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the-bau-quinjet · 3 years

Text

With you, he wants it all.

Part 2!! You can find all the info about why this is such a mess in Part 1! Also, I totally meant to post this earlier but Taylor Swift’s new album wrecked my plans.

Summary: Reader is a famous singer with a murderous stalker. Spencer has to go undercover to protect her.

warnings: mentions of murder, anxious reader, stalker

Word Count: 9972

The next time you wake up, the room is significantly brighter. You feel around in the cold bed, realizing Spencer isn’t there anymore. You have to force yourself to open your eyes to combat the overwhelming urge to roll over and sleep for another twelve hours. The clock reads 12:07. You can’t help but think you deserve more sleep as you force yourself into a sitting position. Once you finally sit up, you hear someone shuffling around, whispering in the other room. It’s too quiet to try to make out the voice, but you definitely heard something. Without too much thought, you quickly jump out of bed, grabbing the only thing you can find that even remotely resembles a weapon- the bible from the hotel drawer.

Slowly, you push the door open, getting ready to make a break for the door to the hallway at the first sign of danger. Remembering everything from yesterday has you on edge as you move toward the kitchen area, looking for anything out of place. You duck around the pillar separating the kitchen from the living room only to find it empty. As you finally let your guard down, you feel a hand on your shoulder. Without thinking, you turn around getting ready to slam the book into whoever is touching you.

Spencer catches your arms before you hit him. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s just me. You’re safe.” You breathe out a sigh of relief, dropping the book and hugging Spencer.

“I’m sorry! I just heard a noise and you weren’t in bed anymore and I wasn’t sure where you went and I wanted to make sure nobody else was in the room, but I-“

“It’s okay. Just breathe.” Spencer is rubbing soothing circles on your back as you cling to him as if your life depends on it. A few minutes pass, before you calm down enough to pull out of the hug. You run a shaky hand through your hair, moving to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee.

“I put the coffee on so you can grab some when it’s done. I’m going to get dressed so we can figure out where we want to go for inspiration today!” You wink at Spencer before heading back into the bedroom to shower and change. You throw on a pair of jeans and a light sweater after squeezing the extra water out of your hair. You like to let it dry naturally on days like this.

You make your way back into the kitchen only to find Spencer has already changed into a navy and white plaid button down, khakis, and a navy cardigan. He is sitting at the table drinking his coffee when you enter the room. You immediately put the kettle on, reaching into the cabinet to pull out your tea collection.

“No coffee for you?” Spencer asks, gesturing to the half full pot on the counter.

“Oh, nope. Not for me. It’s only palatable if I add way to much sugar and then I get all antsy. I only have coffee if I have a really good reason to stay up.” You chuckle as you add the teabag to the mug you set on the counter. You sit on the counter, swinging your legs as you sip your tea.

“So, where do you want to go?”

“For what?” Spencer pretends to not know what you’re talking about.

“It’s time to start writing silly!” You grin at his deer in a headlights expression. “Spencer, I told you not to worry. We are just looking for general ideas right now. Anything that could potentially lead to a song. It’s more fun to observe others during this part of the process because the ideas are less specific.”

“I don’t even know where to start!” He actually seems nervous about this.

“Spence, let’s just go to your favorite coffee shop. And don’t tell me that you don’t have one. You’ve already drunk half that pot of coffee.”

“Why my favorite?” He actually looks taken aback at the suggestion.

“Well, for one because I’m not from here, so I don’t know where to go.” You try to backpedal, but you’ve started a list. Something he is all too eager to point out. “And two?” He’s got his brows furrowed, a look of pure confusion adorning his face.

“If it’s your favorite, then you’ve been there before.” You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well yes, but your point?” The confusion is still present, but his words are laced with exasperation.

“You might just be comfortable enough in your surroundings to suggest a song idea.” You shrug as you say it, trying to make it feel more casual.

“You considered whether or not I would be comfortable?” He seems genuinely surprised now.

“Of course. I want you to help me, so I gotta butter you up.” You try to cover up your blush with a joke.

“Thank you.” HIs words seem surprised, but the two of you move on. Spencer grabs his satchel, and you your jacket, as the two of you exit the hotel to head to the café. You opt for walking since the weather is not too hot. You don’t say much during the walk. After the moment in the kitchen, you feel a bit nervous. A few fans stop you along the way for a picture or an autograph, but mostly you just enjoy each other’s company. Nobody pays much attention to Spencer, rather opting to ignore him to get your attention. Every time someone comes up to you; you make a point to say excuse me or smile at him before addressing the fans though. You just don’t want him to feel left out or like he’s not important.

You finally make it to the café. Spencer opens the door before guiding you in, again placing his hand on your back. You thank him as you make your way up to the counter to order. You order a chai latte for yourself, gesturing for Spencer to order his when the barista asks you if you need anything else. You make sure to add two scones to the order before sliding your card into the machine before Spencer has a chance.

“It’s my fault you’re here with me, so please. My treat.” He shakes his head slightly, a small smile forming on his face.

“How many times do I have to tell you, none of this is your fault?” He gives you a look as you two move to find a table after accepting the scones.

“I know.” You don’t sound sure as you take your seat. He doubles down the staring as you continue. “I promise. I know. It was just a joke.” You sound more sure of yourself that time, earning another smile from Spencer.

The barista brings you your drinks as you settle into the corner booth. You set your phone up on the table, pulling up the recording from yesterday. You pass Spencer your headphones from your purse so he can listen to what you’ve already come up with.

You take this time to really study him. The sun’s rays are streaming in through the blinds on the window, causing slight shadows to drift across his features. You take in the sharp lines of his jaw as he turns to look around the café, listening to the various melodies and lyrics you sang for the team. His brown locks appear golden as the sunlight reflect off the highlights. He’s sporting a slight stubble from not shaving for a few days. His hazel eyes drift across the faces of everyone in the room, not settling for long on any one person.

You shift your attention to his hands. He has one draped across the table, lightly tapping along as he listens. His long fingers are mesmerizing. You begin to recognize he is tapping out the melodies as if he were playing the piano. The other hand is wrapped around his coffee cup. You bite your lip as you think about all the things those hands are capable of. Your mind wonders as you stare. You are staring so intently at the way his hand grips the cup, you don’t notice when he removes the headphones.

Spencer clears his throat to catch your attention. “That was incredible. How do you come up with ideas so fast?” He looks like he knows exactly what you were thinking, but is too kind to bring it up. He’s just doing his job, and this isn’t a date.

“Oh, um thanks. I guess the BAU is just full of inspiration. The song writing process is a little different every time, but sometimes I can think of random lyrics and melodies.” You try to smile as you force yourself to focus. “Think back to a time where you felt an emotion really strongly. It can be whatever emotion you want. Then, try to put it into words. I like to use common phrases or metaphors because it can be fun to twist it into something new.” You close your eyes as you think back to how you felt the moment you understood there was a man out there killing people because he is obsessed with you. Maybe it’s a little too soon to write that one out. The idea does give you another way to explain it to Spencer. “It’s kind of like therapy. You can talk out your feelings and share them with people. It’s just a bit more public.” Spencer looks like he’s contemplating his entire life as you sit in this coffee shop.

“Spence,” you say it lightly to draw him out of his own thoughts, “don’t worry about it. You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to. I just wanted to get the ball rolling. Why don’t we try something else?” He looks grateful as he nods. “Great. Pick out someone in the coffee shop, preferably part of a group.” He looks around before his eyes settle on someone.

“Okay, now tell me what they’re thinking about.” He looks confused, like a lost puppy. “It’s called people watching. Just make up a story about what they might be doing here.”

You and Spencer discuss ideas for the next few hours. He picked out a young man, maybe about 19 years old. He was clearly here with friends trying to catch a break from studying if the backpacks on the floor were any hint. Spencer noticed all of that immediately of course, being that he is a profiler.

His story sounded just like the profile Hotch told you yesterday, although much less horrifying.

“White male, late teens to early twenties. He is likely a STEM major. This is the first time he has let loose in a while, normally choosing to forego the party life for studying. He likely has immense pressure on him from his family to succeed and do well in school.” You nod along, not having any idea where this information is really coming from. He sounds so confident, you can’t help but ask how he knows all that.

“You’re incredible. How did you figure all that out?” You stare in wonder at the man across from you. He doesn’t meet your eye, but responds nonetheless.

“His age is fairly obvious to observe. His bag is fuller than the others, indicating a major that requires more coursework. He keeps checking his watch, almost as if he knows he is wasting time that could be spent working toward a goal. The family pressure can be inferred by the other behavior. It is more likely a young adult is studious due to a strict upbringing with a focus on work ethic and goal-driven activities.”

“Amazing.” You sigh as you look around the room. “My turn.” You point to a couple sitting a few tables away from you. “Those two are exploring the possibility of taking their relationship past that of friendship. They obviously like each other and are too nervous to say anything.” Almost as if to prove you aren’t a profiler, the two lean across the table for a kiss. You laugh it off, knowing it’s just a game for you.

“Or maybe not. Either way, their song would be about new love. Something slow and pretty.” You smile as you turn back to Spencer. “Your turn again!”

The two of you go back and forth a few times. His stories were really just profiles, but after a few tries he leaned into the fun, game-like nature of people watching. Of course, his last story didn’t stray too far from profiling, but it was much more dreamlike in the way he presented it.

“The woman sitting by the window,” he said, subtly pointing to an older woman at a table alone, “she’s waiting to see her grandkids for the first time in years. Of course, she’s excited to see them again, but she’s nervous. What if they don’t like her? What if she can’t patch things up with her… I’m guessing daughter?” You smile brightly at the story. Family moments were usually the most inspiring for generic song ideas.

“Good job, Spence! What would the song be about?” The question clearly caught him off guard. For the past few stories, you asked how he came to those conclusions. It was so fascinating to hear how his mind works. This time though, you thought he could really be on to something. You give him an encouraging nod, as you set your phone up to record again.

“It could be about- about family.” He states it so firmly; you know he wants to say more. “She is sitting there thinking about the memories she has with her own parents and grandparents, so the song could be a reflection on days spent enjoying their company. Maybe future memories they can make together.” He smiles, albeit shyly.

“That is a really good idea! It fits with the vibe of the lyrics I came up with for Rossi.” You see the moment it clicks in his head. I don’t know why all the trees change in the fall, but I know you’re not scared of anything at all. Don’t know if Snow White’s house is near or far away, but I know I had the best day with you today.

He actually seems pleased with himself now. “We could work on that one tomorrow. We should get up and walk around though, we’ve been sitting here for hours.” You reach for his hand as you scoot out of the booth, pulling him along with you.

You stuff your hands in the pockets of your windbreaker as you head outside. You feel an overwhelming desire to be close to him, but you don’t want to overstep. The early evening crowd is out and about, bumping into the two of you as you walk back to the hotel at a leisurely pace.

“Why don’t we go order some room service and just hang out for the rest of the night? All that people watching was exhausting.” You turn to grin up at him as you continue walking. He hums in response, looking down at you in return. You swear you can feel the mood shifting, but the moment is broken by a tap on your arm. You turn to examine the source of the interruption only to find a little girl who couldn’t be more than 10 years old.

“Hi there!” You squeeze Spencer’s arm before ducking down to talk to the little girl. “Are you parents here?” She nods turning to look at a couple a few feet behind her, slightly out of breath, as if they just chased her down the street.

“Carly! Honey, you can’t run off like that! You could have gotten hurt!” The man scolds her, but is clearly relieved she didn’t get away from them.

“Sorry daddy! I just wanted to say hi to Miss Y/N! She sings my favorite song ever!” You wave at the parents before turning your attention back to the little girl.

“Hi Carly, it’s nice to meet you! You really do need to be careful though. You should always stick with the adults so you don’t get lost.” Your voice is playful, but your expression is serious. The only way to truly convey that message to a child you have no parental claim to. She nods in response.

“Mommy! Take a picture!” You pose with the girl as her mom takes a picture.

“We’re so sorry for interrupting your date! She just saw you and took off down the sidewalk.” You blush at what the woman is implying about you and Spencer, not daring to look at him.

“No worries at all. I’m always happy to meet a fan. Have a good night!” You wave goodbye, linking your arm with Spencer’s as you start to walk. He gives you a curious look, but you just laugh before joking “What? It’s so I don’t get lost.” He chuckles at your childlike behavior, but shifts so you can hold him closer.

The rest of the walk is peaceful. You don’t see any more fans, which is good because you aren’t paying enough attention to anything at the moment. You keep picturing the look on Spencer’s face right before the little girl interrupted you. What was about to happen?

Before you know it, you and Spencer are back in the room. He steps into the kitchen to call Hotch while you call to order dinner. You change into the FBI sweatshirt from yesterday and a pair of sleep shorts before settling on the couch to wait for Spencer. A few minutes later, he joins you on the couch after he hangs up. “The team has ruled out all the performers. It’s not surprising as the unsub wouldn’t be brave enough to perform for a crowd. They are still working through the lists of vendors and crew members.”

“Good. That’s progress. Progress is good.” You nod to yourself, trying to convince yourself everything is normal.

“Talk to me, what’s going on inside your head?” Spencer reaches out to take your hand while you stare at the ground.

“I don’t know. I guess it’s just hard. It’s hard to have such an amazing day and then think about how it only happened because people are being killed. I guess I feel guilty.” You keep going before he can interrupt you. “I know it’s not my fault that this guy is out there doing horrible things, but I still feel bad for enjoying myself while it’s happening.” You don’t have any tears left to cry. You look over to Spencer to find him staring back at you.

“Y/N, you are such a selfless person. There isn’t anything else you can do right now. We haven’t had any more victims, likely because nobody has posted about how excited they are for your shows since we still have 13 days before the next one. We are going to catch this guy.” You form your mouth into a soft smile before nodding at him. “What movie do you want to watch?”

You smile at his attempt to distract you. “You pick. Anything that will take my mind off things, but not require too much thinking.”

Spencer is racking his brain for a movie that fits your description when you hear a knock on the door. “Must be the food, I’ll get it.” When you return with the food, you find Spencer still thinking over movie choices.

“Okay, how about this. What do you like to watch when you really need a pick me up?”

Again he looks surprised that you would take his opinion into account. “Um, usually Doctor Who, but that’s not a movie it’s a-”

“TV show. Right. Is that the one where they fly around in a telephone booth?”

“First of all, it's a police box, not a phone booth. Second of all, Doctor Who started a quarter of century before Bill and Ted even went on their bodacious adventures. So really, they should just call it Bill and Ted's excellent rip-off, I mean at least then...”

You listen as he rambles about why people always think it’s a telephone booth. You can’t help but smile at how cute he is when he’s talking about something he’s passionate about. You don’t realize he asked you a question until he clears his throat with a confused expression.

“Sorry, I was rambling again.” He looks dejected, and you would do anything in the world to make him smile again.

“No, I’m sorry!” You scoot closer to him to convey your point. “I was listening at first I promise. It’s just, you looked so happy I got distracted. Let’s watch Doctor Who.” You turn to face the TV before you say anything else that makes you feel like a complete moron. He sorts through the food as you find the show online, setting it up to play on the TV. There’s random free episodes on demand, so you end up staring with the 11th doctor.

You are completely captivated by the show. Every so often, Spencer would comment on a theory about what one specific prop could mean only to have you cover your ears and warn him about spoilers. During an episode about creepy angel statues, he goes on a tangent about how Amy could have avoided the whole situation. Once he starts mentioning characters you haven’t met, you actually have to reach your hand up to cover his mouth to get him to stop talking. His words putter to a stop, eyes widening in shock as he stares at you.

“Spence, I absolutely love how passionate you are about Doctor Who. But it doesn’t matter how adorable it is when you ramble on about something. If you spoil one more thing before I can actually watch the whole show through, I will not hesitate to smack you.” You stare right in his eyes the entire time, watching as they widen with each word. You had to get a lot closer to him to actually reach his mouth. He had moved forward, animatedly waving his arms around as he talked about various plot points, so you were basically sitting on his lap to avoid being smacked in the face.

You drop your arm from his face slowly, as if any sudden movement would break the spell you were under. You lean forward, connecting your forehead to his. You take a steadying breath as you close your eyes. Your about to close the gap when his phone rings. Again, the moment is lost. You only move enough so that he can reach into his pocket for his phone. As he answers the call, you shift in his lap to cuddle into his chest.

“Morgan, what do you need?” Maybe you’re imaging it, but he almost sounds the slightest bit annoyed. You can just make out what Morgan is saying on the other end of the phone.

“Calm down, Pretty Boy. We might have a lead, Hotch and Emily are tracking it down now. I’ll meet you at the hotel in the morning to go over it all with you and Y/N.”

“Okay, thanks for the update.” He sounds so normal now, you think you must have imagined the annoyance earlier. He hangs up the phone, tossing it next to him on the couch. He wraps his arms around you before shifting so you’re both laying down.

“Let’s just relax and watch more Doctor Who. Morgan is stopping by in the morning to talk about the case.” You nod in agreement, turning to face the TV. A few episodes later, you and Spencer are drifting in and out of sleep. Neither one of you really wants to interrupt what you’ve got going, instead opting to just fall asleep on the couch.

You hear the faintest knocking noise that pulls you out of your slumber. It takes a few minutes for you to recognize you are on the couch, wrapped up in Spencer’s arms. He must have pulled a blanket over the two of you last night after you fell asleep. Before you can get up to evaluate the knocking, the door opens and Morgan comes rushing in. The concern on his face is quickly replaced with a knowing smirk. You blush, jealous that Spencer is somehow still asleep.

“Hi Morgan. Sorry to alarm you. We must have fallen asleep watching TV last night.” At the sound of your voice, Spencer slowly begins to wake up. He smiles sleepily at you before realizing your attention is elsewhere. He practically throws you off the couch in his effort to sit up when he realizes Morgan is in the room.

“Sorry!” Spencer looks at Morgan, then back to you. “I’m so sorry!” You laugh as you stand up.

“Don’t worry about it.” You settle yourself in the chair, gesturing for Morgan to sit next to Spencer now that he isn’t sprawled across the entire sofa anymore. Turning to Morgan, you ask about the case “What did you want to talk about?”

“We have been focused on going through the people who work for the tour. It makes the most sense for them to travel with you, otherwise it would require a lot more planning.” You can feel the nerves growing in your stomach. “Garcia found a name we wanted to run by you.” He hands you a picture before saying the name. “Ryan Moore. He works-“

“On the instrumentals. I know. He usually runs the sound booth during the shows. I don’t know him that well, but we’ve talked a few times.” You think back over your past conversations. “It couldn’t be him.” You are 100% sure he is not the unsub, and the agents don’t fail to notice the conviction in your voice.

“What makes you so sure?” Spencer is flipping through the case file Morgan brought with him. He doesn’t even look up when he asks the question, too focused on memorizing every detail about this man’s life.

“Well, Hotch told me the unsub wouldn’t be able to talk to me right?” You look to Morgan for confirmation.

“Yes. He wouldn’t approach you or seem confident when talking with you if you approached him.” Morgan confirms what you’re thinking.

“Great. So it can’t be him.” You smile to yourself for actually contributing to the case. “Last week, right after the Columbus show, he asked me out. The unsub wouldn’t be brave enough, right?” The utter joy in your voice startles Spencer enough that he finally looks up from the file.

“Alright then. He’s likely not the unsub, but we’ll finish the investigation into him just in case.” Morgan settles back into the chair he’s sitting in, making no move to leave even though the conversation is clearly over. There is an obvious smirk on his face as he looks at Spencer.

“Well, I’m going to make some breakfast, feel free to watch TV or something.” You smile awkwardly at the two men, unsure of why there is suddenly a strange tension in the air. As you move into the kitchen, you connect your phone to your Bluetooth speaker. Listening to music while you cook has always been calming for you. You honestly prefer baking, but eggs and sausage with toast sounds perfect right now. You pull out the ingredients, humming softly as you dance around the kitchen. You can just barely hear that Morgan and Spencer are talking in the other room, but not enough to make out what they are saying. It just sounds a bit more intense the conversation you just had.

You choose to ignore it and give them their privacy instead focusing on cooking. You end up making scrambled eggs the way your mom taught you, by mixing in some chive and onion cream cheese. You pop some English muffins in the oven under the broiler while you place the eggs and sausages in dishes. After turning the music down, you move all the food to the table. You’re about to invite Spencer and Morgan to have some food when you hear their conversation.

“I’m telling you man. She likes you. You should go for it.” Morgan is clearly trying to encourage Spencer, but he won’t hear it.

“Morgan, it’s not like that. It’s probably just transference because I’m here to make sure she doesn’t get hurt. Plus, you saw the smile on her face when she talked about Ryan asking her out. She was beaming.” He sighs, almost wistfully as you consider what he’s saying. Surely you are capable of separating your feelings for him from the situation. Would you like him if you had just run into him on the street? Plus, what does Ryan have to do with this?

You move back to the stove to remove the English muffins before they burn, putting them on a plate as well. Ultimately, you decide to try to straighten out your feelings for Spencer before making a move. You want to be sure. If there is even a shred of doubt in your mind, Spencer will surely be able to see it on your face. Stupid profilers.

Their conversation died down while you were dealing with the muffins, so you walk back to the other side of the room. You mumble out “I made food, you’re both welcome to have some” before returning to the table. You have a lot to think about and the last thing you want to do is lead Spencer on if you aren’t sure. He deserves better than that.

The conversation over breakfast is nice. Nothing too heavy or serious. The three of you are just talking about your lives. Morgan asks you what it’s like to be famous. You ask him and Spencer what it’s like to be in the FBI. You realize just how different your career paths are. The only thing you can relate to is travelling. Neither Spencer nor Morgan have family in the area, but they mention how hard it is for Hotch and JJ.

“That I can understand. The travelling, I mean. Of course, I travel to perform, not to track down killers.” The room is quiet for a few minutes as you think about what to say. Morgan and Reid being profilers know you haven’t finished your thought, so they give you the time to think it over.

“Thank you.” You say it softly, but firmly at the same time. This is the first time you’ve seen either of them look surprised.

“Wh- for what?” It’s Morgan who speaks up. Spencer has a familiar expression on his face. It’s the same look he got when you asked his opinion for coffee shops and movies.

“For everything. For protecting me. For catching bad guys. For giving up so much to do this job. You two, and the rest of your team, you all sacrifice so much to keep people safe. I mean, I’m sure the people you save and the families you give closure to are grateful, and you deserve that. But, you also deserve to have everyone be thankful for what you do. You get into the minds of these people. It must be exhausting to have to think like that all the time. I’m barely dealing with it now and it’s only be on my mind for 2 days! I just can’t even fathom the number of people you have saved, people that you’ve never even met, by doing this. So, thank you. For being strong enough to do it. For being you.”

You spoke every word with every ounce of sincerity you could muster up. You were looking between them as you said it. The shock on Morgan’s face slowly morphed into a small smile. Spencer’s expression didn’t change, but somehow looked more sincere when you were done.

Neither one of them knew what to say. Morgan rose from his chair to pull you into a hug. Patting you on the back, he uttered a soft thank you before saying he should get back to the office to help the rest of the team. You locked the door behind him, turning to see Spencer staring at you from the table.

“Spence? Are you okay?” You were nervous that your impromptu speech made him uncomfortable. He rose from the table, slowly making his way across the room to you.

“I’m, I, I just… that was… thank you. You amaze me.” He barely says the words, practically breathing them into existence. You reach for his hand, squeezing it.

“I meant every single word. Promise.” There is nothing more you want to do than kiss him right now, but all you can hear in your head is Spencer talking about transference. You hug him quickly before pulling back again. Without some distance between the two of you, you won’t be able to control yourself. “Do you want to go to another café today? Or somewhere with a piano so I can finally see you play?”

“We can do what you want today. You let me pick the café and the show yesterday, so it’s only fair.” You grin, knowing exactly where you want to take him.

The two of you get ready in near silence after that. Both of you want to calm down a bit before spending another day together. After you’ve both showered and changed, you drag Spencer down to the SUV. The weather outside is perfect for where you want to go, but the park is just far enough away that you want to drive. You pull up directions on your phone, hiding the address from him. Spencer protests the entire time. He keeps mumbling about how he would know how to get there if you just told him where you were going. Then something about how mobile phones are a distraction, so it would be safer for him to drive anyway.

You just let him ramble on about the many DC streets. Your grip on the wheel tightens when he starts listing off statistics about car accidents.

“More than 38,000 people die every year in crashes on U.S. roadways. The U.S. traffic fatality rate is actually 12.4 deaths per 100,000 inhabitants. An additional 4.4 million are injured seriously enough to require medical attention. Road crashes are the leading cause of death in the U.S. for people aged 1-54.” With every passing word, your knuckles get whiter, your heartbeat gets faster, and your breaths get shorter. Spencer is too caught up in reciting the statistics to realize anything is wrong until he turns to look at you, his next sentence dying on his tongue. “Seatbelts reduce the risk of dying by…” His brow furrows as he takes in your appearance.

“By what Spence? Don’t leave me hanging?” You try to joke with him to calm yourself down, but he obviously sees right through it.

“45%.” He continues before you can even comprehend the number. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m totally fine. 100% A-Okay.” You try to take deep breaths to calm yourself down. Having arrived at your destination, you pull into a parking spot.

“Y/N, talk to me. What is it?” You take a steadying breath as you turn to face him. Honestly, you are embarrassed more than anything else. You were the one who decided you had to drive.

“Spence, really it’s not a big deal. I just get nervous driving sometimes. I don’t have to do it a lot, and I’ve never felt like I was particularly good at it. It doesn’t matter though, we’re here.” You move to get out of the car, but Spencer reaches across the car to stop you. His face is only inches from yours as the realization dawns on him.

“And I was rambling on about how dangerous driving is.” He says it more to himself than to you. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you stop me? I really need to learn how to shut up. I just get so caught up in the statistics-“ “Spencer. I love when you ramble. I’ve already told you how calming it is… normally. I’m fine, I promise. You just have to drive us back to the hotel later. Deal?”

“Deal.” You’re both smiling as you get out of the car to walk around the park you brought him to. He doesn’t ask why you picked this place and you don’t offer up a reason. He’ll figure it out soon enough. You talk about random things from childhood as you lazily stroll through the trees. There’s something so calming about wandering through so many trees when you know you’re in the middle of a bustling city.

