#Just emotions I feel over like. A 3 second clip of a coffee cup

[umilily]

Hihi :)) it's butler meru anon! I have retuned hehe

Anyways - I've been thinking about spending Valentine's with Meru scenarios... Specifically like

Himeru is absolutely /whipped/ for you - imagine this is a timeline thats different from coffee cups where you and meru met differently, probably youre a cute secretary lady under cospro and himeru enjoys your presence - and since Valentine's day is around the corner, Himeru wants to ask you out but the thing is he's completely lost on what to do; he didn't expect to fall in love with you and especially didn't expect how deep his emotions go for you so while he's smiling to himself and chuckling at thoughts of you- this man? Completely lost.

Fortunately - or unfortunately depending on how you want to look at it - his unit mates even roommates are willing to throw some ideas out for him! Besides the constant teasing he gets because of his little crush

- "How did you know HiMERU likes them? I've never explicitly said anything that might have indicated that."

- "You were smiling like a lovestruck boy when she was talking to you, it's pretty obvious."

-"Ah."

Anywho, after some back and forth and pros and cons, he decided to slip a small love letter with some of his paperwork and and hoped you noticed. Himeru tried his best to conceal his nervousness yet excitement, and when you wrote a love letter back? His eyes basically gleem and shine with utter joy. He had to contain himself but he!! Is very happy!! And later that Valentine's day you two go on a cute little date and it's just. Pure fluff no lewd just pure toothache fluff.

You know that one clip where this Korean guy in a kdrama was kicking his feet in bed and giggling when he sees his gf? Yeah, that's Meru with you.

Welcome back butler meru anon! (is that just going to be your name now? lol please let me know if you’d prefer something else) Hope you’re doing well :3 Thank you for blessing my inbox with another great scenario of yours! 

I gotta admit that this made me giggle and kick my feet when I read it this morning. Maybe it sounds a little odd, considering the kind of smut I’ve put out in the world lol, but reading anything fluffy just makes me so flustered (>////<) 

I wholeheartedly agree that Himeru would be an absolute mess. Like it’s one thing to act all suave and put together on stage or in front of a camera, but when face to face with you - just smiling and cheerfully wishing him a good morning, when he comes into the office? How do words work again? Given Himeru’s background, I can’t imagine that he has a lot of first hand experience when it comes to romance, so i think when it hit him that he likes you - like a lot - he’d be so damn lost, it would be funny if it weren’t so sad to witness him choke on his coffee when you unexpectedly say something to him. 

And like you said, he’s so damn obvious about it too, so that it’s only a matter of weeks until everyone - except you of course - got his little crush figured out. It might be a bit of a surprise at first, because who would have seen coming that Himeru of all people would act so damn awkward around you? But his struggle eventually becomes so painful to watch that it is collectively decided that he needs help, and from then on he would never know peace again, because he can’t save himself from more or less useful input from everyone around him. They’d all be so invested and come up with increasingly ridiculous plans to get him a date. (I can perfectly picture Rinne pestering you when you’re trying to work “to find out what you think about Meru”, who nearly dies from second-hand embarrassment when he finds out about it lmao or he’s just getting ready in the morning with Arashi and Tetora as his personal hype-woman and -man in the background as he mentally tries to prepare for seeing your face) But Himeru refuses to do anything that’s like super out there or over the top, because he still has an image to maintain, you know? (and what if you don’t feel the same way and say no…?)

In the end the love letter idea is something Kohaku drops only half seriously and in passing, because it just seems way too obvious of a move, surely Himeru must have considered that already. But he hasn’t really, not seriously at least, but now that he thinks about it a little more… Perhaps it would be the best course of action. It allows him to sort out his thoughts and put them into words without the risk of getting distracted by you and stumbling over his words like a fool. It still takes a long time and a lot of drafts getting discarded until he manages to come up with something satisfactory and not too cheesy. (He hopes.) He’s running a bit short on time to make it before Valentine’s Day, so he just slips the letter in between the paperwork he has to hand you anyways and hurries off once it’s safely in your hands…

And poor you. You can’t help feeling a little confused. Why is he in such a rush? You’d have liked to chat for a little bit… Lately, all you’ve been doing is working overtime - which admittedly you volunteered for, because your colleagues are all busy with buying presents for their partners or planning cute dates… Meanwhile you’re stuck here with boring paperwork and no date in sight. You’ve bought yourself some cheap chocolate to fuel you while you work away, occasionally allowing yourself to slip into a daydream or two about actually getting any as a gift… maybe even from your favourite idol… By the time you get to the final stack of documents - the one Himeru had brought over earlier - it’s late already and you’re alone on the office floor. A fact you end up being very grateful for when you spot the small envelope that looks nothing like the ones usually used at ES with your name on it. This way the excited squeal that leaves you when you open it and read the letter stays between you and the office walls. You had been ready to go home soon, but now that you’re holding this in your hands, you’re suddenly full of motivation to keep writing for a little longer… 

To say that Himeru is nervous when he comes into work the next morning would be an understatement. He’s tempted to just sneak past you, but you spot him before he manages to slip away and call him over to your desk. You’re rummaging around with some documents and he’s just standing there frozen in place, because what if you say something about the letter? Or what if you don’t? The latter ends up happening, because you just  brightly smile and hand him a stack of paper with the request for him to read the documents until the end of the day. Himeru tries his best to not look disappointed that apparently his plan of asking you out didn’t work. 

The disappointment, however, doesn’t last very long, because once Himeru has a break from practice and uses the time to go over the paperwork you’ve given him while he tries catching his breath, he notices something amongst the stack that he did not expect to find there. There’s a letter. Addressed to him. In hindsight, it may have been smarter not to open it in the presence of the rest of his unit, but he can’t help his curiosity and his heart pounding in his chest. Of course his dopey smile doesn’t go unnoticed by the others and he has to run a few laps around the practice room to escape them trying to get a glimpse at the letter you wrote, but he can’t seem to mind all that much when taking the leap ended up being this much of a success. Now he only needs to figure out where to take you for the date, you’ve suggested after work…

Hehe, I had a lot of fun thinking about this :3 it also gave me the motivation to finish editing the Valentine's special for coffee cups, so I'll get back to that now ^^

Thanks again for stopping by and making me blush and giggle! <3

#lily answers #shoe anon

[dbphantom]

Rewatched Assault on Abysus again for like the 5th time because I cannot get enough of That Scene and man. The cup bit really got me this go around.

Like sure I went on a thirty minute rant about the drawing because oh my god my heart that poor kids dream got turned into a living nightmare because of course the event couldn't stop taking things from him even 5 years after it happened, it just had to corrupt this memory with his father as well

... anyway

Okay I'm gonna sound like I've absolutely lost my marbles but the cup is most definitely a story thing and it causes me so much emotional pain every time I see that bit bc I overthink everything

Okay. When Rex rights that coffee cup, him doing that means absolutely nothing to everyone else- nobody is there anymore and it will never be used again, so ultimately the action itself is pointless, but he still does it anyway. for one, is that not a reoccuring theme of the show, Rex curing one person at a time trying to save the world and fighting a losing battle, like they had a whole episode that season dedicated to that exact thing courtesy of black knight: who cares if you fix one thing? Everything else is broken around you. But Rex still does it anyway.

It's knocked over in the panic of evacuation and nobody gives a shit because they're all concerned about their own lives but here this kid is righting it anyway 5 years later, like is that meant to be a metaphor for when someone goes EVO and Rex goes to cure them even though while it's happening 10 more people have turned and he's fighting a losing battle but he's still trying even if 'in the grand scheme of things' it is pointless. sure the world is fucked and ten more people changed while he was busy, but he still saved one person. Someone's family or friend. The lab is messed up and permanently destroyed by the event and never returning to its former glory, but he still fixes this cup in his father's office anyway

So the thing is its not actually a pointless action. Because that office meant something to someone at some point. Even if he can't remember it beyond those flashes he gets, clearly it meant something to him as a kid. and I think that loops back around to episode two where he realizes he was the one hurting this kid's priest and how he doesn't want to be the bad guy by harming someone the kid treasures. So when he fixes that stupid knocked over cup it's almost like he's doing it for his past self. The little kid that had all those good memories of his father in that room. It feels very much like he's in a trance state simply Remembering things he had done in that place, if only for a brief moment, and fixes it because it's important that he does, because he knows it's out of place and it'd be wrong to leave it there like that despite everything because who wants to leave a place that important to someone a mess and I don't know I just aaaaahg it makes me feel emotions o k a y I'm sorry I'm not eloquent enough to really express what makes me love that single clip so much I JUST DO

But yeah it's probably just there to show a comparison between modern day and the Event taking place XD It still gives me chills when it cuts to the sirens blaring and people screaming. Now, Rex screaming in pain (???) when asked to identify himself before getting the nanite? that scene really deserves its own ramble post lol

Here, have these memes I made for my genrex group chat as a token of my appreciation for actually reading this lmao

#THE CUP!!! THE CUP!!!!!!!! #I... May be over thinking this but shh it's 3am and I'm procrastinating writing #This is just. My opinion pls don't take it super seriously #Just emotions I feel over like. A 3 second clip of a coffee cup #I just love assault on Abysus and I NEED to talk to someone about it before I explode #Generator Rex #Cruddy rambles #I scream

[geesecannotlove]

Some BakuIida as requested by @donnie-with-a-cup-of-coffee !! This took forever because I couldn't decide if they were going to kiss or not :') but it's finally here like a while month or so later and I'm sorry about that delay. I hope you still enjoy <3

• Adrenaline Rush •

Cw// foul language

. . .

"Glasses." Bakugo snapped from his place in the common room. Legs drawn up to cross in an improper fashion but Tenya supposed it was better than his previous position with his feet up on the table. His note book pulled into the bowl of his lap, Crimsion eyes glaring at the others in the room.

"Yes Bakugo?" Iida hummed, his own navy hues clashing with the blond's. A dying sun over the ocean, his grip on the small borrowed book in his hand increasing.

"Let's go, these idiots are too loud." Bakugo scoffed, ignoring the indignant whine that left Kirishima and Kaminari's mouths. They were sat against each other on the floor, bright colours flashing across the screen in a racing game they'd been yelling over for nearly an hour.

"Alright." Tenya said stiffly, the warm feeling he always associated with Bakugo's attention tingling through his limbs.

It had been an odd feeling to be on the receiving side of Bakugo's harsh affection. His words still cutting but his eyes relaxed in a playful manner, one that expected the energy to be returned. Something Tenya struggled to do, his clipped speech and perfected mannerisms hard to over come.

"I stole a pair of your shoes the other day, they're under my bed let's go." Bakugo breathed out in a whisper like tone.

"Bakugo, we are not allowed-"

"Cut the bullshit Glasses, we aren't going far. Just the track." Bakugo snarled pulling on his own shoes and the jacket Tenya assumed he must have taken when he also took the shoes. The relaxed fabric swallowing his narrower shoulders.

"The track?" Iida repeated, that warm feeling bubbling up stronger than before at the sight of the other. They'd never discussed it before, Katsuki's tendency to cling to Tenya's personal items, quickly snatching them back after Iida had them washed. Nor had they ever brought up the warmth that spread across their skin like sunlight in the summer. It was an odd dance of give and take.

"That's what I said. Let's fucking go already." Bakugo had already thrown open his balcony doors, the soft crackling in his palms growing louder as he threw himself in the direction of the ground.

"Why do we never take the front door. Cerfew isn't even for another few hours." Tenya grumbled, his own leap over the balcony much more precise to insure his joints were protected in the landing that was always too heavy.

"Tch." Bakugo snarled, his face screwed up in a way to intimidate others but over time it had struck Iida is endearing. He kept the feeling sealed away in his chest, afraid of the reaction it would spark in the other. His protests were always short lived on nights like this, where the blood was still pounding in his ears from the leap and Bakugo was already sprinting towards his destination.

"No fucking quirks"

The first thing that tumbled from Bakugo's mouth the first night they'd done this. His eyes adverted and his fists clenching and unclenching with soft crackles of light. Maybe it was seeing Katsuki embarrassed in the privacy of his own dorm that started the spiral of Tenya's thoughts.

"Come on dumbass." Bakugo taunted already too far ahead, a feral smile pulled over his features.

"Yes of course." Iida laughed to himself before he was well on his way, his body built for running, quirk or not. Iida had pushed his body to the physical limits so his quirk could do the same.

Katsuki had never won this race, but he always did a little better each time. His chest rising and falling too fast as he bent over his knees, red faced and sputtering half hearted curses. Tenya adjusted his glasses, a soothing hand on the blond's back and a water he'd snagged from Katsuki's night stand at the last second.

"Thanks." Bakugo spat, sipping the water between heaves of air.

He grinned when he stood again, pink tongue darting out over straightened teeth a feral display that stole Tenya's breath away and set fire to the butterflies humming peacefully in his chest.

"Of course." Iida breathed through clenched teeth, eyes cast to the side as he adjusted his glasses and ran a hand through his wind tossed hair to smooth it back out.

Bakugo shed himself of Iida's jacket and left it in a partially folded pile by the mostly empty water bottle as he moved to stretch out his legs.

Tenya had come to associate Bakugo with the uncomfortable thudding of adrenaline in his chest. The burning feeling that crawled up his throat and demanded to be let free in the form of fond words and gentle touches. But he'd come to know the blond quite well and he'd seen the angry scowls when Kirishima or Kaminari got too close. He had no right to receive a different response.

"What's your problem anyway four eyes?" Katsuki growled half heartedly from where he sat, legs stretched in front of him and nimble fingers pulling at his toes.

"I'm sorry?" Tenya hummed back from where he was mimicking the pose.

"You've been fucking weird." Bakugo sat up straight, his vermilion glare locking iida in his place, "Not that I fucking care or anything, but I don't want to train with a loser. Bad enough you're friends with the damn nerd."

It pulled a laugh from the depths of Iida's lungs. His shoulders shook with the effort and a hand clamped over his mouth to try and stifle the sound. The soft blush that covered Katsuki's nose in the setting sun was breath taking and his childish behavior amusing.

"That's not a nice thing to call Midoriya." He scolded it partially, "But thank you for asking, I'm alright."

"Good, I don't like comforting people or whatever, but if you need to say anything I could fucking listen I guess." Katsuki was stubbornly looking anywhere but the smiling face of Tenya Iida.

"Thank you, Bakugo." Iida hummed, "We're friends, and I'll listen to you too."

"I don't have fucking friends." Bakugo sputtered, his crackling palms face down against the grass by the track, trying to keep a lid on everything that was trying to claw itself free.

"Of course." Tenya laughed softly, "But I consider you my friend."

"Tch, whatever nerd." Katsuki snarled finally standing and making his way to the marked starting line on the track. His shoulder bumping against Iida's side in a way to say he was just flustered, not angry.

"Are you ready then?" Iida hummed, locked in a running position patiently waiting for the other.

"Damn straight. And I'm going to win." Katsuki barked, his eyes locked forward.

He was glowing in the setting sun. His hair like a halo around him and vermilion eyes alive with adrenaline and determination. Ethereal. The word echoed in Tenya's head like the beat of a drum and he struggled to lock it away like he did with all his strong feelings twords Katsuki.

"Go." Bakugo shouted as he took off down the track.

He wasn't meant for running at the speeds Iida could achieve but he was getting there and Tenya was blindsided by the overwhelming desire to see Katsuki radiate with victory. The way his quirk would pop and smoke would drift around him. A feral smile and shining eyes that screamed with vanity. He tripped and stumbled right from the beginning, a problem he never had before.

"Fuck yeah." Katsuki celebrated as he put more distance between them.

"Not so fast." Iida shot back as he quickly regained lost time. This is who he was, a runner. It had been baked into his ever fiber. He would live up to his family name.

"Shit." Bakugo was whining, but he would never admit it and Tenya would selfishly never share the information.

Katsuki never won this game, but Iida could hear the heavy slap of his feet cross the lap line only moments after his own.

"Katsuki that was amazing." It slipped out before he really had time to think, he had turned around so quickly and the praise he'd tried to keep down couldn't be tamed any longer.

That warm feeling danced over their skin in a painful blush. Bakugo's mouth hung open like he didn't know how to respond. Iida had always strived to be proper, but here he was breathless on the school track with Bakugo Katsuki, the almost pro that snuck into his room to steal his jackets.

"Stupid," Katsuki finally grumbled, stalking forward and latching on to Iida's lose shirt, "Idiot."

He yanked the taller down before stretching onto his toes and slamming his lips onto the other's. It was all teeth and harsh movements. Tenya's shaking hands carding through the soft spikes of Katsuki's hair. The emotions Iida tried so hard to keep down came washing over him suddenly and overwhelmingly. Bakugo shoved away first, breathless and embarrassed he darted over to Tenya's jacket, pulling it on and cursing to himself. Iida couldn't find words as the blond was flying through the sky back to the school.

"Oh." Tenya whispered, a hand clentched over his chest where Katsuki had latched on and fingers brushing over his stinging lips.

He walked back to the school, Bakugo's water bottle in his hand. His mind elsewhere as he walked into the front dorm room doors. The common room was empty, but he could hear the distinct sound of everyone milling around in the kitchen and dining area.

"Iida, you're back! Kachan is making spicy curry and Shoto made enough cold soba of you'd rather that." Midoriya hummed from the doorway.

"I'm not hungry, thank you." Tenya sighed back, his skin prickling at the mention of Bakugo.

"Oi, you idiot, you have to eat after that work out." Katsuki snarled from where he stood behind Midoriya, a wooden spoon extended like a weapon.

"Oh." Iida blurted out, unsure of what else to say to the soft blush that painted Bakugo's features and the flutter of butterflies in his chest, "I'll help then."

. . .

Aaaa idk I have mixed feelings but overall I'm pretty okay with how this turned out. I hope you enjoyed <3

#bakuiida #bakugou katsuki #tenya lida #mha fluff #mha au #bnha fanfiction #kirishima eijirou #kaminari denki #bnha fandom

[things-we-used-tc-share]

Empty Spaces

Ships (For the whole fic): Demus | Logince | Moceit | Background Remile | Brotherly!Creativitwins

Warnings (For the whole fic): Alcohol, swearing, kissing, innuendo and flirting (or Remus, being Remus), mentions of mental health problems, mentions of tough family backgrounds, smoking and vaping mentions.

Fic Summary: At the age of 16, every person wakes up feeling their soulmates emotions alongside their own. Scientists are unsure whether this is an evolutionary tactic, or divine intervention, but most soulmates are twinned in the same general vicinity and don’t move away until they’ve found their ‘other half’.

Roman and Remus have spent their entire lives by each other’s side, and are ready for their next adventure; university. Remus is more than determined and ready to meet his soulmate, whereas Roman has to unlearn much of his upbringing before he’s ready to meet his own. Still, only fate really decides, right?

Word Count: 1836

Part A: Calming the Storm

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Part B: Creating a Storm

Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

--

Roman takes a deep breath in, and a deep breath out, his eyes falling closed for a mere second before he shoves his keys and wallet into his bag and opens his door. He’d tidied up his hair a little, attempted to freshen up, but he couldn’t seem to drag his body into the shower and had ended up washing his face with a cloth. He locks his door behind him, stepping to the main exit with an unusual feeling of discomfort. He could just not go, not turn up, it would probably do them both a favor.

In his chest, for once there is no icy emotionless void, but anxiety, creeping through him and wrapping around his own in a suffocating fashion. He opens the door, and walks through it, letting it close with an echoing thud behind him. His steps feel hesitant, his body acting against his own mind like his DNA is trying to rip itself apart.

His soulmate certainly is not faring much better, icy waves of fear and anger rolling through him almost as well as Roman’s. But they are soulmates, and this always was and always will be inevitable. Logan is inevitable in his life, with his beautiful hair, and beautiful eyes, and...Roman sighs, eyes falling shut for a moment. He can get through this, it’s just coffee.

The redhead tries to steady his emotions as he makes his way through the campus, all of the buildings familiar and yet could not be further from his reality at that present moment. He halts outside the cafe, staring up at a sign he’s seen so many times, but it feels alien to him. His eyes peer through the windows, settling on the person he couldn’t avoid even when he’d tried. His hand falls on the handle, but it’s almost as if he’s not the one moving it. His jaw tenses, his lips fixed into a frown, as he pulls it open and pushes his body through it like it’s made of lead.

