirens rang in the distance before you could reply. The masked man whipped his head around before raising to his feet. He grunted and held his lower back before turning back to you. 

"Thank you...” he said in a gruff, albeit hesitant, tone. You nodded and felt your stomach twist into a sickening knot when you saw a body lying against the wall. You blinked and looked around when you noticed that he disappeared from the room. Your heart still pounded as several officers suddenly kicked the door open and filed into the building. 

“HANDS UP! GCPD!” an officer barked. You instantly shot your hands in the air as they all pointed their guns at you. 

Your eyes widened as Commissioner Gordon stepped through, his thick brows furrowed as he met your gaze. He slowly lowered his gun as all color drained from his face.

“(Y/N)?” he murmured. 

----

Thank you for reading! ❤️

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[pathologicalreid]

could you write fem!BAU!reader x spencer, where reader finds out she’s pregnant while they’re on a case, like maybe she takes a test when she’s at the hotel and spencer hasn’t come back yet

(lack of) convenience | S.R.

who? spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader category: fluff content warnings: pregnancy, nausea, vomiting, spencer reid is unfortunately perfect. vertigo. fun pregnancy symptoms. word count: 2.04k a/n: and so, the spencer reid dilf agenda continues. this is my legacy.

It came over you just after Spencer and Rossi had left to investigate a lead. This case was going nowhere fast, and the morale in the FBI field office clearly displayed it. “Are you alright?” JJ asked from right next to you, blonde hair curtaining around her face.

You nodded tightly, enough to show the newly minted profiler that you were, in fact, not alright. Nonetheless, you were motivated to push through. People were being murdered, you could brave a little vertigo to bring their killer to justice, right?

“Hey, you look a little pale,” Emily said, walking into the conference room with Hotch trailing close behind her. “Are you feeling okay?”

Rolling your eyes dramatically, you huffed at both of your coworkers. “I’m fine,” you insisted while your head was spinning. You lowered yourself down into an office chair, hoping that being sedentary would prevent your dinner from coming up.

Emily looked over at Hotch before saying, “Maybe you should head back to the hotel, it’s been a long day for all of us.”

Furrowing your brow, you frowned at your colleague. “I’ll make it through, we have work to do,” you insisted, flipping open a file as your stomach churned.

“You’re no help to anyone if you’re sick,” Hotch told you authoritatively, and you knew from his tone that he was going to send you back to the hotel. “Get some rest, we’ll start taking breaks in shifts,” he instructed, turning back to the evidence board.

It didn’t feel like shifts, especially considering you were the only one being cast off. You mumbled an acknowledgment while you stuffed your things in your bag. JJ offered to drive you, so the two of you exited the field office.

The two of you spent most of the ride in silence, just the fuzz of the SUV’s radio as background noise while you tried not to hurl in the government vehicle.

Once you were in the hotel parking lot, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to get your bearings before heading inside. “You know, I used to get sick in the evening when I was pregnant with Henry,” she said offhandedly.

It felt like a pointed comment, even if she didn’t mean it like that. You started fishing in your pocket for your room card, “But I’m not pregnant.”

“Are things good with you and Spencer?” She asked, looking for details on your relationship like an older sister. JJ killed the engine before turning to face you.

Sighing, you looked at her, “Things are great with Spencer.” You wanted to scold her for prying, but you knew it was an occupational hazard. It had been seven months, and all you had been telling anyone was “great” or “nice.”

The both of you knew that the more details you gave them, the more they’d want to pry. Penelope especially. “You know he wants kids, right?” She pushed.

You frowned at her, “Jennifer.” She put her hands up in surrender as you hauled yourself out of the SUV, “I just want to go to sleep, I feel awful.” That much was true, as you stood up outside the car, your stomach started to roil again.

“I’ll check in on you later,” she said, recognizing that she had begun to pry. “Let me know if you need anything,” she urged you, the mom in her coming into play.

Nodding, you shut the door before poking your head in the open window, “Thanks, JJ.” You said, turning around and walking to your hotel room.

Luckily, the team was already checked in, so you didn’t need to waste time trying to explain the whole ‘I’m an FBI agent’ thing to the front desk. Once you got into your room, you immediately dropped to your knees in front of the toilet, eyes burning as you upchucked into the toilet.

While you were digging through your go-bag for your toothbrush, you found yourself thinking about what JJ had said to you in the car. You couldn’t be pregnant. Well, you supposed you very well could be pregnant.

Sighing, you returned to the bathroom and started brushing your teeth, having needed to take the toothpaste out of Spencer’s bag. You made a mental note to buy more for your bag – you had been using his for the last four cases.

You silently cursed JJ for planting the thought of a baby in your head as you stared out the hotel window to a convenience store on the corner. At the very least, you could get some saltines and a Gatorade. At the very most, you could get a test.

Begrudgingly, you changed into more comfortable clothes and walked across the street to the convenience store. Grabbing a sleeve of crackers and a drink before stopping in the family planning section.

Why were there so many options?

Not wanting to draw any attention to yourself, you grabbed a digital test off of the shelf and tossed it into your basket. Your shoes squeaked on the linoleum floors as you elected to use the self-checkout, not needing to provide anyone with a front seat to your misery.