Before long, the two of you have crossed the park. A few feet away stands an upright piano in front of a park bench. You glance at Spencer as he looks at the piano, realization gracing his features as he discovers why you chose this particular park. You beckon for him to sit down next to you, asking him to play you a song.

He blushes as you whisper pretty please in his ear. The cherry on top does him in. Soon enough, you are hearing the beginning notes of Bach’s Prelude in C. You just sit and listen, watching his fingers gracefully move above the keys. He’s not the most passionate of piano players. You can practically see the gears turning in his brain as he moves his hands efficiently across the instrument, as if he really is thinking about the math behind it all. Still, you lose yourself in the music, swaying lightly. You find yourself leaning on his shoulder, closing your eyes as you think about everything you’ve been feeling.

You studied music for a few years when you were young. That’s how you started writing, with lessons to learn to play both the guitar and the piano. You took to the guitar more than the piano, but you remember learning about the emotion behind every classical piece you were taught to play. You can’t help but think back to those lessons as you listen to Spencer. This song is always reaching forward, yearning for the next note. It plays into the idea that life is simple and pure. Even good at times. But there is something lurking just below the surface. It’s weirdly fitting of your current situation, but you choose to just be glad he chose the major over the minor.

You feel the breeze in your hair as Spencer finishes the song. For a few moments, the two of you sit listening to the leaves rustling in the wind. Eventually, you look around the park once it is quiet again. It’s mostly empty given that it’s 2 pm on a Tuesday, so there aren’t many people around to witness this moment. You slip your phone on the piano to record before you take over, playing that all too familiar melody that reminds you of Spencer. Neither of you say anything as you let the music and your emotions guide you through the song. You can tell it’s not perfect, but it just feels right.

After that, you and Spencer brainstorm lyrics for Rossi’s song for another few hours. The park begins to fill up as school lets out and the workday ends. A few fans recognize you, asking for pictures. After a particularly strong gust of wind, Spencer drapes his cardigan over you as you walk back toward the car, both of you blissfully unaware of the figure watching you from behind the trees.

The next few days pass in much the same fashion. Spencer takes calls about the case, trying to narrow down the massive list of crew members on your tour. You and he work on lyrics for Rossi’s song, as well as JJ’s. She’s just so pretty, the words flow right out of you. You can tell Spencer agrees. You believe him as he swears up and down that the two of them are just friends, but you can’t help teasing him just a bit.

“Honestly, it would be weirder if you didn’t think she was pretty. The woman looks as if she were sculpted by Michelangelo himself. A living embodiment of Aphrodite.” He nods in agreement, a faint blush on his cheeks.

No matter how much you try, you just cannot come up with anymore good lyrics for Spencer’s song. It could be that he is sitting right next to you all the time and knows the song is for him that’s causing the writer’s block, but it’s still frustrating.

One night, he’s working through the case file for the third time in a row when you interrupt his thoughts with a seemingly random question.

“Spence, can you tell me a story?” He looks up at you, brow furrowed and eyes confused. “I just need inspiration for the lyrics. Everything I come up with sucks.” You pout until he finally gives in. “Yay! It can be anything, even a memory. Just make it overwhelmingly happy.”

Spencer stops looking through the file as he thinks back on his life experiences for an overwhelmingly happy memory. The faces of his team members instantly flood his mind as he sorts through the many good times they’ve had. He keeps circling back to one event, ultimately deciding it is happy enough to fit your standards.

“This is actually the story of JJ’s wedding.” You lean forward, a wedding story could be just what the doctor ordered. “Will wanted to marry her for a while, but she was hesitant. She said everything was perfect as it was, she didn’t feel the need to change anything.” You were honestly a little confused as to where the happiness was at this point, but you let him continue anyway. You could listen to this man talk for days on end without complaint.

“We ended up working a case with Will. It was a bank robbery turned hostage situation. It was a rough case for all of us; bombs, secret partners, kids at risk. I won’t bore you with the details,” he chuckles at your thankful expression, “but it all worked out in the end. Will, he could’ve died. When JJ went to see him in the hospital, she told him to ask her again. She wanted to get married then and there in the hospital chapel. Will wanted to wait until he was actually out of the hospital though, and not wearing a hospital gown.” You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of loving someone so much, you were instantly ready to marry them.

“Rossi, he overheard everything. So, he started planning. He called JJ’s mom, told her to fly in and to bring her wedding dress. We threw her a surprise wedding the next day. It was such a beautiful moment, to have such a joyous event after everything that we had been through. JJ looked wonderstruck as her mom walked her down the aisle. The lights were sparkling. It was enchanting.” He spoke with such awe about the whole event. He told you stories about doing magic for Henry and Jack, who you came to know as Hotch’s son. It was so easy for you to picture the fairy lights and purple flowers. The team seemed like such a close-knit family, it only made sense that they would share this memory.

The chorus of the song hit you like a ton of bricks. You didn’t even warn Spencer as you jumped from the couch and ran to the piano. He followed behind you, curious to see what would happen. He watched with wonder as you placed your phone to record on top of the piano and started playing the family melody you first hummed while thinking about him.

“This night is sparkling, don’t you let it go. I’m wonderstruck, blushing all the way home. I’ll spend forever wondering if you knew, I was enchanted to meet you.” The verses didn’t pour out of you in quite the same way, but the general storyline of the song came to you in the next few minutes. You rushed to get it all out, speaking directly into the phone.

“The first verse can be about feeling out of place in a room, faking laughter, forcing smiles. Then it all changes when she sees him. It’s as if they have a conversation with only their eyes as they float across the room to each other. Then the chorus. The second verse can be about her wondering if he felt it to. 2 am who do you love? Chorus again. Then the bridge can be about hoping that the one night wasn’t it for them. That she’ll see him again and hoping he isn’t already in love or with someone.” You’re so pleased with the song idea, you don’t notice the shifting expressions on Spencer’s face. After your explanation, you turn to him, the biggest smile he’s seen yet on your face.

“What do you think?” He’s so shocked he doesn’t know how to respond. After a moment of silence, your face begins to fall. You can’t stop your brain from thinking the worst.

He must hate it. Oh god, he’s just trying to find a way to let me down easy. Why do I have to be so stupid? Sure, go ahead. Write a love song about the man who’s sitting next to you. That won’t be weird at all. Oh god, oh god…

Suddenly, Spencer is pulling you into a tight hug. “It’s beautiful. It will make a wonderful song.” He’s whispering in your ear. The feeling of his lips brushing against you is too much. Everything you’ve been pushing back for the past few days comes roaring to the surface. You can’t stop yourself.

You pull back slowly, only to pull his face to yours so rapidly you’re surprised you didn’t get whiplash. In less than an instant, his lips are moving gracefully against yours. His hands slide down your body to your waist as he pulls you even closer to him. Your arms move up around his neck, your fingers running through his hair. The hunger and passion is slowly taken over by the need for oxygen, the two of you separating just enough to pull air into your lungs.

He kisses your forehead, and you kiss his nose. A few minutes later, and you’re still standing there with your heads pressed together, arms wrapped around each other. Every so often, one of you places a light kiss on the others mouth, just to make sure this is real.

“I know what you’re thinking.” You are still out of breath from kissing him, but you can just tell his mind is moving a mile a minute.

“I’m not sure you do.” He sounds nervous.

“I think I might surprise you.” You can’t help but tease him a little before continuing. “You think its all transference. That I only think I like you because you’re here to protect me. Some sort of white knight bullshit.” You can’t stop yourself from sounding mildly annoyed about it. Although, the look of shock on his face helps. “I heard what you said to Morgan.” He sighs before moving to pull back.

“No, Spence. Listen to me. I heard what you said to Morgan.” You wait for him to follow your train of thought back a few days.

“But that was four days ago?” He looks more confused than ever.

“I know. I wanted to make sure that what I feel is real. I didn’t want to lead you on if I might not actually want this. But I do. More than I’ve ever wanted anything before. Spencer, you are a light in my life and not just because you’re here to make sure I don’t get murdered. Although that certainly doesn’t hurt. I feel like I can tell you anything and you won’t judge me for it. That I can truly be myself without worry of letting you down.”

“Y/N you could never let me down. I just don’t want you to wake up one day and regret anything. I don’t want you to regret me.” He looks crestfallen.

“Spencer Reid.” You move your hands to his cheeks to gently push his head up to make eye contact. “I could never regret a single moment spent with you. I have loved every single one. I loved watching you listen to the songs about your friends. I loved listening to you talk about things you love, like Doctor Who and statistics. I loved sitting next to while you played piano. I loved talking to you about anything and everything. Spencer, I love how I feel when I’m with you and I know for a fact I would feel the same way if I met you walking down the street.”

“Y/N” the way he says your name is music to your ears. “I love how I feel when I’m with you too. I loved listening to you sing about my friends, capturing the essence of who they are. I loved watching you experience the things I have grown so accustomed to doing. I loved the feeling of you leaning on my shoulder while I played Bach. I loved hearing you come up with an entire storyline for one song in a matter of minutes just based on one story. I have loved every single second I have been with you since I first saw you 7 days, 2 hours, and 32 minutes ago. Even if I didn’t say a word to you until after you woke up in the hospital.”

The two of you laugh as you pull him to the couch to cuddle. You put on more Doctor Who, sitting with your legs across his lap and playing with his hands. It’s nice to just be close to him without having to worry. You find yourself getting wrapped up in the show. Spencer is quieter this time. You think he might have something on his mind, but you decide to wait for him to share. Between the third and fourth episode, he speaks up.

“Y/N, are you and Ryan… are you together?” You look up to see a nervous expression once again on his face.

“Ryan who?” You are genuinely confused as to who he could even be talking about.

“Ryan Moore, the sound booth guy.” You look even more confused than before.

“Not even a little bit. I politely declined his offer to take me out. Is that what’s been bugging you for the last three episodes?” You smile at his pout.

“Maybe. You just seemed so happy when you mentioned that he asked you out. You were practically glowing with how big your smile was.”

“Spence, I was happy because I could actually help you with the case. I only have eyes for one guy.” You shift to straddle his lap.

“Yeah, who’s that?” He pulls you even closer.

“Matt Smith” You say it with the best deadpan expression you can manage in the circumstances.

“Wow, your standards must be pretty low to settle for the 11th doctor. He’s not even in the top three best doctors!” He plays along with your joke, although he doesn’t have to act incredulous sat you preference for the 11th doctor.

“Well, my number one doctor isn’t really on TV.” You bite your lip, leaning in until you connect your mouth to his.

Right as you’re both about to take it one step further, your phone rings. “Fuck.” The word is barely a whisper leaving your mouth as you pull back from Spencer trying to catch your breath.

“Hello?” you don’t hear anything on the other end of the phone. “Hello? Anyone there? Hello?” Suddenly the line goes dead. You turn to Spencer. “Well, that was weird.” Spencer frantically moves you off his lap as he stands up, taking out his phone. Without telling you anything, he is frantically dialing a number, mumbling under his breath.

“Garcia! I need to you to figure out who just called Y/N’s phone.” He waits a minute, presumably listening to her reply. “Yes, it just rang and when she answered nobody said anything. Thank you.” He hangs up, swiftly moving back to the couch to pull you into a hug.

“What just happened?” You can feel your heartrate speeding up.

“It might be nothing, but that might have been the unsub. Garcia is tracking down the number that made the call right now. If it’s possible to figure out, she’ll have it done by morning.” He rubs calming circles on your hip with his thumb. “Why don’t you go to sleep? Try to get some rest?” You nod, rising from the couch.

“Spence, will you lay with me?” Your voice is small and scared as you ask the question. He simply nods, both of you changing into pajamas before meeting in the bedroom to lay down. You snuggle up close to him, trying to breathe in the same pattern as him until you fall asleep.

When you wake up, you can hear Spencer in the living room, talking on his phone. You want nothing more than to go back to sleep, but not if you can’t cuddle with Spencer while you do it. Throwing the covers off of you, you get up so you can actually see Spencer. He’s got his back to you when you open the door, so you sneak up behind him. He jumps a little with a surprised gasp when you wrap your arms around his middle.

“What? Oh, uh… I’m fi-fine. Everything’s fine. I was just surprised.” He spins around to hug you, giving you a slight glare. “By, um, a beetle. Yeah, there was a beetle.” The lie is so obvious you can’t help but laugh as you bury your head into his chest.

A few minutes later, he finally hangs up. “What did they find out about the phone call?” You mumble the question into the fabric of his cardigan.

“Less than we were hoping for. It was a prepaid cell, so Garcia can’t trace it back to the owner.” You squeeze him tighter, glad to have him with you through all of this. After a few minutes of standing with him, you reluctantly pull back.

“Well, we should get to work. These songs are not going to write themselves!”

You and Spencer retreat to different parts of the suite to get ready for the day. As much as you would love to jump his bones, it doesn’t feel right to take up his time with that when he could be working. At least if you were working on songs together it was part of the cover.

You ultimately decide to just sit in the park across from the hotel today. Normally, you wouldn’t even leave your room at this point in the writing process. You just don’t completely trust yourself to be alone with him at the moment. At least in public you can control yourself a little bit. Yet, the many people walking around the park do nothing to stop you from grabbing Spencer’s hand and playing with his fingers while thinking particularly hard about a certain lyric.

A bright flash of light draws you out of your reverie. You already know how the picture is going to look. You are laying across a blanket, knees in the air. Spencer is sitting beside you, reading messages from the team on his phone. His other hand is still between yours as you run your fingers over his knuckles. You are absolutely sure there is look of complete adoration on your face. You can’t bring yourself to care that the paparazzi took the picture. You have nothing to hide.

After the shock of the bright light fades, you notice a familiar face behind the few photographers in front of you. The shock of seeing someone for a second time floods your brain while you try to remember the profile Hotch told you that very first night. Without thinking too hard, you fling yourself into a sitting position. You gather everything you brought with you to the park, dragging Spencer along with you. He clearly doesn’t understand the shift in your behavior, but he’d gladly follow you anywhere.

It’s not until you reach your room that you look at him. He can see the fear in your eyes before you even open your mouth. “Baby, what is it? What happened?” He begins recalling everything from the moment the first flash went off, trying to figure out what made you so scared.

“I saw him.” You can barely hear yourself over the sound of your heart beating in your chest. “I saw the unsub. I mean, I think I did. He held the door open for us this morning when we left the hotel, and then he was in the park when the paparazzi were taking pictures. Hotch… he said to tell you if I saw anyone more than once in a day.” The words escape your lips in a hurry, trying to keep up with your flying thoughts.

“Okay, breathe. I’m right here. I’m going to call the team. Did you recognize him from anywhere else?” You try to picture the face in your mind, and suddenly you are seeing him everywhere. In the coffee shop that very first day. Behind the trees in the park with the piano. If you and Spencer were there, so was he. Just, normally you only caught a glimpse of him for a second. Definitely not twice in one day.

You rush to tell Spencer what you’re remembering. At this point, you don’t even know if it’s true. Maybe your mind is playing tricks on you. Just filling in this man’s face on other people’s bodies to fit the story that he is the one behind it all. Nonetheless, you give him the description of who you saw. White, probably 35ish, brown hair. You didn’t see his eyes, but they looked evil. The expression on his face just screamed serial killer. Maybe that’s in your head too. Who knows?

“I know I’ve seen that face before, I just can’t remember where. God, I’m useless. This man is hurting people and I can’t even remember where I’ve seen him before. Think. Think. THINK.” You’ve started pacing the room, trying to figure out who it could be. Spencer doesn’t say anything else to you until he’s finished the phone call. Even then, he’s more so humming and shushing you than really talking. He pulls you into a hug, trying to calm you down yet again.

“Y/N. You are anything but useless. You noticed he was there. That’s a step in the right direction. We are going to find him, and he is going to go to jail for a very long time.” Somewhere, deep inside, you knew Spencer couldn’t guarantee that, but you also knew it was better for you to listen to him than to force yourself down a rabbit hole you couldn’t dig yourself out of.

A few calming breaths later, and your asleep on the couch, wrapped up in Spencer’s arms.

It’s still dark when you open your eyes. You can hear someone moving around, but it’s too dark to see. Spencer isn’t with you on the couch, so it could be him, but something feels wrong. Why would Spencer be up in the middle of the night wandering around in the dark?

“Spencer?” Everything goes still at the sound of your voice. Yeah, that was not the best move you could’ve made… Before you can say anything else, you are knocked out cold. The sound of a lamp smashing over your head is that last thing you hear.

tag list:

@mac99martin , @wecouldbreakthedistance , @spencerhotchner , @girloncorneliastreet , @itsametaphorbriansblog , @moonshinerbynight , @meowiemari , @justanotherfangirl , @im-so-wonderstruck , @eevee0722 , @raining13lemonade @dilaudidwinchester , @silverdagger69 , @thatsonezesty13

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid one shot #Criminal Minds #spencer reid x you

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miutonium · 2 years

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your favorites/any that you particularly want to answer from the cafe asks? 🥰 (kittyandco)

Oh thank you 😳 i really appreciate this since I actually gotten a few ask with the same questions and i have 2 that I would actually love to answer hgnnn

Filter Coffee: Are you more of a gusher or silent admirer?

So previously, I believe I am more of a silent admirer? I mean, I do have a blog before this actually but I just never tell anyone about my s/i ocs (other than drawing her) and elaborate my stories because at that time I was still nervous that someone would come at me and say mean things to me and also everyone had cooler s/i with cool backstory and me being uncreative and also not that good at drawing and designing a cool s/i felt kind of discouraged from it. Not to mention I don't really get that enough support to draw and gush about my f/o and my s/i and having to consistently post my f/o or otherwise being leftout just burns me out a lot :/ i ended up leaving my blog and the fandom because of that (and other personal reason)

Though, I actually really like how a lot of people here seems to talk about their love for a character and i just love seeing how passionate they are for them and I never seen that anywhere else on the internet other than here. So I returned to tumblr because I really missed being in a part of something i loved and watch people gushing over a character really makes me happy ;w;

I actually wasn't aware of a selfship community at all when I started this blog, even though I do selfship, I actually didn't know there's a community where people support each other's selfships even though they're not a part of the other person's f/os' fandom . I used to be around with the reader insert crowd too so like I really didn't know anything about selfshipping at all despite using tumblr for 3 years at that time (also you wouldn't believe this but i legit didn't know what f/o and s/i meant and I have to look around to figure out what it means lol). No one told me it was okay to feel very attached to an f/o an and actually feel okay about not wanting to share an f/o with others (inb4 I'm okay with sharing Utonium don't worry about that!)

These days, I feel like I am more confident about talking and gushing about Utonium. Part of it because I love this man to death and he deserves everything good and I also don't see anyone gush about him at all (like i legit scrolled down his tags and i see barely anyone simped for this man) and I just need to change that lol.

Chai Tea: Do you prefer s/is or ocs when shipping?

Okay so I was confused initially cuz I always thought that they're the same (because Chloe's is technically my s/i oc) so like i dont really understand what's going on here until it clicked on me that the question probably meant I design my s/i to look similarly to me hhh my bad

Anyway, I prefer ocs more since I actually don't like to mix irl stuff with my fantasy (also I am actually not into men irl so like it feels off whenever I imagine myself with Utonium these days) and no way I am attractive enough to sway this man away ;w;

I never draw myself with Utonium (and probably never will in the future ;w;) but previously with my previous f/o I actually did that a couple times and hhh you know what I'm just gonna attach some pictures of him and me :3

(Picture Undercut of course)

I still love these drawings tbh. We both look like bad bitches if you asked me lol. Also yes I had a shorter hair with highlights before hgnnn

#yes i always loved making magazine-ish looking couple artworks hhh #which reminds me i need to draw more utonium and chloe in alt clothing #anyway thank you for the ask! 💕💕#ask #selfship ask #vclkitty

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xenzoldyck · 3 years

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First encounter | Pt.1 | Zeno X Reader

Might add part 2 if this gets love~! Also, my first time writing a fic in 2nd person (character x reader) style. Judge me nicely. Summary: These days being by yourself were getting indescribably lonely. You didn’t know if you’d ever find someone to be with...Until you met Zeno Zoldyck.

Words: 1.4K

It started to rain outside this small cafe you were in. Rain poured gently against the window nearby, in the distance other restaurants were closing up their outdoor umbrellas. Strong scents of coffee filled the air and muffled voices behind were chatting, bickering, or laughing. The lights were warm inside, keeping you from the winter’s storm. Being bundled with your black scarf and grey beanie helped too. A waitress came to you handing the vanilla latte you ordered. You nodded to them with a small smile that quickly faded after they left. The day was probably Wednesday or Thursday, but you didn’t seem to care. Each day passed just like the day before. Another day where people, so caught up in their own lives, were ignoring you as they always did. The days kept reminding you how lonely you were.

Giving out a sigh, you leaned back in your chair. When would you finally meet your significant other? Clearly, you were doing something wrong. Your eyes scanned the room again, noticing the various couples lost in their worlds.

“Just my luck isn’t it?” You whispered now fidgeting with the light pink glass cup in front of you. Could destiny try being a little nicer to you? Or did karma secretly have their grudge on your happiness? Whatever it could be, you just wished for something to happen…

Doors creaked open, the sound echoing in the small cafe. The sound of the storm was behind the figure. No one paid attention until a gasp was heard from a woman, the sound of a cup being shattered on the floor, and hurried steps leaving the other exit in the cafe. The customers and the hosts looked scared and worried. Gossip was spreading like wildfire and it seemed no one would outwardly comment on this person.

Curiously, you looked over your shoulder trying to be somewhat discreet to get a look at this person. You first noticed wavy, spiking grey-white hair and his short stature. Despite being an older man, his face looked carved to perfection having 2 whiskers fall at the side of his lips. The charismatic and intense presence he brought in was...very interesting to you.

You looked at the other side of the room, seeing how the effect he had on everyone was unanimous. Were you missing a key point here?

The older man apparently noticed you were staring, his grey eyes staring directly at you. That look made you jolt. Nervously trying to recover, you pretended to casually be looking around the room finding books the cafe had in the back to squint at. Slowly, you blinked and turned your head back to your coffee cup.

How fucking awkward!

You could still feel your heart beating fast, was it because of being caught rudely staring or just the fact that a man like that could notice someone like you? Shaking your head to clear, you dismissed the thoughts. Someone paying mind to you was crazy! It had to be. Yet, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him.

“W-What can I get you today Mr. Zoldyck?” The cashier a few feet away stammered, obviously trying to keep it together.

“Just a chai tea latte please. No need for Mr, call me Zeno,” The man’s low voice replied, the cashier just nodding to him accepting his payment. He seemed pretty nice, despite the room’s judgemental and scared stares at him.

Zeno quickly was given his order and he said something, but you couldn’t make out the words over the people next to you gossiping. You looked away from the man, now trying to overhear what they were saying.

“How could you not know! That is ZENO ZOLDYCK...The grandfather of the infamous group of assassins. The Zoldycks!” The frantic girl loudly whispered to what seemed her confused girlfriend.

“Ohhh you mean the group that lives on that mountain? Bunch of weirdos…” “Shh! He might hear you!”

You sat there feeling anchored to your seat. Assassin?

An assassin killed people for money. I mean, everyone had there reasons for certain...Professions. Zeno was an assassin, but he could be one who was hired to kill criminals, or other kinds of bad people. Who knows? There was never any telling how someone would be until they were right in front of you. People shouldn’t of assumed the worst of this man and that was rude to call their family a bunch of weirdos.

Before your mind could elaborate further on these thoughts, Zeno was standing at your table. Your eyes shot up at him, shocked to see him acknowledging you again.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” The man asked politely, his hand touching the chair. You couldn’t help but notice how long his fingers looked. Why were you looking at his fingers!? Calm down, just relax…

Zeno showed you a small smile that seemed to make you ease a bit, but you were still weirdly nervous.

“Y-Yeah? Oh! I mean..No! No, I don’t mind.” Words fumbled out your lips, struggling to keep an even tone. Your face was feeling hot all of a sudden, but your eyes were still fixated on him. This man was so...sexy.

Zeno chuckled at your response.

“Thank you.” The assassin replied, settling into the chair and putting his coffee down. Somehow, his presence was actually comforting to you. Almost warm? It should have you worried that an assassin was casually asking to sit at your table, but instead, you felt yourself blushing and thinking a murderer’s presence was warm. You really needed to make some conversation or something instead of awkwardly blushing in front of him!

“I’ll introduce myself, give you some time to collect those thoughts.” Zeno smoothly interrupted. The fact that he could tell you were struggling and continued to ease your nerves was pretty sweet of him.

“My name is Zeno Zoldyck and yes I am a part of the infamous group of assassins, but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy coming into a cafe much like yourself at times,” The smile turned into the slightest smirk causing you to blink sheepishly.

“You might be wondering why I chose to sit here and not at that table with those two goudy girlfriends,” The assassin glared over at the gossiping girls, scaring them senseless causing them to dart out the cafe. You practically glared over at them too. Serves them right for talking bad about someone they didn’t know. You grabbed your coffee to drink it slowly as if the coffee was something to calm you down. Zeno continued.

“It appeared to me that you looked like you could use some company. Not only that, but I take it you don’t see me as this monster that everyone else did.” Although someone in their right sense would.

You finally found it in you to reply, “Thank you for sitting with me, I honestly get pretty lonely sometimes and it’s nice to talk to someone. Yeah I just think people shouldn’t be judged without you getting to know them. People deserve to show themselves to you.”

Zeno nodded as a you’re welcome and seemed to appreciate this response. His smirk got bigger, “Is that why when you stared at me you pretended to be occupied with something else?”

He! He was really calling you out!

“Hey! I was trying to be polite, everyone was staring at you like you were some pyscho! I didn’t want to make you feel that way.”

“Why not?” Zeno bluntly poked.

“I didn’t know you and you seemed like a very interesting person.”

“Ah, I see. Interesting. Well, you seem to be a very interesting person yourself,” The older man commented staring into your eyes “...What was your name?”

Your face was probably bright red at this point. A man like Zeno was...complimenting you. A man so unreal was taking the time to converse with you.

“...Y/N,” You stuttered in complete awe of what was happening.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N” Zeno picked up your hand gently and kissed it. Your heart was racing in your chest.

“It’s a pleasure meeting you, darling. Would you like to leave this place with me?”