Roman approaches the counter and makes his order, gesturing to the table he will be sitting at, the barista jokes lightly that he’s sure he won’t miss his hair. Usually, it would make him laugh, but Roman manages a noise that sounds slightly less annoyed than he is. He takes a breath in, turns, and approaches Logan where he’s sat, staring absently into the surface of what appears to be a black coffee.

“Hi,” he utters softly, sitting down.

“Hello,” Logan replies, his voice crisp and clipped.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to approach you.”

“I know, I could feel your frustration and fear,” his cold eyes look up from the drink and meet Roman’s, he looks as devoid as he’d expected, like all of his emotions had drained out of him. “Did you feel it too? Like you couldn’t control your body, no matter how much you didn’t want to be here?” A resigned nod in response. “At the very least we’re on the same page, I doubt I could handle it if you were like some kicked puppy.”

“No, I suppose whatever cosmic game this is, is cleverer than that.” Logan gives a humorless snort, his eyes trailing back to the coffee cupped between his slightly reddened hands. “So what now?”

“I suppose we be soulmates, whatever that may mean for either of us,” he takes a deep breath in, looking as defeated as Roman has felt since he’d found out there’s a whole other half of his soul that doesn’t reside in his own body. He wants to be angry at Logan, for stealing half of him, but he looks just as miserable about this situation as he is, and he just doesn’t have it in him to find that sort of fury. “What is it to you?”

“Not very much,” he shrugs. “I have half of me, and you have the other half, it defies science and logic, therefore I can’t really form an opinion of it; it’s simply what it is, and there’s no escaping it, no matter how hard I may try.” Roman nods, leaning back in his chair and staring at his hands, he picks at the skin around his nails. “Stop that,” Logan mutters, his hand darting out as if on autopilot, before faltering “...it’s bad for you,” he hand falls back to his cup. “My brother does that all the time, eating his skin, I tried to explain that skin is supposed to be on top of your body, not inside it, but he doesn’t listen.”

“I’m not eating it.” He stops picking at his skin.

“But you do, don’t you?” Roman quirks a small smile, exhaling through his nose in a gentle laugh. Logan’s lips almost make a smile. “What about you? What is a soulmate to you?”

“A shock, a horror, and not much more, no offense,” Roman shakes his head, looking up towards the counter, anywhere but at Logan. “I found out they exist a few months before my sixteenth birthday and then one day I woke up and all my feelings were jumbled up, half of them mine, half of them…” he meets the other’s eyes for a brief second, swallowing dryly “...I’d never felt so cold before.” Logan doesn’t take offense, he just nods, Roman can still feel the coldness there, even now. “What happened?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“You...it’s like you don’t feel anything at all.”

“And you feel in such overwhelming quantities, what reaction were you expecting?” There’s a long pause, movement catches Roman’s eyes and he looks over to see the barista bringing over his coffee. The two of them fall silent, and the redhead offers a polite, if not drained smile of thanks. When he retreats, they turn back to each other, like this is some secretive conversation that no one can ever know they had. “I was unused to it, I woke up and all I felt was anxiety crashing down on me like a tidal wave, so I shut down, I stopped feeling it, it wasn’t conscious, that’s fairly par for the course when it comes to emotional management.”

Roman bites the inside of his lip. So he’s the reason Logan is a black hole, it’s to stop himself burning out, or perhaps he’s perpetually burned out. Either way, it’s Roman’s fault.

“Stop that too, there’s no use holding yourself accountable, you personally did not dictate this situation.” Right, of course, soul bond. “The way I see this is we can keep doing this backward and forwards, blaming ourselves and blaming each other...but there’s no real need for avoidance, there’s no rule book to soulmates.” Roman blows against the surface of his coffee, taking a sip as he listens attentively to Logan. “What I’m suggesting is we take this as it comes, no need to pressure into the fanciful love stories, but no need to ostracise each other either, both and either will only end in us both becoming more frustrated and I’m in no life placement to deal with that in addition to my studies.” He holds out a hand. “Do we have an agreement?”

Roman places his coffee back down, hesitating, but this seems like the best outcome even if he’s in no state to start running alternative ideas in his head. He takes Logan’s hand and shakes it. His hand is soft, and a little cold despite the lingering warmth of the coffee cup against his palm. “We do.”

Logan gives an affirming nod, turning back to his coffee cup and retreating his grip from Roman’s. They both vaguely dislike the soft skip of their hearts in their chests. It’s just some strange biological fluke, they think to themselves, it’s impossible to fall in love so fast.

They talk about anything else for the remainder of the hour, like they were strangers that had met the way everyone else gets to meet, in a cafe, on the street, in a bar. Not lovers, not soulmates, but real strangers. They talk about their lives, their studies, their childhoods, Roman talks about his brother, and Logan mentions his own, but it becomes clear less than four words in that it’s something he doesn’t really want to discuss. Roman does not press for answers, instead, he shares the amusing information that his brother’s soulmate does in fact, have another boyfriend. “Ouch,” Logan replies, cracking the first genuine smile of the hour “...that has got to sting.”

“Oh no,” Roman shakes his head, grinning. “No, that’s basically the dream for my brother, to be honest, I never imagined monogamy to be his style, soulmate or not, he’s a restless son of a bitch if nothing else, I give it maybe another two months and he’ll have them both.” The other man shakes his head, sipping his second cup of coffee with amusement on his face. He’d not even managed to hold down one partner, he didn't want one, he couldn’t imagine the claustrophobia and exhaustion of multiple. But then, to each their own, he holds no judgment for this stranger that’s being described to him. If anything he’s a little impressed, frankly it’s heroic to an introvert such as Logan that one man can manage to hold down two men at once.

When they’ve exhausted all the conversation that they have left in them, the two sit in silence. “Should I...get your number?” Roman asks, not wanting to admit he’s enjoyed the other’s company, and by the gentle warmth that he knows is not his own by its soothing mellowness, so has Logan.

“You have the assertiveness of a soggy biscuit,” Logan replies, sliding a pen out of his jacket pocket. He takes Roman’s hand between his fingertips with surprising gentleness, and clicks the pen, scribbling his number on the back of the redhead’s hand. He looks...amused, and he feels it too, there’s some strange relief in feeling it. Roman had been so sure he’d have to hate his soulmate, to keep his distance until he’s ready, that he’d forgotten that friendship was a viable option for the two of them. Logan does not seem all that eager to fall headfirst in love either. He’s study orientated, he wants a career and a life before he worries about the particularities of caring for another person in equal measure to himself.

Roman shares the sentiment, too.

“I have work to do,” the designer manages out.

“Me too,” replies his companion.

“I’ll text though.”

“And I’ll reply when I have the time.” They share a brief nod, gathering up their cups to take to the counter, and then part with a simple goodbye. It does not feel final, it does not feel anxious or irritated, and for once Roman feels an utter calm in his emotions. Equally, Logan answers in his own chest with contentment that neither had experienced since their sixteenth birthday. There is nothing in their journeys back to their flats but equilibrium.

#es ts #sanders sides fic #sanders sides #ts sides #ts sides fic #dukeceit #logince

[solynaceawrites]

Promise Me Forever [4]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, Lirael Thorne (OC) Tags: Slow Burn, Romance, Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe, First Time, Friends to Lovers Chapters: 3/14 co-written by @lickitysplitfic​ Summary: An old, long-forgotten promise between gods comes back to haunt Dante when it deposits an unfamiliar woman on his door. Claiming to be the descendant of Ler, she says that they’re meant to fulfill the oath made by Sparda centuries ago, and all he can do is watch as she turns his life upside down. Yet when her parents come knocking, demanding the oath be fulfilled, he’s forced to choose: return to the bachelor ways he loved so much, or give in to the emotions brewing between him.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

It turns out to be another sleepless night for Dante. At first, he simply cannot get comfortable; blaming it on the humidity caused by a storm rolling in, he opens the windows and strips himself nude, and kicks the covers to the foot of the bed. Then comes the restlessness he knows all too well, the kind that can usually be solved with a nice little round of masturbation. Yet the second his hand touches his cock, the image of Lir comes to mind, and he releases it with a curse. He might be an asshole, but he's not that kind of asshole.

All of that serves to leave him irritable and more than a little wound up the next morning, and he spends a long time in the shower, trying to get himself under control. If he doesn't, he'll snap at her sooner or later, or worse, and she doesn't deserve that. Dante is careful not to drip too much water on the floors as he dries off, and then he dresses and heads down into the shop.

“—will be alright," he hears Lir say. Pausing, he leans over the railing, his brows going up at the sight of her sitting on the couch with a woman sobbing into a tissue. "Dante will be able to take care of it."

Her position lets him drink in her figure, the braid of her hair exposing the elegant sweep of her neck. He swallows thickly, listening to the conversation unfold. "Are you sure?" the woman sniffles.

"Yes. He's very good at this. I've seen it," Lir reassures her. "I know you must be feeling hopeless, but he can help you."

"Help with what?" he calls as he takes the stairs two at a time.

Lir stands and gestures him over. "You have a new client," she says, beaming with pride. 

Dante remembers the fuss she made over him killing the demons last night, and he clears his throat uncomfortably as he sits at his desk. "What's the situation?" he asks.

The woman sniffles as she describes what sounds like a very basic haunting: Demons have taken over her garage, nasty little devils that are eating the stray cats. "My poor babies," she sobs, blowing her nose. "I leave food out for all the neighborhood cats. I tried to keep them safe, but they've been devoured, one by one!"

"That must have been very upsetting," Lir says sympathetically.

She nods as Lir pats her shoulder. "Misty had a litter two days ago, and I know they'll be next. Please, you have to help me!"

Lir looks at him expectantly. It's obvious she wants him to say something comforting, but he frowns. "Why are you feeding all the vermin anyway?" he asks. "Stray cats are a nuisance."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he knows his mistake. Lir's eyes go wide as the woman leans forward and hisses viciously, "Listen, you, those are God's creatures you're talking about, and those evil, disgusting demons need to go straight back to hell where they belong!"

Dante holds up his hands to defend himself, but Lir quickly interrupts, "What Dante meant is that you should feed them elsewhere until he can take care of the demons for you. Didn't you, Dante?" she finishes, giving him a pointed look.

". . . Yeah." The woman deflates, her tears returning, and he feels a brief stab of irritation he tries to ignore. "It sounds easy enough. You and your . . ." Lir shakes her head subtly. "You and your friends should find a place to stay for a few days, until the job is done."

Watery eyes fix on his own. "You'll be careful, won't you? Those . . . those things have caused enough damage."

He does his best to hold in a sharp retort, though his voice is clipped when he replies, "I'll do what I can."

"Come on," Lir says gently, helping the woman to her feet. "Let me make you a cup of tea, and then we can work on getting your contact information, okay?"

She leads her away, Dante tracking the sway of her hips. It's only been two days since she arrived, bringing another mess for him to sort through, yet he's finding himself more and more adjusted to her presence, more at ease with having her around. And it helps that she's pretty to look at, even if that train of thought is likely to lead him to other, less polite ones. 

After Lir serves tea she produces a contract for her to sign, which the woman does as she rambles on about her cats. Dante tunes out Lir's polite questions after the felines to wonder how she had found them—hell, after Morrison had given him a stack of boilerplates years ago, he stuffed them in a drawer and forgot about them. Did she clean his desk too?

The woman leaves and Lir makes sure the door is firmly shut before bursting into giggles. "That was a strange one!" she remarks, walking over to his desk and handing him the contract. "Are all your cases so interesting?"

"Yeah. Hey, how did you do that?" he asks.

Lir blinks at him, her arm still extended, holding out the paper for him to take. "Do what?"

"That. With that client. She left . . ." Dante grasps for the word. "Happy?"

Her brows furrow, and he's filled with the sudden, ridiculous urge to kiss the indent between them to smooth it away. "Do your clients tend to leave unhappy?"

"Maybe. I dunno." He takes the contract from her and leans back in his chair to get a little more space before he does something she'll regret. "They certainly aren't saying thank you, or smiling."

"I . . . I was just nice to her. That's all." Lir tugs at the hem of her shirt, her fingers worrying the fabric. "I was taught how to be a good hostess, in case I ever needed to be, so I just . . . talked to her?"

"Talk to her," he muses, opening a drawer in the desk. "I'll have to try that some time.”

He looks down and frowns again, spying hanging file folders neatly labeled and lined in order. When did she have time to do all this?

"Are you hungry?" Lir asks. "I didn't get much done with the client here so early, but I did manage to bake some muffins and brew some fresh coffee."

"Come here," he says, pushing the drawer closed with his foot. She does as he's asked, stepping around the desk until she's next to him, and there's the same nervous energy from the other night, when he'd cornered her in the laundry room. Slowly, he stands, leaning down to study her face. "You sleep at all?"

"What? Yes, of course." She looks up at him, a faint rosy hue to her cheeks. "Why do you ask?"

"Just wonderin'. You got a lot done over the past few days."

Lir chuckles. "I've never been one to need a lot of sleep. Besides, I've been training my whole life to take care of a son of Sparda. And I . . . like it." The last part is almost a whisper, and she blushes and looks away. "You've been very kind to me, letting me stay here. It's the least I could do."

"Show me these muffins," he says, and Lir gives him another smile that leaves him a bit hot under the collar.

He is on his third when the phone rings back in the office. "I'll get it," Lir says, breezing out of the kitchen.

Her voice filters in with, "Devil May Cry, how can I help you?" as he looks over the remaining muffins, when Lir calls, "Dante! It's Lady!"

"Alright!" he calls back. Snagging a blueberry muffin and popping as much of it as he can into his mouth, he saunters back to his desk, swallowing as he grabs the receiver. "'Bout time you called."

"Yeah, yeah." Her voice is a bit crackly. "Almost thought I had the wrong shop for a minute. When'd you let her start answering calls?"

Dante glances over to Lir, who is carefully sweeping the rug by the door. "I don't let her do anything. She chooses to. I just don't stop her."

"Well, aren't you getting soft?" Lady laughs. Ignoring his sputtered protests, she continues, "I found her home. It's a town called Llyrlen, about three hours away from Fortuna by car. Pretty self-contained, too."

"Llyrlen, huh?"

"Yeah. Seems they take this god thing pretty seriously." She sighs. "But, from what I could gather, it's all true. Sparda and this Ler met and made a promise, and Lir, as the god's direct descendant and the only of her sisters eligible to marry, was sent to fulfill it."

He rubs his lips. "What happens if she doesn't?"

"From what I heard, exactly what she said. She'll be an outcast, stripped of everything and sent to work in the archives for the rest of her life. Kind of like a nun, only less pleasant."

"Okay." He glances at Lir, who watches him expectantly. Can he really let that happen? "Thanks for doing this. I'll see you when you get back."

"Yeah. Don't let Lir leave, okay? I'm going to make a quick stop but I'll be there in a few days. Then I'll help her figure out what to do."

Dante feels a bit of a burn in his throat at the implication that he wouldn't bother doing the same. "Yeah. I won't. And, hey, listen, they didn't know you were there, right? Lir's family?"

"What do you take me for? I'm a professional."

With that the line goes dead, and he sighs as he hangs up the receiver. "What did she say?" Lir asks tightly.

Dante shrugs. "You were right. We're supposed to get married."

He waits for the accusatory response, but instead she looks at him, her eyes more hesitant than he'd like. "What do you want to do?" The question startles him; shouldn't he be asking her that? "Should I pack my things?"

"No! No, you're not goin' anywhere." He runs a hand through his hair, leaning heavily against his desk. "I don't think marriage is in the cards and, after you seein' what I'm really like, I'd be surprised if you still wanted to. But you can . . . Having you around is nice. If you want to stay, you can." 

Dante expects her to respond with her usual enthusiasm, but instead, she seems to deflate. "I can't impose on you like that."

"Sure you can," he says. "I don't mind."

Lir shakes her head. "It's not . . . you're the son of Sparda, and—"

"Would you lay off that son of Sparda stuff?" Dante snaps. 

"Well! It's the truth!" she fires back, taking him by surprise. "And I can't stay here if we're not married. It's not proper."

Her expression is furious, but Dante bursts into laughter. "Proper? Like marrying a stranger is proper?"

She folds her arms in a huff. "That's different."

"How?"

"Because it was . . . It was . . . It just is!"

"I'll pay you," he chuckles, trying not to focus on how cute she is when she's mad, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright, trying not to wonder if she'd look like that after he kissed her. It's not the time, it's not the place, and he's got no right to think those things about her. "You stay here, work the phones, greet clients, and I'll pay you in room and board."

"Forty percent," she says.

"What!" he exclaims. "No way. That's robbery."

Lir shrugs. "Fine. Thirty."

"Ten."

"Twenty-five."

Dante growls. "Twenty and I'll take you to the aquarium and the zoo."

"Deal!" She sticks her hand out with a grin. "See how good I am at negotiating?"

"Damn near ruthless," he agrees, clasping her fingers between his own. Yet he finds it harder than he'd like to let go; blaming it on whatever it is that's making him so horny, he forces himself to drop her hand. "Well, looks like we've got the rest of the day to ourselves. Anything you want to do?"

Lir taps her chin. "I need to see what I can cook for dinner tonight, but, before that, I'd like to finish cleaning upstairs. If that's okay?"

"Be my guest."

She smiles at him. "Okay. I'll make a fresh pot of coffee. Oh! And you need to start getting ready for that job, right?"

"Right. Cat lady." Lir gives him a look and he rolls his eyes. "Fine, fine. Sooner I get that done the better." He walks around his desk and grabs the guitar case, slinging it over his back. "You'll be okay for a few hours?"

"Yup!" she says. Then Lir smiles shyly. "You'll be safe, won't you?

That makes him pause. When was the last time anyone had been worried for his safety? Usually everyone assumed he would be fine, and he always was, but something about having her ask makes him feel warm in a way he doesn't quite understand. "Don't worry that pretty head too much. I doubt I'll need more than the girls to handle this." Seeing her confusion, he amends, "The guns."

"Oh! I see. Well, then. Hm." Dante waits to hear whatever it is she's trying to say, but what he's not expecting is for her to brace her hands on his shoulders and lean up to press the briefest of kisses to his cheek. "For luck."

His skin burns with her kiss, and Dante quickly spins, giving a weak salute as he heads out the door. Suddenly filled with way, way too much energy, he decides to head to the job on foot, whistling to himself as he moves through the city.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Dante practically crawls back to the Devil May Cry, sighing with relief when he turns the knob of the front door. 

He winces, his fingers and hands covered in scratches that leave tracks all the way up his arms and over his chest. They don't hurt terribly bad, but the sheer amount of scrapes all combined cause him to ache every time he moves. The rest of him hadn't fared much better, his clothes splattered with now-dried blood, sweat and dirt making his cuts sting.

All he wants is a beer and a nap, maybe in that order. But the second he steps inside the shop and smells the cleaning products and fails to trip over some stuff on the floor, he remembers he's not alone anymore.

"Dante! You're back!" Lir calls excitedly over from the couch. He turns around and gingerly takes off his coat, hanging it on the door as her voice gets closer. "I was starting to worry. I didn't make anything but I can heat up—oh my goodness! You're hurt!"

Her hands are on his arms, pushing up his sleeves as she chews on her lip. "Nah, I'm fine," he says.

Lir gives him a sharp look, making him feel scolded. "What happened?" she demands.

"Those damn cats," Dante growls. "The demons were no problem, but the cats didn't like me much."

"Oh," she breathes. "I'm sorry, I didn't even think to . . . Of course they'd be aggressive towards you. Cats can sense demons, and one was attacking them. Sit here." She tugs him to the couch, and he allows her to guide him, sinking onto the cushions with a sigh. "I'll be right back. I think I saw a first aid kit in the bathroom."

Dante waits until she's gone to lean his head back, and it isn't long until he's dozing. The sensation of cool hands against his skin rouses him a bit. He cracks open his eyes to find Lir kneeling between his legs, her hair tucked behind her ears as she carefully dabs antiseptic over his scrapes, a bottle of beer sitting next to her on the floor. He lifts a hand to graze his fingers over her cheek, and her eyes flick to his face, a soft smile curling her lips.