Other than the nausea, your trip back to the hotel was uneventful, and thankfully it didn’t look like anyone else on the team had made the trip to your lodging.

After you took the test, you set a timer on your phone, tossing it onto the bed before you sat on the edge of the mattress, sitting on your freshly washed hands. The timer scared you when it went off, not expecting the two minutes to go by so quickly before you returned to the bathroom.

Flipping the test over, the wind was knocked out of you as you read the results.

Yes +

You didn’t know how long you had stared at the test, but the sound of the lock on your door engaging pulled you out of your stupor. Thankfully, you had done the latch on the door, so you had a few extra minutes to toss the test in your go-bag before you went up to the door and let Spencer in.

“Hey, love,” he greeted you, dropping a kiss on your forehead. “How are you feeling?” He asked caringly, someone must’ve told him you weren’t well. You hoped that was all they had told him.

Humming, you leaned into his touch for a moment before he herded you to the bed. “A bit better, but not much,” you were slightly less nauseous now, possibly because there was nothing left in your stomach. There was a dull ache in your chest though, likely a result of the information you were now aware of.

He hooked a finger under your chin and studied your features for a moment, “Were you crying?” He whispered with concern-filled eyes.

You shook your head, “I threw up.” You informed him, the lack of oxygen had caused your eyes to water – similar to a yawn. Meanwhile, your head was spinning as the words balanced precariously on your tongue, I’m pregnant.

Spencer pouted sympathetically, smoothing your hair away from your face before he felt your forehead, checking for a fever. “I’m going to take a shower,” he announced softly, “do you need anything?”

Pathetically, you gestured over to your Gatorade and saltines, silently letting him know that you were all good for the night. It was only about eight in the evening, but you were exhausted. Letting your head flop onto the pillows, you sighed before shutting your eyes.

“Hey, Y/N,” Spencer spoke up in an unfamiliar tone. “What is this?”

Crinkling your nose in frustration, you propped yourself up on your elbows, looking over at Spencer as he held up your test. Your positive pregnancy test. “Would you believe me if I told you it wasn’t mine?” Clearly, in your panic to hide the test, you had tossed the blue stick in Spencer’s bag. Your subconscious must’ve recalled that you had gotten the toothpaste out of that bag, so you thought it was yours.

Any confusion fell from his face, and in that instant, he knew exactly what was going on. “You’re pregnant?”

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, you couldn’t tell how he was feeling. “I-“ you swallowed thickly, the roiling in your stomach picking back up again. “Yes,” you answered in a small voice.

“When were you going to tell me?” He asked, there was no accusation in his voice, just pure curiosity and wonder. When you stayed silent, his eyes narrowed, “You were going to tell me, weren’t you?” He said, his volume raising from a whisper to a normal speaking level.

Pulling yourself up into a sitting position, you protectively crossed your arms in front of your stomach. “Oh my god, yes, I was going to tell you,” you clarified quickly. He didn’t seriously think you were going to hide this from him, did he?

He shook his head in confusion, “Then why hide it, angel?”

Shrugging, you thumbed the soft fabric of your sweatshirt, “I wanted time to think about it.” The admission hung in the thick tension of the hotel room.

“Okay,” he said slowly, walking over and sitting across from you on the mattress. It was clear to you that he was dealing with this situation delicately. “I don’t know if I’ve ever told you about this, but I excel in thinking,” he told you.

His implications were clear to you, he wanted you to talk it out with him. “I want kids, you know I want kids. I know you want kids,” you blurted. It was something you had talked about early on in your relationship. Spencer had been very upfront with you about wanting children, he told you he needed to be with someone who also wanted that.

Spencer tilted his head to the side, “but?” He said gently, taking both of your hands in his, holding on to you.

“It’s too soon,” you whispered, feeling vulnerable on the bed with him.

He smiled at you softly, “Have I ever told you about the first time I knew that I was in love with you?”

The question left you understandably confused, “What?” You breathed, silently pleading for clarification.

Spencer nodded, “We were on a case in North Dakota, and there was this little girl who had just lost both of her parents.” The case did sound familiar, the more brutal ones involving children tended to stick with you. “We were waiting for a social worker to come stay with her, but they were stuck in a snowbank across town. Instead of working on the case, you sat down with her and taught her how to play cat’s cradle.” His voice was soft, almost placating you.

You hadn’t even realized you were crying until tears fell onto your intertwined hands, “Spence, that was years ago.”

“Two years, nine months, and thirteen days ago. I fell in love with you while watching you put a smile on her face despite the fact that it was the worst day of her life,” he said, skimming the pads of his thumbs over the backs of your hands. “I fell in love with your ability to make people feel good when the world is against them,” he murmured.

Taking a shaky breath, you looked up at him through bleary eyes, “What if we can’t protect them?”

Gathering you in his arms, Spencer let you tuck your face in the crook of his neck, “I’ll do whatever you want, Y/N. We can leave, I could be a professor and you could be a stay-at-home mom. If you want, I could stay with the BAU and you could stay home, or you can stay with the team, and I’ll stay home. Whatever you want, Y/N.”

Silently, you absorbed his words as you caught your breath, “I’m scared” you whispered.

“I know,” he murmured, “that’s okay. It’s okay to be scared.” He tightened his arms around you and rocked back and forth.