#feel free to request a short fic or headcanon SKKK #fanfic #fanfic writer #hxh fanfic #zeno zoldyck #zeno x reader #x reader #hunter x hunter #writings

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eggtoasties · 3 years

Text

socks of fate

Pairing: Sugawara Koushi/Reader

Rating: G

Summary: Maybe the red string of fate is actually cute patterned socks.

Word Count: 1.8k

AO3 Link: Here

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Sugawara burrowed further into his jacket against the cold chill of early spring. He walked faster towards the café and relaxed his shoulders once he opened the door and basked in the warm heat. Looking around the coffee shop—light wood with brass fixtures, floor to ceiling windows admitting bright afternoon rays, and an abundance of greenery—he found Daichi and Asahi at a table against the side of the wall.

Catching their attention, Sugawara waved and headed towards them. It had been a while since they had all seen each other—busy with work and adult lives—but, they always made an effort to meet up at least once a month to catch up.

Home-bound, he walked towards his childhood friends. He came up to the table and Daichi and Asahi stood up in response. Asahi spun him around in a bear hug, engulfing Sugawara’s smaller frame. Sugawara pat Asahi’s back and teasingly felt up his biceps through his shirt.

“Still working out, man? You look good,” Sugawara said with a teasing wink which made Asahi blush and stammer.

“Don’t fluster our little man baby,” Daichi said faux-sternly, lightly slapping the back of Sugawara’s head. “It’s good to see you Suga; it feels like it’s been ages.”

Sugawara pulled Daichi into a bone crushing hug, slightly lifting Daichi onto his tiptoes making him chuckle.

“We just got here a few minutes ago, let’s all order,” Asahi said excitedly. “I tried their iced dirty chai with caramel and sweet cream a while back and it was incredible. Daichi blinked at him—he had forgotten Asahi’s sweet tooth. Both feeling bad for the barista, Sugawara and Daichi nodded indulgently to their friend.

The trio went up to the counter and headed back to their table with their drinks. Although it had been a few weeks since Sugawara had talked to his two friends, they fell into easy conversation as if no time had passed between them. They caught up on work, family, friends, random tidbits of gossip, and chattered about nothing in particular.

While absentmindedly listening to Daichi lament about one of his coworkers and Asahi’s gentle consolations, Sugawara looked at his friends seated across from him. It had been years and years since high school. Gone was the round curve of their jaws and the rosy glow of adolescence. Although they were sitting, Sugawara noted the air of confidence that seemed to emanate from the cut of Asahi’s strong shoulders and the pull of authority that orbited around Daichi.

“Hello,” Daichi questioned, waving a hand in front of Sugawara’s face, “are you even listening to me?” he pouted. “I was saying how Hitoshi-san is definitely stealing my lunches and you were too busy spacing out,” he finished with a huff. “Or were you just thinking of Asahi’s arms?” Daichi said, laughing at Asahi’s embarrassment.

Asahi self-consciously crossed his arms over his broad chest and looked away from his snickering friends only to still as something caught his eye. Daichi quieted as he looked past Sugawara as well. Sugawara’s placating trailed off when he realized he had lost their attention and started to turn backwards in his chair.

She was walking towards their table, hips swaying and hands fiddling with the lid of an iced drink. Sugawara turned back, rolling his eyes at their idiocy. He had forgotten that they regressed five years when someone pretty caught their eyes. Trying to start conversation again, he took a plastic knife and tapped it against the side of his cup in mock seriousness. “Gentlemen, if you would be so kind to bring your attention back to me—”

She had walked a little past their table, giving Sugawara what he thought was a dismissive glance—starting with his face and ending at his feet. Rude, he thought to himself, when she suddenly stopped, ice and coffee slushing against the side of the plastic cup, and spun to face Sugawara.

She looked intensely at his honey eyes and he felt his cheeks reddening. From his periphery he saw Daichi tense up and Asahi jump a little at the incoming confrontation. Sugawara smiled nervously and wondered what he possibly could have done to be in the middle of her warpath and immediately tried to apologize.

“Your socks!” she said brightly.

The boys froze in confusion and Sugawara felt the heat rise to his ears. Daichi and Asahi peeked under the table and didn’t even try to hold their laughter in. Sugawara had worn open toed sandals that day. Socks and sandals are a look he constantly insisted to his judgmental friends—birks, he argued, are also comfortable. But, at that moment, he was regretting not going for a more weather appropriate boot. One that would cover the pastel yellow chickens dancing across his ankles. With easter egg hats and baby bunnies. It was a gift from his mom—what monster would deny their mother, Sugawara was internally monologuing.

“A-ah, yeah they were a gift—” he choked out.

“We’re twins!” she shouted gleefully. Setting her drink on their table and reaching down to her boot, she unzipped the side zipper and started one legged hopping in attempts to pull the shoe off. Finally freeing her foot she presented her sock to the table.

They were clearly from the same brand, but instead of the easter motif, her yellow chickens were gathered around a Christmas tree and leaving milk and cookies out for chicken Santa.

Adorable, Sugawara thought.

She wriggled her foot at them before moving to put her boot back on. Teetering a little to the side, about to lose her balance, she let out a little squeak, windmilling her arms to remain upright.

Shooting up from their seats, the boys leapt up to try and catch her, but Sugawara was the first to place one steadying hand to her lower back and another on her shoulder. He ignored the little smirks Daichi and Asahi sent his way as they sat back down.

“Oh my god, thank you,” she said breathlessly. “That would have been so embarrassing,” she muttered to herself. Zipping her boot up and straightening, she looked at the trio and flushed. “Well, thanks for letting me expose my feet to you guys,” she joked while picking her drink back up.

“Thanks again,” she said to Sugawara and walked towards her friends who had been watching and were currently laughing and pointing good naturedly at her.

Dazed, Sugawara looked back towards Daichi and Asahi. Daichi looked incredibly amused and Asahi had placed his elbows on the table, hands cupping his cheeks, looking doe-eyed at Sugawara.

Ignoring them, Sugawara crossed his legs and took a sip of his drink.

“So…” Sugawara drawled, twirling his straw. “Lunch thief?” he said weakly, preparing himself for the onslaught of teasing.

As their drinks slowly emptied and seconds and thirds were bought, Sugawara couldn’t help but sneak glances at her. Her back was towards him, but he could see the way she talked animatedly with her hands and nodded vigorously at her friends. He saw the way she threw her head back in laughter and heard it ring across the café.

As the trio’s conversations were dwindling to an end and the sun was lower in the sky, Asahi and Daichi ganged up on Sugawara.

“God, just ask for her number,” Daichi grinned.

“You kept looking at her—I’m pretty sure all her friends noticed too,” Asahi supplied. He dodged as Sugawara’s hand came to swipe at him and Asahi laughed at his friend’s embarrassment.

“C’mon Suga,” Daichi said, “worst case scenario she says no.”

“But who’d ever say no to our Suga baby,” Asahi crooned, exaggeratedly batting his eyelashes.

Huffing, Sugawara complained, “Worst case scenario is that she says no,” crossing his arms as they laughed.

Before they could continue making fun at him, Sugawara delivered swift kicks to Daichi and Asahi’s shins, making them both bang their knees under the table and scowl at him. Running a nervous hand through his hair and trying to look nonchalant, he glared meaningfully at his friends as she started to walk towards him. He tried not to stare while he pretended to make conversation with a disgruntled Daichi and a pouting Asahi, but he tracked her coming closer and closer from the corner of his eye.

“So,” she started, hands in her back pockets swaying slightly on the balls of her feet.

“And that’s why you need to cut down on salt—” he looked at her and felt his pulse in his throat. “Hi,” Sugawara squeaked, sending a kick specifically at Daichi.

“So,” she said again, “I was wondering if we maybe had more in common than just our superior taste in socks,” ending her sentence at a slightly higher pitch. She twirled a strand of hair around her index finger watching Sugawara’s reaction. “Would you wanna get a coffee sometime?” she asked, eyes crinkling down at him. “But if not, totally fine,” she said quickly, “you don’t have to feel obligated because of our, uh, sock solidarity,” she laughed.

Sugawara’s brain stopped and he swore he could feel his heart in his mouth. He felt a surge of relief that he didn’t have to ask her out, and stared at the way her hair fell around her shoulders. He had the urge to run the tips of his fingers across the ends to see if it felt as soft as it looked. Feeling a sharp pain in his shin, he jumped in his chair and shook himself from his stupor. Feeling the blood rush to his cheeks as he realized he had been staring in silence, he nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes, I’d love to get coffee,” he said quickly, elated at the way she brightened at his response. “H-here,” he fumbled with his phone as he passed it to her. Punching her number in with a grin, she gave his phone back.

“Thanks,” he said softly, staring at the contact information on his screen. “How’s next week Saturday? Twelve-ish?” Sugawara said eagerly, unable to keep the smile from his face.

“Sounds good to me,” she said humming to herself. Looking to her right where her friends were unabashedly watching, she laughed. “Text me!” she said, walking away, “see you soon, chicken!” waving at his table.

Waving back at her in a stupor, Sugawara felt as if his brain had left his body. He hardly heard Asahi’s whoops of encouragement or Daichi’s gentle teasing—he felt his pulse reverberate in his skull. He looked down at his feet and grinned.

As she left the café with one last wave, Sugawara beamed at the two in front of him and shot up from his seat. “Yes!” he shouted, pumping his fists in the air.

Daichi and Asahi leaned into each other and snickered. “Suga, you didn’t do anything,” Daichi said.

In response, Sugawara put his hands behind his head, and stared into the rafters.

“Look at the stupid grin on his face,” Asahi giggled.

Sugawara grinned impossibly harder.

#sugawara kōshi #sugawara koushi #sugawara x you #sugawara x reader #sugawara koshi #sugawara koshi x reader #sugawara koshi fluff #sugawara koshi imagine #haikyu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader

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callboxkat · 3 years

Text

Second Chances: Virgil’s No Good, Awful, Very Bad Week

Author’s note: Thank you everyone for your patience on this! I’m so sorry I didn’t get this out as quickly as I intended. I hope you enjoy it :)

Summary: Things had really begun to snowball for Virgil in the past week or so. And he was reaching his breaking point.

It had started with those stupid nails.

Warnings: Food mentions, rude customers, arguing

Word Count: 4735

Second Chances Masterpost!

Writing Masterpost!

...

Virgil had been having a time of it lately. Seemingly everything that could possibly wrong was going wrong, and he desperately needed a me day. He was going to lose it, at this rate.

His new coworker had finally settled in enough to start being actually helpful, rather than slowing everything down and doubling the number of irate customers Virgil had to juggle, and had maybe turned out to actually not be a jerk, and things had been looking up. But of course, Virgil’s life couldn’t have that, and here he was. Things had really begun to snowball in the past week or so. And he was reaching his breaking point.

It had started with those stupid nails.

…

“Are you freaking kidding me,” Virgil groaned.

There was a nail in his tire. A nail, in his tire. The end of it glinted slightly in the weak sunlight, the rest completely embedded in the tire of his car.

He’d had a feeling about what he’d fine, as the low pressure warning had come on and he’d pulled onto the side of the road, although he’d hoped otherwise. This was the third time this had happened in as many months. Virgil swore someone was seeding his driveway with them.

“Great. Just great.” Virgil fished his phone out of his pocket, glanced at the time—he was definitely going to be late for work, since he wasn’t about to let his car sit in the parking lot and leak air from the tire all morning—and dialed Thomas’s number. Apparently, he and Roman would get to start today’s shift alone.

Rain began to fall, pattering the street. Even more perfect. Virgil cast one more glare at the offending tire before he got back in his car. He slammed the door just as the line picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hey T, uh… were you going to go in today?”

“I wasn’t,” Thomas admitted. “Why, do you need me to?”

“Well, I was on my way to the café, but you’ll never guess what I just found in my tire.”

There was a sympathetic groan on the other end of the line. “Oh, no.”

“Yep.”

“But you just got that fixed.”

“Yep.”

“…Are you sure it’s not just a pebble?”

Virgil laughed. “Thomas, I think I know how to tell a nail head from a pebble. If I didn’t before, I sure should now.”

“That’s true.”

“So, uh, hopefully I shouldn’t be too long, but….”

“No, don’t worry about it. Do what you’ve got to do. I’ll go make sure Roman’s not by himself.”

“Yeah. Um, tell Princey I said hi, I guess. And that if he messes anything up while I’m gone, I’m gonna take his name tag and make him wear my Myrtle one.”

“…You don’t have a Myrtle nametag?”

“I’ll make one, then.”

Thomas snorted. “Alright.” He knew Virgil was joking. Which he was. Mostly.

Getting a nail in his tire sucked; but of course, it if were only the nail that he had to deal with, it wouldn’t have been so bad. Virgil could handle a minor inconvenience. A few minor inconveniences. But things only got worse from there.

…

“Medium chai latte with two cherries,” the woman standing in front of the register said, not looking up from her phone.

“Sure,” Virgil said. They typed in the order, then told her the price. The cherries seemed a little odd, as did the specific request for exactly two of them, but they’d put together some pretty strange orders. And it wasn’t exactly difficult to throw in a couple of cherries. It wasn’t a very expensive drink.

The woman frowned anyway and finally looked up from her phone, clearly unhappy. “But the sign says the chai latte is only—"

THUMP! The loud interruption was accompanied by a gasp and a splash. Virgil spun around, their heart immediately racing. There was a yelp from the side—probably Roman.

“Oh, goodness gracious,” Thomas sighed, one hand on the counter, looking down at the mess he’d made. He’d dropped a gallon of milk—which had been nearly full, from the look of it, and which either hadn’t had a cap, or had lost it when the jug fell, hitting the ground hard. It had, of course, tipped onto its side. Now, milk was spreading across the floor, and there were splashes of it across the bottom of the cabinets and their clothes.

Roman, the only one of the three spared from the splatter, quickly set down the pair of drinks he’d just finished before he could drop them. A bit of coffee dripped down the side of one of the cups. His eyes were wide as he looked from the splattered milk on the floor, to Thomas by the counter, to Virgil at the register.

Virgil also took a second to take in the scene, then noticed the damp feeling at the ankles of their leggings. They looked down, and their still frantic heart managed to sink as they took in their skirt. It was new, ankle length, with beading and embroidered skulls. They’d worn it with a stylishly ripped long sleeve shirt under their uniform shirt, as well as a studded choker with a dangling storm cloud pendant, which had been a birthday gift from Thomas. They were also wearing a they/them pin that they’d gotten from Roman, who’d shown up one day with a set of three pins, looking both very nervous and very pleased with himself. Virgil had still been able to see where the clearance sticker had been torn off—not that they were judging saving a little money. Virgil was 100% sure that the gift was Roman’s attempt to help himself, since apparently the name tags were too subtle. Virgil thought it was kind of hilarious—and maybe a little sweet (maybe)—so they wore the pins.

They had loved the look, minus the Sanders Café shirt; and wearing it had really brightened having to go to work so early in the morning; but now the ensemble was rather soured by the milk dripping from the skirt’s hem and splashed across their shoes. They stepped back to avoid the spreading puddle, as if it mattered at that point.

“Huh,” they said, still trying to get their heart rate to calm down.

Thomas sighed as if in agreement. A few people in line either groaned or snickered, depending on how impatient they were feeling on that particular day, but most weren’t that rude. One person whispered to their friend, “Should we go somewhere else?”

Roman, meanwhile, looked like he was waiting for someone to start yelling. He was eyeing the closet where the cleaning supplies were, but he couldn’t get to it without marching through the milk, and he was visibly hesitating. Probably didn’t want to ruin his shoes. Virgil might have been annoyed, but Roman was the only one who hadn’t already gotten milk on them, so they couldn’t really blame him.

Their gaze drifted to Thomas’s hand on the counter, and how much weight he was putting on it, and the fact that Thomas had also made no move to clean up the spill.

“I’ve got this,” Virgil said, leaving the register and the crowd behind it. A soccer mom who was waiting for her drink made a snide comment about professionalism. Virgil decided her drink was getting made last.

“Thanks,” Thomas said. He watched as Virgil righted the jug and picked it up. The side of the jug had cracked, and they quickly moved to hold the jug at an angle to avoid too much more spilling—not that there was all that much left. It continued to drip as they carried it to the sink and set it down. Then, they went to get a mop. Thomas was feigning casualness as Virgil went, clearly preferring to look a bit like a jerk than anything else in front of the customers, who probably assumed he was just a manager taking advantage of the lower ranking employee by forcing them to clean up his mess. Virgil wasn’t going to do anything to ruin that image if that was the one he preferred, although they did keep an eye on Thomas as they started to clean up the spill.

Roman slowly turned back to what he’d been doing, wiping off the side of one of the drinks and sliding the both towards the waiting crowd. He grabbed one of the café’s popular double chocolate cheesecake slices, put it on a plate, and added it to the grouping on the counter before calling the customers’ names.

After a few seconds, Thomas straightened and walked to the register, and sat down on the stool. Chatter resumed a more usual tone in the café, although Virgil did notice a few people taking pictures of the spill.

Thomas smiled brightly at Ms. Chai Latte with Two Cherries. “Sorry about the wait! Let’s see, one chai latte, with two added cherries. That’ll be—”

The woman was already waving her credit card in his direction. “I know, I know. Here.”

Finally, the spill was cleaned up, and Virgil went to put away the mop. They snagged a bag of chips from the display and tossed them to Thomas on their way. And for the rest of their shift, they desperately tried to ignore the milk still stubbornly set into their skirt and leggings.

…

“Sorry,” Virgil said dully, not actually sorry at all, “Would you mind repeating that again?”

The young man grinned and repeated his very, very long order, speaking fast in a way that could only be on purpose. Virgil was pretty sure the order was different this time than the first. They cast a glance at the camera phone the guy was holding up, which was recording the entire thing, as if this was somehow the thrilling content the entire internet was looking for.

“One more time,” they said. “Please,” they added, because their boss would want them to.

The guy chuckled. “A little slow, huh…” he squinted at their shirt “…Alex, are we?”

Virgil only blinked at him.

He repeated the order. He definitely changed it again, but at least he slowed down this time. Slightly. Virgil typed it in, flashed a customer-service smile that didn’t reach their eyes, and went to make the order, taking a copy of the receipt. Roman was technically meant to fill the orders, but no one else was in the café besides a pair of teens waiting for their drinks. And based on the look the other barista cast Virgil, he had no idea where to start with this guy’s order anyway, even if he wasn’t already busy. Everything the man had ordered was ridiculous and often contradictory, like an “americano” with milk and whipped cream, to start. Most of the drinks had about ten customizations each that made their drinkability questionable at best. The order was rounded out by two relatively normal cappuccinos, identical except that one was decaf, and three-quarters of a cookie (he was being charged for the full cookie). It wasn’t a cheap bill, but that didn’t seem to be a concern.

The man filmed Virgil work, making dumb comments and laughing, and calling out various things that he thought that the barista had forgotten even though they hadn’t, or saying that they hadn’t added enough sprinkles or cherries or syrup, or whatever he could think of. Virgil only checked the receipt and kept going.

When the customer clearly didn’t get the reaction he wanted from any of that nonsense, he instead started berating Virgil’s appearance, saying he hadn’t known he was at some kind of freak raccoon zoo.

Roman looked annoyed at that and opened his mouth to respond, but Virgil shook their head. “Don’t, Princey,” they said in a low voice.

Roman hadn’t looked happy, but he had dropped it, instead heading over to the register, so that he could help the newly arriving customers who would otherwise be stuck waiting.

Finally, the monstrous order was done, and Virgil placed each cup on a tray. Two trays, actually. The drinks didn’t all fit on one. They set the dumb three-quarters cookie the customer had ordered on top of the lid of one of the cups.

“Which one’s the full caff cappuccino?” he asked. “You know, with—”

He went on to list all of the specifications it had, which Virgil tuned out because they didn’t care. They calmly pointed at one of the cups.

The guy grinned, took that drink off of the tray, and set it to the side. Then he did his best to fit everything else on one tray, putting his phone in a chest pocket so he could keep filming. He wasn’t going to win any awards for cinematography. Maybe he didn’t have any friends to film for him. It wouldn’t be a surprise.

The man picked up his overflowing tray of drinks, and then he dumped the entire thing in the trash.

Some of the drinks hit the edges of the trash can’s opening, spilling over the sides; but most of the man’s order ended up firmly in the trash. Everything Virgil had spent the past… he didn’t even know how long putting together. The two teenagers in the cafe looked up from their table, their jaws falling open like they couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

Roman looked even more horrified, but as angry as they were, Virgil simply blinked and turned to the drink the guy had set aside. “Oh, wait. Yeah. Sorry, that one’s actually the decaf.”

The wannabe internet star, who’d been watching their reactions smugly, paused. His face went blank with surprise, then contorted in rage. He turned off his camera phone and stormed out of the café without his drink.

Virgil counted to five, to reset, and let out a long, weary sigh. There weren’t many customers who were that horrible, but they were always a pain to deal with on the rare occasion they did show up. They turned to the small line that had collected during the show, held up by how long the one pointless order had taken. “If you all wouldn’t mind, please use the trash can on the other side of the café until further notice.” They pointed at the other trash can. They’d clean up the other once the line was gone, or make Roman do it.

Speaking of Roman, the other barista was still staring at the trashcan full of wasted drinks. Probably his first encounter with someone like that.

“Next customer,” Virgil called.

“He didn’t even… try any of them,” Roman said quietly. He looked down at the solitary, ridiculous drink left on the counter, and picked it up.

Virgil sighed. “Yeah. He was just here to make a mess for views, or whatever. Don’t worry about it. You can just throw that one away, too—we can’t sell it; and I doubt he’s coming back.” They turned and smiled at the customer before them. “So sorry about the wait. What can I get for you?”

They focused on taking the customer’s order, then turned to Roman, only to see that he hadn’t moved, still standing with the abandoned drink. He looked angry.

“Roman?”

“I’m taking my break,” Roman said. Still holding the drink, he left the prep area, walking stiffly towards the back of the café.

Great.

Virgil watched him go, shrugged, and went to make the order herself. She handed the drink off, then paused to switch the pins on her shirt before heading back to the register.

Some time later, once the café’s line was empty and the trash can had been cleaned up, Virgil walked to the break room and leaned on the doorframe. Roman was in there, sitting on the sofa, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and looking at the floor. The drink he’d taken from the counter sat on a table, half finished.

“You drank it?”

“It was the most normal drink he ordered,” Roman said, not looking up. “And he barely touched it.”

“Yeah, but… it’s decaf.”

Roman huffed, but he didn’t actually seem amused.

“What’s up, Princey?”

Roman shook his head.

“Come on, humor me. I don’t have time to needle it out of you. Someone’s supposed to be out front.”

Roman shook his head, glanced at Virgil, and looked away again. “It’s just a big waste, okay? What that guy did. I don’t—” He shook his head. “People shouldn’t do that.”

“No,” Virgil agreed, still confused about why a few drinks mattered so much to Roman. He wasn’t the one to waste so much time putting them together, and the guy had paid for them. “They shouldn’t.”

Roman took in a shaky breath and sat up, still looking away. “Sorry, just… go back out front. I’ll join you in a second.”

“…Okay.” Virgil hesitated, glancing him up and down, but she did leave.

Roman came back soon after, but he kept acting weird for the rest of their shift.

When she got home that afternoon, Virgil wanted nothing more than to take a long nap and watch some bad television, but someone had backed into her mailbox, and she got to deal with that instead.

…

The next day, the fridge died.

The freaking. Fridge. Died. They had just gotten a milk delivery!

Virgil and Thomas were stuck with a dead fridge and a crowd of customers who weren’t exactly going to leave and give them space to figure out what to do. At least they knew roughly when it had stopped working, since Virgil had checked it when he got to the café, and they’d noticed something was wrong soon after.

Thomas went to the back to make some calls about getting the fridge fixed, and Virgil went on as normal, since they had some time before this really became a problem.

He tried not to think about it too much—at least, not until Thomas returned, looking annoyed and exasperated.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “That’s the earliest they can come look at it.”

“Everything will go bad way before then,” Virgil pointed out, arching an eyebrow. “The milk.”

“Yep.”

“So? What are we going to do?”

“Bradley told me we could figure that out. He doesn’t care.”

“Um, okay, well….”

Thomas shrugged. “Clearance sale?”

They ended up selling everything that required refrigeration for half of the regular price. Some of the less popular items, or items they had a lot of, were even further discounted. The first few customers to find this out were simply pleasantly surprised to hear the prices. Some of them added more to their orders, since they might as well.

And then, news spread, which created a new problem. Soon, the line was out the door, the café filled with customers clamoring for their discount coffee and pastry fix.

This rush, naturally, created more problems. Many of the customers seemed to be under the impression that everything was half price, and Virgil had the joyous task of dealing with many customers who were angry that their plain black coffee or chocolate chip cookies were full price, and who were unimpressed by Virgil’s suggestion that they make their americano a cappuccino or a latte if they were that set on paying less.

Thomas and Virgil were pushing out orders as fast as they could, and still it seemed like half the shop was filled with people clamoring to get their orders filled.

Mass hysteria rose when the café ran out of the popular double chocolate cheesecake. Virgil was beginning to contemplate simply closing the café for the day, cutting their losses, and hoping he wouldn’t get fired for doing so. Possibly the only reason he didn’t do that was remembering Roman’s reaction to a few (well… relatively few) drinks getting thrown away.

At one point, Thomas pulled Virgil aside. “I might need to go home,” he very reluctantly admitted. “This is… a lot. Would that be okay? I don’t want to leave you alone with all this.”

Virgil bit his lip. “Okay. Just… hold on a minute. Stay on the register. I’ll see if anyone else can come.”

Virgil pulled out his phone (which he was allowed to have in his apron pocket, at least as far as he cared) and stepped away from the crowded front of the café, retreating to the back room. He tapped his painted nails against the black, purple-rhinestone-studded phone case, thinking. Talyn and Joan would both be in class, so they weren’t an option. And he didn’t like most of the other baristas. Really, there was only one option.

Virgil selected Roman’s contact, and waited. He’d have preferred to just text—he hated phone calls—but he couldn’t be sure that a text would get Roman’s attention; and that cheap phone of his probably took forever to type on, anyway.

“Hey, Virgil,” Roman said. “What’s up? It’s my day off, isn’t it?” There was a shuffling noise, like he was scrambling to check that he hadn’t gotten the date wrong.