"I didn't mean to wake you," she says quietly. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore," he chuckles. "But I'm good."

Lir gives him a shy smile. Then she shifts to lean over him, brushing his hair back so she can swab his forehead. "These don't look too bad, you know. They'll be healed in a few days."

"Sooner than that," he murmurs.

Dante can feel his healing working already, but some part of him wishes it wouldn't, so she can still keep working on him. Lir searches his face before going back to checking his arms, and he uses the opportunity to just gaze at her.

It's not the first time he's studied her, but it is the first that he's been this close while doing it. Her brows and lashes are darker than her hair, an ashy gray, and they almost seem to glow with the pale amber of her eyes. There are no freckles or other markings on her creamy skin, though a faint scar tracks along her temple, and, with her straight nose and full lips, she's gorgeous. Dante brushes a few strands of hair from her face, his heart thudding uncomfortably when she leans into the touch after a second's hesitation.

When she looks up again, they are close, close enough that he can feel her breath fan on his lips. His own part and her eyes dart down, and Dante feels his heart thudding as her mouth curves up into a smile. "I think you're going to live," she murmurs.

"Lucky me," he replies.

Lir licks her lips. The gesture makes something inside him tighten, but then she eases away, leaning over to clean up her supplies. "I was thinking of doing a delivery order," she says, her back to him. "Now that I'm staying I can get more groceries in. There are also some items that I can use to make different oils and potions you can use."

"Potions?" murmurs Dante, his eyes sliding along her spine.

She peeks at him over her shoulder with a grin. "Yeah. Like for when you come back from fighting some stray cats covered in cuts and bruises?"

"As long as you're the one putting it on me." She stiffens for a moment before laughing quietly, and he decides that he likes the sound of it almost as much as he does the sound of her talking to him. "You know, I gotta ask. Pretty girl, good head on her shoulders, and her family sends her off to marry someone she's never met? How'd you wind up with this gig?"

Lir hums, latching the kit. "I have three older sisters. One of them is married, and the other two are betrothed. I was next in line. That's all."

"Three sisters?"

"Older sisters," she corrects. "There's a younger one, as well."

"That's a . . . lot." He chuckles, the sound cutting off when she stands.

Lir shrugs. "I guess they figured they needed enough daughters in case one of you showed up."

"And what if I didn't?" Dante puts his arms up on the back of the couch, the soreness already faded. "How did you even find me?"

"Fortuna," she answers. "Kind of hard not to notice you."

Dante huffs a laugh as he shakes his head. "Yeah, that was a fuck-up in every way. But suppose I hadn't been there. We wouldn't have ever met."

It isn't a question so much as a realization, and he ends up frowning as she nods in agreement. "I probably would have been married off. If my sisters and I did not marry the son of Sparda, then we would be tasked with creating the next generation of brides."

She offers him a smile before carrying the first aid kit away, her steps soft on the steps. Dante scratches his head, thinking on what she told him. Honestly, it was creepy as hell.

"The next generation of brides," he mumbles. "What the hell did you do, you old bastard?"

Not wanting to get anywhere close to that conversation topic again—at least, not now—he grabs the remote from the coffee table and turns on the television, flicking through until he finds Netflix. Patty had set it up for him and given him one of the slots on her account, but he's never really used it; but maybe there will be something Lir will like. Though why that matters, he doesn't know.

She comes back as he's scrolling through different horror movies, and he hears her gasp and looks up to find her covering her mouth with her hand. "What . . . What is that?"

"This? It's . . . Oh. Shit, I'm sorry." Cursing, he flicks back up to something far less gory. "It's called Netflix. All sorts of movies and shows to watch. Thought you might want to pick something for tonight, if you're up to it?"

Lir plops down on the couch next to him, one leg tucked under her, but he notes how she still sits very straight, as if it is practiced. "I don't know," she says very matter-of-factly, turning to look at him. "What kind of entertainment do you like?"

"Uh . . . I guess action? Or maybe a scary movie?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing scary, please. But action would be okay."

Dante nods and scrolls to the right screen. He chooses a movie about aliens invading, the world sending its best fighters to fight, the hero's girl trapped and needing rescuing. Lir had brought him back a plate with some reheated lasagna, which he tucks into as she relaxes just a bit, her eyes on the screen.

But his eyes drift to her again and again, gauging her reactions. At first he tells himself because he wants to see if it's too intense, or if she understood a joke, but eventually he realizes because he just likes watching her. It's almost like reliving it through her, and when she shouts at a lame jumpscare he chuckles. Lir leans in towards him a bit, her eyes glued to the screen, and Dante decides to experiment, pretending to yawn as he reaches his arm up and around her back.

She looks at him, a mixture of concern and confusion playing across her features. "Am I crowding you?" she whispers. "I'm sorry, I'll move."

"No, no, I thought . . ." He yanks his arm back and places it next to him. "Nevermind."

Lir gives him a curious look before turning back to the television. Dante clears his throat, shifting a bit, but now way too distracted by his crash and burn.

It occurs to him briefly that Lir might not know he is trying to flirt a bit, so he decides to take a more direct approach. "Hey, Lir," he murmurs, tilting his head towards her. "Did you know—"

"Sh," she hisses, her eyes glued to the screen.

He sinks back into his seat, steadfastly keeping his own gaze focused on the movie. This no longer seems like a good idea; between her semi-ignorance of the things outside of her home and his inner turmoil growing the longer she's around, being on this couch with her is probably the worst way to be, and it's all made worse by the dull, insistent ache in his groin. Not that it's her fault. Well, maybe it is. Lir readjusts next to him, and her thigh feels like a brand when it brushes his own. 

What he needs is a magazine, a bit of lotion, and a bit of time to himself.

"This is really fun!" Lir exclaims, flashing him a grin.

"Yeah," Dante sighs, stretching his legs out and propping them up on the table. "It's swell."

#dmc #devil may cry #dante sparda #lirael thorne #lir #dante/lir #dante/oc #dante x oc #dmc oc #fanfiction #writing #story #my figures #collab #promise me forever #pmf #whoops i'm late sorry

[zoequeenz]

Extreme Aggressor (Part 3)

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Persephone Chase’s POV

Derek is trying to get into the laptop. He’s been trying for a while, nothing is working so he brought in another laptop to try to get into Richard’s. I hear footsteps and I turn around, Gideon, Elle, Hotch, and Spencer enter the room.

“Okay, here we go.” Derek says.

The laptop hums and the login screen pops back up.

“What’s the number six at the bottom of the screen?” Elle asked Derek.

“Number of password attempts before the program wipes the hard drive.” Derek answers.

“There could be an email or a journal in the computer, something that tells us where Heather is. Do you think you can break in?” Elle asks.

“In six tries?” Derek says in disbelief scoffing and shaking his head.

“Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” Gideon says.

Derek doesn’t know what that means and looks at Spencer.

“Samuel Beckett.” Spencer answers with a nod.

Then Derek answers back with.

“Try not. Do. Or do not.”

Before Spencer could answer I say…

“Yoda.”

Spencer looked at me in shock. I smirked at him. If he can’t recall every Saturday night we have movie marathon sleepovers. We watch movie series and he answers all of my questions. Gideon turns and looks at a small shelf on the wall. He reaches out and grabs a book. He looks at it for a second, it is called “Journal of Applied Criminal Psychology”. He flips through the pages and finds a newspaper clipping. The headline reads “-BLAST KILLS SIX”. The photo under it pictures Gideon and another man. It was back six months ago, when six agents died. Spencer finally looks over at it, Gideon and Spencer look at each other and Gideon says…

“I wanna talk to him.”

He closes the book and walks out of the room. After he leaves Derek and Elle look up from the laptop.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Jason Gideon’s POV

I walk into the kitchen and throw the book down on the table. I taken the seat across from him.

“You read my paper. Learn anything?” I ask Richard.

“Heirens said a man living inside of his head was the one who committed the murders. You said he was lying, that there’d never been an actual case of multiple personalities.” Richard answers.

“You have an academic interest in dissociative identity disorder, or you just planning your defense?” I ask.

He chuckles in response. I pull out the newspaper clipping and show Richard.

“You a fan of Adrien Baal’s work?” I ask him

“No. I’m a fan of yours,” He says leaning forward.

“You know...they never give you the real facts about CPR...that outside of a hospital, it’s only effective 7% of the time. Your friend had a 93% certainty of dying, but you kept trying...even after you’d broken his ribs, even after his blood was all over your hands.”

“Why don’t you tell us where Heather Woodland is?” I ask him ignoring what he just said and keeping eye contact.

“Woodland...isn’t she the girl who went missing a couple days ago?” Slessman asks sitting back in his chair not showing any emotion on his face.

I just nod in response. I look around the room, I see a sign that says “Good little boys are like sunshine.” then a cookie jar that reads “Cookies for Good Boys Only.”

“Get him out of here.” I demand in a whisper like voice.

I walk out of the kitchen and past Hotch giving him a look that says follow me. He walks out and meets me at the side of the house. I am trying to calm myself but it is not working.

“Hey.” Hotch says to grab my attention and I turn to him.

“He said “isn’t she the girl…”. If he’d already killed her, he would have said--.” before I can finish Hotch cuts me off.

“Wasn’t she the girl…”

“She’s alive. We don’t know for how long.” I tell him.

“Is it true what he said about CPR? I mean, I didn’t know.” Hotch tells me.

“You want statistics on CPR, ask Reid.” I snap.

“I wanna know if you’re okay.” he fires back.

“I’m fine.” I say.

“Are you?” he questions.

“Think I can’t do the job?” I ask.

“I think you can’t be two different people at once.” he tells me.

I look away and smile realizing something. “What is it?” Hotch asks me.

“Conflicts in the profile.” I answer.

In my mind I remember the interview; the victim board with Heather on it; other victims crime scene photos; the second dump site; the unsub near the body, turning then running away; the messages; the message that matched the “Lipstick Killer”; the funeral; the child who looked at me; people walking on the sidewalk; the first victim with the belt around her neck; odd photos; a close up of an eye; a map that was labeled and stickered; Slessman walking down the stairs; and lastly sitting across from me.

“Two different behaviors.” Hotch says for me.

“Two different people. There’s a second killer.” I say.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Elle Greenaway’s POV

Hotch, Gideon, and I are at a government building.I walk behind them as we walk down stairs, god why do they have to be so freakin fast.

“A second Unsub?” I ask surprised.

“It’s not unusual. Remember Lawrence Bittaker and Roy Norris?” Gideon answers.

“1979. They outfitted a van to rape and murder girls in California.” I say.

“We’re looking for someone who fits a similar relationship.” Hotch says.

“They’re not equals. Slessman’s smart, but he is a submissive personality.” Gideon tells us. “So number two is the dominant.” I clarify.

“Authoritative, arrogant.” Gideon adds in.

“Probably not as smart as Slessman.’ Hotch brings to the table.

“He’s like the schoolyard bully recruiting a good underling--he’ll be protective of Richard. He’ll make him feel like he owes him.” Gideon says.

“If Richard’s been up in the attic fantasizing about being an extreme aggressor, this guy showed him how to do it.” Hotch informs.

“He helped him take the first step.” Gideon pushes.

“I think we should interview him, us this as pressure.” I suggest.

Gideon stops and looks at me.

“No, no. We need leverage. A name.” Gideon says.

“ From the suspect list?” I ask.

“That’ll take too long. There’s gotta be a faster way.” Gideon wonders.

“There is.” Hotch says.

He leads us into the lobby. Richard’s grandma is waiting there, I can’t help but feel a bit bad for her. She just found out that her grandson is a suspect in murders and she can barely breathe on her own. She looks for fragile, so tiny.

Hotch comes in with a cup of coffee.

“Here. This might be a little hot.” He warns her.

“Mrs. Slessman, I don’t think we’ve got the right guy. I think the person we’re looking for might be a friend of Richard’s.” Hotch tells her.

“Richard never had many friends.” she tells him.

“You sure? There’s gotta be someone.” Hotch responds.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Persephone Chase’s POV

We still can’t get into the laptop, we’ve been here for hours and even boy genius can’t get it. Spencer walked out of the room a long time ago and I haven’t seen him since. I miss him, it’s weird not having him around.On cases we go everywhere together, we maybe in the same house but I have absolutely no idea which room he is currently located. I look over at Derek and see him pull out his phone. I already know he is calling Penny a.k.a Penelope Garcia. She is the Technical Analyst for our team.

“You’ve reached Penelope Garcia in the FBI’s ‘Office of Supreme Genius’. Penny greets.

“Hey, it’s Morgan. Need you to work some magic here. I got a program called Deadblot Defense and a girl with only a couple of hours to live, so what do you know?” Derek asks Penny.

“Then you’ve got a problem. Deadbolot’s the number one password crack-resistant software out there. You’re gonna have to get inside this guy’s head to get the password.” Penny tells him.

“I thought I was calling the ‘Office of Supreme Genius’” Derek says in a disappointed tone.

“Well, gorgeous, you’ve been rerouted to the office of ‘Too Friggin’ Bad’” Penny told him.

“Thanks anyway.” Derek says about to hang up but then he does the unthinkable.

“Babygirl it seems as if boy genius and little one are fighting.” Derek tells her.

I look at him with a glare that would put him six feet under. He looks my way and laughs. This is some big game to him. Plus Spencer and I are not fighting, he held my hand when I got nervous. But then again he did that back when we got in a fight a while back he still held my hand because I’m always in need of comfort from my best friend. He puts her on speaker phone.

“Wait, what?!?! Fighting but they are meant to be.” Penny cries.

“I know right, they are in separate rooms at the moment. They can’t stare at each other anymore then look away when the other looks at them.” Derek says dramatically.

“Alright, alright I get it we are “perfect” together. But there is no romantic feelings between us.” I tell them.

Of course I’m lying. I have always had feelings for Spencer. He has always been there for me, even when we are fighting he still is there. Everyone thinks we would be cute together but I think he only thinks of me as sister. I love the boy but he doesn’t love me.

“Haha very funny little one but there is totally some romance between you two, you just can’t see it.” Derek laughs.

“Yeah Sweetheart it doesn’t take a profiler to see that you two are meant to be.” Penny says in a serious tone.

“Whatever, I don’t care how much you believe there is nothing between us.” I say.

“Okay, believe what you want little one, bye babygirl.” Derek says hanging up the phone.

“REALLY?!?!” I scream at Derek.

“Little One, come on everyone knows there is some feelings there. Why are you getting so mad.” Derek asks.

I just roll my eyes and walk out of the room. I love Derek like a brother but sometimes he can get on my nerves. Kinda wish that I went with Elle, Gideon, and Hotch. Where is Spencer? This house isn’t even that big, where could he be? I walk outside, I need to think…

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Jason Gideon’s POV

Hotch was interviewing Mrs. Slessman. We needed some information about Richard that he didn’t plan on telling us.

“Well, there was...there was this one young man. I think his name was Charlie.” Mrs. Slessman told Hotch.

“Cross-reference Charlie for the second Unsub.” I told Elle and she begins typing.

“Charlie is probably Charles Linder. He was Slessman’s cellmate and received a dishonorable discharge from the military.” Elle says pointing to the screen.

“He’s bigger, tougher. He could have protected Richard in prison. Where were they incarcerated?” I ask her after explaining that he is the dominant one in the relationship.

“Cascadia. Less than a mile from here.” Elle says with a smile on her face.

“Let’s go.” I say walking out of the office.

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Persephone Chase’s POV

I follow Derek into the bathroom after my failed attempt of looking for Spencer. When I look back at Derek I see him open the mirror. He pulls out a bottle and shows it to me.

“My name is Richard Slessman, and I have trouble sleeping.” Derek says out loud to no one.

We then walk into Richard’s room. I think I know what’s going on here. Derek is putting himself in Richard’s shoes. Derek lays flat on Richard’s bed and sighs.

“Okay. What do I do when I’m trying to sleep.” Derek asks again to no one.

He reaches up into a cubbyhole above Richard’s bed. He pulls out a lot of CDs; he then finds a portable CD player and headphones. He looks for a CD in the player but there is none. He then looks my way and notices I’m standing next to a CD rack. Oh joy we get to go through that now. Yippe. He then walks over to me.

“Persephone, guys, a little help. We’re going through everyone of these Cds--scratches, wear and tear. I wanna know which CD he plays the most. Let’s go.”He commands.

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Spencer Reid’s POV

Hotch has me looking for an address for Linder. I hear footsteps and I already know it’s Hotch.

“We get an address on Linder?” Hotch asks.

“It’s coming right now.” I answer.

I look at the fax printout while Hotch hands something to the agent sitting at the desk.

“Does senior management want a field assessment on Gideon?” I ask.

“Don’t worry about it.” Hotch tells me quietly.

“Are they nervous about him being in charge?” I ask Hotch.

“Aren’t you on your way back to Slessman’s house to help Morgan and Chase?” He asks me.

He then turns to walk away but before he can get far I ask…

“Do you know why he always introduces me as Dr. Reid?”

He then comes towards me.

“Because he knows that people see you as a kid, and he wants to make sure that they respect you. What’s the address?” Hotch asks with a sympathetic look on his face.

“Don’t think it matters anymore.” I say showing him the paper which causes him to sigh.

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Elle Greenaway’s POV

Gideon and I went to the prison. We are on the lookout for someone who may know Slessman or Linder.

“Winston Churchill said, “The farther backward you can look, the farther forward you will see.”

Gideon and I walk up to the warden to see if he can give us any information. Just as I get a phone call from Hotch.

“Anyone who can tell us more about Slessman?” Gideon asks.

“Tim Vogel was the security guard covering Slessman’s block. That’s him over there. I’ll get him for you.”the wardens says walking in Vogel’s direction.

“That was Hotch. Linder’s name came up on a police report.” I tell Gideon.

“And?”He asks waiting for me to finish.

“He’s dead--car accident, two months ago.” I finish.

“Linder is dead.” I say to clarify.

We then head down to talk to Vogel.

“Too bad you guys came here for nothing. I mean, talk about scum. I can’t remember how many times I put Linder in solitary for causing trouble with us.” Vogel says while taking out his keys and opening the door.

“You’d think the inmates would try to stay on our good side, right? Especially since half our job is protecting them from each other.” he says in a kind of annoyed tone.

“You protect them?” Gideon asks in a curious tone.

“If you’re a little white guy? Especially in a prison like this.” Vogel says making a point.

“Linder’s 6’4”. You talking about Slessman?” Gideon asks.

“Oh, yeah.” Vogel says nodding.

Gideon and I share a look.

“Thanks for your help.” Gideon says ending the conversation.

“We look at Vogel and notice when he uses his key to unlock and open doors. It took us awhile but we eventually got out of the prison.

“He befriended Richard, protected him, made him feel like he owed him.” Gideon speaks.

“He fits the profile. And did you see them?” I ask.

“The keys.” Gideon answers.

(Time Skip)

We are in the car waiting for Vogel when all of a sudden a red Datsun Z comes out of the parking lot. I take after the car and Gideon gets on the phone to call Hotch. “Hotch, I just found your leverage. His name is Timothy Vogel.”

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Aaron Hotchner’s POV

I enter the observation room or the room on the other side of the one way glass and lower the room’s temperature.

“What’s he doing?” asked the male agent.

“Lowering the temp. The cold puts them on edge.” the female agent responded.

“Okay, so I want SPD, and I want a Seattle agent in the room. I want him to see that we’ve got every department working on this. And I need some file boxes. Fill them. I don’t care if the paper’s blank. And I want you to write the name on the sides.” I command leaving the room but not before I hear the male agent ask…

“Whose name?”

I enter the interview room carrying the fake file box. Other agents follow me inside also carrying file boxes.

“Four months of investigative work, one file, and guess what, Richard. It’s not your file. See, we don’t care about you.” I say pushing the box towards Richard.

He looks at it and reads Vogel’s name. He looks shocked and scared, we got him.

“It’s Vogel we want.”