Allowing yourself to lean into him, you breathed him in, “You’re going to be such a good dad.”

He dropped a soft kiss on the crown of your head, “You’re already such a good mom.”

[darkeagleruins]

More EV disaster:

"Ford Motor is canceling plans for a large electric sport-utility vehicle and expects to take $1.9 billion in related special charges and write-downs, as automakers continue adjusting their EV plans because of softer-than-expected demand. The Dearborn, Mich., automaker said it is scrapping plans for an electric three-row SUV, citing tough pricing pressure as automakers resort to aggressive discounts to move their EVs. This spring, Ford had said it would delay the plans by two years to a 2027 release date. Ford instead will offer a hybrid gas-electric version of a future large, three-row SUV, a popular vehicle category that includes the brand’s Explorer and Expedition nameplates."

[leiawritesstories]

Stick Season (Part 2)

masterlist

Rowaelin Month, Day 7: Vacation/Outdoors

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: bickering cousins, couple of swear words, one healthy serving of angst

Enjoy! (?)

@rowaelinscourt

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present

The Whitethorn horde blew into Doranelle, Vermont, like a Category 4 blizzard, albeit a very welcome one. Rowan felt like he’d barely woken up and downed his first cup of coffee before there was a rigorous pounding on his front door and he looked out the kitchen window to find an entire caravan of silver vehicles filling his front yard as if it was a parking lot. 

“We know you’re home, Ro-Ro!” Sellene yelled from the porch. “You can’t hide from Christmas forever, and besides, you invited us!” 

“Calm down, LeLe,” Rowan drawled, opening the door to a flock of bright green eyes, blonde hair, and layers of winter clothing. “Nobody said you had to show up at eight in the bloody morning.” 

“It’s ten-thirty,” she retorted. 

“Same difference.” He easily lifted the two large suitcases she was rolling and headed for the guest rooms. “It’s too early.” 

“You never were a morning person.” She flicked on the bedroom lights. “Just leave them by the window.” 

He put the suitcases down and made a quick stop to pull on his jacket before heading out to the neatly parked rows of cars, where he found his closest (in age) cousin struggling to maneuver luggage out of his SUV. “The dealerships called, Enda. They’re out of silver paint.” 

“What can I say?” Endymion Whitethorn shrugged, far too charming for his own good. “We’ve always liked our family colors.” 

“Doesn’t mean we have to drive around in matching cars like some kind of hippie mission church,” Rowan deadpanned. 

Enda snorted with laughter. “Gods, I’ve missed you.” He pulled Rowan into a brief, tight hug. “How are you? How’s the property? How’s…everything?” 

“Property’s fine, I’m too damn tired for this chaos, and everything is fine.” 

“I’m sure it is.” The dryness of Enda’s voice rivaled the Sahara Desert. 

“Don’t get any romantic ideas,” Rowan warned, only half teasing. Last Christmas, he’d lost a bet to Enda, who’d then set him up on a spectacularly awful date with a shrewish woman named Remelle– “but you can call me Remy”–an event that soured his memory every time he recalled that evening. 

“I would never,” Enda said, drawing out the never into a long, supposedly innocent singsong.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “And I’m the Queen of England.” He snickered at the outraged expression on his cousin’s face and picked up a duffle bag and a couple of crates full of brightly wrapped gifts. “Your car won’t unload itself, you know.” 

“Remind me why I put up with this bullshit,” Enda grumbled. 

Passing by just in time to hear the curse word, Sellene swatted Enda upside the head. “There are children present!” 

“Oh please, your kids were swearing before they spoke full sentences.” 

She huffed. “And it’s no wonder, considering that their uncles have such foul mouths.” Fondly, she rolled her eyes at Enda, who was still hopelessly attempting to maneuver one suitcase out from the bottom of the luggage piled in the trunk. “You’ll get unpacked a lot faster if you don’t try to play Suitcase Jenga. Here, let me.” 

He grumbled something about her being interfering but stepped aside and let her expertly dismantle the pile of suitcases. “Thanks, Sel.” 

“You’re welcome.” She blew him an air kiss. “How two men and a puppy manage to have more crap packed in their car than me and my whole family, I’ll never understand.” 

“That’s because my husband and I care about looking our best, thank you very much.” Enda flipped his shoulder-length hair, picked up a few of his bags, and sauntered off towards the house. 

“Would it be rude of me to say ‘yes, queen?’” Rowan murmured into Sellene’s ear. 

She burst into shaking, wheezing laughter. “Oh gods,” she gasped. “I think I peed myself a little.” She smacked his shoulder, though between her winter gloves and his thick parka, it didn’t do much  damage. “You’d better let that sense of humor loose at least a few times, Ro-Ro, or we’ll be forced to believe you aren’t actually human.” 

“Piss off,” he grumbled, but he was laughing. “I’m glad you’re here, Sel.” 

“I’m glad you let the horde of heathens come to your place again after what happened last year,” she quipped. “I thought for sure we’d be banished to Ellys’s place for Christmas vacation.” 

“Ellys can barely host a birthday party, let alone multiple nights with the whole Whitethorn family. It’s better if everyone crashes here; there’s more space.” 

“Plus we can always pitch tents in the yard.” 

“This is true.” He winked. “I think we should make that the punishment for the loudest ones.” 

