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softtransbf · 3 years

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Mister Nice Guy, part 2

part one

Summary: Shit hits the fan, and the rest of the BAU is done with it.

Word Count: 3523

Reader: he/him trans man, no physical description

Warnings: case involving targeting gay people, brief mention of a child abduction case, coming out/anxiety of experiencing transphobia (no actual transphobia though), alcohol, swearing

@aleccolocco (sorry it took so long to finish lol)

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

"No, that doesn't make any sense at all, doctor!" you spat his title. "He's not jealous of these couples, killing what he can't have, or a homophobe, punishing gay people for being happy. He's putting an end to their unhappy relationships. He sees it as mercy." Over the months, your cold war with Reid turned into outright conflict, and tonight, alone in the police station in Oregon, was no exception. Hotchner had tasked the two of you with presenting the preliminary profile the next morning, and it was going as well as conversations ever went.

"We have no evidence that he knows they're unhappy, though. All of his victims are clearly happy in their relationships," Reid challenged.

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. "Please. One look at their social media and it's obvious that the relationships are on the rocks."

"Where do you get that? All I see are typical happy relationships. Selfies, checking into special events together, posts about kind things one does for the other. Nothing indicating a troubled relationship to me."

"The gentlemen doth protest too much. They're painting an overly happy painting on social media, hoping that some of that happiness will actually become real. They're desperate for the relationship to work."

"Let's say you're right. I don't think you are, but let's pretend for the sake of trying to see your logic through. Why? Why would they be so desperate to save a failing relationship?"

"God, straight men just don't fucking get it!" You went to grab a file, missing his small flinch. "You don't understand how limited the dating pool for men who are into men is. Look at the most recent couple in particular. The most lovey-dovey on social media, and got the most brutal deaths."

"Yes, because they were the happiest. My theory holds," Reid interrupted.

"No. Look, this guy put way more out there on social media than his partner, and look at the pictures he posted. Look how forced his smile is, look at the body language. He needs this relationship to work, because dating as a gay man is one thing, dating as a gay trans man is almost impossible. Having to start over and deal with transphobia over and over again is worse than being in a bad relationship. In his eyes, I mean." Shit, the first person I come out to on this team cannot be Spencer fucking Reid. He doesn't deserve the honor.

"That was yesterday. We haven't gotten the autopsy report yet. How could you possibly know that he's trans?"

"Testosterone vials and needles in the bathroom. Neither of them are old enough for a cis man to reasonably have issues that require testosterone injections. It's HRT, hormone replacement therapy."

"Even if you're right, your conclusion still seems like a much bigger jump than mine, that the killer sees the relationships as happy and is lashing out at that, be it from jealousy or homophobia."

"Whatever. You'll see tomorrow, when we talk to the M.E., that he was trans, and that fact backs me up. I am absolutely right about this, and you will eat your words. Then I will present my theory, and you can choke on yours."

"We? You anticipate us spending more time together?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I meant 'we' as in the team, asshat. The world doesn't revolve around you. Mine sure as hell doesn't. I'm gonna go back to the hotel, write my own damn preliminary profile, and try to get some fucking sleep. Clearly we won't agree on this."

"We don't ever agree on anything," he pointed out.

"Not true. We agree that we dislike each other and can't get along. Good night, doctor." You turned and walked away, not giving him a chance to respond.

This man is going to be the death of me, he thought as he watched you walk away.

The autopsy report came in the next day, and you were right. The tech team also found a locked notes app on his phone that catalogued his unhappiness and fear of leaving. You presented your preliminary profile to the team. Reid didn't even argue; he just sat in silence, leaving the room as soon as you were finished. Never one to pass up a chance to gloat for beating him, you offered to get coffee for the team, got everyone's order, and left shortly behind him.

You were expecting to catch up to him, his impossibly long legs be damned. You weren't expecting him to be waiting for you. He pulled you into an empty interrogation room and pushed you up against a wall, his face just inches from yours. It was only a moment before being flustered by the closeness and those goddamn eyes were replaced by anger.

"What the FUCK, Reid?"

"What game are you playing, Y/N? What game are we playing? What's your endgame?" He spoke quickly and softly, but there was an intensity in his voice that had you captivated.

"I'm the one playing games?" You pushed him back, away from you. "You're the one who decided to hate me before we even met. When I transferred, all I wanted was to do a good job and fit in with the team. But quite literally from the minute I walked through the door, you'd decided you hate me. Turnabout is just fair play, gorgeous." Oh, fuck.