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Persephone Chase’s POV

Spencer was finally back from wherever he went and he came to help Derek and I. Spencer and I are currently in Richard’s room looking through the CDs. Spencer is sitting crossed legged and my head is on his left leg. We have been looking through CD cases for hours and I am so bored but it’s my job I don’t have a choice. Spencer picks up a CD fiddles with it as he thinks. Then he gets that cute little look on his face telling me he figured something out. He pats my arm to tell me to move. I pull my head off his leg and he stands up. He begins to head out the door but not before he gives me the “you coming” look, I get up and follow him to wherever he is going. I follow him to the attic where Morgan is pacing and muttering to himself.

“Aw, c’mon. I need a password. I need a password.” he pauses then looks around.

“What could I possibly be looking for?” he asks himself.

Spencer then enters the attic with me following behind. Carrying an open paper clip. Derek sits down then sighs.

“I’ve been thinking about the CDs.” Spencer tells him.

“Oh, Reid,come on. We tried the CDs. We searched,sifted, and sorted through everyone of this guy’s head-banging heavy metal collection. We gotta find something, of this girl is dead.” Derek says in an aggravated tone.

“Derek why don’t you let him explain then judge what ever happens.” I say trying to show that Spencer may have a good idea.

All the while Spencer was getting to work with the paper clip and fiddling with the laptop.

“Think we may have missed the obvious.” Spencer tells us.

“What are you doing?” Derek asks.

Spencer pulls out the CD holder and finds a Metallica CD inside.

“Reid, what made you think of this?” Derek asks in an impressed tone.

“It was the only empty case.” he says showing Derek the case. “All right. I’m an insomniac who listens to Metallica to go to sleep at night. What song could possibly speak to me?” Derek asks us.

“Enter Sandman.” Spencer says getting up and walking over to me.

“I’m proud to call you my best friend Spency.” I say while throwing my arm over his shoulder.

“Me too, Percy.” he smiles.

“Okay, I think you too are cute but come on Spency and Percy?” Derek laughs. I roll my eyes and sit down somewhere away from Derek; Spencer came over.

“How did you come up with Spency?” he asks me. “I’m not really sure. When you were frying your brain figuring out what to do before we came up here I thought of nicknames and liked Spency the best.” I say.

He just smiles at me. But when he smiled I got butterflies in my stomach. I guess my feelings were stronger than I thought because I’ve never felt this way towards any guy I’ve ever dated of course they were all douches but not Spencer.

NEXT CHAPTER 

#criminal minds #criminal minds series rewrite #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x OC #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid series #best friends with a genius profiler

[elusive---ivory]

The Woman In Velvet pt 10

Ooo!! Part 10 here!! The masterlist should be up later today. I've been lazy about it.

PAIRING: Arthur Fleck x Oc

WARNING: Mentions of sexual abuse.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Taglist:

@princessgeekface @mijachula @gloomyladyy @memory-mortis @moonstruck-witchy

The little girl laid there in the cell. She had been stranded without food or water for several days, until she was found by wandering hitchhikers.

"It seems that her parents were killed and she wandered off. We have no reason to believe that she did it, because she wasn't at the crime scene." A police officer stated.

The girl sat there, listening.

"Does she have any other family members she can stay with?" A female officer asked.

"It says here that she has an uncle. Let's see if he's available." The officer responded.

She heard keys unlocking her cell.

"Is mommy and daddy ok?" The little girl said.

"Oh, yes. They're just on little vacation, somewhere." The officer lied. "For now, meet your uncle Charlie."

A large man in a black suit loomed over the small girl.

"Hello, Sandra, I've missed you."

Sandy opened her eyes. Her uncle's wake was today. The dreaded thought of reuniting with family made Sandy's nerves go in a frenzy. She stared at the ceiling. Her nude body, from the night before, was covered by the bed's flowery blanket. Sandy got off the bed, searching for some clothes. She had found her old clothes from last night, and decided she didn't have any other choice.

Arthur was in the kitchen. The telephone was wrapped around his chest as he was feeling around himself, trying to stay in touch with reality.

Sandy walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey." Sandy smiled. "What was that all about?"

Arthur turned around to Sandy. "Murray wants me on the Murray Franklin show." He mumbled, partially to himself.

Sandy raised her eyebrow. "Did Murray have a change of heart after he saw your clips?" Sandy said, brewing some coffee.

Arthur shrugged. "I guess. I'm not so sure about it."

Sandy looked up at Arthur. "You should go. Murray would be so lucky to have you on his show." She threw her arms around his shoulders, pulling him against her. "You'd look so handsome up there on tv." Sandy giggled, kissing him sweetly on the lips.

Arthur smiled, pulling into the kiss.

Sandy broke the kiss, looking down at Arthur's tighty whities. His pecker seemed to be up and early this morning. "Is that gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" Sandy joked.

"A gun." Arthur answered, as he picked up the gun on the corner.

"Woah, Artie. I was just kidding. Is that an actual gun?" Sandy questioned, greatly concerned.

"No, no. It's a prop, Sandy. I would never hurt you." Arthur smiled, placing the gun down.

She sighed in relief. "Okay, good." Sandy placed the now empty coffee cup in the sink, and headed towards the door.

Arthur turned around. "Where are you going?"

"I've got my uncle's funeral today." Sandy sighed, rubbing her temples. "Most of my clothes are upstairs, and I have to get ready before noon."

Arthur frowned.

"But, I'll be back before 6. So don't miss me too much." Sandy joked. "I'll see you in a little bit. I love you." Sandy kissed Arthur on the nose, before heading out of the apartment.

Arthur held his head down. "Bye." He said, softly. His eyes were glued to the door as Sandy left.

The train station was crowded. The smell of diesel fuel flooded the station as well as the thick black smoke arising from the trains.

Sandy coughed as she boarded the train. 30 miles out from Gotham was her old home. A secluded house in the middle of the woods. The house got closer and closer into view as the train came to a stop.

The house was much larger and held a much darker feeling, then when Sandy was once a child. She took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

A woman appeared through the open crack in the door. "Oh, look who it is. Sandy, long time no see." The woman said, dryly.

Sandy sighed already feeling the tension in the room. "Nice to see you too, Destiny."

Des, unlike Dee, was smart. She went to medical school to be a doctor, but ended up being a morgue director. Des was cold and mean. Her thin eyes glared at Sandy, as she sat down.

Dee sat down across from Des, turning around slightly to see Sandy.

"Sandy, you came!" Dee said, smiling at her. Dee was always the nicer one, despite being slightly rude or arrogant at times.

Sandy smiled back at her, sitting down next to her on a lavender couch.

"What took you so long?" Des asked, being as snarky as possible.

"Oh, I was helping my boyfriend with things." Sandy said, smirking.

Family meant competition to Des. No matter how sick and twisted her father was, Des was always jealous of Sandy. In her father's eyes, Sandy was the favorite. Des always was second best.

"Boyfriend, huh? He's not imaginary, is he?" Des laughed.

Dee looked confused. "Wait? You have a boyfriend."

Sandy chuckled. "Yes, as a matter of fact I do. No, he's not imaginary." She glared at Des.

Des glared back. "What does he look like?"

"Like a plain ol' regular guy. He's sweet, charming, and funny." Sandy smiled, thinking about her dear Arthur.

Dee broke the tension. "Wait. Wasn't he that guy on the Murray Franklin Show? I remember you told me the other night."

Sandy nodded. "Yup. That's my boyfriend." She proudly boasted.

Des scoffed. "Huh. Look at you all grown up. I'm sure this 'boyfriend' of yours is really happy that his girlfriend has the mass of a whale." Des laughed, cruelly.

Sandy gritted her teeth. "Ah, yes. So, we're really resorting to fat jokes. God, what is with you? For 25 years, you've been acting like I'm barely a person. You're so fucking rude. I didn't come here to get ridiculed. I came here to get closure."

Des got off her chair. She stared daggers at Sandy. "Tough talk, Sandy. Maybe if you acted like a person instead of crying all the time."

Sandy bit her lip. She tried to help, but soon, tears started falling down her face.

"See, you're crying. You should learn to act like an adult instead of sitting there like a crybaby." Des's words sunk into Sandy. "You should've even come here."

"How could you say that? Am I just awful for having emotions and a human being instead of being a stone cold bitch like you? You're my cousin, Des. We grew up together." Sandy's voice wavered.

"No, you're not. You never were. Our dad was never apart of your disgusting family. Our dad never even met your parents. The night we got you out of that cell was the night we resented you. I grew up with you because I had to. You were Daddy's little doll." Des sat back down.

Dee patted Sandy on the shoulder. "I never resented you, Sandy." Dee whispered.

Sandy broke down crying. "You mean to tell me that I was sexually assaulted by a stranger. A man who never knew my parents." She hissed.

Des scoffed. "No, he didn't. Now, you're making stuff up."

"Oh, you're right. What about the time he took me into his office and I came out with bruises all over my thighs. Or that time were I was screaming 'No' at the top of my lungs? It happened, Des." Sandy's body was shaking. Her face was a mess. She looked away from Des, trying not to break down crying.

"I think it's time for you to leave." She muttered, looking away from Sandy.

"But what about-" Dee was cut off.

"No, Dee, it's fine. I should go. Thanks for having me here anyway." Sandy got off the couch.

She took the bus home. Her tears were still running down her face, along with her smudged mascara. She took a deep sigh as she unlocked her apartment. Sandy walked over to the kitchen, setting her purse and keys down. She stood there, crying in her hands.

She heard the sound of her apartment door opening. Sandy took out a cigarette, and walked over to the door. She lit the cigarette, and took a deep breath.

Arthur dragged his feet into the apartment. His first instinct was to go into Sandy's apartment. He opened the door, slumping on the couch. His hair was still wet from the rain. He stared at the floor.

Sandy walked over to him, taking a drag of her cigarette.

"I had a bad day." Arthur mumbled, still staring at the floor.

Sandy sat next to Arthur. "Yeah, me too." She took another drag of her cigarette.

Arthur handed Sandy the stolen file from the hospital. "When Thomas Wayne told me I was adopted, I had to see for myself. So, I went to the hospital. I found her file."

She looked through the file carefully. Her heart ached as she looked at the pictures taken of young Arthur. She bit her lip, handing back the file. Sandy broke down crying, again.

Arthur put his hand on her shoulder. Sandy leaned in and cried into his shoulder. Arthur gently ran his fingers through her hair, listening to the rain fall outside.

#joker arthur fleck #arthur fleck x reader #joker 2019 #joaquin phoenix #arthur fleck x oc #joker x reader #joker x oc #the woman in velvet

[actuallyspencerreid]

Survivor | part 3

Read : Part 1 , Part 2

Word Count: 1.8k

Tags: @the-unfortunate-fangirl @cynbx @princesswagger15 @obsessivereader36 @hearts-to-the-sky @mantlereid @dreamxcollide @qu3n-elizab3th @hiya-imthatgirl @literallyprentissstwin @bauboywonder @everyday-imfangirling @spencerreidreads @alixcharmedworld @writer-of-camelot @grubler @10kcriminalsatthedisco @extremeobsessions101 @staygoldeea @sarrahgoode @spideysstarks @spence-imagines @hanasonly @mbmrocks

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“Why does it matter to you what Spencer and I were arguing about?”

The unsub laughed at your firm voice. “Simple. You and Mr. Perfect never argue about anything. Sounds like he thinks you're cheating on him. Are you?”

“Never.” You wanted to cry again, thinking about the fight you’d had with Spencer. “I love Spencer more than anything. I could never hurt him like that.”

“That’s why I love you, (Y/N).” The unsub sighed almost dreamily. “You’re so fiercely loyal.”

“If you love me so much, why am I tied up?”

“Because I have to teach you how to love me back.” The belt came across your legs again and you cried out in pain. “Luckily, I know that you’re a good learner.”

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“Guys!” Everyone looked up at Penelope from what they were doing. “I put an alert on (Y/N)’s name and face to see if anything came up, anything that could help us find her and this website just went live a few seconds ago. The link was emailed to me anonymously.”

She projected her screen onto the television, showing the team. The background was dark, but they could see a livestream and you were right in the middle. Spencer felt the air leave his body as he took in your unconscious appearance, flashbacks of Tobias Hankel appearing in his mind.

“Wake up!” The unsub yelled at you, smacking you across the face.

“Garcia can you take this down?” Emily’s voice was quiet as they watched you regain consciousness and look directly at the camera.

“Don’t!” Spencer reached out to grab Penelope’s hands before they could do anything. “She knows that we can see her. Look at her face.”

He was right. Your features didn’t show that you were hurt or even scared. They showed a woman determined to get away. Everyone saw as you turned to the unsub, whose face was just out of frame, with an irritated scowl.

“She’s not afraid of him.” JJ’s voice held an admirable tone.

“When my team finds you, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you never see the light of day again.”

The unsub laughed. “Your team is reckless. They don’t know how to separate their emotions from their work. They make careless mistakes and ignore the law when it’s convenient for them. You’re team has as much a chance as finding me as you do walking out here alive.”

“Sounds like pretty good odds to me.”

Spencer could feel himself shaking, beyond pissed he still couldn’t figure out where you were. “Garcia, can you track where this is streaming from?”

“No the IP address reroutes every fifteen seconds, I can’t pinpoint him.”

The screen went dark, but they could still hear everything.

“Tell me something agent. Would you die for them?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Would you live for them?”

“Yes.”

“What was your fight with Doctor Reid about?”

You hesitated for a second and the BAU could feel an aura of tension. But you weren’t going to let this man get to you. “What is your obsession with my boyfriend?”

The unsub laughed again. “Doctor Spencer Reid is an enigma. For years, I’ve watched as this child has made an ass of everyone who dared speak to him. He looks down on others, thinking that his intelligence made them inferior. For a long time, I thought I hated him, but after a while I figured out that I was in awe of him. Ededict memory, an IQ of 187, can read twenty thousand words per minute. A genius. And yet, in waltz this rookie cop and all that is registered null and void. Around you, Spencer Reid goes from machine to human man, and a dumb one at that. How did you do it?”

Though they would never admit it, the rest of the BAU was slightly curious as well. Spencer did in fact get a little loopy when it came to you and sometimes it confused them.

“I didn’t do anything.” You were confused.

“Don’t lie to me!” Everyone flinched as the unsub yelled. “What did you do to him?”

“I don’t know what your talking about!” Your resolve was breaking. Spencer’s heart broke when you glanced at the camera and he saw the fear in your eyes.

“Maybe this will help.”

Everything moved in slow motion. You appeared on the screen again, belt tied around your arm above your elbow. Spencer immediately recognized the bottle and needle he pulled out of his pocket.

“No!” He screamed, Matt and Luke had to hold him back before he launched himself at the screen as the unsub measured out the Dilaudid.

“You remember this, don’t you sweetheart?” He pushed the needle into your vein and injected you with the narcotic. “Doctor Reid didn’t fare so well against this particular drug. Let’s see how you do.”

The BAU watched as you drifted into unconsciousness and then the camera cut off. Spencer broke, sobbing as Luke and Matt held him up.

“We have to get her out of there.” Penelope wiped her tear stained cheeks. “I have the list of officers who were absent on the day that all three victims were abducted and killed. It’s a pretty decent sized list.”

“And you compared that list to the agents who aren’t here today?”

“Just did. Still fourteen names.”

“Alright. I want every single address of everyone on that list. JJ, Simmons, Rossi, take the first seven. Luke, Lewis and I will take the other seven. Reid, stay here with Garcia in case he starts streaming again.”

“I’m going with you!”

“Absolutely not!” Emily was more firm than anyone had ever heard her before. “You are nowhere near emotionally stable enough for the field. You will stay here with Garcia and that is an order!”

Everyone watched as Spencer and Emily stared each other down. After a moment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge and gun. “If she dies and he gets away, I quit.”

Emily gave him a curt nod. “I understand.”

The rest of the team left and Spencer sank into the chair next to Garcia, resting his head on her shoulder. She stroked his hair.

“Come on Boy Wonder. Build a profile. Maybe we can figure out who it is. Save them some time.”

He nodded and sat up, looking over the files on the table. Images and words swam in front of his eyes as he tried to fit all the pieces together. For hours he stayed there, circling the table and moving things around to get a better understanding. Garcia lost count of how many times she refilled their coffee cups. The sun was rising when he finally had an idea.

“We know he works at the FBI, so he’s smart and at least somewhat fit. The torture and stabbing on his previous victims suggest sexual sadism. Garcia, can you hack the IT department?”

“Easy peasy lemon squeezy.” Her hands flew across her keyboard. “What am I looking for?”

“Anyone who has looked into our files or possibly even into our pasts. He’s obsessed with one, if not both of us. He knew when the perfect time to grab her was, so he had to have been watching us.”

“Holy smokes.”

“What is it?”

“Dex Trengrove. He’s got everything you’ve ever written, everything you’ve ever been mentioned in saved on his hard drive. It also looks like he planted a trojan horse on (Y/N)’s work computer and has been recording random pieces of the day. There’s so much footage of her just laughing and filling out paperwork. There’s a clip of her kissing you cheek that he has labled ‘WHY?’”

Spencer called Emily on speaker phone. “Emily, our unsub is number four on your list, Dex Trengrove.”

“That makes sense. He was fired three months ago for hacking NSA. That must have been his trigger. But he wasn’t at his apartment. Does he have any other address on file?”

“Nope. He hasn’t gotten a new job since being fired and both his parents are dead.”

“What happened to his parents house?”

“They lived in a little house in rural Virginia. When they died two years ago, they left it to Dex, but he sold it to -- oh my god.”

“What is it Garcia?”

“He sold it to Harley and Robin Beth. The Beths dropped off the grid right afterwards and no one had heard from them since.”

Tara chimed in. “How much you want to bet, they were his first victims?”

Emily sighed. “Garcia, I need the coordinates for that house.”

“Coming to your phones.”

Just then, there was a ping. “He’s streaming again.”

They turned to the screen as your face appeared right in front of the camera. You were whispering, tears running down your face. “Spencer, if you can hear me, I’m okay. He’s one of the IT guys. I don’t remember his name. I don’t know where I am. Spence, I need you know that I love you. More than anything in this world. If I don’t make it out of here, always remember that I love you. ”

He saw your eyes widen as you heard footsteps. You returned to your chair, slipping your hands into the loosened binds. Dax had another full needle in his hand.

“Please don’t.” You begged, feigning desperation. “I’m fine, really. I don’t need it. Please.”

He chuckled and grabbed your arm anyway. While he was busying himself with the belt, you slipped back out of your binds and wrapped them around his neck.

“Son of a bitch.” You growled in his ear as he struggled against you. You maneuvered your legs around his flailing arms until you were completely wrapped around him.

“Go to sleep. Go to sleep.” You held steady, pulling tighter as he slowly lost consciousness. He dropped to his knees as you heard the sound of approaching sirens.

“Dax Trengrove. FBI!” You sighed in relief as you heard Emily’s voice. She busted through the door followed closely behind Tara and Luke, weapon raised.

“Thank god.” You let yourself cry as you untagged yourself from the man and ran into her arms. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“Let’s get you to a medic.” You nodded and let her lead you away.

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“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” -Lao Tzu

------

Your body ached as you opened your eyes.

“Where am I?” You groaned, trying to sit up.

“Don’t do that.” You were startled by Spencer’s voice, but immediately comforted when you turned and realized that he was next to you. “You’re at the hospital. You’ve been sleep for the past two days.”

“Have you been here the whole time?” You smirked at his messy hair and scraggly beard. Your nose turned up as he leaned in close. “Yes you have. You smell.”

“There she is,” He pressed his lips to your cheek and you got a whiff of his breath. “I’m going to go tell the team that you’re woke.”

“Brush your teeth while you’re at it!” You called as he walked out the door, laughing.

------

TO BE CONTINUED...

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer #spencer imagine #spencer x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler imagine #spencer reid angst #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #david rossi #jennifer jareau #luke alvez #matt simmons #tara lewis

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Waking Up in Vegas--Ch. 3

Chapter 3: Spare Me Your Freakin’ Dirty Looks

Mera, Morning, 11:01 AM

           “So,” I said nervously, feeling my foot shake against the leg of my chair. My fingers wrapped around my coffee cup to keep them from trembling. The center of my back burned with the memory of Dean’s touch. “You going to tell me what happened last night?”