“Deal.” Sellene bumped her gloved fist into his. “Fifty bucks says it’ll be Fenrys and whoever he brings home for the holidays.” 

“Why do I let him come to my house?” Rowan sighed. 

“Tradition,” both he and his cousin chorused. 

Sellene snickered. “Alright, I’m going to go control my wild children.” 

“Too late,” Rowan called. “They’ve already found the hot cocoa.” 

~

“Thank you for visiting Orynth Shelves! Happy holidays!” Aelin waved cheerfully to the most recent customer, turned back to the mercifully empty desk, and exhaled a deep sigh of relief. The day had been absolutely insane, packed full of holiday shoppers ranging from sweet elderly ladies to rambunctious kids who tried to climb the bookshelves and tracked wet slush everywhere. She had just turned around to steal two minutes of peace and quiet when the bells on the front door jingled and she had to turn back around, paint her customer service smile on her face, and– “Sellene?” 

“Aelin?” Sellene Whitethorn looked just as shocked as Aelin felt. 

“In the flesh.” Aelin shrugged. “Here I am, back in my hometown. Crazy, right?” 

“It’s…unexpected,” Sellene admitted. “But damn, it’s so good to see you again, Aelin.” 

Aelin rounded the desk and accepted Sellene’s brief hug. “It’s great to see you too. Are you looking for something in particular, or just browsing?” 

“Hmm, I think I’ll just browse.” Sellene grinned. “You never know what you’ll find during the holidays, right?” 

“Right.” Aelin gestured towards the shelves. “Happy hunting! If you’re interested, though, there’s a special winter section in the feature corner, and I’ve stocked it with as many cute little holiday romances as I could find.” She wiggled her eyebrows. 

“Say no more!” Sellene hurried off towards the seasonal display. 

Aelin laughed to herself and returned to the desk. Even after a number of years, she still remembered how much Sellene Whitethorn adored holiday romances. It had been one of their shared interests when they’d first met–way back in high school–and she could recall the exact expression on Sellene’s face when she realized how many books (and book boyfriends) they had in common. 

One Christmas, Sellene had even taken Rowan (her “hopelessly clueless cousin”) to the bookstore to buy Aelin’s present. With her guidance, Rowan had bought Aelin a complete set of her favorite small-town romance series and written sweet little messages in each book’s cover. 

Aelin still had those books. They lived in an unlabeled tote in her spare room. 

She shook away the ache of that memory, pushing it back into the deep recesses of her mind where it belonged, and grinned as Sellene walked up to the register with a small stack of books in her arms. 

“I was expecting more than that,” she teased as she rang up the books. 

Sellene laughed. “Well, I’m on a budget–”

“Bullshit, it’s Christmas.” 

“Fair enough. I’m on a book-buying budget, and I can’t exactly gift these to anyone in my family.” With a suggestive smirk, she passed Aelin one of the books. 

Screwing Mr. Scrooge, proclaimed the title. 

Aelin snorted with laughter. “Yeah, maybe don’t make that someone’s present.” 

“I’m only buying it because my husband and I–”

“And that’s where you can stop,” Aelin interrupted, pretending to gag and swatting Sellene playfully with the book. “My gods, Sellene!” 

Sellene giggled. “Alright, I’ll spare you the details.” She winked as she took out her credit card and tapped it to the card reader. “You’re in publishing, right?” 

“Yep.” 

“Then you definitely know what happens when readers who have a significant other find a spicy scene they like.” 

“Doesn’t mean I need to have firsthand knowledge,” Aelin teased. “There you go, Sellene. Enjoy the rest of your vacation!” 

“Thanks!” Sellene zipped up her thick parka jacket. Almost at the front door, she paused and turned back to Aelin. “Hey, I had a thought.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Well, I don’t want you to be here alone, least of all during Christmas–” 

“Oh, don’t worry about me.” Aelin waved off the protest. “I’m with Dad, and Aedion’s here too. I’m not going to be alone on Christmas.” 

“Still, the invitation stands.” Sellene continued as if Aelin hadn’t spoken. “I want to invite you to come over to the Whitethorn place. We haven’t seen you in far too long, and the whole family is here, even the little ones. Plus, I’m sure Rowan wants to see you…” 

She kept going, but Aelin no longer heard anything she was saying. The mere mention of the name Rowan had consumed her. Rowan wants to see you. 

How could he? 

Until the other week outside Staghorns, they hadn’t spoken in three years. How could he possibly want to see her? 

She’d been the one to leave. 

~

Three Years Ago

Aelin slowed down and turned onto the long, painstakingly cleared driveway of her family home and drove up the asphalt pathway until she reached the turnaround in front of the sprawling, elegant redbrick structure that was the Galathynius home. She parked, turned off the engine, and sat in the driver’s seat for a long, achingly silent moment. 

Then she dried her tears, checked her reflection in the rearview mirror to make sure there was no evidence that she’d been sobbing for the last fifteen minutes, and exited her car. 

With her suitcase behind her and her tote bag slung neatly over her shoulder, Aelin walked up the front steps and entered the two-story atrium of the house’s front hall. “Hello?” she called. Part of her hoped–desperately–that there would be nobody home. 