“Yeah—yeah, I know it is. Sorry, but, uh… we kind of have an emergency going on here, and we really need you to come in if you can. The fridge died this morning, so Thomas and I are trying to sell everything we can before it goes bad, and it’s getting crazy. And he’s not feeling well, so it’d just be me here… and—and it won’t like you’ll be losing your day off this week, since I doubt we’ll be able to open tomorrow with no fridge or supplies or anything. It’ll only be a couple of hours.” After that, they’d have to throw everything out.

Roman paused.

“…Please?”

“Wow, you must really be desperate if you’re saying ‘please’.”

Virgil scoffed, but before he could say anything, Roman continued, “Yeah, of course I’ll come in. One sec, I’ll see if I can get a ride.” Roman seemed to freeze, as if he’d misspoken “Uhh—my car’s—it’s in the shop.”

“…Yeah, sure.” That was an obvious lie, but it was neither any of his business nor anything he particularly cared about, especially at that moment. Virgil heard a scuffing noise, then footsteps, then a muffled conversation. Virgil paced the back room impatiently.

“Alright, I’m on my way. Give me like ten minutes, maybe fifteen.”

Virgil heaved a sigh of relief. “Thanks.”

He went out to tell Thomas, who agreed to stay until Roman arrived, although he wasn’t sure how helpful he’d be.

And then a disgruntled guest threw a drink, because apparently it was taking too long to get their wife’s order. Virgil was really going to need a self-care day after the week he was having. Or two. Or ten.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to leave,” Thomas said from the register, looking unimpressed with the display.

“Sure, ma’am, whatever you say,” the customer said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Thomas frowned.

“Bye,” Virgil said pointedly.

Both customers looked annoyed, but thankfully, they did leave. The next several customers were overly nice, as if trying to make up for them. Virgil was not opposed to that, or to the substantial tips a few of them left.

Just under fifteen minutes later, Roman arrived. Another young man came in with him. Virgil assumed that he was a customer at first, but he looked around the café, grinning, chatting with Roman in a clearly familiar way.

“Wow, Roman,” Virgil heard, “is it always this busy?”

Roman laughed. “No, Pat. This is a little… unusual.”

“Oh, that’s good. It looks like a Black Friday sale in here.”

“That’s accurate,” Thomas commented, looking amused, as they came closer. He was sitting on the stool from the register, no longer taking orders—Virgil had been doing that for a while now. He started to get up, leaning on the counter to talk to Roman. “Thanks for coming in. Virge and I really appreciate it.”

Roman waved him off. “It’s fine, I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Still, thanks,” Thomas repeated. He waved at Virgil, then left the prep area, starting to untie the knot of his apron.

Virgil set down another cluster of drinks and pastries, and called the names on the orders even as hands appeared from the crowd to snatch them. Hopefully they were the right people, but if not, well… not his problem. “Who’s this?” Virgil asked, coming closer to Roman.

“Oh, Virgil, this is Patton. He gave me a ride. He’s, uh….”

“I’m his roommate,” Patton said, smiling. “And a friend.”

“Yeah,” said Roman. “Thanks, Pat. You can go home if you want.”

“Okay. Just text me when I should pick you up!” He smiled at Virgil, then glanced around at the crowded café. “Well, I won’t keep you, but it’s nice to meet you, kiddo.”

“Nice to meet you,” Virgil agreed.

The young man hugged Roman before he left, and then the baristas turned to face the mob.

By the time their clock ran out, very little was left to throw away. Still, Virgil could tell it pained Roman when they had to announce to everyone that the café was closing, and even more so when they threw out what was left. There wasn’t much to do about it, though, which Roman understood.

After their disaster of a morning came to a close, Virgil threw his apron at the hook on the wall in the wall. He missed, and the apron fell to the ground. “At least we get tomorrow off, right?” he sighed.

(Of course, this was before he knew that Bradley would ask him to be there when the repair worker came to look at the fridge)

…

Virgil watched a movie in bed that afternoon, but she burned her popcorn, which happened to be the last in the box; and she wasn’t exactly willing to go out and buy a new one at that moment. And the neighbor’s kids seemed to be having some kind of screaming competition.

She wasn’t having a great week.

…

The next afternoon, after dealing with the fridge situation at the café, Virgil finally got to go home and properly relax. No more nails in his tires, no more angry or entitled customers, and no more neighbors backing into his mailbox.

He had barely closed the front door before he was kicking off his shoes and yanking off his Sanders Café shirt (Why had he worn it, when the café wasn’t even open? The best he could figure was some kind of horrible autopilot.) He put his head back and let out a cry of pent-up frustration.

The week was over. It was finally time for some self-care, before he lost it completely.

He put on his softest pajama pants and was about to flop on the couch to watch The Office when the doorbell rang. He would have ignored it, but it rang again. Virgil threw a pillow in the door’s direction. It fell to the floor. The doorbell rang again.

Reluctantly, Virgil got up and went to answer it, and give whoever stood there a piece of his mind. “What,” he groaned, only to cut himself off when he saw who stood there. “…Oh. Hi, Thomas.”

“Hi,” Thomas said. He held up a case in one hand and smiled. “I brought drinks.”

Strawberry lemonade—Virgil’s favorite.

Virgil leaned on the doorframe and looked at Thomas appraisingly. “…You like The Office, right?” he asked.

Thomas laughed. “Storm Cloud, I introduced you to The Office.”

“Hm.” Virgil stepped back to let him in, cracking a grin. “Fair point.”

They watched a few too many episodes of The Office before Thomas went home, and by then, Virgil was feeling a lot better. Still, once he was alone, Virgil treated himself to a nice soak in the tub (in swim trunks and t-shirt) with a wine glass full of his finest purple Gatorade. He even set out candles (the battery-powered kind), put on some relaxing music, and used a swirling galaxy bath bomb that he’d been saving. A book Thomas had recommended sat on a little table by the tub, along with his cellphone in case it didn’t turn out as to be as good as his friend claimed.

Once everything was ready, Virgil sank into the bath, Gatorade in hand, surrounded by a swirling galaxy, ready to let the stress melt away

It was a nice way to end a very, very sucky week.

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softboywriting · 4 years

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Haven Port | Chapter Two | Shawn Mendes

Summary: Shawn and his pack have moved to your tiny town of Haven Port. You’ve never met werewolves other than your dad before and you’re infinitely curious. You may be only half werewolf but you and Shawn have a connection that will send you on a wild romantic journey in this small town you call home. [hybrid reader] [werewolf shawn]

Word count: 3.5k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Shawn walks into the shop no more than ten minutes after you open the next day. It's a thrill to see him, your stomach flip flops and your heart soars. It's been a long time since you've felt like this. He's in just a sweater and jeans and for a moment you feel bad, knowing his coat is at your house behind the front door. If you'd known he was coming by you would have brought it to work with you.

“Morning,” He smiles warmly and you lean against the counter, grinning ear to ear. Something about him makes you so excited that you can't control your face when you see him. You feel like you must look like a doofus.

“Good morning. What can I get started for you?” You giggle, yes, actually giggle. Good grief he has you giggling like a teenager with a crush.

Shawn crosses his arms and saunters along the length of the counter. “I want something warm," he looks at your sweater clad chest. "Something sweet," he looks at your lips and you can feel your hands sweat. "And I think maybe something with a toasty brown color,” his eyes go to your brown fuzzy ears. “Oh and I'd like it for here, not to go.”

“Hmm, I dunno...I could suggest maybe a chai tea with honey?” You say playfully, grabbing a small glass mug off the rack by the counter for dine in guests. You know he's teasing you, describing you as his drink. "Maybe a-"

Shawn leans over the counter and grins, stopping you mid sentence. He motions for you to lean forward, to come closer and you do. He hooks his finger over the front of your apron and plays with the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. “Is there anything sweeter?” he whispers, eyes on your lips.

“I-I don't know,” You mutter, suddenly aware of how suggestive this was getting.

Shawn chuckles and releases your apron, eyes soft as he leans away, understanding you've gotten nervous from his attention. “Chai with extra honey will be fine.” He purrs softly, voice low and still in flirt mode.

You turn around quickly, cheeks flushed hot as you begin to prepare his tea.

It takes a few minutes to steep his drink and you peek over at him while he browses your gift selection. He picks up gift baskets and looks them over before setting them down again. Occasionally he will smile to himself and steal a glance back at you.

“What do you do?” You ask, and he looks up from a breakfast basket you made just a few days ago.

“I used to work with my dad. He owns a couple garages.”

“You're a mechanic?”

Shawn approaches the counter and you slide his cup toward him. “I was, yes. I've also been a carpenter and a landscaper.” He hangs his head and chuckles inwardly. “I guess I've done a lot.”

“What kind of work are you doing here? Or have you found a job yet?”

“I'm still looking. I'd like to get a job in town here but I'm not too keen on working on a fishing boat. I can't leave my pack for weeks at a time.”

You turn to the back counter and grab your phone. “I know someone who could use help. He's a friend of my Dad's. He works on the boats at the docks.”

“Repair work?”

You nod. “Repair and maintenance. I used to run the parts room and answer his calls for him when I was eighteen, it was my first job. You'd be perfect, you're young, strong, and I think with your experience you would be a good fit.” You slide a piece of paper with a phone number on it next to Shawn's mug.

“You don't have to do this,” Shawn mutters, looking the number over before pocketing it. "Thank you though."

“I know I don't have to, but I want you to stick around.”

“You do? Why's that?”

“I like you." You smirk, wiping down the counter as another customer walks in. “You're interesting, I've never gotten to know a wolf before.”

Shawn smiles and takes a seat while you help the customer that came in. The order is big, it's for a boat crew that has just docked. By the time you finish, Shawn is gone. You sigh, hoping you'd have gotten more time to talk. Maybe tomorrow or something, maybe you could get his number. Yeah. You'd ask for his number.

_____________________

“So you're the girl the alpha is gaga for?” A voice says behind you at the market the next day and you turn around. A tall curvy girl in a bright pink coat beams at you. Beside her is a guy about your age who is taller and built like Shawn.

“Um...you mean Shawn right?”

“Uh huh,” she giggles and thrusts her hand out excitedly. “I'm Ava and this is David.”

You take her hand and shake, her skin is incredibly warm compared to your partially frozen hand. Unfortunately high body temperature was not a trait you inherited from your dad. “Are you from Shawn's pack?”

“We are! We just got in two nights ago. David and I decided to come get some real food since Shawn has been surviving on snacks and coffee since he got here.” She rolls her eyes and you stifle a little laugh. Shawn didn't seem the type. “Anyway, I knew who you were because Shawn came home smelling like you the last two nights. I hope that doesn't sound weird, because I don't mean you smell or-”

David taps Ava's arm. He signs something with his hands and Ava shakes her head. David seems to insist. Ava makes a motion with her fist and scowls at him. This silent argument goes on for a good thirty seconds before Ava realizes you're staring, lost to the silent conversation.

“Shit, sorry. David is deaf. I get a little caught up when he is being so annoying.”

“What did he say?” You ask. “I mean it's okay, I'm not going to be offended if it's about me.”

Ava sighs and signs to David. He repeats his question. “He wants to know if your ears are able to be hidden, like can you shift?”

“Ohh, no. I can't shift. I'm stuck like this.” You reach up and scratch your ear a bit. “I'd actually never met a wolf other than my dad before I met Shawn. Can wolves partially shift?”

“Nope. It's human or wolf, no in between.” She signs to David and he nods. “Would you wanna come over for dinner? You could meet the rest of the pack, and I'm sure Shawn would absolutely love to see you.”

You look down at your basket of vegetables and snacks. “Well, I was going to make a chop salad for dinner, but I can make it later.”

“Make it and bring it over!”

“Oh, okay, sure. Where do you live? Shawn said it was outside of town and I don't have a car so...”

“We'll pick you up, is 5:30 okay?”

“Sure, I think I should have enough time to make a salad and shower.”

Ava claps her hands and signs the plans to David. He smiles and nods to you. You say goodbye and finish your shopping, suddenly nervous about the dinner plans. What if the other wolves didn't like you? What if Shawn wasn't happy with you coming to his place? Shit.

_____________________

It’s ten after five when you hear a car pull into your driveway. You look out and see it's Shawn's Jeep. You grab a coat and check Parker's water and food dish in the front entryway. He's set for the evening. You grab your bowl of salad and head out into the crisp evening air.

Shawn rolls down the passenger window and leans over to see you as you approach the Jeep. “How did Ava convince you to come to dinner?” He laughs and you pass him the salad through the window.

“Well I knew you would be there, and I want to meet more wolves. It was really a no brainer.” You crawl up into the Jeep and Shawn rolls up the window. "I hope it's alright."

“Yes, it's fine. Ava told me you were coming over tonight and I nearly flipped because of the short notice but it's okay. The house is in no shape for visitors yet, well, it wasn't.” Shawn backs out and heads for the county road that leads in and out of town. “I'm going to have to ask you to understand that wolves are...well we're animals. Things happen.”

“What are you talking about? What things?”

Shawn turns down a dirt road and heads into a patch of woods. “We get a little rough with each other.”

“Alright? You giggle, eyebrows raised. “I'm sure you couldn't have wrecked the house already.”

“Wolves don't like change. They get a little rambunctious, and my pack just moved in. There were some fights for bedrooms and what not.”

"Ah, like siblings then?"

"Yes. Like siblings." He says oftly, chuckling a bit. "That's a very good comparison."

A few more minutes of winding through the woods and the trees open up to a big flat area. The home you're approaching is a large cabin like structure. It's got several rooms by the look of it. Its nice though, well kept outside and no signs of damage. There are two other cars in the driveway and suddenly you realize you don't know how big Shawn's pack is. You have no idea how many wolves you're going to meet.

“We're here.” Shawn announces, parking the Jeep and sighing. “I should warn you, some of my wolves are very excited to meet you.”

“Why? I'm just some girl from town?”

“You're some girl I like a lot and they know it.”

You raise your eyebrows and he raises his back. “Not much of a dater are you?”

Shawn shakes his head and chuckles. “Not really. Come on, I'll keep you from getting mauled.”

As soon as you walk in with Shawn you're met with three wolves you hadn't met yet. Two girls and a guy, all similar in age to you and Shawn. They don't look particularly excited like Shawn said and you feel anxious.

“Hi,” you smile nervously, giving your name and offering the salad bowl out in front of you. “I made salad.”

“Is that supposed to feed all of us?” The guy asks, eyeing the bowl skeptically.

You look back to Shawn and swallow hard. “Um...yes?"

Shawn growls softly. The three wolves look down, seemingly reprimanded.

“I'm Jo, this is Lindsay and Ryan,” the shortest girl says, stepping forward and extending her hand. “Shawn has told us about you.”

“Good things I hope,” you laugh nervously. You swallow harshly and Shawn puts his hand on your back.

“Familiar much?” Lindsay says, eyes on Shawn's gesture.

“Be nice Lindsay. Why don't you three take the salad into the kitchen and start setting up dinner?” Shawn says firmly.

Ryan takes the salad bowl from you and follows the two girls out of the entryway. You look up at Shawn as his hand falls from your back. “I thought they were excited to meet me?”

“They were. I don't know what the problem is. I'm not really happy with them.”

“Oh. Well Ava and David were very excited when we met in the market. Did I do something wrong?”

Shawn shakes his head. He tucks your hair behind your ear and strokes it before you can pull away. The gesture sends a wave of warmth through your body. “Ava is always excited about everything. She's the most lovely person I've ever met. David is her mate and the poor guy gets dragged everywhere. But, no I don't think you've done anything wrong. I just need to talk with my wolves.”

You nod and allow Shawn to lead you into the dining room. The table is lined with spaghetti and meatballs, garlic bread, sauteed vegetables and your little bowl of salad. It looks like enough food to feed a small army.

“Come! Sit!” Ava cheers, patting the seat beside her.

“You heard the lady,” Shawn smiles and you take a seat, Shawn sitting on your other side.

Clanking of dishes and banter over the food and daily activities fill the room for the entirety of dinner. You remain quiet, eating slowly as you listen to the wolves around you. They are your people but you couldn't feel any more out of place. Only Ava and Shawn attempt conversation but even then you are reserved, answers short and sweet. A few of the wolves stare at you from time to time. You know it's your ears they see. Not you.

Dinner ends after what feels like forever and everyone helps clean up while you sit awkwardly in the living room all alone. Of course you offered to help but Ava said you were a guest and guests don't clean up.

You try to lessen your awkward silence of sitting alone in the living room by going to the bathroom. On your way back you stop in the hall when you hear harsh whispering.

“Did you see her ears?” What sounds like Jo, giggles. “They kept moving anytime someone on the other side of the table would speak up, I was purposely asking Ryan questions because it looked ping pong with her ears.” You peer around the corner to see Jo and Lindsay snickering.

“Ping, ping, ping.” Linday says, motioning her right hand, and then her left up by her head to mimic your ears.

The wall is cold when you lean back against it, heartbroken. You hadn’t heard someone say something like that since you were in school. Numbly you make your way back to the living, deciding to go back to the safe zone where no one could hide in the corner and make fun of you.

You chew on your thumb nail, peeling it off nervously when Shawn and Ryan walk into the room. Shawn sits down and puts his arm over the back of the couch behind you. “You're stressed, what's wrong?” He asks in a low whisper.

“It's nothing. I'm just not used to being around so many people.”

“Would you like to go somewhere quieter?”

You nod and Shawn stands up with you. The other wolves start to walk in the living room and you step closer to Shawn. He puts his arm around your back and walks you toward the stairs. You know every wolf in the house is watching you as Shawn leads you up to the second floor. It makes you sweat.

Shawn leads you into what is clearly his bedroom. It's the master bedroom if you were to guess by the size. There's a large unmade bed in the center of the room with dark sheets and a dark bedspread. The room is very cozy, lush and inviting. The window to your right rattles loudly and makes you jump. The wind must be picking up and you realize you hadn't checked what the weather was supposed to be like for the evening.

You pull out your phone as Shawn apologizes for his mess and makes the bed for you to sit on. You pull up the weather and sure enough, a storm was coming in. A snow storm and you're at least fifteen minutes from home in the middle of the woods. Great. Even if you left now, there is a slim chance of getting home without getting stuck.

“What's wrong?” Shawn asks, looking up from where he's tucking the top sheet under the mattress. “Your ears are down like you're upset.”

“It's snowing,” you mutter, going to the window and looking out at the soft flakes floating to the already covered ground below. “A storm is coming in and I can't go home can I?”

“Of course you can go home. Why would the snow stop you?”

You look over at him and raise your eyebrows. “Snow storm means very little visibility, slick roads, you name it. I can't have you try and drive in that.”

Shawn shrugs and shakes out his comforter. “I'd find a way, but you are welcome to stay the night.”

You cross the room and sit on the edge of the bed. For a moment you think staying would be the best idea ever. For just a split second you forget that it's not just you and Shawn in the house, and then reality comes tumbling back. The conversation in the hall between Jo and Lindsay. The looks at dinner, the greeting when you arrived. It's weighs on you.

“I don't think your pack likes me,” you sigh softly, lip trembling a bit. You're not sure why but it's getting to you, it shouldn't, you've dealt with it your whole life. Maybe it's because you had high hopes of being accepted for once with these people being wolves and all.

Shawn sinks down on the bed beside you and takes your hand. “I think they're nervous,” he squeezes gently, fingers lacing between yours naturally. “I think maybe they don't know what to do wit h you because they don't know how I'll react.”

“So it's you? Not me?”

Shawn nods.

"But..." You're about to say something about Jo and Lindsay but you stop yourself. Starting drama wouldn't solve anything. "I guess. I think I'll stay the night, if it's really okay. I don't want to try and drive home in this weather. I think...I think I'm comfortable enough with you to stay.”

“Good, because I really didn't want to have to drive in this storm,” he chuckles softly. “Let me find you some clothes to sleep in.” He gets up and goes to his dresser, sifting through until he finds a tee and some pants that are not your size but you accept anyways. You change, back to him as you carefully fold your clothes on top of his dresser.

“Why am I so comfortable with you?” You ask, looking back at him. “We barely know each other but I feel almost like we're connected, like I've known you forever.”

Shawn looks over with a smile as he pulls a clean tee on over his head. “It's the wolves in us. They instinctively crave each other.”

“I'm just half wolf though.”

“Mmm it's strong enough, I can feel it, you can too if you let yourself.” Shawn walks over to you by the dresser. “Have you ever trusted your instincts?” He moves behind you, placing his hands on the dresser on either side, caging you in from behind.

“Shawn... what are you doing?” You ask, heart racing. He's so warm, his heat radiating onto your back. His closeness makes your breath hitch.

“Close your eyes,” Shawn purrs close to your ear. Your eyes fall closed and you bite your lip. “Relax, focus on what you feel.”

“Nervous. Anxious.”

“Push past that. Try not to overthink, let the instinct do the talking.”

You let out a long breath and try to push aside the nerves Shawn is giving you. Focus, relax. Warmth spreads over you, starting at your cheeks and flooding down to your stomach.

“Yes, good,” Shawn purrs and bumps his nose against you ear. “What does your instincts want, what do you want?”

“I don't know,” you mutter. Your heart races and it's not the nerves from the closeness anymore. “I can't tell.”

“You can. Focus.”

You shift your weight, bumping Shawn before pressing yourself against the dresser and shaking your head. You tilt your head back, ears pressed against Shawn's chest. “My instincts want...no, I want a companion.”

“A companion?”

You nod. “I want you, my instincts want you.”

Shawn wraps his arms around your stomach and you melt into his hold “I know they do. You do to. See what I mean? That wolves crave each other?”

You rub your head back against his chest, enjoying the feeling of his warm shirt against your ears. “Do all wolves have a connection like this?”

“No,” Shawn says, nosing your hair and walking you toward the bed. “You're special.”

“Psh, liar.”

“Alright, I lied. But most wolves don't find a mate in this day and age. We're so scattered around that usually wolves find a human mate and settle down.”

“Mates huh?” You laugh, pulling away from him and flopping on the bed. “That sounds cheesy.”

Shawn shrugs. He grabs an extra blanket from the end of the bed and shakes it out beside you. “I like to believe that mates exist.”

“Maybe it is something that exists, I dunno if I believe it though. I do like you a lot, I know that for sure.”

Shawn sits next to you and puts his arm around your back. “Can I ask why you don't like your ears touched?”

“I was teased a lot in school. Sometimes kids would pull on them and I'd cry because they're really sensitive.” You flatten them back against your head. “I just don't trust people not to hurt them.”

“Not even an alpha?” Shawn hums, running his fingers through your hair. “An alpha with a gentle touch, who knows how a wolf likes to be petted.”

“Shawn...” You mutter, leaning back in to his hand. His fingers brush the tip of your left ear and you press into the feeling. “Please be careful.”

“Of course pup,” he promises and you let him fully run his palm over your ear.

You lean into him, eager to get closer as he rubs your ear between his fingers. You fall onto his lap and he chuckles, keeping his hand in your hair and scratching behind your ear.

Shawn's chest starts to rumble. A low growl vibrating through his body into yours. “Your hair is very soft,” Shawn purrs, fingers rubbing your ear in big circular strokes with his thumb.

“Thank you,” you mutter, eyes closed as you rub your face into his leg.

Shawn scoots back and you follow him up onto the bed, positioning yourself so he is spooning you. He keeps stroking your hair and ears slowly as you give in to sleep. He feels so right. You feel safe and relaxed under his touch, something you haven't felt in a very long time, if ever.

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

Please send feedback in asks, replies or reblogs. Let me know if you’d like to read more of this story. Thank you so much -A

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted fics.*****

#shawn mendes #shawn mendesxreader #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes story #shawn mendes series #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes werewolf au #shawn mendes au #shawn mendes oneshot #shawn mendes stories #shawn mendes words #shawnmendes #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fan fiction

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alpaca-writes · 3 years

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Mystics, Chapter 24

When Arch becomes hired on at Mystics by the strange shopkeeper Lyrem Nomadus, everything seems to be going well- in fact, their life nearly becomes perfection. Soon enough, however, Arch realizes that perhaps not everything is as perfect as it seems….

Read Chapters 1-23 and more HERE

Taglist: @myst-in-the-mirror, @livingforthewhump

CW: Suicide attempt, swearing, drunken stupor. Lyrem needs his own content warnings, seriously.

This includes the FlashBackFever #1 from the Masterlist, but also contains valuable information regarding the plotline. This picks up directly after Chapter 22.

Dedicating this chapter to @myst-in-the-mirror for their wonderful name suggestion for the TimeWorm, Opus! Xx.

-Alpaca.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: WHEN LYREM MET PAIMON

“Your essence, your memories, everything you are,” Hades spoke; his voice echoed through the deep, dark gloom, “belongs to me.”

“My essence was spared as a favor to Kronos, if you recall.” Lyrem sniffed and snarled. “Is this really the type of greeting I get for pet-sitting little Opus all those years ago?”

“Ha! Did you think I would allow you the privilege of eternal life because you took care of Kronos’ Time-Worm for a few measly hours? Please.” Hades tutted amusedly. “Regardless, you’ve become quite a different man since then. I am not sure I would ever want the essence someone who murdered and then ate the heart of his own father… But at least your memories retain a certain value to me at this time.”

The mark that Lyrem bore on his chest- the brand that Maria would always say looked like a wine glass carrying a single grape- well… it began to burn. Lyrem grimaced and seethed through his teeth as he felt the brand sear through him like a thousand small razors cutting beneath his chest. It was the same feeling as when he first received it.

Slowly, the searing pain faded away, and Lyrem was able to straighten himself once again, and he touched his chest. The mark was gone.

The warm scent of chai drifted over him. Hades was holding a large mug in his hands and he lifted it to his white bearded face. Lyrem studied the hulking God, unsure of his purpose here.

“Perhaps I should apologize for acting so rashly. When I heard that you were coming to collect, I understandably panicked- you know Maria and I had only just bought the house together and I wasn’t ready to go yet.”-

Hades smiled lightly as his head shook slowly. He sighed impatiently as Lyrem continued in his nervous frenzy-

“I mean, now that I think back about it, I’m not sure I should have listened to Paimon when he told me what you wanted. He’s a demon. Does he even consort with your kind? I didn’t mean to be a nuisance for you – truly. I wasn’t fully aware of what I was agreeing to at the time you brought me back from the dead, anyways. That was all Kronos’ insistence. You remember. I was young and naïve, of course”-

“It’s alright.” Hades hushed him unexpectedly. “Being stuck in one corner of a Labyrinth for thirty years is not really worth avenging in my book. To you humans, it’s akin to being stuck in a line-up for five extra minutes. Would you like a coffee? A tea perhaps? Persephone makes a wonderful chai from scratch, though the plants take a little while to grow first. This place… isn’t exactly kind to her.”