           Dean rubbed his hand over his jaw, scratching at his beard. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. “Play by play or the highlight reel?”

           I couldn’t help but smile just a little. “Start with highlights.”

           He pinched the bridge of his nose, rubbed hard at his eyes. “McIntyre rolled out the shots, I swear there were fifty of them. You had enough that I didn’t want you to be alone on the way to the hotel. Walked back, had breakfast at one in the morning. Yada yada… ended up at The Little White Wedding Chapel and then back at the hotel.”

           I swallowed, nodded. Something congealed in my stomach, making me feel sick. “So… we got drunk married in Vegas.”

           He sighed, looking down at the coffee trapped between his palms. After a moment of quiet, he reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone. He slid his thumb across the bottom and pushed it across the table, a video already queued up on the screen.

           “Press play.”

 Dean, Morning, 11:04 AM

           I watched Mera as she touched her fingertip to my phone screen. A shiver ran down my spine as I remembered the feel of those fingertips on my chest, the sight of them wrapped up in the Shield dog tags I wore as she pulled me down for a kiss. I made sure to keep my eyes on the tabletop.

           The video was already burned into my memory. I don’t think I’d ever forget the moment that we took it.

           My voice tumbled out of the speaker. “You sure about this?”

           Her laughter ran through me like whisky in my blood. I could see her—hair down, twisted into wild curls from the desert wind, eyes bright—grinning at the phone that I pointed in her direction.

           “Absolutely.” Not a tremble or hesitation in her voice. “Now come on.”

           My heart thundered against my ribs. I knew what came next. The camera turned, caught an image of her curling into an embrace against my chest, a smile of pure contentment on her face. I wrapped an arm around her neck to draw her closer and dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

           The clip cut off. Her fingers shook slightly as she handed the phone back to me. I couldn’t read her expression. My gut churned as I began to wonder if a trip to the courthouse was in our plan for the day.

           She finally looked at me, and it nearly broke my heart. “Whose idea was it?”

           “Yours.” I finished off my coffee, wincing a little at the bitter dregs at the bottom. “We talked about it for an hour before we set foot in the place.”

           Mera nodded, going quiet for a long while. Every second of silence made the panic take root in my chest. The cat was out of the bag. No need trying to put it back in.

           “Was the… uh…” I glanced up, saw how red her face had gone. She picked at the nail of her thumb. “Did we…”

           I chuckled a little, trying not to enjoy her discomfort too much. “Consummate the marriage? No.”

           Fear seemed to fall away from her shoulders. I didn’t know whether to be hurt or insulted.

           “Do you really think I’d…” I shook my head, allowing myself a smirk. “Trust me, darlin’, if I fucked you, you’d remember it.”

           “Dean!” She gasped, looking around at the rest of the patrons in the shop. It didn’t seem possible, but she went even redder than before. Christ, she was beautiful.

 Mera, Morning, 11:05 AM

           Heat burned along my entire body. It was as if I could feel the ghosts of his hands along my skin. The video he’d shown me kept replaying over and over in my mind.

           I’d looked so happy—content in a way that I hadn’t been in a long time. And Dean had seemed—he looked like a completely different man than the unstable lunatic I knew from work.

           The memories were so hazy, and there were so many questions. What had I said? How had we ended up in that chapel looking like we were in love? Why had he gone along with the whole thing in the first place?

           “Why?” The question squeaked out before I could stop it.

           Dean’s answer was simple. He stood and walked around the table to sit next to me. Roughened fingers skimmed over my wrist and threaded with my own. “Because you looked at me with those eyes of yours and you said…” He stared for a long moment at our entwined hands. “I just couldn’t say no.”

           My pulse thrummed so quickly that it took my breath away. I thought back to the man he seemed to be in the video. To the woman I was. To what seemed like a dream that had sprung fully formed from the depths of my secret wishes.

           “Dean…” I started then stopped, trying to get my thoughts together. “I know this whole thing isn’t fair. And I’m sorry if you felt like you were forced into this. But at least it’ll be easy to undo.”

           His fingers twitched against mine. He drew our hands against his chin, kissed the band around my finger with soft, warm lips. A memory flashed across my mind—standing in the desert wind, stars spread out across the sky in every direction, my hand wrapped around the dog tags he wore, pulling him down toward me, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth as he kissed me. Warmth turned my body to jelly, rushed up into my face.

           “What makes you think I want to undo it, Mera?”

           Dean’s words punched through my romantic thoughts. It took a moment for my brain to make sense of them, to process what he was saying. And it wasn’t necessarily easy to think when he kept skimming that sinfully soft mouth along my knuckles.

           “We barely know each other, Dean.”

           He smiled against my skin. “You’d be surprised how well we know each other, darlin’. The both of us are quiet and observant.” He turned those cornflower eyes toward me, and any thought of resistance started to melt away. “But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to get to know you better.”

           God, I need a drink, I thought. Some liquid courage would be helpful just then. Instead, I downed the rest of my coffee and breathed deep, trying to calm my nerves.

           I glanced at him, saw the wicked smile that appeared. “And I mean it, Mera. I want to get to know you better. In every way.”

 Dean, The Night Before, 2:33 AM

           The food had done wonders for her lucidity. Mera was wide awake and ready to conquer the Strip. She’s still have one hell of a hangover in the morning, but for now she was running headlong into sobriety.

           A sea of people parted around us as she pulled me along the sidewalk. Her fingers were wrapped firmly around my palm. As often as she’d touched me, I’d never fully appreciated how soft her skin was. I wondered if she was bothered by my rough and calloused hands—after all, she’d gone to college, I’d spent my life fighting and getting bloodied.

           “Where the hell are you going?” I huffed, surprised at how fast she could walk. She bounced with excitement, her eyes brighter than any neon light in the city.

           “Do you like me, Dean?”

           The question came out of nowhere. She stopped and turned back to me. People jostled past, grumbling at how we were holding up the foot traffic. Her words hung in the air as I maneuvered us out of the way into a little alcove.

           Her fingers flattened against my chest, palm settled over my tags. “Do you? Do you like me, Dean?”

           My gut twisted, threatened to drop out completely. Warm desert wind caught her deep gold hair, making it dance around her shoulders. I couldn’t stop myself. I reached out, wound strands of it around my fingers, my fist. It felt like silk. Shit, I swore internally, she’s so fucking beautiful.

           “More than that,” I whispered, surprised at my courage. Words I’d promised myself I’d never say aloud. Emotions that I’d locked away and held in a white-knuckle grip for what felt like eons.

           She gave me those eyes—sunset wrapped in molten flame—and pulled on the chain around my neck. The closer she came, the more my control slipped. My fingers tightened in her hair as our lips met. She gripped the chain so tight that it dug into the back of my neck, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was the feel of her against me, the taste of her lips, the smell of her skin.

           I tugged her closer, hand splayed over her lower back. She turned my blood to gasoline and my entire being went up in flames. One kiss, that’s all it took. I was lost—hopelessly addicted to the feel of having Mera Reynolds in my arms.

 Mera, Morning, 11:08 AM

           There was a lost sort of look in his eyes. It was as if he was somewhere far away from me.

           A shadow rippled over the table. I glanced up, heart dropping to my toes when I realized who it was. Skinny jeans, hoodie, beanie. Arms crossed over his chest, brown-eyed gaze flicking between me, Dean, and our entwined hands.

           “I guess I know why you never came back to the casino now, Ambrose,” Seth Rollins said flatly. It was hard to tell who he was angrier with, me or his friend. “Whatever happened to not dating your best friend’s ex, huh?”

Tag List

@bethany99stuff-blog

#waking up in vegas #dean ambrose #dean ambrose fanfiction #mera reynolds #multi-chapter #ofc #oc #real person fanfiction #wwe #wwe fanfiction #seth rollins #fluff #romance #angst #smutt

[thisdiscontentedwinter]

Stella and the Wolf - Chapter 3

You can read it here on AO3, or find the Tumblr Chapter Index here. 

Stiles winces as Derek snaps the handle on the back door of Deaton’s practice.

“Did he just break—” Stella begins, holding Stiles’s hand tightly. “Oh, and now he’s entering!”

Stiles has no idea where she gets her sass from. No idea at all.

They follow Derek inside.

“So, is there like a cure or something in here?” Stiles asks. He sent Scott some texts about getting the bullet and stuff, but the increasingly panicked responses he got back on the drive over here make him think that Scott is currently being cross-examined by the Argents, and probably has no hope of coming through for them. Which is understandable. Stiles has met Chris Argent. He’d thought he was the terrifying parent, right up until he’d met Allison’s mom. Jesus.

Derek doesn’t answer. He just lurches further into the building, bouncing off a wall on his way.

Shit.

Stiles fishes around in his pocket with his spare hand and calls Scott. It goes to messages. “Scott. We really need that bullet, buddy. Derek is not looking good.”

He follows Derek into the operating room, Stella at his side.

His phone rings. “It’s Scott.”

Derek grabs the phone from him. “Did you find it?” Stiles doesn’t hear Stiles’s response, but Derek’s expression hardens. “Look, if you don’t find it, I’m dead, alright?” A pause while Scott answers. “Then think about this. The Alpha called you out against your will. He’s gonna do it again. Next time you either kill with him, or you get killed. So if you wanna stay alive, then you need me. Find the bullet.”

He shoves the phone back at Stiles, and Stiles looks at the screen to see that he’d ended the call.

Derek stalks to the other side of the room and starts rattling around in the cabinets.

“Stiles,” Stella whispers in that too-loud way that all kids do. “What’s an Alpha?”

“Just…” Stiles swallows. “Just go wait by the door, okay?”

His worlds are colliding, and he can’t deal with Derek and Stella at the same time. Stella isn’t even supposed to know anything about this werewolf stuff, and now she’s right into the middle of it.

“You should phone Mrs. McCall,” she says, her eyes wide. “She’s a nurse!”

Stiles rubs a hand over his head. “It’s not… People medicine doesn’t work on werewolves.”

“Does dog medicine?” Stella asks.

Stiles tenses, waiting for Derek to roar at her for that, but he doesn’t. When Stiles looks at him he finds him looking back. The expression on his face is hollow, almost vulnerable, and Stiles has no idea what to make of it. Then Derek turns around again and keeps rummaging through Deaton’s stuff.

“No,” Stiles says, swallowing “I don’t think so.”

Derek turns on the water in the sink and cups his hands to drink. They’re shaking, and Stiles really doesn’t like Derek Hale very much, but it turns out he wouldn’t wish wolfsbane poisoning on his worst enemy.

And then Stella vanishes into the corridor, and comes back a moment later with a coffee mug. She crosses the floor to Derek, and holds the mug under the tap for him. She half fills it with water, and presses it into his trembling hands. “Dad says when you’re sick, you have to drink lots.”

Derek takes a sip and then sets the mug down again. “Thank you.”

It might be the first time Stiles has heard him say those words, and it makes something tighten in his chest.

“Dad says you have to drink water, but sometimes Stiles lets me have orange Gatorade,” Stella tells him. “That’s the best sort.”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees, his voice faint. He sinks to the floor then, drawing his legs up, and Stiles figures that the only thing they can do now is to wait for Scott to get back to them.

***

Stiles hates waiting. Stella is much better at it, but she doesn’t have ADHD. They lean against the wall, and watch Derek as he sits there, and Stiles shifts his weight from foot to foot and wonders what the fuck Scott is doing. How long does it take to go through the belongings of a family of trained killers?

Okay, when he puts it like that, he can accept that it’s probably not exactly a walk in the park. But at least Scott doesn’t have to stand here and watch Derek get progressively closer to death. The pallor to his face is definitely more gray than blueish now, and Stiles doesn’t like the look of it at all.

When his phone buzzes with an incoming text, Stiles almost drops it in his rush to unlock the screen. He reads what Scott sent him and then says, “Does Northern blue monkshood mean anything to you?”

If he wasn’t looking right at Derek’s face when he asked, he might have missed the flash of emotion in Derek’s eyes and the shadow flickering across his expression. It’s not fear. It’s resignation.

It’s gone again in a second, and Derek’s scowl is back.

“It’s a rare form of wolfsbane.” Derek’s tone is curt and clipped, like he’s not literally dying on the inside. “He has to bring me the bullet.”

Stiles texts Scott the happy news.

***

Things go downhill very quickly. Derek’s trembling turns into full body shudders, and the tendons in his neck all cord and strain as he grimaces whenever a new wave of pain hits him. Stiles oscillates between panicking about that and panicking about Stella seeing that, and if Derek’s going to die, can’t he go and do it somewhere else?

Stiles stands in front of Stella when Derek stumbles to his feet at last.

He lurches over to a cabinet, opens it, and then grabs something and thrusts it at Stiles.

“Is that—” Stiles blinks. “Is that a bone saw?”

“Yes,” Derek says through clenched teeth. “Take it.”

“I really don’t think I want to,” Stiles says, but it’s either take it wear it apparently, so he grabs it before Derek can impale him with it.

Derek strips off his leather jacket, and then his shirt.

“Holy shit,” Stiles says, and not because of his abs. Because of the bullet hole in his arm, and the black veins spider-webbing out from it like cracks in a windshield.

Derek grunts at him, and rattles through Deaton’s things for a moment longer. He eventually produces a length of thin cord, which he wraps around his upper arm and tightens with his teeth like he’s a junkie getting ready to shoot up. “Scott’s not going to make it in time,” he says, the cord clenched between his teeth. “I need you to cut it off before the poison reaches me heart.”

“Cut…” Stiles blinks at Derek, blinks are the bone saw, and then blinks at Derek again. “Your arm? Oh, my God. That’s why you got me to bring you here. What if you bleed to death?”

Derek releases the cord, and pulls himself up onto the operating table. “It’ll heal if it works.”

“Ugh.” Stiles stomach registers its disapproval of this plan by trying to force it’s way up his throat and choke his brain. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Derek glares at him. “Why not?”

Stiles gapes. “Well, because of the cutting through the flesh, the sawing of bone, and especially the blood!”

There’s a hint of a sneer on Derek’s sweaty face. “You faint at the sight of blood?”

“No!” Stiles waves the bone saw at him with more bravado then he feels. “But I might at the sight of a chopped-off arm!”

And then Derek growls and there are threats, and black bile dribbling down Derek’s chin , and Stella’s pale, terrified face in Stiles’s periphery, and Stiles can’t do this. He can’t. He can’t cut Derek’s arm off in front of his little sister. He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to do it even if she wasn’t here, but she is, and Stiles is not going to force her to take a front seat in the latest offering from the Saw franchise, okay? Stella is here, and it’s not a question of what Stiles can’t do, it’s a question of what he can’t do in front of her. And he’s sorry. He’s sorry, Derek, but no.

“Stiles,” Stella says, and Stiles realises exactly how much of that rambling, frantic inner turmoil has spilled out in words. “Don’t be scared.”

Don’t be… he chokes back a near-hysterical laugh.

Stella reaches for his free hand. “Is Derek going to die if you don’t do it?”

Stiles holds Stella’s gaze, and wonders which scenario here will make him look the least monstrous in her eyes.

He lifts the bone saw.

Oh god.

He’s really going to do this, isn’t he?

He can’t just let Derek die.

He’s going to do it.

And then Scott bursts through the door with the bullet and Stiles almost collapses with relief.

***

“Where does Derek live?” Stella asks later as Stiles makes her scrambled eggs for dinner. The sushi, he’ll scrape out of the Jeep once Stella’s in bed.

“At his house,” Stiles says, and doesn’t tell her it’s a burned-out husk in the Preserve. He really doesn’t want to talk about Derek right now, but he knows better than to try to get Stella to drop a subject. She’s as stubborn as he is.

“Will his dad look after him tonight?” she asks.

Stiles stares hard at the eggs in the pan. “He doesn’t have a dad anymore.”

“Oh,” Stella says. “His mom then?”

“Derek’s a grownup,” Stiles says, and hates himself for misleading her with that answer. “Go and pour a juice. The eggs are almost done.”

Stella goes to the refrigerator. “Why did Scott go with Derek?”

The answer—werewolf stuff—is on the tip of Stiles’s tongue, but he bites it back. “I don’t know. I’ll ask him tomorrow.”

Stella appears at his elbow, a glass of juice in her hand. “What’s an Alpha and why does it want Scott to kill people? Is Scott a werewolf too?”

Jesus. Stiles slips and his hand hits the edge of the pan. He swears, and pivots for the sink. He holds his hand under the cold water to soothe the burn. “You don’t miss a trick, do you?”

“Nope,” she agrees. “Is your hand okay?”  

“I think so.” Stiles pulls his hand out from under the water, inspects it, and figures he doesn’t need any burn cream. The eggs might, though. They’re literally smoking.  Shit. He dives for the pan and takes it off the heat before he burns the house down. He pokes at them with a fork, and wonders if they’re salvageable.

The doorbell rings.

“I’ll get it!” Stella says, and dashes away.

By the time Stiles sets the pan in the sink so he doesn’t set fire to anything else and heads down the hall to see who it is, the door is already closed and Stella is on her way back to the kitchen. She’s holding two boxes from the sushi place and, balanced precariously on top of them, two orange Gatorades.

“Derek says thank you,” she announces, like those words twice in one day aren’t totally unprecedented and possibly a sign of the apocalypse. She sets everything down very carefully on the kitchen table, catching a bottle as it rolls toward the edge, and then flashes a grin at Stiles. “I hope he got us California rolls!”

Stiles reaches for the other bottle of orange Gatorade.

Weird day.

Really weird day.

But it turns out Derek did get California rolls—and half the rest of the menu—so on balance Stiles is going to chalk the day up as a success.

He’s rapidly learning that when it comes to werewolves in general and Derek Hale in particular, it’s important to count the small victories.

#my fics #discontentedwinter #Stella and the Wolf #sterek

[dulcidyne]

Experiments in Diplomacy: Troubleshooting [7/?]

There’s nothing in the Interspecies Diplomacy subsection of the Initiative handbook that covers sharing a tech lab with an angara who can kill her in her sleep. She knows, she’s read every page. Twice. (A collection of in-between vignettes from the Tempest tech lab) 

//Jaal x Ryder // Humor. Romance. SFW // Previous chapters: [1][2][3][4][5][6] or read on Ao3

“I’ve got it.”

Exhaustion scuffs her smile down to expose the wiry, frenetic energy she scraped up from the bitter dregs of her last coffee. Jaal tilts his chin to angle a skeptical glance and a wry smile her way. Both say he’s expecting her new idea to be highly impractical. Neither are wrong. 89 consecutive power draw trials and three hours of sleep mean her ideas are starting to get a little...eccentric.

“I’ll just wear more power cells.” Se-ah slumps her weight onto her forearms, letting Mags do most of the work of keeping her upright. “Problem solved.”

“Pathfinder, by my calculations the number of additional power cells required exceed the free surface area of your hardsuit.”

For an AI living in her head, SAM can be surprisingly gullible. She finds it delightful. Tapping her raw, bitten-down fingernails against Maggie’s carbon glass, she pretends to give his objection serious thought.  While she’s at it, she also pretends not to hear the dull staccato thump on the tech lab door. It’ll go away soon. At least, she hopes. The other side of the door is the last thing she has the mental capacity for right now.

“So we stack them.”

“Pathfinder—”

“Or I’ll just bring a portable generator, plug in for battle. We could make a harness for Drack.”

“Limitations in combat mobility render this solution highly impractical.”

SAM isn’t programmed with state-of-the-art emotional inflections—conveying emotion wasn’t ever high on her father’s list of priorities, clearly he didn’t think it should be high on SAM’s either—but there’s a jarring fluctuation in his modulated voice akin to alarm.

Jaal hears it too and works a thread of reproof into his smile, which, along with the majority of his attention, returns to the kett bioconverter he’s in the process of ripping apart for the sake of his own curiosity.  “Ryder…”

“There are no bad ideas,” she intones defensively, grabbing the jumper wires Jaal sets down by her hand and getting back to work. They’ve developed a good rhythm together in the lab, much like the one they have in the field. It’s a dance of increasing familiarity, steps formed out of subtle gestures, reflex, and split-second instinct. She gets the shields while he lines up the shot. Static crackle and rifle report ringing out a background duple meter. The tempo in the lab is slower, less frantic without projectiles and wild animals trying to rip through her armor, but it still thrums in her bones like a reverberating pulse straight out of the Vortex subwoofers.