But with a soft rustle of cashmere and a gentle tap-tap-tap of heeled pumps, Evalin Ashryver appeared at the top of the grand staircase. “Hello, darling.” 

“Mother.” Aelin set her luggage aside and crossed the foyer, meeting her mother in the middle and accepting a perfunctory hug and air kiss. 

“How was the drive?” Evalin inquired. 

“Smooth,” Aelin replied. “The traffic disappeared after I left the city.” 

“Funny how that happens.” Evalin pressed the buzzer on the wall, summoning the housekeeper that the family apparently still employed. “Clara, would you please take my daughter’s things to her room?” She dismissed the housekeeper and led Aelin towards the family living room.

Aelin bit her tongue to hold back all the things she wanted to spew. She’d been trying for years (without success) to convince her mother that there was no need to keep on a full-time housekeeper and butler. A cook she understood, and a groundskeeper, but Rhoe and Evalin were the only ones who lived in that huge house anymore. They didn’t need staff for everything they did. 

“So pleased that you were able to come home this early,” Evalin said. 

Aelin returned her attention to her mother. “Yes, I managed to take a more flexible holiday vacation.” Her lips quirked upwards. “I suppose the promotion helped.” 

“The promotion?” 

“Didn’t I tell you? I was promoted to editor in November.” Aelin couldn’t control the proud smile that curved across her face. 

Evalin beamed. “I’ll never know why it took your firm so long to realize that you’re the most competent person there. Congratulations, darling.” She squeezed Aelin’s hand, her own hand cold. “An editor at only twenty-four. Next up, editor in chief, right?” 

“Perhaps,” Aelin concurred. “But–”

“Rhoe, dear!” Evalin called, unaware that her daughter was speaking. “We have news!” 

Rhoe strode into the living room with a broad, genuine smile on his face and pulled Aelin into a powerfully warm hug. “Welcome home, Fireheart.” 

“Hi, Dad.” She grinned up at him. “I have news.” 

“So your mother tells me.” He took a seat in one of the comfortable armchairs. “Well?” 

“I’ve been promoted to editor as of last month.” 

“Congratulations!” Rhoe got to his feet and wrapped his daughter in an embrace, then went over to the bar built into one side of the room and retrieved a small bottle of champagne and three flutes. “This calls for a toast!” 

“Really, Rhoe,” Evalin tutted, frowning at her husband as he poured the champagne and handed out the glasses. “It’s barely even four o’clock.” 

“It’s a perfectly reasonable occasion for a toast,” Rhoe returned. He pressed Aelin’s glass into her hand, giving her a look of reassurance. “To our Fireheart, the editor!” 

Aelin grinned at her father, clinked her glass gently against his, and took a delicate sip of the expensive champagne; of course her parents would only stock the finest in their fridge. “Thanks, Dad.” 

“Darling, haven’t we discussed how mature women ought to be past the point of referring to their parents in childish ways?” Evalin’s tone was cool, reproving. 

The champagne curdled in Aelin’s stomach. Silently, she placed her glass down on the granite bartop. “I was unaware that there were politically correct terms for one’s own parents.” She kept her voice light, but her spine stiffened into steel, preparing for the inevitable onslaught of her mother’s disapproval. 

“As an editor, surely you understand the value of adjusting language to fit the appropriate categorization and age range,” Evalin stated. “The same principle ought to apply to all areas of speech, darling. Furthermore, your father would never allow his employees to address him as ‘Rhoe,’ so why should his daughter address him that casually?” 

“Perhaps for the fact that she is his daughter.” It was Rhoe who spoke, his words laced with the underlying note of command that marked him as the incredibly successful businessman he was. Subtly, he moved closer to Aelin, acting both as a shield between her and Evalin and as an extinguisher to the brewing flames of both women’s wrath. 

Aelin exchanged a look of deepest gratitude with her father and turned to leave the room. Before she was out the door, though, she heard her mother whispering heatedly, tearing into Rhoe for the simple act of defending his only daughter. 

“I will not have you come between my daughter and I when I am speaking!” Evalin hissed. “I am her mother, and you know full well that we hardly get the chance to see her. You cannot deprive me of the time I need to spend with her on the rare occasion that she’s home, you callous–” 

Aelin wheeled around and stalked over to Evalin, fire blazing in the gold of her eyes. “If anyone is callous, Mom, it’s you.” Vehemence threw her words like spears. “Or were you conveniently going to forget that you interrupted my call with Rowan while I was driving because you needed to remind me that I’m a pathetic excuse of a daughter for wanting to see my boyfriend for two minutes before I come home?” Her breath was ragged. “Well, you’ll be delighted to know that I broke up with him.” 

Evalin’s jaw went slack. “I–” 

“You got your wish, Mother.” Aelin laughed, sardonically. “I’m home for dinnertime.” 

Turning sharply on her heel, she stalked out of the room, leaving behind her shell-shocked father and her mother stunned silent for once as she processed the truth her daughter had just flung. She kept her composure all the way up to her bedroom, where she entered the room and locked the door behind herself. 