"Gorgeous?" You walked past him to the other side of the room, running a hand through your hair and turning your back on him. "Fine. Yeah, okay? I wanted approval from the brilliant and handsome Doctor Spencer Reid. In a way that's respectful of your heterosexuality, of course." You turned around and faced him again. "But that doesn't matter, because you made it clear you wanted nothing to do with me right off the bat."

"What makes you think I'm straight?" He's fucking with me, now that that cat is out of the bag. Great. Fucking cishet men. Even he's no different. Thank god he still thinks I'm cis.

"Garcia mentioned in her newbie-run-down that you're 'awkward, but in a cute way, especially around women'. Plus, she mentioned that Emily is bi, leaving everyone else implied straight as even the best cishet allies are wont to do. And as we both know, Penelope knows everything.

And before you make the hearsay argument I can see forming in that brilliant head of yours, I've heard and seen too much about your impeccable memory to assume you don't remember when we all went to the bar after my first case. I was unabashedly Queer, friendly flirting with Derek and calling out cishet bullshit. When I did the latter, you literally rolled your eyes and walked away. Which is, funnily enough, some cishet bullshit.

JJ said you were just going through a thing and things would get better, but they just got worse. I'm not going to ask you to spill whatever was going on, because it's not my business, but god damn, dude. Why did you hate me so much so quickly?"

"You asked JJ about me?" He took a few steps towards you, a small smile on his face.

"That's the part you focused on? Jesus fucking Christ. Yes, I asked her about why you decided to hate me before we even met. Whatever. I hope you got whatever you were looking for by pulling me in here. I'm done. Done with this conversation, done with whatever has been going on with you and us since the day I transferred." You turned to leave, but he grabbed your arm. It was barely more than a light touch, but you let it stop you.

"Y/N. I can't-" he sighed. "God, you make my head spin. I can't organize my thoughts enough to say what I want to. JJ was right, there was something I had to work through, and I guess you'd made up your mind about me before I figured it out. It isn't an excuse for how I treated you, just an explanation. As for the more recent development of arguments… I guess I read a subtext that wasn't there. I could never dislike you, let alone hate you. I am truly sorry for- for all of it." With three long strides, he was out the door.

Make his head spin? What subtext? Since when is he unable to say what's on his mind? And what was that about not disliking me? All we've done since we met is argue or ignore each other. Why else would he act like that? Why do I even care? Why am I so knotted up about what he's thinking and feeling? Whatever. Fuck him, and not in the fun way. I've gotta go get coffee for the team. As you were getting the coffee, you couldn't get the memory of his face, so close to yours, to stop playing in your head.

The rest of the case was mostly as normal, but there was an energy between you and Spencer that was distant like when you joined the team, but there was something else to it that you couldn't quite put your finger on. It made you a little bit sad, though, for reasons you didn't understand.

"I love you, Y/N. I love you so much. I pulled away from you because it terrified me how much I loved you from the moment you walked through the door that first day. Being around you, even when we were arguing, made me feel alive in a way I never had before. You're all I think about, you're all I could ever want. I love you."

"I… I love you too." You didn't know which one of you moved, maybe you both did, but in an instant, you were kissing Spencer Reid, and you couldn't have been happier.

You woke up with a start, breathing heavily. You looked around; you were in your room, home alone, and it was 3:37 am. What the hell was that?

Four hours later, you trudged through the door of the BAU office, venti red-eye in hand. You made it about ten steps before Derek had his arm around your shoulders.

"Whoa there, hot stuff. Rough night?" You tried to shake him off, but he wouldn't budge, so you just kept walking, making him go with you towards your desk.

"So not your business, Derek. You being open with your personal life doesn't mean we all have to be open like that with ours."

"Personal life, huh? So who is he? More importantly, how was he, and should we expect more mornings like this in the future?" You rolled your eyes and playfully shoved him away. You'd reached your desk, so you sat on top of it, facing him. As you did, you made eye contact with Spencer, who was well within earshot. His face was unreadable, and you weren't sure why him hearing Morgan tease you like that upset you. It never had before.

"No, Derek. There's no one. Just some nightmares. Nothing major; I'll be fine by tomorrow." You got off your desk, sat in your chair, and logged into your laptop. Derek whistled and walked away without another word, shaking his head.

You tried to focus on the paperwork you needed to get done, but you couldn't stop thinking about that dream. The feeling of his lips on yours… it felt so real.