Lyrem searched around. A small couch appeared behind him, a deep blue colour. Hades motioned for him to sit, and so he did. It would be foolish of him to refuse.

“A… a coffee would be very much appreciated,” he finally answered. “Where is Persephone?”

Hades sat across from him in his own chair and he cleared his throat.

“She can only be seen by living souls. I, on the other hand, can only be witnessed by the dead. But we can still hear each other and create for each other, without any problems.”

“Oh,” Lyrem nodded. “That must be…”

Nice? Sad? Actually, Lyrem wouldn’t finish that sentence. He didn’t know how.

“It’s annoying,” Persephone finished. “We can only ever see each other in our own realm. Our real realm- the one we created ourselves- and who knows what that creature is doing to it!”

Hades tsked. “Persephone, that is not how you address family- whether they are with us or not.”

He sipped his tea and allowed Lyrem to watch as his coffee materialized for him in a small ceramic cup. Rigidly, Lyrem sat there, unsure of whether to be comforted by the hospitality or suspicious of it.

“Sorry it took so long,” Persephone apologized. “I haven’t grown a coffea in ages! I chose arabica for you, I hope that is fine.”

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” Lyrem said. “I-I’m sorry, God Hades, may I please understand why I am here? You wanted Arthur to bring me here for a reason. Do you want me to release you from this place? Send you back to your proper realm?”

“Ooh he’s a quick one,” She exclaimed, the sarcasm was not lost with the absence of her face. If she was visible, Lyrem would have seen her sit beside him on the couch. Instead, he only felt the pull of the upholstery dipping next to him.

“Well, unfortunately, you cannot release us from this place. It’s not under your control.” Hades answered, causing Lyrem to be taken aback.

“Yes, it is. You may have been able to co-opt it to your liking, but I can certainly…” Lyrem paused with a hand suspended. He pushed his hand around, almost playfully through the air. “Uh… Open… open a door…”

Nothing happened. He brought his hand back down. It worked the last time he was here, dropping these two away in the hole. Of course, Paimon needed to help him at the time. Regardless, he was told he had control. Of course, why would he ever test it when a God who wanted his essence was trapped here? Paimon knew he wouldn’t try to release Hades. It would be a death sentence.

“Perhaps, I am less powerful as a dead man,” Lyrem surmised.

“Oh love, no,” Persephone coddled him in the effort to raise his spirits a little higher. “If anything, you should be more powerful than ever as a dead man. But those hearts you’ve been taking like vitamins? They do you less good than you think… You know, what, Uncle? I think he knew it too. I don’t think he wanted him to be strong.”

Lyrem turned to her space for clarification. “I’m sorry, who knew what?”

“My nephew, Pan,” Hades answered.

“He’s always been a trouble maker,” Hades remarked. “This place is a little caged corner of his Labyrinth. I was not prepared for his increased strength as he transitioned to adulthood. It’s quite a solid construction. I have yet to devise a way out.

It’s also why I needed you to die. Your soul is linked to me, not to the Underworld. And you are innately knowledgeable of Pan’s motivations. We needed to talk.”

Lyrem sipped at his coffee, growing more and more confused by the moment.

“I would honestly be quite impressed by Pan’s work if he wasn’t so notoriously cunning, and quite frankly, annoying about it. But that was always his way, you know.” Hades continued in a nostalgic fashion. “He would do all sorts of silly things- start music contests; him with his little flute, he loved that thing though I can’t remember the last time I saw him play it. He loved those little competitions- especially with family”-

“Ohh. I remember when he came around Mount Olympus showing off the wood nymphs he caged”- Persephone shuddered. It could be felt more than seen. “He plucked off their wings and forced them to race, that creepy bastard”-

“Persephone!”

“I’m sorry. He was just so horrible sometimes.”

“Who are we speaking about, again?”

“Pan.” “Pan!”

“Pan?” Lyrem shook his head, remembering his knowledge on classic Greek mythology. “…Isn’t the Great God Pan, dead?”

The God and Goddess let out a mighty good chuckle, leaving Lyrem annoyed and confused, and off to the side.

“Okay,” Persephone caught her breath. “That was a good prank; Convincing the world he was dead… Oh it never gets old. I can’t believe it stuck around this long. I guess it fits that he’s disguised as a spirit from a false religion now.”

Lyrem stole looks from Hades to the empty space, and then back again in growing disbelief. Hades continued.

“Pan is one of my nephews. A childlike God. And like all children, he grew bored with the course that his life was taking. In order to amuse himself, he began toying with the lives of innocent humans and facilitated humanity’s suffering on a massive scale. Played people against one another and started wars between great nations. He would place bets on who would win and he would become angry and spiteful when no one would bet against him. He stole children away from their families just to watch their reactions when they found the bodies- he would corrupt the most innocent to hurt at his command – what is more is he tortured people into taking their own lives- and the more he did these things, the easier it all became… I won’t blame his parents,” Hades nodded sympathetically to the ‘empty’ seat, “But he needed intervention a long time ago, desperately.”

The tone had suddenly shifted to one of melancholy as Hades explained his nephew’s troubling past.

“Trying to reason with him became more difficult and each time I tried to help him, he would push me away. Finally, being as resourceful and unbelievably stupid as he was, he swept my realm clean, leaving myself and Persephone locked in the equivalent of a closet in the void of the Underworld- that would be what he likes to call the ‘Labyrinth’.” With a shudder, Hades looked away, shamefully. “One powerful human who bears my mark and a few sacrificial hearts were all he needed to help him with that little task.”

“Me…” Lyrem placed the pieces together slowly, his life flashing before him in a new light, a new context. “Are you saying, what I think you’re saying? Paimon… Paimon is Pan?!”

Hades nodded.

“He gave me a reason to fear you, and then he showed me how to trap you...” Lyrem reasoned. “I’ve known him for thirty-two years. How could I have not known this?”

“Well, first of all, you certainly have a reason to fear me, I am the God of Death and I will still claim your essence one day.” Hades finished his drink, and the mug disappeared. “But I am slow to anger. Zeus would certainly have struck you down by now, and Poseidon has already put you on a list for that ridiculous prank with Perseus you pulled.”

Hades chuckled softly. “It was quite funny though.”

With widening eyes, Lyrem sat back, and tried to find what little was left of his honour and dignity with these Gods who spoke of his life like it was a mere sitcom for them to be entertained by.

“This is ridiculous. Whether or not Paimon is Pan, I am a man who stands by those who are loyal to me,” Lyrem scoffed, “If you wish for me to betray him in any way at all, I shall simply refuse.”

He sat up and crossed his arms like a petulant child, just begging for a scolding.

Hades went silent, as well as Persephone.

“He’s really not terribly bright, is he, Uncle?” Persephone whispered harshly. “It’s beside the point. We need to find Apollo! Let’s open up his mind again.”

“What? No! Please, don’t”-

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

Beijing, China. 1989.

“You will never know true love.”

The Eastern Oracle looked up from the bowl of still water, perched atop the short table from where the three sat on the pillows and watched her client with interest. His dark brows were neatly knit together in a scowl and clearly disappointed. The client did not understand what she had spoken. She could tell.

She glanced to the translator next and then looked back to the man who began to speak.

“Oh…” he quietly accepted. “I see.”

He swallowed. The incense smoke drifted up through the air, condensing their little area in a thin fog. The Oracle said something else in her native Cantonese; her tone rather insistent this time. Urgent, even. Lyrem could tell.

The translator paused, then spoke: “she says that your fate was never to be loved, only to be respected. It is the only thing that matters to you.”

Lyrem blinked. Respect was a value of his, yes- but the only thing that mattered to him?

“But… love, true love…” he started feeling silly even before he uttered the words. “It exists?”

The translator repeated his words and then the Oracle watched him carefully.

“For you.” the Oracle spoke in Cantonese. Unfortunately, Lyrem was not well versed in the language at all. “Only for you does true love exist.”

Lyrem glanced to the translator.

“She says, ‘Only for very few, does true love exist.”

He sighed. At least he wasn’t the only one, he thought. He stood up, paid the two in full, and bowed before making his exit.

Thankfully, there was a local merchant of alcohol nearby. Lyrem stopped there first to buy himself a case of sake before returning to his hotel room. Eight floors up, he was.

It would be quick and easy to find his way to the ground.

He cracked open his first and played himself in a game of solitaire on the table by the window. Reflecting there on his last several weeks of hunting for a sacred stone in the Himalayas. It had already been delivered unto Cáishén, a Chinese god of wealth and prosperity several days before now. He wouldn’t get anything in return for his sweat, tears, and blood- only his clients would. At least they paid him well enough. But it had been several days since he returned from the peaks and Lyrem hadn’t bothered to book himself a flight back home to receive his cheque.

At his second bottle, he ordered dinner up. It didn’t matter what was on the menu, but he was craving something richly flavoured and warm. Pork buns, he thought. They were often his favourite and would do well as a last meal. He had finished his second bottle before it was delivered.

Yes, they smelled heavenly.

And then he lost his appetite.

He opened a third and flicked the bottle cap across the room- damn- he missed the trash bin.

At some point, he had sat on the bed to read a paper he had picked up from a stall that day. It was mostly in English- except for the ads.

President Bush signs $166-Billion-dollar corporate bailout, the article read.

“Didn’t trek across the mountains for nothing then. You’re fucking welcome, everybody,” he muttered rudely to himself.

He opened his fourth drank it, and then got up to take a long piss. He washed his face and ran a wet hand through his head of soft brown hair. His face still burned with the cold from an altitude he was not accustomed too- it left his cheeks pink and dry.

The wind had pick up. The mustard yellow curtains flipped around wildly bringing in the stale scent of dust and inner-city smog along with it. Lyrem didn’t remember opening the door to the balcony- at least he hadn’t bothered to, yet.

But now was a good a time as any… Wasn’t it?

What was the point of living if not for love?

He heard the rush of traffic below and the honking of horns, and then he tried to remember what the point of making any sound was, if no one cared for what you had to say. He flipped on the radio that was bolted into the side table. Tuned to a station catering to American music, it crackled through the middle of Hotel California with great effort.

He stepped over the threshold and looked out across Beijing and their neon lights with his hands tightly gripped to each other behind his back. He sniffed and considered his next move.

Hands forward, he gripped the railing tight.

He bit his lower lip as the lights blurred ahead of him.

He became angry with the Oracle, but only for a second.

He lifted a leg and found his own perch.

The sake had really done a good job of calming his nerves. Lyrem was actually quite surprised that he wasn’t more unstable. Perhaps that was the unique charm of the drink. Or perhaps a bit more adrenaline was pumping through his veins than he cared to realize.

Lyrem held his breath at the edge of the railing, and then closed his eyes.

He tipped forward, welcoming the rush.

He was caught. His eyes opened, and he was suspended in mid-air staring down at the busy street below. Life, he saw, flashing by… but not his own.

He was lifted back by a pair of strong arms and then the savior let him fall to the floor with a sudden thump!

“You sad, sorry bastard,” the voice of the saviour said. “You need help.”

Perhaps a neighbour saw him attempt suicide, came to the rescue. But Lyrem could have sworn he locked his door- and he didn’t hear a soul break in. The guest sat on the edge of the bed, leaning against a cane to support himself on the way down.

Lyrem grunted against the floor.

“Go away,” he groaned out.

The guest rolled his eyes.

“What is wrong with you?” he asked. Part of him may have been genuinely asking, but he didn’t wait for a response. “You have everything you could ever possibly desire in this world! How old are you? Forty? Maybe? You still have a long life ahead of you to do absolutely anything you want!

Women! They ought to be climbing all over you- unless of course, the men are more your thing- I don’t mean to judge of course, love is love.”

The guest continued on as Lyrem struggled to his knees.

“Riches! You’ve got that! Wine, cocaine, parties, travelling the world? My man, you have yourself a slice of heaven on Earth! You’re like a bloody rock star!”

Lyrem glared up at the black-bearded wonder sitting on his bed, in his room, who opened the fifth bottle of sake that was sitting next to him.

The guest grimaced at the taste, but kept it balanced on his knee.

“I guess, what I am really wondering,” he continued. “Is what the hell drives a man like you to the edge like this?”

Lyrem struggled to stand, and leaned against the chair, slowly and shakily, he climbed into it, and then studied the stranger best he could. His eyes drifted away from him each time he tried to focus. He swallowed carefully. Feeling sick, he might not ever answer the man.

“L-love. True love,” he managed.

The stranger balked.

“True love?!”

“Fuck off.”

Teetering on the edge of the bed, the stranger leaned forward.

“It’s just so funny though, isn’t it? Love… you’d think a man like you could find it anywhere”-

“I don’t want to find it just anywhere,” Lyrem reasoned, cradling his head into his hands. “I want it to be real. I want it to be true. I want it to be perfect.”

“No love is real, or true, or perfect. It’s just… Love.”

“Is that supposed to be encouraging?”

“It’s supposed to snap you out of this depressive episode. It’s degrading. Just by looking at you, I want to throw myself off this balcony.”

Lyrem scoffed, managed a smirk and looked up.

“You’re an asshole.”

“The name’s Paimon,” the stranger grinned. “And you’re right, I am an asshole- but I’m also exactly what you need.”

Lyrem shifted his head back. He wasn’t a man with a variety of tastes. He preferred wom-

“A demon,” he finished.

“Pffffft.” Lyrem opened his mouth. “You think I need you? A demon?”

“You’re human, aren’t you?”

“Obviously.”

“Then we were always meant to be.” Paimon surmised. “Listen, I know you’re a man of many talents, gained the favours of many gods, and many powerful human souls- I’ve been tracking you for quite some time.”

Lyrem rolled his eyes up at the ceiling where watermarks dotted around in various sizes.

“Here’s my proposal- and if you don’t like it, then you are free to fling yourself off the balcony again and this time, I won’t stop you”-

“I don’t consort with demons. I have a rule about that,” Lyrem said, beginning to sober up at the mention of something more work related.

“’course, you do,” Paimon winked at him. “But what if I told you that I could find you your true love? What if I could promise you that? What if I told you that all you would need to do is sit beside her on this flight”- He pulled a plane ticket from the inside of his jacket pocket. “-from Beijing to Lisbon, tomorrow afternoon?”

Lyrem stared suspiciously from the ticket and then back to Paimon’s unearthly aura. He didn’t notice it until now.

“This is a trick,” Lyrem stated. He then turned it to a question. “What do I do for you in return?”

Paimon’s eyes went wide, and he shook his head.

“Nothing at all,” Paimon could see that Lyrem knew he was bullshitting. “Alright. Here’s what I require in return: your… friendship.”

Lyrem reached out, pulled the ticket from the demon’s hand and stood. Studying it in the light, it was real. It was the very same company he had traveled with to get to China about a month back.

“If I don’t give you the true love that you desire,” Paimon proposed. “Then I will leave you in peace and never return.”

“Still sounds like a trick.”

“Some deals are just too good to pass up,” Paimon chortled. “Trust me, I know.”

Lyrem took a deep breath. Paimon wanted his friendship in return for giving him true love? He scratched his chin, stubbled and dry. If he refused, the demon might only return one day when he was even more desperate- and Lyrem couldn’t exactly guarantee he would say no then and Paimon would almost certainly raise his expectations for him.

“You have a deal,” Lyrem settled with nothing to lose. “Friendship it is. Name’s Lyrem.”

Paimon smiled, knowing that the money he had spent to bribe the translator was well worth it, and clasped the man’s hand tight.

“Lyrem… You won’t regret this,” he grinned through shining eyes.

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

Labyrinth Cage, present day.

Lyrem lifted his head off the back of the couch that had supported him this time through a most unpleasant journey down memory lane.

“… He lied.”

Many years had passed since he had first travelled to China- and since then he had been hired to return enough times that he had to learn some basic Cantonese for himself.

The Oracle had told him how to find Maria- not that he would’ve had to try very hard. There was a job, just off the coast of Portugal that he had been asked to do, not long after he had arrived in Lisbon. He thought it to be a simple coincidence at the time and nothing more. The people who hired him to get it done probably had his plane ticket waiting at the front desk. He was just too self-absorbed to check in with them about it, but it was more likely that Paimon had gotten to it first.

But… he understood now. The demon who he called a friend, wasn’t a demon at all.

It was Pan. And Pan was playing him. He had been playing him from the very start.

If he had heard the Oracle correctly the first time, he would have known that his true love would be found. He wouldn’t have drunk himself half to death and he wouldn’t have dangled himself off the balcony of his room. And if all of that was true- then he wouldn’t have been desperate enough to consort with something like him, demon or not. Paimon-Pan- wanted him desperate. Wanted Lyrem to need him. He needed Lyrem to see him as his one and only salvation.

There, for when Maria couldn’t be.

“I need to speak to him.”

A firm hand pushed him back down in his seat. It was invisible, but strong.

“He’ll annihilate you like an ant, Lyrem. Believe me, I’ve seen it many times. You’re not the first human he’s trained this way.” Persephone cooed, softly.

“Trained?!” Lyrem repeated emphatically, insulted. “No, no… I just need to talk to him. He’s…”

“-your friend?”

Lyrem paled, and then swallowed.

“Yes! Yes, he is! And when I speak with him, then… I’m sure everything will be explained”-

He cut himself off. There was no reason for him to make excuses for Paimon. He lied to him, and he knew exactly what he was doing all along.

“Arch is with him now. You don’t think he would hurt, Arch, do you?”

Hades’ face became painted in concern for Lyrem and his friend’s well-being. He didn’t want to answer the poor man. Persephone interjected.

“He also has one of my brothers- Apollo is trapped in our realm. We have to save him from Pan. I have no idea what he’ll do to him,” Persephone turned to Hades in urgency, though, neither Hades nor Lyrem would have known it. “Uncle, this whole time we’ve assumed that it was Maria who had a connection with Pan and therefore Apollo. But how likely is it that Apollo used Arch to send his call?”

Hades lifted his eyebrows in consideration.

“If this Arch is important to Lyrem and has a connection to Pan, then it is quite likely Apollo would find a way to use them.”

“What’s his call for? Why are you searching for it in me? In my head?” Lyrem asked. “If you can explain to me what to look for then I might already know what it is. I could show it to you!”

“And that could be enough to help you find him and release him,” the sound of Persephone’s smile resounded through her words. “Once Apollo is released from his prison, he could open a door into the Labyrinth instantly and release us.

His call, it would have been something musical. Something special to you. Arch would have been present for it.”

“A song playing then? Or maybe an earworm?” Lyrem suggested.

Hades shuddered. “Oh, I don’t want to know what that looks like- if it’s anything like Opus and its iridescent coloured slime”-

“I don’t think I recall any earworms… Wait…” Lyrem had a sudden stroke of genius; something bizarre that he had remembered ever since he had met Arch several months ago. “’Everyone knows City and Colour’.” He repeated Arch’s words slowly back to himself.

“Cities and colours?,” Persephone questioned, "What do they have to do with this?”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with this. However,” Lyrem refuted. A small smirk curled itself alongside his face. “I do believe Segovia might…”

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whattodowithace · 3 years

Text

Boss V Secretary (Donghun)

Title: Boss vs Secretary

Paring: Donghun (A.C.E) x Reader

Genre: Spice, slightly suggestive

Words: 2.6K Words

Writer: Kpopmadness (Ju)

A/N: Part 1 of 2 of Boss vs Secretary. Enjoy! 😏

"Do you have all the paperwork she is going to ask for when she arrives?" Mrs. Yoo, the companies now retired secretary asked Lee Donghun, her voice clipped. Her heels clicked loudly on the white marble tile as she walked ahead of him. Her white hair was tied up in a tight bun that showed the deep lines along her dark eyes, showing how tired she was. She wore a crisp black suit and skirt that smelled strongly of perfume as she walked.

"Yes ma'am." He said, holding up the clipboard for her to see that held a handful of papers needing to be signed. He also wore a crisp black suit, his shoes so shiny he could practically see his face in them. His blonde, medium length hair, was tied neatly into a bun behind his head. His dark eyes roaming around his new work place curiously.

He had just finished training for this job a week ago. He honestly didn't think he would even get it. Oddly enough this was a fashion company, to be exact, one of the biggest fashion companies in Korea. Donghun wasn't huge into fashion, he knew enough about it to get by. But what drew him here was the experience he would get and the paycheck. He was hoping to someday start his own company, he didn't know what kind yet. But being a secretary was good training for the future.

This was the most sought after job he knew of. Just to be a secretary was near impossible to get. The only thing he felt got him in was that he had had some experience as a secretary for a CEO before and his old boss had highly recommended him. Now he was here, getting the final run down of things before Mrs. Yoo left for good and he would be on his own.

"She will be arriving any minute so you better have those papers ready for her." Mrs. Yoo snapped.

Donghun nodded but didn't give a verbal response. They had reached the front door of the company and waited for the black car carrying his new boss to roll in.

"Stand up straight." Mrs. Yoo ordered, making Donghun roll his shoulders back and down and hold his head up high.

He saw Mrs. Yoo roll her eyes at him but say nothing else as her eyes caught sight of the black car rolling to a slow in front of them. Mrs. Yoo plastered a smile on her face as the driver of the car got out and opened the back door.

Donghun watched as a woman with dark sunglasses and long straight glossy hair step out of the car. Her red and black stiletto heels landing firmly on the pavement as she drew herself up to full height. She wore a white form fitting pencil skirt with a white dress suit with a thick black belt around her slender waist. A large necklace hung around her neck accompanied by gold hoop earrings and gold bracelets that complimented her slender wrist.

"Good morning, Miss." Mrs. Yoo said kindly as she greeted the woman.

She met Mrs. Yoos eyes briefly before meeting Donghuns. He gave her his best smile and a bow out of respect. She only turned on her heel, however, and started her way inside.

People in the building cleared the hallways for her as they saw her coming, some of them bowing in respect as she walked passed them. Her heels clicked on the tile as she walked, her hips swaying softly with her walk.

Reaching her office, she removed her sunglasses and took her suit coat off before tossing it on a nearby plush couch. The black blouse she had on underneath was low cut in the front and highlighted her honey colored skin.

She sat down in her black office chair before Donghun saw her face in detail. Her dark eyes were sharp and felt like a blade to his throat when they landed on him again. Even though she was intimidating as hell, Donghun still found himself thinking she was beautiful. But snake like.

"You're new." She said, her voice crisp.

Donghun nodded, he opened his mouth to speak but Mrs. Yoo cut him off, "He is going to be your new secretary, ma'am. Means how i am leaving."

Donghun held his breath slightly, realizing he was about to be left on his own in his new job. His new boss didn't meet Mrs. Yoo's eyes. Emotion never even crossed her face as she said curtly, "You can go."

Mrs. Yoo stood there with her mouth open, her shoulder taught. "Now, ma'am?"

The woman raked her red long nails through her dark glossy hair before meeting Mrs. Yoo's eyes evenly, "Did i stumble over my words?" She asked coldly.

Mrs. Yoo opened her mouth to say something but then seemed to think better of it. She gave a nod to Donghun before turning and walking out of the office, closing the door behind her.

"What's on the schedule today?"

Donghun shook his head and turned to face his new boss, her eyes not on him, rather she was looking at her computer screen.

Donghun quickly looked through the clipboard in his hand, scanning the list. "You have a meeting at 9 A.M and another meeting at 12:30 and a lunch date at 1:30." He answered, hoping his voice didn't sound nervous.

"Cancel them." She sighed wearily.

Donghun stared at her, "What? All of them?"

She turned to look at him, her eyes scanning across his body before meeting his eyes. "Yes. All of them. Do you have a problem with that?"

Donghun shook his head before adding, "You do have paper work that needs your signature though."

Without meeting his eyes, she held out her hand toward him. Donghun gave her the clipboard, her fingers wrapping around the board.

She set it down on her desk with a clang. "You can go."

Donghun stared at her for a moment, her dark eyes scanning the screen with the sunshine from the large glass window behind her hitting her skin. Her eyes met his, making him snap out of his trance. He quickly bowed his head before walking out of the office and shutting the door behind him, a breath escaping his lips that he didn't know he was holding.

...................

1 month later

"You have a dinner reservations tonight with a fellow CEO of a company that wants to do a modeling photography shoot with us." Donghun says, rambling off her schedule on another work day. He sat in a plush chair in front of her desk, clipboard and pen in hand.

He had been here a month and had gotten used to her icy exterior, but he was slowly finding it increasingly fun to tease her.

"I told you, you can handle that. I don't need to be there." She sighed, her nails typing away at an email. Her eyes never left the screen as he filled her in on her day.

Donghun sighed and sat up slightly, rolling his tight shoulders back. "It wouldn't kill you to do something like this." He pointed out to her.

That made her stop typing. She met his eyes and leaned back in her chair, her red form fitting dress sparkling in the sunlight. "Are you telling me what to do now?"

Donghun chuckled and ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to find the right words. "I get you coffee, i handle your schedule, i assign your meetings, and recently I've even become your chauffeur because now i drive you home after work. Don't you think you can help me out?"

Donghun watched as her eyes narrowed and a smirk crossed her lips. "Who hired you?"

Donghun was taken aback by the question, silence drug on between them before he answered quietly, "You did."

She ran her nail along the surface of her desk, her eyes following its trail. "So then why don't you be a good boy and stop pestering me on what to do with my company." Her voice was cold, her eyes met Donghuns and he felt a chill go down his spine.

She kept her eyes on his for several minutes, making Donghun uncomfortable.

"Let me give you some advice," She said after several minutes. She stood up from her chair and walked over to where he was sitting. She leaned down until Donghun could feel her warm breath on his neck, making him hold his breath.

"Do not cross me." She whispered darkly in his ear before standing up and walking out the door. Donghun fell back in the chair and let out several deep breaths before a smile went across his lips.

................

2 months later

Donghun was sitting at his desk filing through paperwork when a paper file landed on his desk suddenly. Donghun jumped and looked up to see dark eyes meeting his.