Then Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, unflappable editor, crumpled to the floor and sobbed.

~~~

TAGS: please let me knof if you want to be added/removed ir if tags aren't working! :)

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[heathermarielocke]

Breaking Down the Factors That Affect Market Perception in Auto Transport

Market Value Over Time

Resale value is a critical factor when purchasing a vehicle, as it represents the predicted market value of a car, truck, or SUV at the time of sale. It is essential to understand that a new car that depreciates faster than its competitors can lead to a lower trade-in value, potentially costing the owner more in the long run if they owe more than the vehicle's worth on a long-term loan. According to Kelley Blue Book's Best Resale Value Awards, vehicles that maintain the highest 5-year residual values, expressed as a percentage of their original Manufacturer's Suggested Retail Price (MSRP), are recognized for their ability to retain value. These awards are determined by experienced automotive analysts who utilize extensive data, including millions of transactions, vehicle specifications, economic conditions, and auction results, to predict and track vehicle depreciation effectively.

Brands like Lexus and Audi consistently rank near the top for value retention in the luxury segment, indicating that these vehicles are likely to depreciate less over time compared to others.

Conversely, brands such as Jaguar, Land Rover, and Volvo may struggle with maintaining high resale values, especially when compared to high-volume models like the Honda Civic or Toyota Sienna.

Brand Prestige and Consumer Perception

Brand perception significantly influences a vehicle's market value and resale potential. Consumers' perceptions are shaped by direct and indirect experiences with the brands, and this perception influences their decision-making process.

For instance, Lexus is often seen as the epitome of high resale value, which enhances its appeal among luxury buyers who consider future trade-in values.

On the other hand, mainstream car buyers who have experienced strong resale values with brands like Honda or Toyota may find the depreciation rates of luxury brands like Jaguar or Volvo less appealing.

The automotive industry's perception is also affected by factors such as safety, reliability, and operating costs. Dramatic events, such as Toyota's large-scale recalls, have been shown to impact brand perception negatively, affecting resale values.

Conversely, brands that manage to maintain strong safety reputations, like Volvo, despite challenges, can sustain their position in the market.

However, as consumer preferences evolve and more brands begin to excel in multiple categories, the perceived difference between top car brands and challengers is diminishing, making the competition for high resale value more intense.

In summary, understanding the factors that influence resale value and consumer perceptions can guide consumers in making informed purchasing decisions that consider both immediate benefits and long-term financial implications.

Making the Right Choice for Your Needs

Assessing Personal Needs and Preferences

When selecting the right vehicle for city driving, it is crucial to assess personal needs and preferences thoroughly. One should consider how the vehicle aligns with their lifestyle, budget, and driving conditions they frequently encounter.

For individuals residing in urban areas, factors like vehicle size, maneuverability, and fuel efficiency take precedence. Compact cars with a tight turning radius are particularly advantageous in cities, where parking spaces are scarce, and streets are narrow.

Understanding one's commitment to vehicle maintenance is essential. A car is not merely a tool for transportation; it reflects one's responsibility and care. Regular maintenance such as timely oil changes and adherence to service schedules extends the lifespan of the vehicle and ensures reliable performance. Prospective buyers should ponder whether they are prepared to maintain a luxury car, which often requires more attention and higher costs, or if an affordable, reliable model better suits their practical needs.

For finding a reliable and responsible auto transport services, you can browse around this website. Lucky Star Auto Transport provide a professional car shipping services in California and nationwide. They offer direct car shipping guide, with fully insured car carriers and transporters that are reviewed for excellent service and competitive prices.

[tessa-liam]

Marabelle

Marabelle 

-4- The Beaumont Bash 

Book: Choices – The Royal Romance, an AU series 

Series Premise: An American teenager from New York City is introduced to the world of a small European country and its society of royalty, nobles, and commoners. How will her life story be transformed? Will this new adventure bring her happiness...or regret? 

Catch up: Masterlist 

Main Pairing: Liam Rys x F!OC Sophia (Sophie) 

Other Pairing: Maxwell Beaumont x M!OC Daniel (from NYC) 

                           Drake Walker x F!OC Melanie Smithson 

All characters belong to Pixelberry, except Sophia Taylor, Bethany Beaumont, Melanie Smithson, Tyler Gregson (Liam’s assistant), Elena (dress shop attendant) 

Rating: M*🔞Warnings: this series will have NSFW material, crude language. Not Beta’d: Please excuse all errors. 

Category: Alternate Universe/on-going series/angst/fluff 

Words: 2173

-4- The Beaumont Bash 

Chapter Summary: Sophie prepares for her first Beaumont Bash and is introduced to Bertrand’s love interest/Drake’s sister/future ally, Savannah Walker. 

Music Inspiration: Just the Way You Are, Bruno Mars 

   Love Story, Taylor Swift 