“Is that a common human expression?” Jaal asks her in a way that tells her he doesn’t care for it. “I’ve had several experiences that prove the opposite.”

Se-ah clips the connectors into place and grins, wide and slow. “Yeah? Would any of them involve teaming up with a ragtag group of Milky Way aliens?”

Before he can reach over for it, she slides a tube of thermal paste his way. Her fingers pause on the rolled-over top, waiting for him to ask for an explanation of the phrase ‘ragtag’ even as she opens her mouth to launch into it.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he huffs a low laugh, drawing closer. “No...but I suspect you only ask because you are already sure of my answer.”

Distracted by his proximity, she studies the variegated violet freckling over his cheekbones, awash in rippling blue light. Are they the angaran equivalent of freckles? Do angaran biochromophores react the same way to sunlight as melanin does? Does the scientific curiosity explain the urge to trace her hand across them and map an array of constellations all for herself? Distantly, she notes that the thumping on the door has stopped.

“Maybe I’m just making sure we’re on the same page?” The words gust out of her, soft and too breathy. She can’t spare a moment to be embarrassed over how blatantly romance-vid her reaction to him is. There’s nothing critical in his soft chuckle except a hint of exasperation over one too many idioms.

His hand cups the back of her own—still perched on the tube of thermal paste—engulfing it in half the span of his fingers. Warmth grips her through the material of his glove and palms a hot, shivering caress up her arm and into her chest. Before she can think, her palm impulsively twists to catch it, pressing up against his and slip her five fingers between his three.

The pad of his thumb traces over the line of her own, slow and soft as a sigh. “I think that whatever is on your page is on mine as well . ”

“Good, that’s good. About that. We should probably talk about exactly what’s on that page—besides your email, I mean, and with this whole. Fraternizing . Thing. ”

Her heartbeat thuds against her sternum. Not because he’s pulling her closer, well that too, but because her carefully-planned response to his email is garbling up in her head as if his nearness is so much interference turning her carefully planned words to static. She’s never been good at these types of conversations. Good at avoiding them? Absolutely. But she’s tired of living in the liminal spaces of relationships where nothing is concrete or defined and everything is vague half-hopes and swallowed desires. That might be good enough for the person she used to be but not anymore. She wants this. Wants to tell him.

“If you’re sure she just forgot…” comes a voice from the other side of the door—Scottish brogue muffled but distinct. Se-ah barely has time to pull free and step away from him before the hydraulic system hisses metal panels open to reveal Peebee and Suvi, who at least has the good sense to look very apologetic.

“Sorry Ryder, but she kept insisting there was some mistake.”

Se-ah exhales long and slow. Then she bows her head back down in the guise of surveying the connectors scattered across Maggie’s top while silently cursing her merciful decision not to throw a certain asari out the airlock.

“Nope.” She pops the ‘p’ hard against her lower lip. “Not a mistake.”

“So what’s with the tension in here?” Peebee scans between them, then flicks a commiserating half-grin in Jaal’s direction. “Mad at you too huh?”

Se-ah bites down on her retort, hard, and her lip smarts for it. The imprint of his hand against hers is a phantom warmth transmuted into an insistent ache. All the words she couldn’t say are still buzzing in her head, too loud. She unclips all the connectors that she just put in. They’re all wrong. What was she thinking?

Jaal has no response but Peebee never has a problem filling up other people’s side of the conversation--a trait Se-ah finds either exasperating or charming, depending on the situation.  “Well at least she can’t revoke your access to your own room, right?”

“Is there something you want Peebee?” Se-ah flexes her hand, willing the wistful ache out of her skin.

“Why do you assume I’m here because I want something?” Peebee does a convincing enough job of sounded wounded. “I can have altruistic motives too, you know. I came because I was worried.”

Confusion has Se-ah glancing up from the bench just in time to see Suvi wisely edge out of the lab and make a discrete escape. “Worried?” she asks, “About what?”

“About you , obviously. You know, the whole amnesia thing you clearly have going on.”

Well, that’s on her, she should’ve known better than to engage. Se-ah heaves a sigh up towards the deckhead panels for her own naivete and goes back to reclipping the connectors, hoping silence will be enough of a hint to be left alone.

It is not. Because nothing in Andromeda goes the way she wants it to, especially not when a certain asari is involved. Instead of leaving, Peebee crosses the room to stand on the other side of the tech bench, ducking her head low enough to press her cheek against the glossy top.

“Ryder,” she says, voice full of concern. “Do you remember who I am?”

“Peebee…”

“Good! Good, that’s a relief. Now, do you remember telling me you weren’t mad about the whole borrowing the ozone scrubbers and that I could have my access to the lab back?”

“What I remember telling you is that there are consequences for putting other people on this ship in danger and that your access to the lab will be contingent on supervision until--”

Peebee scrunches up her face as if this is the first she’s heard of all this. “Nooo, I’m pretty sure you said I had my access back, no babysitting required. SAM?”

“Leave SAM out of this. You took them. Without permission. You almost destroyed Ma--the machine. Do you think I should trust you to be in here alone after that? ”

“Trust has nothing to do with this. I was obviously going to put them back as soon as possible. You know that. How was I supposed to know you’d be up all night using the damn thing? It’s called sleep , Ryder. Ever heard of it? Look, just admit you’re still mad at me. Then we can hug or something, Jaal will probably cry, knowing him--it’ll be better than a drama vid.”

Jaal clearly agrees with either the idea or the prediction that he’d be left in tears. Possibly both. He nods sagely. “That’s an excellent idea. Once you acknowledge your feelings, you can work towards resolving the issue.” Se-ah drops all pretense of working and scrubs her hand over her face. “I’m not mad. This has nothing to do with my feelings and everything to do with a totally reasonable punishment.”

“If you’re not mad, we can just skip to the hug part then—”

Peebee makes to circle around the tech bench, proving it is no empty threat. Her unique brand of emotional distance is oddly physical in nature; pinching, prodding, jumping on, squeezing, all while holding everyone at an arm’s length. She’d do it, the madwoman , she’d hug her. Se-ah startles back, hands coming up defensively to ward it off.

“Calm down Ryder, it’s a hug, not a bomb. Why so tense?” Peebee snorts, delighted over this new development. Her eyes are bright and glittering in a mad-scientist way. A woman afraid of hugs is an oddity and Peebee happens to specialize in unraveling oddities. Se-Ah would much prefer to stay tightly raveled.

She clears her throat in a bid for composure but can’t bring herself to lower her hands. “You can’t just flirt your way out of everything Peebee.”

“Oh yeah?” A dozen different flavors of innuendo squeeze into the smooth drop of her voice and the slow, satisfied curl of her lips. Glittering eyes shift into something beguiling, beckoning her. “Can’t you let me try though?” “I’m--a little busy at the moment,” Se-ah stutters, flushing all the way down to her shirt collar. Fabric scratches  her rapidly warming throat. She tugs it away impatiently. Damnit Peebee . She’ll take disarming a bomb any day over Peebee’s determined seduction technique. At least she knows how to handle a bomb.

White teeth flash into a triumphant grin. Whatever game Peebee is playing, she’s winning and she knows it. She moves closer, in for the kill. “Which is exactly why you should let me work out some of that tension.”

All at once, Se-ah is done. It’s so Peebee to derail conflict with a come-on; not even a come-on she’s actually invested in. Probably.

“Which is exactly why I can’t supervise you right now.” she snaps, imbuing her voice with every gram of authority she can muster. “The conversation about access reinstatement will have to wait for another time.”

Peebee’s smile dims and hurt slumps her shoulders before she squares them up for a shrug that tells Se-ah the wounded act from before was only partially put on. Being on the outs bothers her; which explains a lot. Peebee is at her Peebee -ist when she’s trying to hide the fact that she cares. It’s almost enough for Se-ah to forget how irritated she is and start feeling guilty over it.

“Have SAM make a note of it before the amnesia kicks in again,” Peebee quips over her shoulder, already halfway out the door.

Almost . Se-ah bites down on her very juvenile, very unprofessional retort. Snatching up a pair of needle nose pliers, she flays open an insulated wire with a focused viciousness normally reserved for Kett. Once the copper threads are stripped bare she realizes Jaal has been watching her intently the whole time. “Peebee is right,” he concludes. Traitor. Se-ah scowls, feeling hopelessly wrong-footed. She shouldn’t have snapped. A good leader shouldn’t ever let it get that personal. It’s just that Peebee...she clenches her jaw against a fresh wave of irritation. Peebee can be impossible sometimes. Flustered, she flings the wire away and watches it skid across the bench top.

“I am not mad. I’m just being reasonable. It was entirely professional.”

There’s a voice in the back of her head that says her claim to professionalism rings hollow . It sounds like a dead woman. She would never be this close with her crew, letting it undermine her leadership. She took Alliance regulations about fraternization seriously, didn’t see the point in risking her career over messy personal entanglements. She wouldn’t be on any page with Jaal, not with a diplomatic relationship with an alien species on the line regardless of if it went well or poorly. Something painful grinds in her chest, a raw fuse of broken emotion she’s still not ready to deal with. It feels like empty chairs at recitals, graduations, commendation ceremonies--like unanswered vid calls and unsigned cards and Scott’s accusatory, ‘You never get mad because you’re just like him’ . Career first. Personal entanglements later...she wonders what Jaal would think about that. What her--

Jaal’s palm settles over her shoulder and she glances up, startled. “She was right about the hug. You do need one, you’re very tense.”

His touch is a warm, reassuring weight that anchors her to the floor and she relaxes into it despite the objectively horrifying suggestion.

“Ryders don’t hug,” she says without much mirth. It’s an inside joke that isn’t actually a joke. One of Scott’s. He liked to pull a stern expression, looking eerily like their dad when he said it. Or, he used to. Once they realized the truth at the heart of it, after mom’s death, it was less a joke and more of an observation told with the cadence of one.

All of this is lost on Jaal. In her entire arsenal of idioms, she’s never seen him so baffled. A stomach-churning emotion props a stilted smile up at the corner of her mouth. It feels like it will topple off her lips at any moment. Beneath his hand, her shoulder bunches up as she shifts back to squeeze a couple extra centimeters between them without breaking contact.  

“We’re just not very good at it. We only inflict them on others on very rare occasions.”

Occasions she can count out on one hand: saying goodbye to halmeoni in the hospital, her and Scott’s 8th and worst birthday, Aunt Eldora crushing her lungs at mom’s funeral, the handful she shared with Iraenya, including the one signifying their tidy breakup after she signed on for the Andromedra Initiative. Even then, privately, she thinks the word ‘hug’ is far off the mark for all those situations.

There isn’t a single word that would be on the mark. All she can think of are the plastic dolls she played with as a kid and their serene, frozen-faced smiles (although her Matriarch Dilinaga was partially melted from her last expedition into the ‘Attican Traverse’, so it was more of a grimace) as she clacked them together into rough approximations of an embrace, their arms extended out and rigid.

Realization strikes him and Jaal chuckles, squeezing her tense shoulder. “Ah, you’re... ‘pulling my foot’.”

“Uh...no.” Her frozen-faced grimace is a near exact replica of her Dilinaga doll. “I’m not. I am really bad at them.I get...tense and awkward. It’s like hugging a bundle of sticks but with less capacity for warmth.”

“Oh.” The word drops between them like a stone. As the echoes clatter around them something strange happens to his face. It’s been weeks, so it takes her a moment to realize he’s schooling his expression to mask his emotions. Poorly. He manages to banish some of the slow-dawning horror drawing his brow into a rictus of concern and plaster up a tremulous smile as he gently releases her shoulder. The loss gusts cold beneath the thin edge of her shirt.

“I didn’t...I didn’t think that was possible…” She watches him choose his words with care, discarding a dozen alternatives before settling on one free of judgement. Considering his vehement pronouncements on emotionally stunted humans, it’s absence is...unexpected. “I don’t entirely understand. Is that...healthy for humans?”

“For some it is. For some people, the physical contact can be overwhelming. Painful, even. But  I don’t think it’s something you can generalize with us.”

He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands and finally settles for crossing his arms over his chest, folding them away. “I see.”

It would be nothing to reach out and pull his hand back into hers. A dozen centimeters, maybe less. Her fingers ache with possibility but that dozen centimeters is a 2.5 million light-year wide gap between them, full to the brim with mores and customs and her own personal hang-ups piled on for good measure. She sucks in a breath and squares her shoulders, her muscles drawing tighter, her hands clenching in on themselves.  

“Then,” he asks, “for you, specifically?”

“Uh…”

Blunt but disarming. Her shoulders fall and her hands uncurl in synchrony—as if he’s hit a reset button and restored her back to original factory settings. Factory-setting Se-Ah is not eloquent. All she does is gape while her brain finishes the laborious process of starting back up again.

“I don’t actually know? It’s not an easy question to answer.”

“It isn’t?”

“No!” Se-ah cries, an improbable laugh hiccuping through the word. “I mean, maybe it should be but it just isn’t for me. It’s been over 600 years since I’ve really touched anyone, much less hugged anyone and only part of that is because of the cryogenic coma.”

“That sounds...so painful.” Naked distress flashes through his face, to raw to hide, and his hand crosses between them to thumb a line from the point of her jaw to her ear. His fingers skim the curve of her ear before he can collect himself again and draw back. She doesn’t let him. Her palm traps his hand against her neck, over her pulse point.

“It’s just what I’m used to. I’ve never even thought about it until recently.”

His gloved thumb rubs a reassuring circle against her skin. “And now that you’ve thought about it?”

Fitting her fingers  into the spaces between his, she smiles. His hand on her feels better than anything and she wants...she wants more.

“ I think the problem is that I don’t have enough data. I’ll need to run some tests if you wouldn’t mind...helping?”

Jaal’s laugh rumbles against her ear, his arms enfolding her. It’s awkward. Her cheek bumps against the alien ridge of his chest, her hands and arms don’t quite know what to do and her muscles lock up against him.

“I told you I was bad at this,” she says, glad that he can’t see her mortified blush. 

“Are you uncomfortable?” Jaal’s arms loosen around her. “No, but this can’t be comfortable for you.”

Still cupping the curve of her neck, he pulls her closer into the embrace with the arm banding across her back. Another laugh reverberates, deep, all the way down to her toes. “I think you’re doing very well. Just...try to relax.”

Tentative, her free hand slips beneath the fluttering line of his rofjinn  towards his back. He’s so warm. Her arms tighten against him and with a bit of settling, her cheek finds a nice hollow. Seconds pass, an interminable amount of time for a hug before, but now her whole body is tingling. It’s as if she’s fallen asleep on the workbench and woken up with her arm numb below the elbow before going to pins and needles--except all over. It’s like waking up in a cryogenic chamber. Coming alive all at once, overwhelmed with something where there was once so much nothing.

The miniature star in her chest expands, rises, and spills out of her lips as a gasping sob.

#jaal x ryder #jaal romance #mass effect fanfiction #dulcidyne writes #Tales from the Tempest Tech Lab #How to hug in 10 easy steps #They should make a manual #Not all of us are good at them

[vampiricalthorns]

Piercings and Pastels pt 2

Yo, so it’s finally here! Just ... 17 months too late. This is a continuation of Piercings and Pastels one-shot that I posted ages ago. There will maybe be a part 3 to this if I can be bothered to write it. I really do spend a lot of time on creating content, and even though I don’t post original stuff as often as I probably should... anyway, there’s a link to my ko-fi in my blog description if you want to support my content.

“And therefore, the sum of this equation will be …”

Will sighed, looking down at the notes he had so nicely drawn in red and black. Math class had never been of his favourites, but he was well aware that it was a subject he wanted to be good at. He did care a lot about school, even if he happened to be punk as fuck and wasn’t hesitant to have slightly questionable style choices. Will knew that his sister Kayla wanted him to have the best shot at life possible, and that was why she kept criticising his clothing.

“Mr Solace, are you paying attention?”

Will looked up sheepishly. “What?”

“I asked you if you could be so nice to tell us the answer on the blackboard.” The teacher was glaring down on him, and Will could have a fair guess that he was not too happy with Will’s inattention.

Will looked at him, and then to the board. Realising he had not solved the equation, he caught Nico’s look and peeked into his notebook for the answer. “X is 8, and Y is 4.5.”

The teacher looked at him for a minute before nodding. “That’s correct Mr Solace, but please refrain from spacing out in my classes in the future.”

Will ruffled his hair and looked up at the big Starbucks symbol hanging over the entrance door. He took a deep breath and walked inside, being ambushed by the warm, coffee-scented air as opposed to the slightly chillier outside weather that did not smell like coffee. He had agreed earlier that week to meet Nico at the Starbucks so that they could work through their ridiculous amounts of math homework. Will was taking a fair guess that their teacher was not terribly happy with how inattentive his class actually was to his teaching.

“Hi, Will! Over here!” Will heard someone call from further inside the store. He looked around for the black mop of wavy hair that belonged to his now best friend. Today, Nico was dressed in pastel galaxy leggings, the same brown boots as he had worn the last couple weeks and an oversized pink knit sweater.

He slung himself into the chair opposite Nico. “What’s up?”

Nico smiled- the type of smile where he closed his eyes and held his hands up to his chest as if he was about to flap them. Will thought that was oddly cute. “Not much. Work’s drowning us as usual, but at least that’s an excuse to be productive.”

Will nodded. “Should I go get something to drink while you figure out exactly what we should do today and what we can wait with for later in the week?”

Having Nico’s nod of approval, Will put his bag down and got up. Placing himself at the back of the line, he looked over at where Nico was reading in his planner while pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. The purple hair clips didn’t look like they were there for anything than decoration. Cute.

He had only known Nico for a little under two weeks now, but it felt like they had been friends for way longer than that. He was like a missing childhood friend Will had only just met again, but he knew that was impossible. Will let a small smile slip as he looked up at the menu for what to get. Nico seemed like a hot chocolate person. Or maybe a Frappuccino.

“One Coffee Mocha and one Hot Chocolate please,” he told the barista, who nodded and then told him the sum of what he had to pay. After paying, he stepped to the side and looked out of the window.

They were just a couple weeks into the school year, but Will didn’t feel overworked like he usually did. Will had easily fallen into the routine of working along with Nico, who had surprisingly good control of schoolwork and when stuff was due.

“What did you get me?” Nico asked curiously when Will came back to the table and put down two cups. Will looked at him, suddenly slightly anxious that he had gotten the wrong thing for his friend. “You didn’t specify what you wanted, so I just got you hot chocolate. Was that okay?”

Nico looked surprised for the fraction of a second before grabbing the cup with both of his hands and smiling up at Will- the same adorable scrunched-up eyes smile that made Will’s legs just the tiniest bit weaker. No, we will not fall for this person now, William, even though you already did, you dumb fuck.

“Thank you, Will,” Nico said earnestly. “I thought you were going to get me coffee, but hot chocolate is just as okay. Really. I enjoy hot chocolate too.”

Will sat down again and thought for a moment before pushing his cup of coffee over to where Nico was sitting. “You can have a sip or two if you need caffeine. That’s really okay. I don’t mind sharing at all.”

“It’s a nice apartment you got,” Nico commented after Will had locked himself into his and Kayla’s apartment. It was later in the day, and Will had invited Nico over for food and video games- if Nico was up to video games of course. In the back of his mind, Will was very well aware of all the boxes still unpacked in their apartment.

“Thanks,” Will replied, throwing his keys into the bowl on the small table they kept in the hallway. It was filled with what looked like Kayla’s asthma medication (Will knew she kept one in her bag too, so she was good, a pack of chewing gum and what looked like post:it notes and pens. “It’s a bit messy since we only moved in here like three weeks ago.”

Nico shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me. It’s not like my home is pristine at all times too. We’re all human, Will.”

Will snorted and flashed Nico a creepy grin, one that made his lip piercing glint in the hallway light. “Are you sure about that, di Angelo? For all you know, I could be a demon preparing to steal and devour your soul.”

Feeling accomplished that he had made Nico laugh, Will made his way into the kitchen to get a glass of water. He hadn’t had enough to drink that day, and to be entirely honest, he was aware that his head was not too happy about that. “Do you want a glass of water too, Nico?”