Donghun smirked up at the person in front of him, "Did you miss me?"

His boss rolls her eyes at him, his newest pet name for her wearing on her nerves but no matter how much she snapped at him he wouldn't stop.

"Finish those papers by tonight. I need them for a meeting tomorrow morning." She tells him coolly, turning on her heels to go back to her office.

"Wait," Donghun calls after her, letting out a small oof when she shuts the office door in his face. "You can't seriously expect me to finish all those papers before morning." He whined as he watched her settle down in her office chair and meet his eyes.

"I didn't ask you if you could finish them, i told you to finish them."

"Look, princess," Donghun says through a heavy sigh, walking toward her office desk to rest his hands on it as he leans over it to meet her eyes.

"There is no way i am going to be finished with those papers by morning. Plus, i will have to stop to take you home in an hour which will only slow me down."

She lets out an agitated sigh and runs her long painted fingernails through her perfectly curled hair. "I don't have time to argue with you. I need those papers finished for my presentation by tomorrow morning and then right after that meeting i have to be on a plane to Japan for a fashion show that is marketing my designs. I have a business to run."

Donghun lets out an aggravated laugh and rubs his tired eyes. A thought occurs to him, making a smirk cross his lips.

"Alright," He says, throwing his hands up in surrender. "I'll work on the papers tonight and finish them."

She gives him a sideways smirk, "Good boy." She commends, turning her chair away from him to face the large window and work on something else.

"If you'll help me with it." Donghun adds, his voice dropping octaves.

He saw her shoulders tense as she spun her chair back around to face him, "Excuse me?"

Donghun's smirk grew as he slowly made his way to her side of the desk, letting a finger run along the smooth surface of the desk.

"I already told you that the project won't be finished by morning. Unless, you help me."

She stared at him, a scoff escaping her lips. She crossed her arms over her chest, "This isn't a joke."

"Oh, i know, princess." Donghun says as he puts his hands on the armrests of her chair and meets her eyes evenly, his breath fanning out over her neck. "But here's the deal. Either you help me with that project or it won't get done on time. You're my boss after all, it wouldn't hurt you to do some work around here."

Her eyes narrowed at him and she opened her mouth to speak but found his finger pressed to her lips, keeping any words from coming out.

"Or i can just quit. But something tells me you don't want to see me go. And if i leave, your project still won't be done on time. So what's it going to be?"

Donghun held her eyes as she stared at him. A fire behind them that threatened death. She took his wrist, her tough sending a volt of electricity up his arm. She pulled his hand away and let out an annoyed sigh. Donghun smirked at her, knowing he had won this round.

"Good girl." He whispered deeply, using her catch phrase for him back on her.

........

The night passed with very little hiccup. Donghun sat across from her in her office, her eyes never leaving the computer screen as she worked.

The clock on the wall read 1:30 AM before she finally closed her laptop and rubbed her eyes, a sigh escaping her lips as her shoulders relaxed.

“Losing sleep to work on a project that was technically your job isn’t how I planned my night out.” She says as she stands from her chair and stretches out her back.

Donghun watches her get up and go to the large window that overlooked the city. The night lights twinkled through the window and created silhouettes across her face and body.

She looked over at him, perplexed by his silence. Donghun cleared his throat, “It’s done though. And you’ll have something to present like you wanted.”

She rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to the city. “Yes but only because you were too stubborn to do what you were told.” She shot at him.

Donghun chuckled and stood up from his chair, rolling his shoulders a few times to loosen the knots in them.

“It wasn’t that bad working with me. I think you enjoyed it.” He said with a smirk, leaning his shoulder against the window next to her.

She looked at him, her dark eyes examining his. It occurred to Donghun this was the first time he had seen her face look relaxed, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

“You’re aggravating, but no, you aren’t that bad to work with.” She admitted.

Donghun gave her a lopsided grin, “Are you actually being nice now?”

She glared at him and leaned her back against the window, “Not nice, just forgiving.”

Donghun drew himself up to full height as he walked over to face her. Her head tilted up slightly to meet his eyes.

“What if I don’t want you to be forgiving?” He blurted out. Making her eyes grow big, his own face flushing.

“Is that a request?” She asked, her voice soft but her eyes never leaving him.

Donghun smirked, his face coming just a little closer to hers. “A special one of sorts.” He whispered, his breath fanning across her mouth.

He saw her swallow nervously, making him feel oddly empowered. He put his hands on either side of her, his palms pressing against the glass.

“You realize it looks bad for an employee and their boss to be in this close of a proximity, don’t you?” She whispered, her hands resting on his chest.

Donghun let out a deep chuckle against her neck, making her clench his dress shirt.

His nose brushed against hers lightly, “Consider this another work project.” He whispered, before closing the small gap between their lips.

Her back was squished against the window and his body as he kissed her heavily, drawing out several sharp gasps from her as his lips traveled across her skin.

She fulfilled his request that night. She wasn’t forgiving with him and he felt it the next morning.

#a.c.e #ace #a.c.e x reader #lee donghun #ace donghun x reader #donghun x reader #ace donghun #ace imagines #a.c.e fanfiction #a.c.e imagines #kpopmadness edits #kpop fanfiction #spice #fanfiction #kpop #kpop x reader #kpopmadness writings

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nixster627 · 4 years

Text

Coffee and Dates

Read on AO3: here

Written for Day 2 of Malex Week 2020: Trope Day

This was originally supposed to be a 5+1 but I accidentally only wrote four so I just turned it into a 4+1.

One

For the past week, Michael has gone out of his way to get coffee from a coffee shop that is in the opposite direction from his job because the barista is cute, but Michael can’t tell if he is actually flirting with Michael or just being friendly.

Michael wants to ask him out so badly, but he also doesn’t want to embarrass himself if the guy turns out to be straight, or even just not into him specifically. He keeps dropping hints to see if Alex (according to his name tag) has any sort of interest in him, but either Alex is really bad at taking a hint or Michael is really bad at leaving them.

This morning, he and Alex are the only ones in the shop. Sometimes one or two other people will be lingering around, but not that many people are out and about at 6 AM. The brightside about having to wake up early because you get your coffee from the opposite direction than your job is the privacy that you get with the barista.

As soon as Alex sees him walk in, he calls out, “One small coffee with two sugars coming right up.”

But, before Alex can actually start making it, Michael rushes in to correct him, “Actually, I feel like switching it up today. What would you recommend?”

Alex seemed thoughtful for a moment before he said, “Well, it depends on what you like, I can’t really tell much from you since you always order the same thing.”

Michael decided to take this as an opportunity to learn more about Alex. “How about you make me your favorite drink and we’ll see how much I like your taste,” he said with his most flirtatious smile.

But, Alex just turned away and said over his shoulder, “Okay, but I should probably warn you-”

“Don’t,” Michael cut him off before he could finish his sentence, “I want it to be a surprise.”

It took Alex longer than usual to make the drink today, probably because he didn’t just have to pour from the pre-made coffee pot. Michael tried to make conversation once, but Alex was completely focused on mixing the drink.

Once Alex was done making the drink, Michael paid for it and reached to take it from Alex, but Alex pulled it back and said, “Before you drink this, I just want to say that I know my tastes are kind of eclectic, so just remember that you asked for this.”

Alex looked nervous when Michael went to take a sip and Michael was actually surprised when he tasted it. It tasted much sweeter than what he was used to, so that took a second to adjust to, but he also found that he could taste something else, he wanted to say that it was fruity, but he couldn’t figure out what fruit someone would want to put in their coffee.

By his third sip, he looked up to find Alex looking at the floor with a kicked-puppy look on his face, when he realized that he never actually gave his opinion on the drink.

“It’s pretty good,” Michael said and Alex looked up at him with hope on his face. “I would never be able to tell you what it is, but it is delicious,” Michael says as he opens the to-go cup to try and see what is inside. It is a lot lighter than the coffee he normally drinks, but it just looks like if you were to put a lot of creamer in your coffee.

“It’s a white chocolate raspberry mocha,” Alex responds with a huge smile, teeth and all, with the knowledge that Michael actually likes it.

Michael spends the rest of his walk to the garage thinking about that smile, and if he doesn’t get himself under control soon, the rest of the guys are going to make fun of him for it.

Two

Ever since the white chocolate raspberry mocha, Alex has been making him a new drink every day so that he can “expand his palette” as he gave Alex as an excuse. In reality, he just wants to see what drinks Alex likes to make and the way his smile lights up the room when he makes a drink that Michael likes.

Some of the drinks were a success with Michael, like the caramel macchiato, and some were a disaster, like the Avolatte, which is some type of latte with avocado in it, and some he didn’t have an opinion on one way or the other.

Today, he went to the coffee shop with his sister because she wanted to spend the whole day together, but he also didn’t want to leave Alex hanging since he has been going to this shop every day for almost a month now. He realized how big of a mistake this was very quickly.

First of all, he forgot that his sister’s favorite pastime is meddling with his life. Second of all, he knows that if Isobel finds out about his crush on Alex, she will do something about it, and from what he has learned about him, Alex is very shy and would definitely not like that.

When they enter the shop he sees Alex smile at him before he catches sight of Isobel and his smile falters a little before he smiles brightly again, but when they get closer to the counter Michael can tell that his smile is a little strained.

“Hey, Michael,” Alex says, duller than he usually greets Michael so Michael gives him a confused look which Alex takes as his cue to tell Michael about his drink of the day. “I’m going to make you a chai latte today and even though it has some tea in it, I think you are going to like it.”

Alex then promptly turns around to start making his drink without the usual small talk that they have been doing for the past few weeks and that confuses Michael even more until he turns to see the thoughtful look on his sister’s face.

“What are you thinking so hard about over there?” Michael asks her as she continues to stare at Alex’s back.

She looks over at him then and gives him one of those looks where she stares into his soul, but then she looks away and says, “Nothing, just making some interesting observations.”

Michael rolls his eyes, but lets it go for now because Alex has finished making his drink. As Alex hands Michael his drink, he notices Isobel standing there again and startles.

With an apologetic look on his face, he says, “I’m sorry, I was so busy making Michael’s drink that I forgot to ask what you wanted.”

Isobel waves him off and says, “No problem, I will just have what my brother is having.”

She puts a very heavy emphasis on the brother part, Michael notes, and it confuses him, but it seems to mean something to Alex because he makes a face like he has just realized something before he blushes and turns to make Isobel’s drink.

Did he blush because he likes Isobel? Michael wonders as they wait for Isobel’s drink, and he wasn’t talking to us earlier because he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of her.

Michael has to admit that that brings down his spirit for the whole asking-him-out thing, but he guesses he should have realized that Alex was probably straight before. He could be bi like me, but he obviously likes Isobel so it's not like it matters.

Alex brings Isobel her order and she thanks him before they are walking out and Michael is feeling down for the rest of the day after his revelation.

Three

Michael took a week break from the coffee shop when he thought that Alex liked Isobel, but when Isobel confronted him about why he was so sad lately he decided it was best to just tell her the truth and called him an idiot and told him that Alex didn’t have a crush on her.

So here he is a week later with Isobel again because she wants to prove to him that Alex does not like her like Michael thinks he does.

As soon as they walked in, Isobel strutted over to the counter even though Alex had yet to see them. Alex turned around when Isobel stopped at the counter and, even though Michael hung back, Alex’s eyes landed on him first and he smiled at him.

Alex only looked away after Isobel cleared her throat and he realized that she was in front of him.

“Hello, Alex,” Michael recognized the tone that Isobel was using as her ‘flirting voice’ and he held his breath to see what she would do. “I have a question for you?”

“About our coffee?” Alex asked as if he couldn’t tell that Isobel was flirting with him. Which, in all fairness, if you didn’t know Isobel you might not have been able to tell that she was flirting yet.

“Actually, I was more curious about you,” Isobel said as she looked Alex up and down so that it was obvious that she was checking him out, “say over dinner?”

“What?” Alex asked and Michael had to admit that he looked genuinely confused about what Isobel was asking him.

“Like on a date,” Isobel clarified, rolling her eyes for a second before remembering that she was supposed to be flirting with him.

Alex attempted to stammer out a response for a few seconds before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “While the offer is appreciated, I’m actually,” Alex struggled for a second before he finally let out a strangled “gay.”

Isobel dropped the act and straightened up, then responded with, “Well in that case, I will take a small café mocha and Michael will take one of those mystery drinks that you are always making him.”

Alex looked completely caught off-guard by her change in demeanor, but went on to prepare their order anyway.

When he finished the drinks, he still looked very confused, but he waved Michael over and placed the drink in his hand. “It’s a red velvet latte. It’s got a lot of chocolate in it so be prepared,” Alex said, blushing when their fingers touched.

Michael assumed that his blush was embarrassment over his sister asking him out, so he decided to apologize for her coming out of nowhere like that.

Alex looked surprised for a moment before quickly stammering out a “It’s fine,” and getting back to work.

Isobel and Michael left, with Isobel telling him the whole way home how she was right and he was an idiot, but she would never tell him what he was being an idiot about. At least now he knew Alex was into guys, that was a win in his book. Now, he just had to figure out how to get Alex to like him.

Four

Michael’s plan to get Alex to fall in love with him started the next day. Online, he found an article that had questions that were supposed to gradually lead to love. He would start with the easier questions and move on to the more in depth ones.

While Alex was making his daily drink, he decided to go ahead and ask the first question.

“Hey, Alex?” Michael asked and waited for Alex to look over in his direction before asking, “Given the choice of anyone in the world, who would you want as a dinner guest?”

Alex gave him an odd look, but still answered with, “Brendon Urie. Why do you want to know that?”

Michael scrambled for an excuse, but just went for the closest to the truth he was willing to go. “It’s just that I come in here every day and we make small talk, but I feel like I don’t really know who you are,” Michael paused for a second and decided if he was going to share that much, he could at least go a little more. “And...outside of my family, you are probably the closest thing I have to a friend.”

Alex melted at that and stopped making the drink for a minute in order to come over and talk to Michael. “Well, if that’s the case, what else do you want to know?”

After that it went smoothly for a while. He learned that what Alex really wanted to do was make music. He learned that Alex sings to himself almost every day, especially when he is alone in the shop, but he rarely sings in front of other people. He learned that Alex is most grateful in life for his friends.

But, when he asked Alex if there was anything he would change about the way he was raised, Alex seemed to shut down, gave him a vague “a lot” as an answer and went back to making his drink.

About a minute later Alex turned back around with his drink. “It’s a coffee Arnold Palmer, so instead of tea, it has coffee mixed with lemonade,” Alex said and then promptly turned around to clean the counter instead of saying anything else to Michael.

So, Michael took the hint and decided that it was time to leave, he had to get to work anyway. So much for the 36 questions that lead to love. He’ll have to scrap that plan and hope that by tomorrow Alex will even want to talk to Michael again.

+ One

Michael promised Max and Liz that he would babysit Bella today, however they failed to mention that they would be dropping her off at 5:30 in the morning. So, now he was heading over to his normal coffee shop with a three year old who was somehow a ball of energy at only 6 AM.

Things with Alex went back to normal almost immediately, but Alex also pretended that the day of asking questions never happened and when Michael tried to bring it up again, Alex shut down again. So, it wasn’t a step forward, but it also wasn’t a step back, plus he learned to avoid the subject of childhood around Alex.

When he walked into the shop, Alex turned away from whatever he was doing and was surprised to see a small child running up to the counter.

When Alex gave him a questioning glance, Michael picked up Bella and explained, “This is my niece and goddaughter Bella.” She started to wriggle in his arms so that she could get a better look at Alex.

Alex smiled at her and said, “It is nice to meet you Bella, I’m Alex.”

Bella’s face immediately brightened up and Michael knew that bringing her here was a mistake, after all she spent a lot of time with Isobel. “Are you the Alex that Uncle Mikey is always talking about?”

Alex blushed, but still mustered up the courage to ask, “Always talking about, huh?”

Michael on the other hand was red as a tomato and when he heard Alex ask what kind of things Michael was saying about him, Michael decided it was time to interrupt. “It’s not that important. What is important is that I need my daily caffeine in order to keep up with this monster,” he said poking Bella in her belly. “And I guess she could use a hot chocolate too.”

Even though he tried to steer the conversation away from him, it seemed like Bella wanted to stay on topic for once in her life. “Uncle Mikey says that you are really pretty and he wants to ask you out, but he doesn’t know how. Isn’t that what you said Uncle Mikey?” She says as she looks up at him with an innocent look on her face.

Alex stops making his drink and looks back at him with a hopeful face which gives Michael the courage to say, “Yeah, something along those lines.”

Alex blushes and smiles, but goes back to mixing his drink. Less than a minute later, he is handing Michael the hot chocolate and a drink he calls a sparkling espresso.

Michael starts to get disappointed when he doesn’t bring up the fact that he knows Michael wants to ask him out, when he looks down at the cup and notices a phone number scribbled out on it with the words “I’m free Friday” written below it. He looks back at Alex with pure unadulterated happiness and sees Alex giving him a bright smile back before he is being dragged out of the coffee shop by Bella.

“So,” Bella said, drawing out the word for a while, while Michael just stared at her quizzically, “what did he write on the cup?”

“What?” Michael asks, more out of pure shock than anything.

“I set it up per-fic-ly for him to ask you out, just like Aunt Izzy said to,” she said in her broken three year old English, “did he?”

“Wait, what?”

“I’ll just ask Aunt Izzy later,” Bella said with an eye roll and they just kept on walking.

#roswell new mexico #rnm #malexweek20 #malex20 #malex #michael guerin #alex manes #isobel evans #fanfic

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meangirlsx · 4 years

Text

Stupid With Love

Pairing: Cady Heron x reader Word count: 1947 Warning(s): None Request: “Would you mind doing a Lydia x Reader (or Cady x Reader if you still write for Mean Girls) during the holidays? Christmas perhaps? Also, happy October 3rd!” and “This isnt technically holiday themed but, could you do Cady x reader with Cady seeing and playing in the snow for the first time?” Note: Here is a Cady piece in honor of Erika’s final day.

——

You and Cady hadn’t known each other that long. She was new to school, and school had only started a few months ago. But you were close with Janis and Damian, so when they befriended her, so did you.

You spent some time together when all four of you hung out. But after a couple weeks, she’d started asking to hang out just the two of you, too. So you’d gotten pretty close over the last few months.

And you had been crushing on her pretty much the entire time, but you hadn’t told anyone. Not that you really needed to. Janis and Damian figured it out in about three days and always found a reason to bring it up when it was just the three of you. They always encouraged you and got excited every time you and Cady hung out alone.

The closer the holidays got, the more excited they got. So when you invited Cady over on the first weekend in December, your group chat with Janis and Damian was blowing up.

You did your best to ignore it while you and Cady talked. You forgot all about your texts coming in when you saw her run to the living room window

“Is that snow?” she asked, her voice full of enthusiasm.

You followed her to the window and saw that the first snow of the year was, in fact, falling.

“It is! Is this your first snow?”

“It definitely is. It’s even prettier than I imagined.” Then she turned to face you. “Can we go outside?”

“Of course we can!”

Without another thought, she was racing for the door.

“Cady!” you called and grabbed her arm quickly.

“What?”

“Don’t you want to put your coat on?”

She laughed lightly. “Oh. Yeah.”

Her parents had made sure they bought winter attire when they moved. But as you got dressed up to go out into the snow, you noticed that Cady only had her coat and boots.

“Cady, did you bring a hat or gloves or anything?”

“No. I didn’t expect it to snow.”

“No problem! You can borrow some of mine. We have plenty of extras.”

You brought out the box your family kept of gloves, mittens, hats, headbands, and scarves. She picked out a pair of mittens, a hat, and a scarf.

You opened the door and watched as the look on her face turned to awe. She was bounding into the snow with a grin before you could blink.

“It’s so soft!” Cady shouted.

“This is the good kind of snow. We call it packing snow. It’s softer and easier to play with. For example…” You picked up a handful of snow and balled it up.

Cady’s eyes lit up. “Snowballs!” She immediately started making one, too, then backed up and stared at you. “Wait. Isn’t this supposed to turn into a fight?”

You couldn’t help but smile at that. “It doesn’t have to.”

She seemed to think about it for a moment, and then her snowball was flying through the air. You continued to throw snowballs at each other until you heard geese honking overhead.

Cady gasped and looked up at the sky with wide eyes. She watched silently for a moment before throwing herself backwards into the snow. You laughed as you joined her.

“They’re so beautiful,” she said. “My mom and I used to play this game, back in Kenya. We would close our eyes and name all the birds we could hear. We don’t do that now, but moments like these…I don’t know. It sort of feels like a piece of home.”

“That’s so sweet.” You looked at her.

She looked back at you, then down at her hands with your mittens. “Thank you for letting me borrow these. My hands would be so cold right now if you hadn’t.”

“Of course. It’s really no problem.”

“Oh! But we need to take a picture!” She removed one glove and dug her phone out of her pocket.

You moved closer for the picture, and Cady leaned against you. As she took a few photos, you noticed just how happy she looked.

To you, it was a normal day at the start of winter. It wasn’t terribly cold, but you were definitely starting to feel it. The sun only peeked out from behind the clouds on occasion. Even the geese were a normal occurence to you.

But it was all new to Cady, and she loved every second of it. Especially the geese.

“We should go inside,” you said, standing and holding your hand out to help her up. “We can make hot chocolate, if you want.”

“Oh!” Cady grabbed your hands. “That reminds me! Can we go to Starbucks sometime? I’ve always wanted to try their Venti Chai.”

“Of course! Do you want to go now?”

“Not really.” She smiled at you. “Hot chocolate sounds perfect.”

So you spent the rest of the day talking, watching movies, and drinking hot chocolate.

On Monday, you got up early so you could stop at Starbucks before school. You wouldn’t have minded being able to sleep later, but Cady was more than worth it.

When you arrived at school, you found her at her locker. She smiled when she saw you, then got confused when you held a coffee cup out to her.

“You said you wanted to try a Venti Chai, right?” you asked.

She made a sound that was a mix between a squeal and a gasp and threw her arms around you. You did your best to hug her back while holding two cups and trying not to spill.

“That’s so sweet of you!” she said, taking her cup from you. “Thank you!”

“Just be careful. It’s hot.”

“How much do I owe you?”

You shook your head. “Nothing. It’s on me.”

“What’s on you?” Janis’s voice came from behind you.

You turned to see her and Damian joining the group.

“Is that fancy coffee?” Damian asked. “At this hour? Someone loves you.”

Cady bounced on her toes and smiled. “It’s a Venti Chai from Starbucks. Y/N got it for me.”

“You’ve been wanting to try that,” Janis said and sent a small smirk in your direction. “That’s so nice.”

“That is so thoughtful,” Damian added, leaning against Janis and emphasizing every word.

“Isn’t it?” Cady said. “I should get to class. But thank you. Seriously.” She gave you a kiss on the cheek and headed down the hall.

You stood there frozen for a second.

You couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but Janis and Damian were anything but calm.

In your second class of the morning, the candy cane grams began, with Damian in a Santa suit. He handed you one with a wink before handing out the others.

You opened the little note addressed to you.

Thank you for the Venti Chai! I loved it! We should get more sometime. Maybe this weekend? xoxo, Cady

You smiled up at Damian before he left the room, and he smiled back. Before your teacher could finish calming everyone back down, you pulled out your phone and sent a text to Cady.

Friday after school? Homework and Chais?

She texted back almost immediately. It’s a date!

The words It’s a date echoed through your head until lunch, where you found Janis and Damian and thankfully not Cady, yet.

You showed them Cady’s note and text.

“Is it a date?” you asked.

Damian scrunched up his face. “Oh, that might be my bad. I just taught her that expression and she loved it. So I think we could take it either way.”

Cady began walking over, so you didn’t have time to say anything else.

You tried not to think about it too much before Friday. You didn’t want to assume and get your hopes up if it wasn’t going to be a date, but you didn’t want to ask and embarrass yourself if it wasn’t, either. The closer it got to Friday, the more Janis and Damian insisted they thought it was a date, but you were pretty sure they were just trying to be supportive. So you figured you would follow Cady’s lead and see how things went.

Things had seemed pretty normal all week leading up to it, and even on your way to Starbucks after school on Friday.

You found a table and began to take out your homework.

“Um…” Cady said quietly.

You looked up and noticed that she suddenly looked nervous. “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

You tried to ignore the thought in the back of your head saying that it was supposed to be a date and she was starting to regret that.

“I’m fine,” she said, and smiled, easing your tension. “I just wanted to give you this before we start.” She reached into her backpack and pulled out a small canvas painting that seemed to be one of Janis’s.

You took it and turned it over. It was the two of you in the picture she’d taken outside the previous weekend.

“I had Janis paint it. Two, actually. One for you and one for me. It just felt like such a special moment. And I felt bad so I wanted to try again.”

You looked up at her. “What do you mean?”

“Last Saturday, I felt like we maybe...connected...more? And I got really excited about that. And when you brought me the Chai, I thought maybe you really did like me back. So I wanted to send you something cute in the candy cane gram to ask you out, but I got scared and I tried to be cool and casual because I realized maybe I should be asking you in person and I ended up sending you something totally unclear and I just... “ She gestured to the painting in your hands. “This is us. This is going to be one of my favorite memories ever, and one of my favorite memories of us. I want to remember that as some sort of start for us. Not me getting scared and trying to backtrack.”

Your could feel your heart racing. “You don’t have to feel bad about anything.” You looked down at the painting, then back up at her. “So you did mean for this to be a date?”

She nodded. “I wanted it to be. But I’ve never really done this before and I really like you and I don’t want to mess it up.”

“I really like you, too. And I don’t want to mess it up, either. I was scared to ask you if this was supposed to be a date because I didn’t want to make you feel bad or make things awkward or embarrass myself if it wasn’t supposed to be one.”

“So we were both too nervous to be honest?”

You nodded. “I don’t think we’re messing anything up. We’re just...really nervous.”

Cady smiled and seemed to relax. “So, this is a date then?”

You leaned in closer to her. “Are we totally lame if we do homework together as our first date?”

“Maybe,” she laughed. “But that seems pretty us.”

“It kind of does, doesn’t it?” You laughed, too.

“I’ll get the Chais?” Cady said as she stood.

You reached for your wallet, but she waved her hand at you.

“No, no. Let me.” She gave you one more smile before heading toward the counter.