 A/N1: This is my submission for Choices April Challenge @choicesmonthlychallenge @lovealexhunt @aprilchallenge prompts, love is in the air, dinner, flower crown #april challenge 

A/N2: This is my submission for @choicesflashfics Week#30, Prompt3-  “That’s how the story goes.” 

A/N3: Bethany Beaumont, Maxwell’s mother, is originally from the US: is Barthelemy Beaumont’s 2nd wife. Annabelle Beaumont (deceased) was Bertrand’s mother. 

A/N4: Social Season in this AU series refers to a traditional period in the spring/summer for royalty and members of the court to take part in balls, dinner parties and charity events. 

A/N5: Thank you @peonierose for the inspirational quote!

Cordonian Capital...

It was a cloudy Tuesday morning in the Capital, which meant it was a good day to spend shopping. Keeping her promise to take her niece to the shopping district, Bethany smiled watching Sophie's excitement as the driver turned the Escalade SUV into the parking lot of an upscale formal wear boutique and parked alongside the floor to ceiling display window. 

“Duchess Bethany, good morning,” the elegant shop owner walked up to Sophie’s aunt in greeting as they entered the building. “This must be Lady Sophia, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”  

Gazing at the display mannequins, Sophie turned and smiled, greeting the well-dressed woman. 

“Hello, good morning; your dresses are gorgeous!” 

“Thank you, I have taken the liberty of pre-selecting a sampling of the latest trending styles for you and placed them in the dressing room. My assistant is at your service this morning for whatever you need. I am sure that you will find the perfect dress for the occasion.”  

A petite woman appeared alongside a Sophie. “Please follow me, my lady,” the shop tailer smiled. “My name is Elena.” 

*** 

After trying on several styles and colors, the dress she fell in love with was a deep burgundy red, an A-line V-neck asymmetrical satin dress. 

Standing on the pedestal inside the dressing room of the boutique, Sophie looked at her reflection in the three-way full length mirror, critically. 

“Auntie, I found my dress! What do you think?” 

Sophie took a selfie and sent it off to Daniel for his opinion. 

“Oh, my dear, it’s lovely! That color flatters your complexion and hair color perfectly.” 

“It is a pleasure fitting such a lovely figure...ahhh to be young again.” Elena tittered as she handed her a pair of gold heels to try. 

“Lady Sophia, these stilettos will give you some added height.”   

‘I feel like Cinderella!’ Sophie thought to herself as she slipped on the heels and stood up straight. Sending another picture to her best friend, she made sure to include the shoes. 

Sophie’s phone instantly pinged with Daniel’s return message:  

‘Girl, look at your killer legs! GET IT! 🔥🔥🔥’ 

Sophie giggled at his response, texting back, ‘OK, OK, don’t hold anything back, now🫡😁!'

Sophie clicked off her phone before reading Daniel's reply, 'can't wait to see you this weekend! 😘 '

*** 

The Beaumont Estate...

Maxwell browsed through the endless list of Netflix movies on his phone, looking for a movie line-up for tonight’s viewing. Tonight, being a Tuesday, was the weekly ‘Maxwell Movie Marathon’. Max was excited to introduce his cousin to her inaugural movie night, complete with New York style deep dish pizza and his infamous ‘Beaumont Brew’. 

“Hey Maxxy,” Savannah Walker walked into the theatre room giving her friend a hug.  

“Hi, Sav. What do you think of these movies for tonight?” 

Glancing at his phone, “Oooooo, I love ‘Dirty Dancing’! Are you sure your brother will approve?”  

Maxwell gave her a lopsided grin, “I’ve been telling him about my plans since my cousin arrived. You should have seen how much fun we had watching ‘Titanic’ together last Tuesday night.” 

Savannah, Drake’s little sister, has a crush on Bertrand, still unbeknownst to Bertrand. Maxwell knew, however. 

“Well, you are my guest tonight, so I will let you pick the second movie.” 

Without hesitating, “‘Pretty Woman’”, Savannah announced. 

“Ha, I see where you are going with that,” Maxwell cheekily replied. 

She laughed as she pulled out a chair next to Maxwell, who had taken a seat on the sofa.  

“You know what your brother is like. If he sees it being played out before him, he will see for himself, and then he will realize, 'that's how the story goes.’ Or at the very least, I hope so.” 

Maxwell looked at Savannah, shaking his head. "Ahhh, 'love is in the air.' You are getting desperate Sav. I hope he gets the hint....maybe you should wear a flower crown.” 

"Ha ha, Maxxy!" Savannah sighed, shaking her head.

*** 

Sophie walked through the estate doors, returning with her aunt, after spending the day shopping. Feeling the excitement building up within her, she went up the grand staircase quickly, turned to the right and sprinted to her bedroom, depositing her parcels on top of her bed. 

After putting away her new shoes, and hanging the garment bag into her walk-in closet, Sophie looked at the gift she selected for Liam. The Swarovski crystal paperweight, with a gold inlay, was a miniature statue of liberty. Sophie thought back to the conversation she shared with him the day she was introduced to Marabelle. Liam was fascinated with the fact that Sophie had visited the monument many times. Even though the prince had visited New York City a handful of times, his advisors dictated that visiting the tourist attraction was a safety risk. With his security detail constantly ghosting his movements, this symbol of freedom was elusive for him.  

Similar to Liam, Sophie shared a love of history and described her visits to the statue and to Ellis Island. Liam was entranced with her insights and her knowledge of the backstory and meaning of the monument. 

The gold inlay was engraved with the inscription, ‘your breath of freedom.’ A moniker, Liam gave to Sophie that day. 