He turned around when he heard the sound of soft socks moving over the laminate floor. There was Nico, hands hidden inside the oversized sweater and dragging his feet across the floor. His feet- clad with soft purple socks. What an adorable person.

He didn’t hear Nico’s answer. “What did you say again?”

Nico laughed again. “No, it’s okay, Will. Yes, I would like a glass of water, thank you.”

Will turned around again and grabbed a glass, filling it with water from the tap, trying his best to hide his blush. He was sure that the water was safe to drink.

“Thank you for helping me out with homework today,” Will mentioned as he handed Nico the glass. “I’m a horrible procrastinator unless someone kicks my butt the entire time I’m working.”

He put down his glass next to the sink and looked at Nico. “I need to go to the bathroom, but I will be right back. If you want, you can wait in my room. Second to the right down the hallway.”

Having Nico’s nod of approval, he left the kitchen, walked down the hallway and into the bathroom, sinking down against the wall with a sigh. He was falling. Hard.

Why am I doing this to myself? Will thought desperately, staring at himself in the mirror. Staring back at him was a teenager with faded red-dyed hair, piercings and a black band merch hoodie. It had been through the wash so many times that it was impossible to read exactly which band it was. He knew though, and somehow Nico had too. My Chemical Romance was always recognisable.

Deciding that he had stayed long enough in the bathroom for it to be convincing that he hadn’t just contemplated 666 ways of isolating himself from the world because he was an emotional little shit, Will flushed the toilet and left the room. He took yet another deep breath before walking into his bedroom, where Nico was sitting on his office chair. “You look like a child when you swing your legs back and forth like that.”

Nico rummaged through his pockets and dug out a lollipop, ripping off the wrapper before sticking it into his mouth. “Do you mind that?” The look he sent Will made Will’s heart skip a beat. How dare you be so adorable you little shit. This is unfair because I really want to kiss you but what if you don’t want to kiss me. This is kinda awkward.

“Not really no,” Will admitted, slumping down on his bed, shielding his eyes from the harsh bedroom ceiling light. “I can’t handle all the light. Nico, protect me!”

Nico sighed, kicking Will’s shin with one of his floofy-socks-clad feet. “Oi, you’ll survive. Get over it. It’s not like the ceiling light will give you a sunburn or anything like that.”

Will looked at him through the curly dark red fringe. “Are you honestly sure about that? Don’t test me here, I can manage everything if I try hard enough.”

“Sure, because you can fly. I’ll believe it when I see it, Solace,” Nico said, not quite able to hide the smile and giggles.

Will didn’t even reply to that as he stared at Nico, wondering what he was supposed to do with himself if Nico continued to act like the cutest person alive. God damn it, he wasn’t supposed to deal with complicated feelings like this. Love really was a weird thing.

He coughed, trying to clear his throat, although there was nothing to clear. “Is there anything, in particular, you want to eat? I can order pizza.”

Nico nodded. “No, pizza sounds good. I don’t eat it a lot, but pizza is always good.”

After discussing back and forth for a couple minutes trying to find something they both liked, they settled for something along the lines of ham and mushrooms (neither of them liked the mushrooms, but they were always peel-off-able so it wasn’t an issue.)

They ate the pizza discussing different tv shows they had watched recently, but it quickly turned into a heavy debate and rant about the shitty teachers at school.

“The English teacher, Mr Reynolds, is shit,” Nico argued. “He’s always mean to me because my English isn’t perfect and he hates Italians for a reason I don’t even understand. I think his life goal is to see me fail, although I wish him good luck with that since I manage to score well on every single test.”

“He’s not the best, no,” Will agreed. “But the history teacher is worse. Or, the worst, Blackwell, math. He’s the nightmare of nightmares. I don’t like him at all. Especially with the amount of homework he sent us home with this week.”

Nico nodded, a piece of cheese hanging out from the side of his mouth. Will had to fight the urge to remove it. “That was ridiculous. He can’t expect that much of us this early in the term.”

“Well, apparently he doesn’t care that we have to sit an hour longer every night solving equations and trig questions,” Will muttered, staring towards his backpack that was on the couch, containing the damned math homework they had barely made a dent in. “I need to go buy more paper Monday afternoon. I’m out of grid loose leaf paper after all the homework.”

“I can give you some if you remind me tomorrow night to put some more in my backpack,” Nico offered around a giant piece of pizza. “Should last you through Monday at least so that you can go after school and get more. I can come with you if you want to. I need to get more whiteout anyways so I might as well get it done then so I can stop borrowing yours all the time.”

Secretly, Will hadn’t minded that Nico had borrowed his whiteout, even though he was running low too. It wasn’t like both of them wrote everything perfectly on the first try.

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Will! We-el! I’m here! Behind you!” Nico shoved his way through the school corridor calling for Will. “Will! You big emo oaf, stop so I can catch up to you!”

Will turned and looked down, where he saw a pastel figure fight his way through the sea of navy and beige trying to get to him. He motioned towards the door in the gesture of “I will meet you outside so I don’t get killed by the rest of year 10 for causing a clot in the school circulatory system.

Will quickly got out of the door and closed the flap on his bag while waiting for Nico. He had barely lasted through the day, being out of whiteout (he had given the very rest to Nico and resorted to writing with pencil most of the day which he typically didn’t like but it was worth it), but he had somehow managed. He had remembered to bring his wallet (a personal achievement in his opinion, considering how forgetful he usually was) and his crush on Nico was (as always) very present.

He looked at Nico fighting his way out of the mob of students either getting to a new class or leaving and smirked.

“Are you okay there, Nic?” Will said, teasingly bending down to the same height as Nico’s offended face. He knew that Nico was sensitive about his height, and truth be told, Will loved teasing him about it.

Nico scoffed and crossed his arms. “Don’t call me that.”

Will just laughed and ran his hand through his hair before staring in the general direction of the bus stop. “So, do you wanna go to the tiny bookstore around here somewhere and get paper and whiteout or do you wanna go to the city and get what we need and some coffee afterwards?”

Nico smiled up at him. “That sounds nice.”

And Will melted slightly inside.

#solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #pjo #hoo #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #percy jackson #riordanverse #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #pastel punk au #pastel!nico #punk!will

[supernaturalthoughtsworld]

Consulting with a Psychopath Part 2

Description: As the game futhers, reader must now expect the fact that she can’t keep her personal life, work life, and Moriarty life separate. As they begin to bleed into each, they must realize that something has got to give. The game is on. Part 4 of the Date with a Psychopath series, part 2 of Consulting with a Psychopath.

Characters: Moriarty x Reader

Triggers: Angst

Parts:

1, 2, & 3 available to read right now.

Note: if you want to be notified when the next chapter comes out let me know. I will tag you on the next entry.

You entered the nursing home with a mixture of dread and gloom. Seeing all the patients walking around so sluggishly, seeing their tired out faces, and shrinking posture. It made you want to crule up in a ball and giving up on life itself. However, when you saw your mum sitting quietly near a window, wrapped in a cozy blanket, and reading to the other patients in the rec center. A spark of happiness and hope erupted into your heart and you felt the life inflat in your cheeks again. You never wanted to put her in a place like this but when her illness began to grow worse to the point where care was needed 24/7. You had no choice but to place her in a in-care facility where she could get the proper treatment and care. You, of course, had to work countless hours to support yourself and your mother. Which meant putting her in a place affordable with trusting reviews. The only place that met those crytia was almost 2 hours away. On your assistant salary that meant only visiting once or twice a month at max. Now that Moriarty was involved he suggested you move her into one of his lavish flats in the city. With a full time private nurse and staff to help support your mother. In turn, you had to work for him, any job that he requested needed to be done within a 48 window time frame. You, without a second thought, signed your name on the dotted line. You sold your soul to the devil.

When your mum was done with her chapter she looked up at your smiling face. She smiled back and tired getting up but her weak bones did not allow her to go any further. “Mum, you can’t be trying to get up like that”, you say. As you rush over to her side. “Honey, I’m not made of glass you know”, she shoots back. Your mum had always been a sassy women but nowadays she was steaming with wit. “Might as well enjoy the laughs whilst I still have the capacity”, she always said. She had always been the light of your life and seeing her in such a state so far away from you. Made it clear that you didn’t care about the deal you had made with Moriarty. You would break into every bank and steal whatever was needed in order to keep your mother safe. The worst part is Moriarty knew you would feel this way. He knew you would deniably do whatever he wanted in order to protect your mother. What he didn’t know was how in the end you would get yours. “Mum, I have some good news”, you brightly say. She looks up at you with a puzzled expression. “You’re coming to live with me now. Where a nurse will watch you full time and a doctor will be on staff in case anything happens”, you explain. Her eyes grow bigger and you can see tears begin to form. “Really”? She asks with a shaky voice. I nod my head to confirm and she gives me a long tight hug. “We’ve been apart too long, don’t you think”? You laugh through tears. “Far too long”, she agrees. You sign some papers at the front desk as the nurses tell you they’re going to miss your mum when she leaves. It won’t be till the beginning of next month which is in three weeks. Moriarty said he would have the flat ready to your mum’s liking by then. “She’ll never want to leave”, he told you. He seemed genuinely excited that your mum was coming to live with you or was it because you were complying with everything he said. It was hard to tell sometimes with Jim, was he falling for you or was he using you for your brain and body. You were thinking about this the entire way back to London when your phone began to go off. The caller ID read, “John W.” “Hello, grumpy old man”, you said. “You’ve got to stop calling me that”, John tried to sound irradiated. There was a strange pause on the other end before John spoke again. “How was your visit with your mum”? He asked. His tone sounded as if he was trying not to offend you by asking. You thought it was sweet that he cared so much. He was the only one beside Moriarty that knew about your mum’s situation but unlike Jim you told John about it. Sometimes when you spoke to him you sort of told him all your troubles and worries. His soft reassuring face felt comforting like a soft blanket you could wrap yourself in. “It was good. She’s doing much better which the nurses say she might be able to start psychical therapy soon”, you explain. “Wow! That’s amazing, I’m so happy for her”, he replied. For some reason your stomach fluttered at his reaction. “Yes, she’ll be with me very soon.” Again there was an awkward pause but before John could say something he was enturpted by a muffle in the background. Surely it was Sherlock. This was confirmed when John sighed into the phone. “Sherlock says to bring tea and biscuits as well as the morning newspaper”. “Sure, I’ll stop at a shop”, you agree. Before John could say goodbye there was a shuffling and then John could be heard saying, “she’s not your maid”. Then there was a beep indicating that the line was cut. That warm feeling wrapped itself around you again when you began to think of seeing John.

When you arrive there were papers covering the walls, floors, and tables. It looked as if a hurricane only targeting newspaper clippings arrived in the flat. The sound of music prenatred your ears. You push thru the mess and place the tea and biscuits on the coffee table. Sherlock is standing near the window with his eyes closed playing his violin. John was seated by the fire place and he gave you a look like be quiet or he’ll explore. Pretty soon there was a knock on the door indicating that the first appointment was here. You were about to open the door when Sherlock stopped playing and shouted after you. “No, no yet”. His voice echoed in the apartment and you turned to look at him. He went back to playing with his eyes closed. There was an odd tension in room as everyone waited for Sherlock’s next move. Again there was a knock at the door but this time Sherlock said nothing as you went to answer. “Hello, welco...” before you could finish your greeting you felt the color drain from your face as your blood turned ice cold. “Good morning, miss”, Moriarty smiled. “Are you here to see Mr. Holmes?” Is all you could muster to say. He gives you a sly look as he enters the room. You turn quickly to see John sit up straight with a crickled foreword. “Gentlemen... and lady”, Moriarty breaks the silence. Sherlock doesn’t stop playing but he does look at James. The tension in the room made time stop. I could see fly’s wings flap as Sherlock finished the last chords of his song. Then, silence. The four of us just stood there, waiting for someone to knowledge the situation. You began pouring the tea into everyone’s cup. When you arrive at Moriarty’s cup he winks at you which to your dismay makes you flush. “Well Mr. Holmes I see we have run into another problem in our relationship”, James finally speaks. Sherlock now moved into his chair has his index fingers on his forehead. “What issue would that be”? Sherlock responded. You and John were beside each other watching this calcuting game of chest being played by two of the greatest minds. You knew you could beat them both. You wanted nothing more than to beat them both and prove your more than just a simple assistant.

“I’ve threatened you before, so, I won’t be predictable again”, Moriarty finally spoke again. Sipping the hot tea with the confidence that it was cool. “If I hear or see you sniffing around my business. Well, Sherlock I’m just going to have to kill everyone you hold dear to you. Including a miss Irene Adler”, James continued. As if someone had put sour milk in his drink, Sherlock looked up with surprise at the mention of her name. Everyone knew she had stolen Sherlocks heart the moment they met. Everyone knew he was hiding somewhere to keep her from people like Moriarty. Everyone knew Moriarty are already knew of her location. What they didn’t know was that you were the one who find her. “Empty promises”, Sherlock responded. James smiled at his bold statement but eyes remained uncrickled with no emotion. “You are my greatest advocacy and it would a same to ruin you and such an early stage in our game. Don’t test me Mr. Holmes, you won’t like the results”, Jim nearly growled finishing his sentence. He sipped a few more times at his cup and stood up as to tower over Sherlock. Causing the detective to rise himself as to not have the mastermind look down upon him. “Bye”, Moriarty cheerful pronounced. He walked out with a strut that made him look powerful and insane at the same time. Before he left he looked at you one last time and grinned. It brought the chills again causing you to shiver but your heart was pounding almost thru your chest. “What was that all about”? John instantly said after Jim had left. “Just Moriarty being Moriarty”, Sherlock replied. “This doesn’t have anything to do with what you discovered yesterday is it”, John said. Your ears preak up at the mention of new information. “What did you find”, you ask. “Sherlock thinks he found another member of Moriarty’s criminal team. A new person that has been hacking into bank securities and collecting information from several high security institutions.” John responded. “You would know that if you weren’t always off running your errands”, Sherlock added. You were taking aback by the sudden outburst of passive aggressiveness from Sherlock. You realize you have been a bit distant from work but it wasn’t like Sherlock had you doing much. Beside sorting papers and getting his tea. Why did he care if you were aware of the case or not? To him it should have been a meaningless question but there was malice in his words. The question was why? How much did he know about the hacker he discovered? You decided to find out. “Sherlock, (y/n)’s mom is very ill and needs care. She has a right to go see her on her days off as well as her lunch break”, John instantly chimed in. “Well, just don’t ask stupid questions then”. That was as close as an apologize Sherlock would ever come. John gave you a look as if he was the one who had committed the offense. He was a good man and you knew it but there was a part of you that was ashamed of lying to him. Especially when you knew he had a thing for you. The way he looked at you when he thought we weren’t looking. They stolen glances he took when you were in the kitchen cleaning up after the mess Sherlock made. Before Moriarty, he would walk you home, his cheeks rosy with cheer as you talked about your mundane problems. He would get nervous when you stopped at your door. Stumbling through his words of goodbye only to curse himself for not asking you for dinner. He was a good man who didn’t deserve your lies. You had made your bed and now you must lay in it.

#sherlock fanfic #bbc sherlock #jim moriarty fanfic #moriarty x reader #moriarty fanfiction #james moriarty #jim moriarty drabble #moriarty

[unlimitedskyeproductions]

100 Random Things About Daisuke Okana

1: goes by the name of Daisuke Okana 2: 21 years old 3: born on a Wednesday at 8:47 AM on February 29th 4: works as a detective 5: always has a way of fucking things up (and thus gained the nickname "Ohno" - used in the context of  "Oh no, Daisuke!") 6: generally pretty chill and laid back about shit 7: always the calm one 8: despite this he gets really excited way too easily over the stupidest, simplest shit 9: smooth-talking charmer who's also kind of an airhead 10: knows he has a tendency to fuck shit up so he always goes out of his way to do better - though he usually just fucks up even worse than before 11: really great stamina 12: doesn't really care for material stuff  at all, but when someone gives him a materialistic gift he cherishes that item like it's some kind of blessed artifact 13: spends about 10 hours a day just snacking or eating 14: generally whenever you see him there's a 70% chance he'll be eating something 15: sweet but very very clumsy 16: can't seem to get his shit together 17: the only kinds of music he ever listens to is either hardcore dubstep or really shitty pop music (Skrillex and Britney Spears come to mind) 18: lovES CATS 19: dedicated smoker and has been for 7 years 20: bisexual as hell 21: has a lot of really unusual quirks 22: his social cues are kinda fucked sometimes 23: he's either really great at reading people's emotions or absolutely hopeless at it, just depends on how his day's been so far 24: never goes anywhere without his lucky penny tucked safely into his coat pocket 25: he's a super sweet guy and he absolutely Can Not take it when people are upset with him because he feels so damn guilty about it 26: really fucking smart despite being such an airhead (university graduate with honors) 27: possibly might have some level of high-functioning autism but nobody's really sure 28: hates memes but at the same time is a total memelord 29: he has a really bad habit of using the office computer to send  funny cat videos to his coworkers 30: His Voice Is Like Fucking Silk 31: if he hears one of his favorite songs on the radio he'll immediately start singing along no matter where he is 32: instantly becomes Illiterate without his reading glasses 33: manscaping expert (seriously this guy's entire body is fucking  h a i r l e s s) 34: MASTER OF MARIOKART AND STREET FIGHTER 35: loves zombie horror movies (his favorite movie of all time is Shaun of the Dead) 36: afraid of thunderstorms and the dark (but shhhhhh that's a secret) 37: owns three cats - Mr. Pickles, Bowtie and Whiskey (whom was supposed to be named Whiskers but his phone changed it and it sort of stuck) 38: always seems to have exactly what you need at that exact moment - need a pair of scissors? he has em. need an extra sock? he has that too. also snacks 39: here's a secret - he has no idea how to tie a tie (all his ties are clip-ons) 40: here's another secret - he has a three year old daughter (the marriage didn't work out and now he's only allowed to see her three times a week because his ex is a spiteful bitch) 41: he's a very good daddy tho and his daughter practically worships him 42: can't cook whatsofuckingever 43: loves the wintertime because then he gets to run around in the snow 44: airheaded man-child 45: has a scar on his left shoulder from that one time he casually took a bullet 46: actually kind of artistic and doodles a lot 47: one time his neighbors called the cops on him because they heard him screaming and stuff getting broken and they thought he was being murdered - in reality a bat had flown in and he was having a very difficult time getting rid of it (the cops helped him out with that tho) 48: LOVES pulling stupid pranks on his coworkers, especially his partner 49: his partner kinda hates him apparently so he's always doing dumb shit to try and make him smile - often fails 50: collects socks (only the cool kinds with awesome patterns though) 51: he'll generally dress however you tell him to but you're in for one hell of a struggle if you tell him he can't wear his favorite coat and his favorite pair of fluorescent green glow in the dark socks 52: he'll get really aggressive when he's protecting his loved ones but most of the time he's just a gigantic marshmallow 53: he hates when he makes people upset with him and he'll pull out all the stops to get that person to forgive him 54: he watches a lot of cartoons with his daughter and long story short he's memorized every single fucking episode of My Little Pony Friendship is Magic (unintentionally, of course. dude ain't no brony.) 55: LOVES BOARD GAMES 56: super athletic and goes to the gym every night after work 57: will not hesitate to go on a 45 minute rant about why the best television show in history was Doctor Who 58: a bit of a slacker but dependable as fuck when it matters most 59: hates spiders 60: his hair is suuuuuuuuuper fluffy and soft 61: he'll let his daughter give him makeovers and dress him up like a princess 62: he doesn't mind this at all and the only thing that matters is seeing her smile 63: one time after a visit with his daughter he came to work he next day and completely forgot the fact he had a bunch of brightly colored hairpins in his hair and a Hello Kitty headband on (he was pretty chill about it when people told him this information) 64: his number one weakness is food 65: loves ramen noodles oh my fUCKING GOD he loves rame noodles 66: he loves getting praise and compliments from people because he knows he always messes things up so when he gets praised it makes him feel extra special 67: he'll usually let you say whatever you want to him and tease him to your heart's content - he generally just does not care if you're poking fun at him because he only wants to make people smile. and if you're at your happiest when you're making fun of him, well, he'll let it continue 68: 100% cannot function properly in his daily life without his morning cup of coffee (with whiskey added, obviously) 69: despite having an ex-wife and a kid he HAS actually been with dudes in the past (that's actually part of the reason why his wife left him) 70: WILL FUCKING NOT let people mistreat his loved ones 71: cancer survivor 72: generally lives off of McDonald's, rice, and ramen noodles 73: he'll go grocery shopping like a normal but usually not unless it's the day before his daughter gets dropped off (he's fine living off the bare minimum, but he'll be fucking DAMNED if he lets his daughter eat fucking ramen noodles for lunch) 74: he's actually SUPER ticklish 75: an expert at guns and shit 76: very knowledgeable about cheese????? for some weird reason????? 77: he can literally rant for two hours on all the types of cheese and how good or bad they are compare to others 78: recently he had to buy a new phone because he couldn't turn off the capslock and there was a whole week whrere he was just scREAMING AT HIS COWORKERS THROUGH TEXT and it was very awkward 79: he can and will fall asleep literally fucking anywhere 80: despite being a dedicated smoker he NEVER smokes around his daughter EVER 81: when he's not working a case he'll spend every second of his free time either working to get full custody of his daughter or trying to get his partner to open up more and be more sociable 82: loves singing and playing this prized  guitar and he'll often do karaoke night at the bar on weekends 83: not an alcoholic but he will go to his favorite bar at least three nights a week because he's super great friends with the bartender (who also happens to be his best friend from high school) 84: he won't get drunk on those nights and while he may have a drink or two, but generally he just drinks water since he's there to socialize, not get wasted 85: loves sweet foods and desserts 86: juuuuuuuuust a little bit vain 87: also sort of flirtatious 88: just a little bit tho 89: always VERY enthusiastic about the smallest things (you could tell him to meet you at a fancy hotel and he'd literally just stand in front of the room's door for three minutes just staring at the doorknob like "check out this awesome doorknob! it's so shiny! i can see my reflection in it!") 90: just a big gigantic soft fluffy marshmallow up to 98% of the time 91: he loves showering his loved ones in compliments and random yet VERY EXPENSIVE BORDERLINE BANKRUPTING gifts 92: approximately 6-something-ish feet in height 93: really bad at swimming 94: master at playing pool 95: LOVES hugs and physical affection 96: has a secret manga collection but nobody knows this 97: sort of a dork 98: loves stupid comedy movies and silly tv shows 99: cannot ever resist the opportunity to make a cheesy joke or a pun 100: only true anime fans will get this but generally his ENTIRE character is a cross between Kotetsu Kaburagi, Dazai Osamu and Lockon Stratos (yes, I know, I'm VERY original here)