You watched her for a moment, then pulled out your phone to text Janis and Damian.

You knew?!

Damian replied first. To be fair, I didn’t know until this morning when Janis gave Cady the painting.

Then Janis. Enjoy your first daaaaate!

——

Tag list: @reader-ships, @anxiousankylosaurus, @msmith74, @broadwaymusicaltrash, @you-thinks-wrong-romeo, @theatricalwriter, @be-more-heidi-hansen, @peachy-jolly, @g1ngersp1ce, @trumancheerleadermaui, @dancewyou, @percabeth15, @coral-cat-iris, @madameboxhead, @elaineygrace, @theolwebshooter, @dontgotothenetherworld

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#Cady heron x reader #Cady heron #mean girls x reader #mean girls #mean girls musical #mean girls broadway #Cady heron imagine #Cady heron fanfiction #Cady heron fanfic #mean girls fanfiction #mean girls fanfic #cady heron oneshot

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soontofustew · 4 years

Text

about now

summary: your touring husband is finally home.

pairing: park jaehyung x reader

word count: 2.5k ish

a/n: hey hey @nara1509!! this is written for you for the myday christmas fic exchange ~ (organised by the lovely @7abshy) you didn't really specify anything except husband jae so i took the creative liberties!! truthfully, this was really difficult to write (figuring out marriage dynamics and thinking about life after marriage) but i tried my best!! my writing here is lowkey weird too?? feels kinda different from my normal style but sorry for the long wait >< anyway i really hope you enjoy this and have a great 2020!!

“ y/n, aren’t you heading home yet?”

the sound of your typing slows to a halt as you finally look up from your computer screen after staring at it the whole day, blinking furiously in an attempt to drive the tiredness away. sohye’s head pops out from behind the door of your office, concern briefly flickering across her face as she takes in the mess of your usually organised surroundings. papers were scattered across your table, you knew there were at least three different files lying open on the couch and a multitude of post it notes were pasted across the department whiteboard that you had (with much effort) managed to roll into the room.

you attempt a reassuring smile at your closest friend and colleague in the department, although at this point you’re sure it looks more like a grimace.

“well, i’m hoping to be done with this by 7?” you catch the clock ticking to 6.45 out of the corner of your eye and inwardly sigh, “scratch that. maybe 8?”

sohye frowns for a moment, before stepping into your office. “i could come in early tomorrow to finish up the rest of the pitch and presentation? especially since you’re supposed to be on leave. minjung said she would be in early as well!”

“i’ll finish up what i can and email the rest to the department to finish. don’t worry so much and go home, shoo shoo.” you wave a hand at her and she nods somewhat reluctantly, turning around to leave.

“you better make sure you leave at 8.” she calls out as she turns to exit your office, not before fixing you with a stern glare that you know from past experience meant that she wasn’t playing around.

“yes mom.” you drone, waving your hands quickly at her in a shooing motion. “please leave safely.”

“i swear i’ll swap all the pen caps on your coloured pens-”, you tune out the rest of her exasperated shouts as she heads to the elevators, staring at your computer screen for a second before running a hand down your face in frustration.

today was not your day.

when you had woken up, you were more than prepared to have a week of well-deserved rest and relaxation. what you discovered was an urgent email from your boss telling you that you had to come into work for an emergency (leave or no leave), you had managed to fall and bruise your arm before even leaving the house and spilled coffee on your favourite blouse. upon reaching work, you realised an incredibly dumb tech intern had managed to wipe out all the files pertaining to the upcoming pitch your company had prepared for a major client (hence the emergency) and that your department had to redo it all by the weekend.

“and of course, all this just has to happen the one time i decide to clear the leave i have backlogged. and when he’s finally back home.” you grumble to yourself as you grudgingly continue typing. a chime sounds and you reach over to grab your phone, unlocking it to see messages from said person you were talking about.

6.54pm

[goat husbando]: hey hey i landed already. how u doing? .o.

[goat husbando]: also its raining did you pack an umbrella?

[you]: i’m ok

[you]: i think so?

[you]: should have a spare one in my office anyway

[goat husbando]: ok see u soon :”)

a smile creeps onto your face, as it sinks in that your husband is finally back in the country after what seemed like an eternity (admittedly only six months) on tour in europe and america. taking a moment to stretch your sore muscles from sitting all day, you think back to how you even met him and wonder how you managed to survive it all.

- 24th july, 9.32pm. -

you take a sip of your chai latte, taking in the skyline of seoul before you. "being up here really puts my worries into perspective." you mutter to yourself.

all of a sudden, a body crashes into you and you yelp in surprise, hands instinctively grabbing onto the railing to support your weight. your chai latte, on the other hand, wasn't so lucky and you stare mournfully as it falls from your grip.

"oh my god, i am so so sorry! are you okay? ok i guess you're not, i just made you lose your drink. damn it younghyun, look at what you did-"

turning to look at the situation after making sure your limbs were all intact, you meet a tall boy, his blonde hair tousled by the wind, wire rimmed glasses perched on his nose. he was clad in an oversized flannel, a simple black shirt and blue denim jeans completing the outfit.

"um-" you make an effort to get this attention, seeing him arguing with another boy, his hair dyed with purple hues.

he spins around, hands flailing in desperation, eyes large from worry. "i am so sorry! aH what can i do to make it up to you??"

you can't help it. at the sight of him panicking immensely over your spilt latte, you burst into laughter, hands wrapping around your middle. "you.. you look like... like an octopus." you manage to get out in between breaths.

the boy ceased all movement abruptly, moving to lean against the railing next to you. "i guess i kind of do huh?" he chuckles to himself. extending a hand towards you, he smiles - a grin so bright and disarming that it takes your breath away for a split second.

"park jaehyung. how about i buy another drink for you?"

you guessed that the rest, like people said was history.

but the past six months truly felt like the longest six months of your life. it was his first tour after the both of you got married and you convinced yourself that things would be fine. life without jaehyung seemed to function normally at first, you still woke up in the mornings and went to work, just that the bed seemed a little larger now, blankets a little colder when you wrapped yourself in them. skype sessions were irregular given the time differences, but you both tried your best and you would be lying if you said you weren’t happy that you had a folder of pictures dedicated to one park jaehyung falling asleep in the midst of conversation. by the third month of the tour, you were in “peak withdrawal mode” as sohye had termed, with every small thing reminding you of the tall idiot who occupied your heart.

grocery shopping and having to stretch for items that he would normally reach easily for. subconsciously cooking for two instead of one. turning around excitedly to show him a meme and realising he wasn't around. missing his warmth as the weather turned colder and you dug out old sweaters to compensate.

the fourth month was when you started wearing his shirts to bed. somehow they still smelled like him, a comforting mix of sandalwood and grapefruit. the video calls lessened as the weeks went by, what with how tired he was from the consecutive shows. still, you pushed on - burying yourself in work and department meetings, refusing to allow yourself time to dwell on the missing presence of park jaehyung.

and then you re-watched the proposal video.

it was a random evening on the weekend and you decided to clear out some random bits and bobs you collected in your drawers over the years, when you saw the disc. once the video started, you immediately knew what it was. the video was shaky and badly lit, but watching it, you could see every moment that happened in your mind as clear as day.

- 23rd july 2018, 11.54pm -

“isn’t the view nice?” the camera lens veers into your face as you lean against a metal railing, making you flinch and jump back slightly.

"not so close, alex!" you laugh and push the camera backwards, turning back to the open view in front of you. you take a deep breath of the cool night air and stretch your arms out, feeling the wind rush between your fingertips.

"hey hey of course i'm excited! i haven't visited you in ages and to get to tour seoul with you? have some sympathy for your best friend ok." the voice behind the camera rises in pitch and the screen fumbles for a second before readjusting and a blonde appears next to you, holding up a peace sign.

the video ends up focusing on you again, back to leaning against the railing, eyes drinking in the night scenery - watching the city lights of seoul twinkle beneath you.

"you really like this place huh?" alex asks again.

you nod, smiling into the distance. "i met jaehyung here. about seven years ago? and we came here a lot for dates, it's quiet and hardly anyone can be bothered to walk up here since it's only footpaths up to this peak. we just sat around, ate take-out and talked together. i remember he asked me out here too. he brought his acoustic guitar and sang 'best part' before asking me to be his girlfriend."

you turn around to look at her, eyes narrowing slightly before you spot jaehyung behind her, carrying his well-worn acoustic guitar.

he slowly walks towards you, a grin on his face as he strums the guitar.

"if you love me, i can love you till the end. so stay with me don't go anywhere. you will be without a doubt, my last love story. so please be my finale."

he reaches you, taking off his guitar and leans down to give you a quick kiss on the forehead. kneeling in front of you, he grasps your hands and takes a breath.

"hey y/n. wow ok, i'm totally more nervous than i thought i was going to be. ok ok. we met here on this day-", he quickly looks down at his watch, "on this day seven years ago. meeting you has changed my life, as cliche as it sounds. during these seven years, you've supported me through all the good times and the bad, even when i might have been out of the country and not able to do the same for you. i once asked you to be my girlfriend here. but now, i want to ask another question. is that ok?"

you can only nod in response, tears already gathering in the corners of your eyes.

"y/n, would you do be the honour of being my wife?"

"yes, yes! park jaehyung, i would love to be your wife."

you paused the video then, curling into a ball on the couch. the apartment had never seemed emptier than at that moment, jaehyung’s missing larger than life presence causing an absence that left a gaping hole in your life. even the dish towels looked sadder, you laughed while blinking back tears as you made your nightly cup of tea. a few minutes later, you were seated by your bedside, staring at the cup of hot honey lemon you had somehow subconsciously made. it was jaehyung’s favourite drink before bed and as the scent of honey flooded your nose, you broke down. that night, you cried yourself to sleep listening to his albums, missing the feeling of his arms around you.

a loud knock on the door breaks you out of your reminiscing and you look up, mouth dropping open in surprise.

"someone requested for a delivery of one tall handsome man?"

park jaehyung leans languidly against the door of your office, a cheeky smirk on his face. his hair messily ruffled from the plane ride, one hand in his jacket pocket and the other holding a multitude of plastic bags.

"what-" you begin, when he shuffles over immediately, index finger out and shushing you.

when did he get here from the airport? how?

you were stunned, mind torn between wanting to run over to hug him and struck by how well he knew you.

"i figured i would pick my lovely wife up from work today. and i bought some takeout along the way too - it's your favourite - sushi and some strawberry shortcake from that small bakery you like. i got the car parked downstairs and i know you're definitely tired."

he places the food down on the office table, leaning down to peck your forehead as he somehow manages to simultaneously save the work on your laptop and shut it down. "so, how about say we head home hm?"

he cocks his head at you, and as you stare into his eyes, you know there's only one correct answer. you can never refuse park jaehyung. so you shut your eyes briefly, savouring the weight of his hand as he strokes your hair before getting up to pack your belongings.

"ah, i forgot. younghyun invited us to dinner tomorrow. wanna go?" he asks without looking at you, hands tapping away on his phone.

and you suddenly realise that he's always asking the questions. always making sure you're comfortable. always being there to catch you before you fall. you set your half-packed bag down on the table and reach out, tugging the edge of his coat.

"hey." you lick your lips, watch as his eyes trace the edges of your face. "park jaehyung, can i kiss you?"

his eyes imperceptibly widen, hand reaching up to run his fingers through his hair as he grins teasingly. "how can i say no when you're asking me like that y/n?", he whispers, voice catching slightly on your name.

so, you reach a hand out, cupping his face and pull him down towards you as you tiptoe to reach him. the warmth of his lips on yours grounds you, releasing a tension you didn't even know you had and you snake your other hand around his waist, drawing him closer. his hands settle around your lower back, tongue slipping into your mouth as you him kiss deeper.

when you finally break away, face slightly flushed and lips redder than before, you catch a glimpse of jaehyung's smirk and refuse to look him in the eye. "you really missed me, didn't you?" he traces a finger down the side of your cheekbones.

your response is to bury your face into his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of sandalwood. "i did. i really did miss you."

"mm. i would love to stand here and hug you all day but the food's gonna get cold babe. besides, you got me to yourself all night." he slowly untangles himself from your embrace, and you proceed to gather up your things. fingers firmly intertwined with his as you leave the office, your heart skips a beat as you look up at jaehyung.

your husband is finally home.

#jaeins fics #jaeins writes #jaehyung scenario #day6 fics #day6 writing #day6 au #day6 jae scenarios #day6 #jae #park jaehyung #day6network #day6writersnet #jae fluff #jae fanfic #day6 fanfiction

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c-atm · 4 years

Text

Meeting

You feel the anxiety in your throat as you stand in front of the door. The light of the evening sunset, making it look more mystical than any office door should be. You take a nerve easing breath before grabbing the copper knob, giving it a twist, pulling your right arm and opening the door to a medium size office.

You're greeted to four near bare burgundy walls. The only decoration being a couple of diploma on the eastern wall and on the west, a sword...A very cartoonish, very sharp sword. Not many real swords have a star as their guard. On the far back wall was a bookshelf filled with books, but it also held disks (can't really tell what the disk were), and a small amount of photos.

In front of that there is a mahogany desk with a swivel chair. On the desk there's a green rectangular table mat the size of two book covers, a small lamp, unopened folders ... And at the corner of the mat, closest to the chair; a picture in a biscuit brown and strawberry red frame stood out.

You walk up to the desk and reach out to grab the picture before taking a seat in front of the desk in the cushion seated chair. The picture, it's of the boss with her beau.

A large man of very slight tan skin, with black curly locks and a slight chubby face, smiling bright. Can't tell what they were wearing as it was a selfie, but it was taken in the evening..and by the love laced smile she was giving the man, she was very happy then, enough to pay no attention to the camera in his hand, all eyes on him.

Hard to believe such a couple was involved in such a lifestyle. Hard to believe such a woman leads a 'family'...Hard to be so familiar with, talk and laugh with the face of someone you will never meet..of a dead man.

"You are as curious as Nora and Dai said."

A strong, velvety voice speaks from behind causing you to place the picture back down in a hurry, careful not to mess up the neat desk as you stand up in attention. You turn to the source and feel both your cheeks heat up as something else..Something cooler, creeps gently around your heart.

Skin of chestnut with hair a wood, cut to a flowing shoulder length. A roundish face adorned with a prominent nose, a small mouth and thick eyebrows, her eyes were hidden behind a pair of cobalt goggle lensed shades. Dressed in a white three-piece suit with black silk button up and a deep violet tie in a windsor knot, a pair of black bit loafers and brown calf length socks.

She is adorable and could easily be mistaken for a young boy with how her clothes fit over her frame, instead of a woman seven years your senior. That is, if you ignored the fullness and gentle bounce of her modest breast, the slight sway of her hips when she walked, and the silken tone of voice. A sidf

The smell of chai and vanilla reverberates within your nose as she walks by and takes her seat behind her desk. Removing her glasses and revealing a very pretty pair of blak pearls for eyes, before giving you a sweet smirk.

‘I retract my young boy statement. How in the hell is this charming thing an arms dealer?’ She was a hard contrast to what a gunrunner was...Though Dia and Nora wasn’t exactly the standard either.

“Please sit down, no need to be nervous.” Her voice is a twinkling bell to the ear, very relaxing and trusting. Still, there’s something peremptory about her request, forcing you to sit almost instinctively.

“So..what’s your name?”

“R-Reader.” ‘The hell...Why am I so nervous?’

“Interesting, is it a nickname? An alias of some type?”

“I..I suppose. It’s what I’ve always been called.” ‘That tone..it’s so sweet and kind...So why?’

“No parents? Or family?”

“Not- not that I know of.” ‘Why?!’

“Oh wow, kind of explain why you're so gritty. No home training.”

You can feel your cheeks glow at her giggle, it’s melodic, motherly even. Something to protect. Despite that, the chill you felt hasn't disappeared...Haven’t diminished for a moment.

Warm and cool.

Nora and Dia described the boss...This person as such..

A perfect clarification.

“You’re on guard.”

Wide eyes greet her at her easy statement. She’s reading you. “I..”

“Not exactly what you thought, huh? A sweet little girl like me being in the Arms trafficking game. It’s ok. You can be honest.”

"Don't know." What's there to be said, that will stop this strangulation in the air, this icy cool and gentle heat. A pleasurable suffocation.

She hummed gently. "Then..how about you tell what you do know?"

An arched eyebrow was the response, reflex.

"Why'd you help my people a month ago?"

You feel your mouth open in realization, before settling in a small smirk, recalling the night you met those two, Nora and Dai. It was a simple night, hardly any stars out but there was a half moon.

You remember the crunching of the gravel beneath your feet as you walked that coastal city road, looking for something to eat...something to steal, so you could eat. You remember searching your hip and ass pockets to see if you had anything that could frighten a tourist. You remember looking up at hearing Nora yell to 'clothesline them'.

You still don't know why you did it, lift your arm up and throw it to some 'rat bastard' neck, as Nora elegantly called the thief. Why held the por guy down until Dai and Nora came up and took him away, maybe to rough him up...Maybe worse. You didn’t think much about the guy when Dai offered you dinner at a high class restaurant, nor when Nora came back with a new shirt, saying her other one got.. Messy. Wasn’t your business at the moment...You still don’t think about them.

You remember drinking liquor you never tasted, food you never ate and actually enjoying a bit of a life you never thought you could have. You remember having a comradire with a pair of twins missing their triplet, toasting in his name as they kicked back his favorite drink and ate his favorite food. Dai tearing up as Nora patted his back wiping her own tears; two years, you remember they telling you. It was the second year anniversary of his… Their brother, Steven's passing..

The talks of his bright eyed daughter, their niece; who's as precocious, as she's gentle. Smart and cunning as her mother, charming and empathetic as her father, with a smile that encapsulated both her parents, perfectly. They half joked that she would take over the world at the age of 21, with all that going for her.

The talk of his wife, their sister-in-law and their boss; The woman across from you. How their tone always seems to waver from reverence to outright fear, but always full of love..Was it familial or unrequited romance. Seems to waver depending on the story...Though, it seemed when their brother died he took her wanting for that type of companionship as well.

There was some scuffle in there too with some local gang boss, whining about how the boss is a snobbish bitch because she wouldn’t trade their drugs for her weapons and her late husband probably killed himself to escape her. You don’t remember much of what they said after that.

You do recall getting a scolding metal tea kettle and beating the asshole skull with it, repeatedly. Everything after was a flash of white and red fury. Don’t even remember when they got you into the swanky hotel room you woke up at, better than the hobble you called home.

“From there they just started to take me with them on runs, kept me fed and such. Put some money in my pocket, guess they thought something positive about me.” You shrugged as you finish your story looking up at the boss.

She’s leaned back into her chair, Her left ankle on her right knee, tips of her fingers pressed against each other, slighted downward held at stomach length, the blinds from the window casting both shadow and light on her smirking lips and devilish black eyes respectively.

‘I see why they all fell for her.’ She's chillingly beautiful. Dangerously gorgeous. Sinisterly enchanting. Could make men and women fall at her, on appearance alone.

“Ah! So you're the reason Paco looked like he was beat by a branding lorn when he came to apologize." that voice and chuckle was more sensual than sweet, it made you clench up, as you felt that chill around your heart tighten, a strong grip..Hers and it’s unsure if it's anxiousness or excitement you feel "I love a good story, thank you Reader”.

“Yes, boss!..I mean, Mrs.Universe…” It was impossible to stop the words...This woman...She's more than what they described.

"Oh! You've already decided to join me.. "

You feel your palms sweat, your mouth dry and your heart squeezed at her statement. The smile those eyes and those lips make. Those lips dressed in a tone lighter than her skin, allowing just the smallest amount of teeth show. Kissable yes, but more fatal than anything. The lips of one who could devour the world. Along are those eyes that pierce yours and steal the majority of your will, leaving you with just the barest sliver of it and just to coax you with their entrancing beauty to give it to her.

"She's an arms dealer. Her life is filled with bullets and bodies. She weaponized everything from military to mafia. To join her is death." That's what your mind and heart are saying.

To deliver it in her name, for her cause, at her call, without fail and get paid for it. That's your mental statement.

Your emotional side, your heart; it's statement is clear...You will die for her, happily. To join her is to sacrifice your life for hers. Put it all on the line for this woman who you just met.

It's crazy. Your instincts are saying she's dangerous, she's deadly, she monstrous..She's…

"Anyone, whose willing to defend my Biscuit's honor, that of our love…"

It was quick but you saw it, the moment she turned her eyes to the photo on her desk. A flash of the boundless depths that is her love for this man long passed. A sliver of her human vulnerability.

"And that of our little family we've gathered. Well, I can't say I wouldn't want to have a person like that on my team." And with a moment those sensual killer eyes are back at full force the vulnerability from before returned to the shadows, and with it..

"But that decision is yours."

Any will to deny her…

You reach out and kiss her knuckles in reverence, their soft yet calloused, and can possibly summon more power than yours. One that can seize the world. You turn to her and see her expression and in an instant you feel it. Looking at her satisfied smirk, the glow in her black eyes, brought on by the sun. You can feel it.

The cool vice grip on your heart, the warm welcoming strangulation around your neck.

You can only follow as she takes the same hand and lifts your chin before moving her face closer to you. A half inch apart and you are enveloped by her. This immeasurable being of charisma, strength and presence. Her smell, her eyes, her skin, her hair, her frame, her persona, her being.

She gives the first true smile, bright as the sun and full of her darkest designs. You can see her..The real her; Connie Maheswaran-Universe. Neither a devil or an angel, nor warm and cool.. She was so much more. She is thrill, battle, adventure and adrenaline. She's love, life, death, creation and destruction. She's chaos and order.. And you..

"Glad to have you...You're mine now, Reader"

Her truth thrills you to the core.

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bbrandy2002 · 5 years

Text

The Fall of Cordonia

Chapter Four

Trigger Warnings: Profanity, Gun Violence, Death, Sexual Content.

A/N: This came to my attention a few days ago. This series is not a spoiler for what happens in the real TRH book. I would demand every diamond I ever spent back if that happened 😬

I will also be in hiding from a certain fic writer who shall remain nameless, after this. I can explain 🤷

"Leeeooooo!!", Riley screamed as a struggle between life and death ensued over her shattered and torn body. Like a thief in the night, death entered that room with a sickening crack of the neck, taking its prisoner with him back to the fiery pits of hell.

Bradshaw slumped his lifeless body across the queen, momentum dropping him to the floor below, his miserable soul quickly extinquished. At the same time, Leo's bright blue eyes lost their color as he instinctly glanced over to look at his younger brother one last time. There were no words, just the unspoken, I love you's, between them. This was the one final bonding moment between Leo and Liam, before he fell back onto the bed.

Riley watched with horror as he stared blankly at her, jerking momentarily as his breath was literally sucked from his lungs.

Bastien was holding Liam up, literally and emotionally as he watched his older brother slip from his life.

He lowered a stunned Liam into his plush, leather desk chair; still reeling from the events that just occured in front of him.

Liam stood in disbelief from the watch tower, overlooking the empty square below, a heavy feeling pooled in his stomach. He didn't dare look at his brother for fear he would do or say something he'd regret.

"Come on little brother, say something"

"What do you want me to say Leo? Thank you for running away from your duties? Thank you for leaving me to pick up after the mess you are inevitably creating? No, wait...how about this...thank you for being so fucking selfish to ask me to give up my future so you can escape from your responsibilties and place the burden on me.....yes, Leo...how can I truly ever thank you? Is that what you want me to say?

"It's not like that and you know it....Liam, man...I'm not cut out for this shit, never have been".

"You"ve never even tried....the only two things you've ever cared about besides yourself is booze and pussy".

"Thats bullshit"

"You're right.....this whole thing is nothing but a big pile of bullshit and you're too coward to admit you have fucked me over."

"Liam...whatever you think of me, it doesn't change the fact that I"m not cut out for this life....but you.....you are.....you"ve always been"

Liam shakes his head furiously, his mood becoming more somber, "Then why do I feel like you just sucker punched me in the gut?"

Leo places a hand on Liam's shoulder, contemplating his words and actions carefully, "Because its a huge burden I've unloaded on you and I know that.....but shit, I've never doubted for a second, you're the man this country needs. Just say you'll do this".

With the weight of the world on his broad shoulders and trepidation in his voice, "I don't have a choice do I? If not me, then who?"

Leo hesitantly pulled his brother to him, wrapping his arms around him, clapping his back, "I hope one day... I can make you as proud of me, as you have always made me".

"I doubt that Leo".

Liam sank deep into his chair, loudly exhaling what little air he had been holding inside. He allowed the trickle of tears to flow as he thought about his brothers' sacrifice.....Riley is Liam's everything, Leo ultimately died to protect him.

He wiped away the moisture from his face and cleared the lump in his throat. There was no time to mourn; his wife was still trapped in that room of Bradshaw's palace and it was anyone's guess how she would get out.

"Sweetheart, I'm sending help. We have a rescue team in place with our allies and Bastien just informed me they will be there soon. Can you make sure the door is locked?"

The sound of his calming voice was the first time in 24 hours she felt something other than fear. With her attempt to sit up, she groaned loudly at the stabbing pain in her chest, she was positive her ribs were broken. "I can't", was all she could utter.

Riley nodded at Liam as he continued to reassure her everything was going to be okay, vowing to get her home to him. Everything that had happened played like a whirlwind in her mind. As silence took over the room, she heard the distinct sound of her baby crying and it caught her ear.

"Nikolas?"

Riley sat rocking a sleepy Nikolas in the nursery at Valtoria, fighting his sleep with excessive determination. Even through his very vocal, little tantrum, she couldn't help but chuckle as she noticed he looked exactly like Liam when he's angry. That furrowed brow with the crease between his eyes, the way his face reddened and his nose scrunched up.

"My little prince, I love you sweet boy, but, that kind of cry only works on your father".

As Nikolas' lips started to quiver and with his voice turning hoarse, she, too, gave into him.

Riley lifted her 3 month old son to her shoulder, rubbing circles over his tiny back, basking in his sweet baby smell. She hummed a lullaby her late mother sang, amazed it still clung to her memories since she was so young when she passed.

Nikolas lifted his tired head briefly and she soothed him back to her. His cries softened and he became heavier in her arms.

She could never thank Liam enough for this life he made just for her. The titles, the estate, the fancy balls, the lavish lifestyle was nothing, but, this little boy and Liam's love was all she needed or wanted.