*** 

Walking into the theatre room, the smell of pizza wafting through the air, Sophie spotted Maxwell sitting comfortably on the sofa. He waved her over to sit beside him, handing her a tall cocktail glass of a blue liquid. 

“Okay, Max, I give up.” 

Sophie smirked at her cousin, taking a whiff of the drink. 

“Ohhh, this smells so good. What’s in it?” 

“Rum, vodka, blue curacao, pineapple juice, lime juice and ice.” 

“Don’t forget your secret ingredient.” Savannah giggled. 

“Hence. Secret. Ingredient!” Maxwell retorted. 

“Hi, it’s Sophie, right?” Savannah smiled at Sophie, and swatted Maxwell. 

As Maxwell feigned an injury, his eyes went wide when he realized that he didn’t introduce his cousin. 

“Yeah, Maxwell!” Sophie extended her hand in greeting and then poked Maxwell in the ribs. 

“What would Bertrand think?” Sophie teased. 

“I am certainly not impressed Maxwell.” Bertrand huffed and walked past his brother sitting on the wingback across from the sofa. 

Maxwell felt his cheeks redden. “What’s wrong with me?” Maxwell asked. “I’m always nice to people.” 

“You’re being sarcastic, aren’t you?” Sophie raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes, yes I am.” Maxwell challenged his brother, staring him down. 

Savannah stood up and motioned to Sophie to come with her to get pizza. 

“Yes, I am starving, good idea.” Sophie stood up to also get pizza with Savannah. 

“Wait! You didn’t select the movie you want to watch, Soph.” Maxwell bounded up following Sophie to the pizza.  

“Umm, let’s see...I know! “How about...’The Conjuring’?” Sophie answered. 

“Ooaa, scary! Love it!” Maxwell pulled out his phone to add it to the movie queue. 

*** 

After the first movie ended, Savannah moved over to sit beside Sophie and grabbed a handful of jelly beans from the candy bowl. 

“So how did you like the first movie?”  

Sophie smiled. “Honestly? I have seen it now for the fourth time.” Savannah laughed, “for me, it’s the third time; I really wish they had that type of dance in the clubs here in Cordonia.” 

“Savannah is originally from Texas and is still getting used to the slower pace of courtly life here.” Maxwell sighed. 

“Really, now I am curious. What should I expect at the Bash on Saturday?” Sophie looked puzzled at Savannah and Maxwell. 

“It’s a pretty informal event, but there’s also going to be formal dancing after dinner. It’s a tradition here, especially with both princes attending.” Maxwell explained. 

“Prince Leo has a reputation for being a bit of a ladies' man, even though he is betrothed to Madeleine. So, I imagine you might see some interesting things happening.” Savannah added. 

“Interesting how?” Sophie wondered aloud. 

“Well, the last time he attended, one of the guests was Princess Marguerite. She was dressed in a very revealing outfit, and Prince Leo was seen dancing with her quite a few times throughout the evening,” Savannah explained. 

“Madeleine was livid and threw her drink in his face.” Maxwell chuckled. 

“It is very unbecoming to gossip about members of court.” Bertrand interjected. “Sophia, don’t let these comments discolor your opinion of the noble life here in Cordonia.” 

Changing the subject, Savannah asked, “What types of music do you like to dance to, Sophie?” 

“Oh, I love dancing! But I never went to any clubs; only at parties or school events.” 

“What types of music will be played after dinner this Saturday?” 

“Mostly current pop music with the exception of the first dance. That is the one dance you can count on to be played by the orchestra. The Cordonian Waltz.” 

“It’s a tradition for the King to dance with the senior noble of the house to open the dance floor for the guests.” 

“For this Beaumont Bash, Crown Prince Leo will dance with my mother,” Maxwell added. 

“Which reminds me, Sophie, I need to teach you how to dance this waltz.” 

“Me? Why me?” Sophie challenged her cousin. 

Without giving anything away to Sophie about Saturday and the planned surprise birthday celebration, he explained, “just in case you are asked to dance by Prince Liam.” 

*** 

As the evening winded down, Savannah prepared to go home.  

“Hey Savvy,” Sophie called out to her new friend.  

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure,” Savannah smiled. 

“Do you have any advice for me about how to fix my hair for the Bash?” 

“Why are you asking me this? I mean, you have such beautiful hair!” 

“Yeah, well...I was thinking of wearing a half up-do and I need someone to help me pin it. Auntie Beth will be busy preparing for the dinner.” 

“I would love to, I will get Drake to drop me off here an hour early on Saturday.” 

*** 

It was the evening of the Beaumont Bash and Sophie was brushing her long, auburn hair. Sophie stared at her reflection in the mirror of the bathroom vanity. 

Savannah was coming upstairs to help with her hair in a few minutes, and she had just finished applying her makeup. 

‘Okay, Soph... tonight is the Bash...why are you so nervous?’ 

After dabbing her perfume on her neck and wrists, she slid the gold upper arm bracelet cuff into place, followed by her mother’s gold locket necklace around her neck.  

Savannah knocked lightly on her bedroom door and opened it slowly. 

“Are you ready for me?” 

“Almost, come in, Savannah,” Sophie called. 

***

Bertrand walked toward Sophie as she stepped off the grand staircase.

Taking her hand, he moved her toward the ornate double doors of the ballroom.

"Are you ready, my dear?"

Taking a deep breath Sophie replied, "yes".

Offering his arm, she slipped her hand around his arm and together they moved forward.

"Presenting his grace, Duke Bertrand Beaumont of Ramsford escorting Lady Sophia Taylor of House Beaumont."

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