#unlimitedskyeproductions #daisuke okana #oc info

[bts-love-sweat-tears]

Chrysalis (Follower Celebration Fic #2)

Title: Chrysalis

Pairing:  Yoongi x reader, feat. Jinyoung

Type: pure, unadulterated angst (though interpret the ending as you will 😉 ) , tattoo artists!au

Word Count: 1,597

Rating: PG-13            

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, emotional abuse, controlling relationship/marriage (not Yoongo, guys, who do you take me for? )

A/N:  For anon- Yoongi angst. I don’t write much angst so I hope it lives up to your expectations. I debated typing “suga-coat” so you can thank me in advance for stopping myself. I just finished watching A Prayer Before Dawn and the intense tattoos featured in that movie got me thinking. I was also thinking a lot earlier of the ill-fated love of Tristan & Isolde. Does anyone else remember the movie adaptation?

There’s not a lot of dialogue in this, but it’s basically a long flashback while the person is getting their tattoo. <3

I’ve seen some amazing BTS tattoo edits-do yourself a favor and search that!

You bit down on your lip, trying to stop yourself from crying out. Yoongi’s hand was steady at your side, and irrationally, you didn’t want him of all people, to judge you. This was the first real thing you were doing for yourself, and you weren’t going to ruin the badass, empowered mood you were in with tears. As the only child of one of the country’s leading politicians, you always had to be prim and proper. Even your marriage was arranged…though not publicly, of course. To the public, you and Jinyoung were madly in love, one of the few high school sweethearts to beat the odds. The reality was that every single touch was choreographed, and the total lack of spontaneity left little room for real affection to flourish.

Your life was completely constrained by your parents’ agenda, so getting a tattoo was the first real thing you were doing for yourself. Since you would need to hide it, it was going on your ribcage, under where your arm rested, usually protected by multiple layers of clothes. By the time Jinyoung ever, saw it, it would be far too late for him to do anything about it. But right now, Jinyoung was the furthest thing from your mind. Instead, the smooth, steady movements of the tattoo artist helped to cut the physical and emotional pain, reminding you that this was worth it.

As much as this entire world was a mystery to you, so was Yoongi. At first, his full sleeves and gruff demeanor scared you off, but part of you liked his no-nonsense approach to social interactions. So many people tried to charm you, hoping to curry favor with your parents, that  having someone who didn’t sugar-coat anything made you trust him all the more. Since the first day you had ventured in, tentative and out of place, he had made you feel seen. And not as an extension of anyone else, just as a person with their own autonomy.  He was quiet, too, and you were always at peace when you were with him, the constant anxiety buzzing in your head muted.

The tattoo you were doing was self designed, a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis. Many tattoo artists would have rolled their eyes at the cliché design, but he listened to you and made something completely unique. As the design evolved, so did your intentions. You had come in hoping to spite your parents, but by the final time the final consultation rolled around, you had come to view it as something positive, for yourself. Maybe you were being superstitious, but seeing the butterfly that graced the back of his own hand had seemed like a good omen when you made that first appointment.

During these consultations, Yoongi had slowly opened up, even smiling slightly during the last visit. You had his number saved in your phone from the various meetings, and he had even sent you a preliminary design that he’d been working on late one night when inspiration hit.  You wondered if he were so diligent with all of his clients, but before you could reply, Jinyoung had placed his hand over your own, effectively stopping you. You’d been out on one of your mandated monthly dinner dates (all very public- the paparazzi were there well before the two of you even arrived), and while he didn’t confront you directly, you could sense the disapproval radiating off of him. He wanted all of your attention. You knew he would be livid when he found out, so you turned over your phone and turned on your charm.

Recently, his irritation had been growing as Yoongi took up more and more of your headspace. So far, you were fairly certain that Jinyoung didn’t know where you’d been slipping off to every free moment. You still had some secrets after all, and if he cared enough to ask, you would tell him that you were off at some charity lunch or gala, depending on the time of day. But so far, he couldn’t even be bothered to ask. You couldn’t decide if his indifference irritated you or worked in your favor. Your infatuation with the gruff tattoo artist had only been growing stronger, and you found it harder and harder to stay away. It had started innocently enough, with you bringing coffee to the second consultation after noticing the dark circles marring Yoongi’s otherwise gorgeous face. Who were you kidding? Even with the circles you thought he was perfect, but you smitten.The gummy smile you got in return  had left you high for days.

The “really-bad-sunburn-feeling” brought you back to the present. College friends had mentioned their own experience as painful, but surprisingly you weren’t in that much pain. You felt it, sure, but maybe it was the trust you had in the man at your side. The pain was subsiding, and you felt something ghost gently over your skin. You craned your neck, to see Yoongi’s lips at your ribcage-and then they were gone. He gently wiped the spot again to clean it. He was nothing if not professional. He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, helping you to sit up, as your own arms were occupied with holding the blanket for modesty. You were sure your face was bright red, but you didn’t find it threatening or unpleasant at all. Yoongi looked concerned, misinterpreting. He left, returning quickly with a small cup of water. He didn’t talk much, but instead sat across from you, hands in your own.

After some time, you got up, and Yoongi bandaged you up, ever gentle. Your parents would gasp at the impropriety of his hands so close to your bare chest, but you felt more comfortable with him than anyone else. He had kissed you-you hadn’t imagined it, no matter how fleeting. But the next appointment would soon be here, so you quickly put on the flowy shirt you had chosen specifically for today’s outfit, wincing as your movements pulled at the skin.

Moments later, when you stepped outside into the late afternoon sun, a familiar figure was leaning too casually against a car far too shiny for this neighborhood. Jinyoung had found you. Maybe someday, you would blossom into someone stronger, but until then, both you and Yoongi would have to wait.

The last few years had been rough. One of your parents had passed away tragically while traveling, and the other had retired from public life, too waylaid by the disaster to continue. Sensing little to gain from your family name, and after three years of a farcical marriage, Jinyoung had divorced you. The tumult had left you bruised, but you had made it through. Sometimes you thought of yourself as the butterfly adorning your ribs-how painful it must have been, thinking that it was dying a caterpillar, only to emerge more beautiful and free than it had ever been. Jinyoung had ruled your marriage with an iron-fist, and though he had never hurt you physically, he had certainly clipped your emotional wings, using the threat of shutting down “your friend’s little establishment” should you not comply with his whim du jour. So it had actually been a relief when he had decided it was over for the both of you. One of your first decisions post-divorce was to go back to the shop, but when you returned to the tidy storefront, accumulated dust and neglect told you that it had been closed for awhile. You knew it had been irrational to hope that he would still be there, waiting, tattooing as he always had, but the naive part of you had felt such a connection that it felt impossible that the two of you wouldn’t find each other. Maybe he had left the city completely, or gone to travel the world. You’d noticed the guide books on his shelves, but when you asked him about them, he’d dismissed them as paperback dreams. You had tried calling, texting, and social media stalking, though it was like he had fallen off the face of the earth. Even when you knew him, though, his quiet dedication didn’t lend well to social media use. The business account you found had been inactive for quite awhile. But the old tattoos he had posted gave you an idea.

Your parents’ former detractors would have likely smeared your name, telling the embellished story of a fall from grace: a former golden child becoming a tattoo artist. But remembering the freedom you felt when choosing to decorate your body as you saw fit was a feeling you wanted to share with others. They may think you were fallen, but really you were rising.

So you did apprenticeships, building your portfolio and working under other well-known artists in your city. The community was relatively small, but you never did find Yoongi. Maybe he had left the city entirely. You mourned his loss,

Finally, years later, you were opening up your own parlour, hoping to make it a place where everyone could feel safe baring their skins, and sometimes their souls. You had given up on ever finding Yoongi, the man who had given you a tiny set of wings when everyone else had been grounding you. With every tattoo you had done up until this point, you remembered him, and thanked him. It was opening day at your parlour, and the chime at the door alerted you to your first customer, and you felt your wings grow a little stronger.

#bts scenarios #bts angst #yoongi x reader #tattoo artist au #yoongi x you #jinyoung #bts with tattoos #follower milestone fic

[bytheangell]

Support System - Chapter 4

When Alec's favorite show gets cancelled and he takes to messaging customer service repeatedly to show his support, he doesn't expect to connect so well with the support representative he keeps getting paired off with. 

Chapter 4: Alec works up the nerve to come back to the chats. An unexpected run-in doesn’t play out like Magnus hopes. Read it from the start on AO3! 

Magnus goes home and finishes season 1 before falling into a restless sleep sometime after noon. He’s so full of racing thoughts on theories and some emotions after watching the wedding episode, the implications of everything that was about to change for the main characters, especially after that goddamn cliffhanger . Everyone was right, it certainly got better with every episode - no wonder the fanbase was so up in arms to keep it going. He can barely convince himself to stop there and try to get some sleep… not that it works.

He wakes up on and off throughout the day, never sleeping for more than an hour before blinking awake, falling in and out of the haze of interrupted dreams. When he wakes for the final time at the sound of his 8:00 pm alarm he feels like he barely slept at all and knows he’ll need to leave a little early to grab some coffee before work if he is going to make it through the overnight hours without falling asleep at his desk.

When his usual spot is closed for repairs, or water damage, or something (he’s too annoyed to read the whole sign before looking up the next closest coffee shop on his phone, just praying he wouldn’t miss his train), he starts to wonder if he should bother getting his hopes up for another  chat with Alec at the rate his luck is going.

He doesn’t miss his train, thankful that at least one thing works out, and punches in with seconds to spare before the start of his shift. The first hour drags on with no sign of Alec - he’s already asked Ragnor and Cat to text him if they get connected with him first, knowing full well he will never hear the end of it from either of them at this point.

And then it happens. His breath catches in his chest and he smiles wide at the screen, immediately forgoing all formalities. He doesn’t want to give Alec a chance to run again, or any reason to think he doesn’t want to talk to him.

You are Connected with Customer: Alec L. Magnus: Welcome back! I wasn’t sure I’d see you on here again. Alec: I wasn’t sure I’d come back, so that makes two of us. But here I am. Magnus: Here you are. Magnus: I’m glad you did. Magnus: Come back, that is.

There’s a long pause and Magnus is afraid he lost him again. Figures, with the way his night was going, that Alec would come back just for Magnus to scare him off again. He frowns at the screen, typing hurriedly again, not wanting to make the same mistake as last time.

Magnus: Hello? Did I lose you? Alec: No, sorry, I’m still here. Magnus: Good. I was afraid I scared you off again. I’d hate to lose my favorite client. Alec: I bet you say that to everyone. Magnus: Absolutely not. These are the best conversations I get all night. Alec: I thought maybe after yesterday… Magnus: Don’t worry about it. Alec: I’m really sorry. I never should’ve pried like that. Magnus: Really, it’s fine. I don’t mind. Honestly, it’s nice to be talked to like I’m a real person for once and not just some robot in a chat spitting out pre-written responses. Alec: Alright. Thanks. Magnus: For what? I didn’t do anything. Alec: Right. Well, it’s pretty late and I should get some sleep, but I suppose the usual ‘hey you guys should save The Hunt’ should be noted. Magnus: Duly noted. And before you leave this time, the answer is 29. Alec: The answer to what? Magnus: Your question from yesterday. Magnus: And if you have any other questions, please don’t hesitate to ask. This chat has ended.

Magnus has to fight the urge to include an actual winking face at the end of the last line, but he’s smirking at his own cleverness in dispelling any concerns Alec clearly still has lingering over whether or not Magnus was put off by him asking personal questions. He’s well aware that if anyone goes through these logs he’s going to be in a lot of trouble, but he’s also well aware that no one ever does unless there’s a complaint. As long as they don’t have any reason to look into him, he’s fine. It’s a gamble he’s willing to make.

The rest of the night passes by uneventfully, with no more signs of Alec. He has nice chats with the other customers, easier now that he has an entire season of The Hunt under his belt to bond over and prove he’s on their side. Magnus is surprised to realize that each name that comes cross his screen comes with the smallest pang of disappointment and tries his best to ignore it. It gets easier the more he falls back into his routine and allows the monotony of the job to take over.

What he can’t ignore is the way his heartbeat triples in speed at the sight of those five letters mere minutes before his shift is over, after he already gave up all hope of seeing it again that night.

You are Connected with Customer: Alec L. Magnus: Perfect timing, you’re my last customer of the night. Alec: Oh, sorry, I don’t want to keep you! Magnus: No, no, it’s fine.  I’m more than happy to stay here as long as you’d like to chat. I promise, you’re the farthest thing from an inconvenience.   Alec: I accidentally overslept, so it’ll be a short chat anyway. My sister will kill me if I’m late for work. Magnus: You work with your family? How’s that going for you? Alec: We get along surprisingly well, actually. She’s the one who got me into The Hunt. Apparently taking pieces home from work to finish in my free time didn’t count as a proper ‘relaxing hobby’, so she convinced me to start watching tv to unwind. It was supposed to be something mindless, but now here we are. Magnus: Speaking of!  I didn’t get to tell you earlier but I finished season 1. Consider me a permanent fan, I’m seriously invested now. Alec: I can’t believe you watched the whole first season already! Magnus: At first it was just so I had some idea what the lot of you were going on about in these chats. But I could barely stop at the end! I almost called in sick just to start season 2 after that cliffhanger. Alec: Just you wait. Season 2 gets even better. Magnus: I don’t have to wait much longer - I’ll probably get a few episodes in once I leave here. BUT THAT WEDDING. I’m glad I stopped watching with Ragnor after that first day or I’d never hear the end of it - I got more than a little emotional. Alec: If you didn’t I’d question what you said earlier about you not being a robot. Magnus: I can’t believe they’re taking this off the air.   Alec: Me either. If it wasn’t for watching this with Iz we wouldn’t be half as close as we are now. I’d hate to lose that. Alec: Shit, it’s getting late. I should head out. Enjoy season 2! I want to hear all of your reactions next time. Magnus: Until next time! This chat has ended.

Magnus packs up and heads home with a small, content smile on his face despite the exhaustion that begins to settle over him along the way, the soft rocking of the subway almost lulling him to sleep in his seat when the train jolts to a stop and he gets off. He walks the streets of Brooklyn at a leisurely pace, glancing along the glass displays of several shops lining one of the busier areas. Magnus decides to stop at the second-rate coffee shop on his way home for a little pick-me-up to keep him awake for another hour or two, and he’s walking in through the door when someone on their way out barrels into him, clipping his shoulder hard as they nearly sprint through the doorway.

“Hey! Watch where you’re--” Magnus starts, but the words trail off at the sight of one of the most handsome men he’s laid eyes on in a long while. He’s tall, 3-4 inches taller than himself, wearing a suit that appears poorly tailored to what he is certain is a much better frame than the loose fitting fabric implies. But his slightly disheveled dark hair and wide, impossibly warm hazel eyes immediately erase the anger Magnus initially felt at being run into.

“Sorry,” the other man says immediately, and Magnus notes the slight flush that crosses the higher regions of his cheeks and back towards his ears as he meets Magnus’ gaze with a sheepish grin. That apologetic smile drops immediately into a frown as he notices the splash of coffee that spilled out of his cup and over the arm of Magnus’ light purple dress shirt. “Shit.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Magnus says, waving his hand dismissively. Flirting with someone this attractive certainly takes precedence over being angry at a few drops of coffee on his sleeve.

“That was totally my fault. I’m running late and I don’t usually stop here, so I--”

“Really, it’s fine.” He insists, cutting off the rambling with a charming smile. And something strange crosses the taller man’s face at those words, just as Magnus has a little moment of deja vu himself upon realizing it’s the second time that day he said those exact two sentences, but it passes just as quickly as it came.

The man looks like he wants to be relieved, but isn’t entirely convinced. “Are you sure? I could pay to have it dry-cleaned.”

Magnus shakes his head side-to-side emphatically. “I’m positive. Nothing a little stain remover can’t fix. But thanks for the offer.” He  gives the man another quick up-and-down (hardly being subtle, though he’s pretty sure he catches the other giving him the same sort of appraising glance) before impulsively adding, “You know, on second thought, you could pay me back with a drink sometime. I certainly wouldn’t say no to that.” And there is no denying the implications behind the flirtatious tone coupled with his most charming smile. It never hurt to try.

At this the tall man with the coffee turns an impressive shade of crimson, eyes immediately finding something of great interest on the ground by his shoes. “No, I-- sorry, I’m not… I mean, I can’t--”  

The poor guy. Magnus gives a soft laugh to dispel any building tension and a kind, understanding smile. “It’s fine! Not the first time I’ve been turned down, and it won’t be the last. But you can’t blame a guy for trying.” He shrugs, and the other man looks up again just long enough for Magnus to give him a quick wink before slipping into the coffee shop, figuring he could save them both the awkwardness of trying to end their brief conversation after all that.

Of course, that doesn’t stop Magnus’ gaze from drifting back through the window one last time as the coffee man takes a moment to collect himself, eyes lingering shamelessly on his  retreating form as he hurries off down the street. Pity. He really was gorgeous.

#shadowhunters #magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #So for chapter 3 I just posted the AO3 link but i didn't like that #but also IDK who is going to reblog just a 4th installment of something? #HOW DO PEOPLE ADVERTISE MULTI-CHAPTER THINGS ON TUMBLR I NEVER HAD ONE BEFORE I'M SO LOST SEND HELP #elle writes a few deadbeat lines #elle is also an idiot at sharing her own writing apparently #whatever I WROTE MORE HERE IT IS I HOPE YOU ALL LIKE IT