The blast of distant gunshots ripped her back to reality. She didn't flinch; feelings, fear, emotions, shock, there was nothing, as numbness took over.

The noise became louder and closer, yet, Riley remained in her position. She waited patiently, expecting the door to burst open any moment.

"Riley? What's going on?", Liam questioned frantically.

Riley didn't hear him, she sunk deep into a world of her own; one without pain, tears or bloodshed. A smile swept across her face as Liam begged her to speak back to him.

"Baby, look at me.....what's happening....please Riley, say something!".

She remained still, closing her eyes, humming Nikolas' lullaby to herself. She could see Liam in her mind, waiting on his table when she turned around and laid eyes on him for the first time. When she told him he was going to be a father and he cried in her arms. The first time he held his son and nothing else mattered in the world.

"Riley, my love.....I need you to speak to me".

The door knob began to twist erratically as sounds of chaos and struggle carried on outside; shouts and blasts ringing in unisom.

"Riley?", Liam cocked his head watching his wife struggle with her mind; she was so calm and placid. He watched as the lights flickered and then shut off into complete darkness. The video feed lost its connection.

Riley didn't hear the door break down, she didn't see the flashlights shine on her face, nor, hear the heavy boots approach her, she was gone.

Strong hands gently shook her, then cautiously lifted her up from the bed, stepping over Bradshaw to carry her out of the room.

She steadily passed through the halls and corridors of the palace, surrounded by dozens of uniformed men and women.

"Maxwell? Is this heaven?"

"Rise and shine little blossom, you have a big day ahead".

"Max, I just want to lay here a little longer"

"I know that, but, when have I ever left you alone?"

Riley snickers, "true.....so you came to get me?"

"Not exactly....let's just say I'm here to watch over you. The good thing about where I am now is you can never get rid of me".

"Maxwell, will I ever see you again?

"Of course, but, not for a very long time....Riley, you have so many people counting on you right now. You have to go back and kick some ass. What's coming is so much bigger than Liam".

"There's more coming? ...Maxwell I can't do this".

"Sure you can".

"I love you Maxwell"

"I love you too Blossom"

Four days later....

Liam gathered the last of his documents and strolled from his office with fire in his eyes. Taking long strides, his black leather oxfords the only sound made as he walked alone down the long corridor.

He hung his head as he paused momentarily at the door of his quarters, his queen still recovering inside. Liam touched the door, in some way hoping to gather the strength the woman behind it may pass on to him. Her screams of terror still waking her every so often. I promise love, I'm going to make this better for you, for Nikolas...for Cordonia.

Bastien met him at the top of the staircase; the head guard taking in Liam's appearance. He was dressed in the finest suit he owned, wearing the emerald cufflinks with the Cordonian seal, Riley gave him in Shanghai and his hair perfectly smoothed back.

He was nervous, as much as his father prepared him for the threat of enemies, Constantine had never faced anything like this. There was no one to turn to, he shouldered this responsibilty himself, not only as a King, but, as a father. He would be damned if he gave up now, remembering Leo's words to him, you're the man this country needs.

He took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, "I'm ready", he said confidently.

The palace was quiet, the destruction was apparent all around, the lights burning dimly and the eery presence of lives lost all around him.

He stepped into the throne room, attendees and press immediatly standing to their feet, no one uttering a word. He looked every bit the leader Cordonia needed right now, while inside feeling every bit a failure as a father and husband.

He took his place at the podium, there was no usual applause, no chatter, only sniffles and eager ears longing for reassurance from their monarch. Liam stood silent for the longest time, his people understanding of it, as he looked around the room, taking in each face.

What was left of the council gathered in the front row, his eyes following in a line of each member and those who left nothing but chairs behind. Bertrand who couldn't contain his tears as a rose sat in the seat next to him where Maxwell typically sat. Drake, his arm in a cast, head bandaged, with the most defeated look Liam had ever seen him wear. The empty seat of Olivia next to him, with a scarlett ribbon, a shell shocked Kiara, Emmaline sitting in place of Landon, a distraught Adelaide, a subdued Neville, Hakim, and the rest of the row void of its normal holders.

He brought a fist to his mouth, attempting to catch himself from allowing the emotions to overtake him.

He lowered his fist and rested it on the podium, clearing his throat, in preparation to address the council and nation.

"My fellow Cordonians and esteemed members of the council....Four days ago, tragedy struck our country and has affected each of us in ways no one could ever have envisioned. My heart and mind is with each one of you, even as I, too have suffered great personal loss. While I don't have all of the answers, I do know this....your monarch will not sit idly by and give in to the demands of those behind these attacks. King Bradshaw was just one element of this, it was discovered the recently deceased Princess of Monaco was also involved in harboring the Prince....my son, who has yet to be discovered. In the grand scheme of thing, those two were just pawns for another leader.

That is why, today, I am declaring war against Monterisso. Queen Amalas.....I know you are watching right now, so hear me when I say this.....I'm coming for you. There will be no place safe for you to hide.... and I daresay, I will win. This goes for anyone else involved in assisting her.

Our allies have remained in contact and have worked tirelessly to help save our kingdom. We are down right now, but, we have faced enemies before and have come through victorius...I have no reason to believe this time will be any different.

Now if you will join me in a moment of silence for those who we have lost".

Liam thanked the crowd, declining questions and eased his way into the front row, standing before Bertrand. He embraced him, knowing his attempts at comfort were in vain and there was really nothing he could say. He knelt down before Maxwell's empty chair, biting his lip, all the training in the world unable to hold back his emotions. Drake sidled beside him, kneeling down with his uninjured arm around Liam's back. The Three Musketeers, down to two.

He stood, and held Drake for what seemed like an eternity. Liam moved forward, picking up the scarlett ribbon from the next chair, clasping it in his hands, his jaw tensing as he dropped the ribbon back to it's place.

When he was finished, he left the room and headed back to his quarters alone. He loosed his tie as he made his way up the steps and to his bedroom. He stopped at the door as Riley turned to him, dismissing her nurse before shutting the door behind him.

"Is it done?", Riley questioned, holding Nikolas' stuffed bear in her arms.

Liam nodded, "It is".

He threw his tie on the bed and poured a finger of scotch, downing it all at once. He faced his wife once more, "We'll either win this my love.....or lose everything trying".

Monterisso

Amalas allowed the thin, dainty fingers of her companion to slip under her skirt, groaning with pleasure as two fingers swept between her wet folds.

The two women were enticed by the words coming out of Cordonia, laughing with one another over the supposed threat. Liam has never been alone, Amalas has known his every move and gesture for well over a year. Even now, she is still one step ahead of him.

She lays back on the sofa with her legs wrapped around the neck of the woman who has caught her affections. She swallows hard then moans loudly as the skilled tongue laps up her juices and slides into her dripping entrance . Pleasure begins to ripple through her body and she arches her back as a thumb rubs circles over her clit. She cries out, feeling her lower abdomen tighten, her core pulsing until she is met with her release.

Both woman fall back onto the sofa, breathing heavily, clutching one another.

"I do believe this day continues to get better", Amalas said while clutching the red hair of her companion.

"Shall we celebrate our victory further?"

"Olivia, I think I have something else in mind", Amalas replies as she reaches under the sofa, eager to unleash her next plan. "You should know, I do enjoy doing things on my own".

#the royal heir #liam x riley #the royal romance #dark #king liam #trr liam x mc #trr liam #trh liam

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harlot-of-oblivion · 5 years

Text

A Daisy follows soft the Son of Sparda (Part 3)

You and Vergil spend some time together in your quiet corner of the book café reciting poetry, drinking tea, and sowing the seeds of delightful affection.

So this just popped into my head and I just had to write it down. Hope you enjoy! 💕 Here ya go, @drusoona 😘

Here’s the link to the list of all the flowers featured in this part. 🌹🥰🌹

The city is buzzing with activity as you walk though the city streets. The exhaust pipes of cars clanging loudly as they blur past you, the soft chattering of distant conversations floating through the breeze, and the glittering sunlight flaring off of the windows on numerous buildings…it all just feels exciting and lively as you make your way to the local book café for tea, books, and interesting company that goes by the name of Vergil Sparda.

I wonder if he’ll be grumpy or reserved today, you thought, laughing quietly to yourself because it seems that man is always a combination of both. You do not mind though…in fact, you find his surliness kind of endearing. The little crinkle in between his brow that seem to be there permanently scrunching up as his eyes spark in agitation and his jaw tightening as he clenches he teeth…most people would find him intimating, but you just cannot help but to admire such an expressive face.

Those distinct lines on his face do occasionally smooth out though. Every time you give him your homemade tea blends or a fresh flower that crinkle seems to fade as his lips curve into a grin. The lack of smile lines tells you that he does not smile often, so you feel honored to witness such a rarity. You feel yourself swoon as you remember the day he sought you out in the rain after completely blundering your attempt at conversation, holding your forgotten umbrella over you as he smiles down upon you. The thought of his gorgeous face makes you do a little twirl on the sidewalk, your purple floral dress flaring out as you feel a soft warmth settle on your cheeks. You solemnly vowed to yourself that you would do everything in your power to make him smile more. And every time you are successful you cherish every single one of those smiles, engraving them into your memory so you can look back on them in fondness.

The familiar chime of The Book Nook Café rings as you step through its threshold. You greet the barista with a cheerful smile and order a cup of chai tea before walking over to your quiet corner. You glance over at the chair that is usually occupied by a certain handsome devil, an amused grin spreading across your face as you recall that he claims this spot as his as well. You set your tea and purse down as you examine the bountiful shelves of knowledge and adventure, trying to find the book that Vergil recommended to you after he found out that you are a gardener and florist extraordinaire.

“Ah!” you whisper as you finally spot The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, sliding it out of its place and placing it on the small table next to your seat. You rummage through your purse, taking out a perfectly pressed pink and white clove gillyflower and remove a book you hope to recommend to him during your chat today. He has returned your books about gardening and botany to you, but the book about the language of flowers has yet to make it back into your hands. There is a chance that he will understand the message your leaving…that you have developed a bond of affection with him.

The thought of him knowing what your little gifts actually mean makes you nervous and giddy as you place the delicate flower into the book. The idea of him reciprocating has you blushing as you recall the snapdragons he gave you. You did not have the heart to tell him that you actually provide those for this particular restaurant, not wanting to ruin the moment as his uncertain eyes soften when you accept them. You may have grown them, but that is not what makes your knees weak and heart throb thinking about that moment...

They just…reminded me of you.

You snap the book closed, the musty whoosh of air blowing against your face doing nothing to cool your redden cheeks. A part of you hopes that he knows what those snapdragons mean, but he is probably referring to the petals since you can never stop your face from flushing pink when his hand touches you in some benign fashion. He may be cool and reserved, not really a man for unnecessary words, but that just means his actions are what your flowers are to you…a way to express the feelings you cannot say aloud. Your heart always quivers when he subtly caresses your hand and fingers. Your belly fills with fluttering butterflies as his eyes glance sideways when he thinks you do not notice.

Taking a deep breath you reel in your swirling thoughts, making yourself the very model of decorum. You make yourself comfortable in your seat as you reach for the recommended book on the table. You crack open the old book and your eyes widen as a pressed purple flower falls into your lap. Funny…I don’t remember putting one this book, you muse as you pick it up and inspect it. Instantly you know it to be heartsease, a type of violet that grows wild around certain parts of the city. It is also known by many other colorful names, such as heart’s delight, tickle-my-fancy, come-and-cuddle-me…warm tingles cascade down your body as its purple petals all but confirm your suspensions of Vergil being well aware of the language of flowers.

You occupy my thoughts.

You bring the flower to your chest as you lay the book on your lap, clutching it close with both hands over your heart. You are still for a moment, doing your best to hold back a squeal, but your lips slowly spread into a bright smile as your body begins to bounce like a bumblebee among the sweetest flowers. You are glad that he does not find your little antics foolish. After you almost ruined your chance with him you knew that conventional means of flirting will not hold sway over him.

So, you started this little ritual of leaving him flowers, then giving him the means of figuring it all out, hoping that your intent was clear. You really like Vergil and do not want to mess up this budding relationship by letting your blunt mouth do all the talking. For the first time since the passing of your family and moving back into the city you do not feel so alone in the world. He can be a bit prickly at times, but you are a very patient gardener and you will tend to the seeds of affection you have sown with him diligently.

When your done dancing in your seat you place the pressed flower next to your cup, a subtle way to let him know you got it his message. You open the book back up and begin to read while you wait for Vergil to arrive. After reading a few pages you fully understand why he suggests this poet to you. The short biography of Emily Dickinson did mention that she was more well known for her gardening and her knowledge of plants than her poetry during her lifetime. So there are many short poems about flowers and nature conveying intricate imagery and metaphor. It makes your heart soar that he knew just the perfect poetry for your personality.

The signature chime of the door has your eyes instantly glancing up to see a tall and imposing figure clad in very distinctive clothing and a charming scowl that only Vergil can pull off. Uh oh…it seems he’s in one of his cranky moods, you observe, wondering what ever present nuisance makes him so easily irritable all the time. Your lips lift into a sunny smile like they always do when he is around and he slightly nods his head towards you as he makes his way to the barista to order his tea.

While he is distracted you mark your place in the book and reach into your purse for the tin of tea you have prepared for him. Guess it’s a good thing I brought him a little pick-me-up gift. You also grab a handful of today’s flowers, sweet alyssums, since it looks likes he could use a flower shower. You hide both beneath the fabric of your dress as you hear him thank the barista and approach the cozy corner. You put on a face of pure innocence as he appears, eyeing you suspiciously while he places his tea on the table.

“What are you hiding this time?” he warily questions.

“Whatever do you mean, Vergil?” you say as you tilt your head to the side feigning confusion. He just continues to stare at you with those striking silver eyes like a leery cat. You try to fight off the urge to smile, but the sight of that little crinkle between his brows bunching up has you grinning impishly in seconds. His eyes narrow at the sight of it and he leans down a bit, reminding you of the tall sunflowers you used to look up at when your were a child…minus the obvious agitation.

Slowly you lift one hand to reveal a tin of cherry blossom green tea. “Well, it seems I can longer take you by surprise, huh?” That crinkle instantly relaxes when he glances down at your hand to ensure that you are indeed holding one of your homemade blends. His eyes soften a little, that lovely shade of blue coming to the surface to blend harmoniously with molten silver. He reaches for his gift and just as his hand grabs the tin you feel his familiar touch, a gentle fingertip grazing one of your fingers. This never fails to make your breath hitch slightly as your heart thrums like a hummingbird.

Before he fully withdraws his hand you stand up to get a better view of his stunning face that you hope will grace you with the presence of his smile soon. “And since I can no take you by surprise, then you already know what comes next,” you say, voice brimming with enthusiasm as you stare up at him excitedly. “Vergil…lose the glower…”

His expression turns weary. “Must you insist on-?”

“And smell the flowers!” you exclaim as you bring your other hand up and toss the tiny white flowers into the air as you give him a big joyous smile.

His eyes never stray from yours as the small blossoms fall down upon you both, even when one lands right on his shoulder. Those lips you so want to smile are in a tight line as he sighs through his nose. “Evidently, you must…” he comments wryly before the corners of his mouth twitch, flashing you a small amused smirk.

Success! You are absolutely beaming as you let your thumb brush against his fingers before releasing the tin. You quickly gather the fallen flowers before the barista notices you have pulled this stunt once again in the café. A soft chuckle reaches your ears and you look over to see him shaking his head at you as he picks up the lone flower off his shoulder. You give him a mischievous shrug as you finish cleaning up and get back to your seat, opening your book to continue where you left off. Vergil grabs a book he has been reading for awhile and takes his seat, placing the one survivor of the flower shower next to his cup of tea.

Out of the corner of your eye you see him pause when he spots the purple heartsease on your side of the table. You can practically feel those keen eyes gazing at you, surely noticing the light dusting of pink on your face as you continue reading while trying to focus on the imagery of the current poem. I’ll have to really up the ante in our quiet flower game, you ponder, the gears of your mind already turning. Something even more bold than the ice plant flower...pff! Who am I kidding? I already went straight past bold with the forget-me-nots...maybe a flower of passion? I hope those hybrid roses I’m working on for him will bloom soon…

“I see you’re reading my personal recommendation.”

Vergil’s smooth voice breaks you out of your frantic flower thoughts. You head snaps over to see him staring back down at the heartsease. Those captivating eyes slowly lift to meet your gaze, openly admiring every inch of you. Hmm...a variegated tulip it is, you mentally note as a fresh burst of tingles rise through your skin. You do not need a mirror to know that your face must remind him of those damn snapdragons. The corner of your mouth twitches into a grateful grin as you reply. “I am! I wish I knew of her poems sooner. The way she describes flowers and uses them as metaphor is brilliant!”

“Do you have a favorite thus far?” he inquires, resting his arm on the table as his hand cradles his head, his eyes never leaving yours for a moment.

“Hmm…” You flip the pages to the table of contents and swiftly skim the list of poems until one sparks your memory. “Ah! The Daisy follows soft the Sun speaks to me,” you inform him with a fond smirk as you meet his eyes again.

“Read it to me.”

You blink bemusedly at what you refer to as a “commanding request” because Vergil has a habit of just not emphasizing the question mark that usually goes at the end of such requests. Admittedly, that is part of his charm, but you are not so easy to command. You quirk an eyebrow at him as you devise an even compromise. “Only if you recite Blake for me.”

Now it is Vergil’s turn to quirk an eyebrow. He taps his index finger on his head in thought, making a few strands of his white hair shift slightly out of its perfectly slicked back style before forming back into place. Does the power of Sparda include exceptional hair care? you mentally quip to yourself as you await with bated breath, hoping he will indulge you with his soothing voice. His finger stops tapping and his eyelids droop ever so slightly as his lips part and he graces your ears with that rather nasal but sensuous timbre.

The modest Rose puts forth a thorn, The humble sheep a threat'ning horn: While the Lily white shall in love delight, Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright.

Vergil flashes you a smug grin as he finishes his reciting of Blake, clearly enjoying the affect it had on you. If he gets his hands on scarlet lilies that’s probably what he’ll give me next…because that’s what my face probably looks like right now! You sigh exasperatedly as you cover your face with the clever words of Dickinson. “Well...now I really feel like I can’t do this poem justice!” you whine, playfully bemoaning your awful luck that the power of Sparda must also include the ability to reduce you to a blushing babbling mess.

You hear his cocky laugh burst through the air. “You should have read while you had the chance.”

Your shoulders slump as you try to pull yourself together for the task at hand. You remove the book from your face and turn to the page with the poem. When you turn your head to make sure you have his attention you notice that he is pensively studying you. “Flower for your thoughts?” you softly ask, bringing him out of whatever ruminations plaguing his mind.

“I wanted to hear you read, and yet I recited a poem at your behest for the privilege…why?” he abruptly asks, his eyes regarding you inquisitively.

You feel your eyebrows burrow in confusion. “Quid pro quo…not everyone is going to listen to your demands unless you do something for them in turn.” Your eyes dart down to the delicate heartsease next to your cup. “And it’s been awhile since I heard you recite poetry.” You blink and meet his intense gaze once more. “Not since that day in the rain.”

Vergil’s eyes drift away as he seems to be lost in thought. They brush over the pressed flower he left for you and the corner of his mouth lifts into a small grin. Then he shifts his gaze back to meet yours as those alluring lips bless you with the presence of his sublime smile. You feel your brain check out as you savor this moment, knowing that if you had the talent for art you could paint this man from memory alone…considering how often he haunts your thoughts as well.

The warm moment passes when Vergil taps his finger on his head again as he quirks an expectant eyebrow at you. “I’m waiting.”

You sigh, resigning yourself to this fate you have brought upon yourself by enacting quid pro quo. Bringing the book back up you toss a loose strand of hair out of your vision as you softly clear your throat, preparing your voice for a reading that you know is going to pale in comparison to his spine chilling voice. You breathe in and hope for the best.

The Daisy follows soft the Sun And when his golden walk is done Sits shyly at his feet He—waking—finds the flower there Wherefore—Marauder—art thou here? Because, Sir, love is sweet!

We are the Flower—Thou the Sun! Forgive us, if as days decline We nearer steal to Thee! Enamored of the parting West The peace—the flight—the Amethyst Night's possibility!

You do not even try to hold back your smile as you read, letting the imagery of the shy and hopeful daisy pull you in as the words spill from your lips. When you finish your head turns over to Vergil to see how badly you butchered this poor poem.

Instead, he is wearing an expression you have only seen twice: once after you made a complete fool of yourself in front of him in this very corner and the other in your garden after he revealed his demon heritage. Your heart aches when you think about that memory, getting the feeling that living a life caught in between two vastly different worlds has taken on toil on his soul. It explains why he seems so different, why he is so defensive about his personal life…but you know how it feels to not belong and you are glad he told you. Because at that moment you do not see something to be afraid of. Staring upon his face now, so openly expressing awe and admiration, you cannot help but wonder if this feeling in your chest is what Cupid felt when he first saw the aching beauty of Psyche before he shot himself with his own arrow.

After a few moments of awkward silence and a bit of fidgeting he compliments your reading and settles back into his chair, burying his face in his book which is his way of signaling you that he needs a break from conversation. You graciously oblige, needing a break yourself from all the tension currently wafting between the two of you. Both of you read together, enjoying the familiar companionable silence as the outside world fades away. At some point you finish your tea and stand up to get another cup, asking Vergil if needs a fresh cup as well. He nods without looking away from his book and you grin as you walk up to the counter, order two more cups of tea, and bring them back to the secluded corner. Just as your sitting back down Vergil speaks while still engrossed in his book.

“That day in the rain…you said you would point out some recommendations of your own.”

“Oh yeah!” you exclaim, bouncing in your chair in energetically. “I did, didn’t I? Well…what are you in the mood for? Tragedy, comedy, philosophy…poetry?”

Vergil’s lips twitch in amusement as his eyes continue to read. “I am familiar with some of the more prolific epic poems of the ancient era, but I am curious about what you would suggest for me otherwise.” You ponder for a moment, trying to figure what he might find interesting when it hits you.

“Catullus.”

His eyes shoot up in astonishment as his eyes finally tear themselves away from his book to look at you. “Aha!” You giggle as you point a finger at him. “It seems I can still surprise you!” Your hand wipes the invisible sweat off your brow. “Whew…and here I thought I could never get one over the Son of Sparda ever again.” His jaw clenches in that signature scowl you have come to adore as his eyes narrow in annoyance. You show mercy and stop your teasing as you smirk with sincerity shining in your eyes. “But seriously…I would suggest reading his poems. They’re very uh…eclectic.”

“In what way are they unique from the others of that time?” Vergil inquires, his scowl lessening as his eyes regard you with genuine curiosity.

“Well, on one hand he wrote affectionate love poems for his mistress…but on the other hand he wrote really angry and very vulgar poems about people who pissed him off.”

A low rumbling hum vibrates through the air as Vergil contemplates your words, a wave of heat rushing through body at the mere sound of it. “Sounds intriguing. I honestly anticipated a more well known poet of that time.”

“Oh? Like Horace? Or Ovid? Or…Virgil?” You list playfully, wriggling an eyebrow as you mention the last one with a cheeky grin. He rolls his eyes as he lets out an irksome scoff, but the soft twitching of his lips lets you know that he is trying not to smile. This makes you laugh as you continue speaking. “Don’t get me wrong…their poems are good too.” You take a calming breath as your laughter dies down. “But I like Catullus because he’s just so honest and some of his poems just drip with raw emotion. You really feel his adoration for his lover and his wrath at the friends that betrayed him. And it is his poems that later influence Ovid and Virgil.”

“Will you do me the honor…of reciting his poetry…for me?” he hesitantly requests as his eyes soften, actually asking you to do something for the first time instead of demanding it. You feel your eyes widen in surprise, but your overwhelming joy of having him show an interest in one of your favorite poets overrides it quickly. You give him your warmest smile as you close your eyes and recite a short one that will hopefully pique his interest more.

I hate and love. If you were to ask how I got this way, I’d have no answer; but since I can recall, I have suffered –I have felt this torment.

You open your eyes and see that Vergil has his eyes closed during your recitation as well. Your heart melts at the sight of his calm face, meditating on the words of the poem as he considers your recommendation. His eyes suddenly snap open after a few moments. “Very well,” he states confidently as he pins you with his intense stare. “I shall see what complexity this Catullus has to offer.”

A victorious grin spreads across your cheeks and it must be contagious because Vergil gives that rare smirk you strive to pull out him every second you are near him. You both spend more time in that cozy corner finishing up your books until you have to depart. Before leaving you set a time and date to meet in the café again, already looking forward to another quiet reading session with your prickly poet. You almost tell him he could always call you if he ever wants to have a rendezvous somewhere else…like a local bistro or even your garden since you do have a nice outdoor seating, but you did not want to push your luck. And it seems he is new to the usage of cell phones, so you did not want to bring it up just in case it makes him crabby. Plus, he might bring up the forget-me-nots you somehow craftily tied around his fancy sword and you have already filled your quota of blushes for today.

Both of you say your farewells and you leave the café feeling like a sunflower basking in the rays of beautiful sunshine. As you pass the café window you spot a tall figure standing up in the secluded corner, selecting the book you put your flower in earlier. Your feet stumble as you stop in your tracks and scramble to take out your phone, furiously pretending to be checking your notifications and texting some nonexistent recipient. Surreptitiously, you watch as Vergil opens the book and he must have went straight for Catullus since his hand picks up the clove gillyflower you left for him. Your heart skips a beat when you see his face light up with genuine tenderness. You decide to end your act before he notices you, swiftly walking away as you put your phone back into your purse.

You do no know what it is about Vergil that draws you to him. It could be his fierce presence that you find oddly soothing, his cool and collected exterior that hides a passionate love for literature, or that little crinkle between his brow that deepens when he is aggravated. Whatever it may be you are glad he let you step through his briars, allowing you to gently pry his thorns apart as you find fertile ground to plant the seeds of trust. And you will tend to them as the seeds sprout and grow...entwining their gentle blossoms carefully among the briars in tenderness.

And you, like the shy and hopeful daisy, follow soft the Son of Sparda.

Read Part 4 here.

Or read them all on my Ao3

My Master List if you want more. ❤

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