This is ridiculous. Love? We don't even like each other. Well… there was the stuff he was saying yesterday- 'I could never dislike you, let alone hate you', and some sort of subtext? But not disliking someone is a far cry from love. Plus, he's straight, so this is all absurd. And even if he DID have feelings for me, I sure as hell don't return them. I mean, maybe he's not as awful as I've thought, especially if he wasn't coming from a place of dislike. And he really is very pretty. Those eyes… Wait, what the fuck? This is all fucking ridiculous. I just need to get a full night's sleep tomorrow, and all this weirdness will be gone.

You took a giant gulp of your coffee, shook your head, and ran your fingers through your hair. Fortunately, Hotchner called a team meeting, forcing your attention to other things.

While no case could ever be described as 'normal', this case was pretty cut and dry, once you figured out what you were looking for. No dramatic twist, no tense showdown at his arrest. There weren't many cases like that, but you were very glad that this one was. You never sleep well when on a case, and no matter what you did, you couldn't shake that dream, the butterflies it left in your stomach every time you looked at him, and the strange disappointment when, unlike before that moment in Oregon, he wasn't looking at you.

Two more weeks passed. The energy between you and Spencer, whatever force it was that had drawn you together to argue again and again, was gone. You were polite to each other, and cooperated as necessary, but didn't do more than the bare minimum when it came to interacting with each other. Your interactions were cold and low-spirited. So you were so glad for a fun night out with Penelope, Emily, and JJ.

"So, Y/N, things seem… different… between you and Spencer these days. Did something happen?" Emily's tone made it clear that the three of them had intended to bring this up long before the plan to get drinks was even made. "I appreciate y'all waiting until I had a couple of drinks in me at least before going here. I guess we just got tired of fighting? I don't know. I can't figure out what's going on in that brilliant head of his. I thought I at least knew where I stood with him, even though it was purely adversarial, but I think I was wrong. But then that leaves me with no idea what he thinks of me or why I care so damn much."

"Really? No idea at all?" JJ asked. "I remember walking by a closed door in the police station in Oregon and hearing the word 'gorgeous' being thrown around." "Oh my god. You heard that?" You buried your face in your hands, and they all laughed.

"Yeah, I did, but only that one word. I'd figured you were on the phone with someone, but then you and Spence both started acting sad. I wasn't sure, of course, that you were talking to him until just now."

"Fuck. Okay, yeah. I think he's pretty. But I'm absolutely not alone in that. Derek calls him Pretty Boy, for goodness' sake. Appreciating someone's beauty doesn't have to mean anything more."

"Y/N, really? After everything we've been through together, you're gonna lie to us like this? Whatever happened, you've both been miserable since, and it's throwing the whole team off balance."

"What do you want me to say, Penelope? That I'm in love with him? He's pretentious and a know-it-all and a nerd and funny and kind and gorgeous and oh my God. I think I'm in love with him." The three women clapped and cheered.

"Finally, you get there! Took you long enough." Emily winked. "So, what's the plan now?"

"Keep this shit between us until my feelings go away. Even if he wasn't straight, I wouldn't risk fucking things up by telling him how I felt. As it is, I stand no chance in hell, so I'm just gonna write this one off as another straight guy I've fallen for and try to move on."

"Y/N, if you tell him-" Penelope started.

"No. You, more than anyone, know why I can't even entertain the idea of trying to be with him. I can't set myself up for that kind of pain. Not here, not where things are so good." You looked at all three of them. "I know that your intentions were good, but I just can't do this. I'm sorry." You grabbed your coat and left.

Your interactions with Spencer changed yet again. Now that you knew you loved him, you couldn't help yourself from being warmer towards him. As the weeks passed, you got closer. After three weeks, you considered him to be a good friend, not that that made things any less painful. You were just hoping that Penelope, Emily, and JJ were going to respect your wishes and drop the subject of your feelings for him.

[From: Penelope]: round table room ASAP

Shit. The last time you'd gotten that text from Penelope, the team left on a serial child abduction case 30 minutes later. So, despite it being your day off, you ran out the door and were there with your go bag in 15 minutes.

But no one else was there. No files on the table, nothing to indicate that there was a new case. You pulled out your phone to call Penelope, but then you heard a commotion outside the door- you'd closed it behind you.

"No, Derek, wait, I don't-"

"Can it, Pretty Boy, and thank me later." Derek opened the door, pushed Spencer into the room, winked at you, and shut the door, all in about 3 seconds.

"Spencer. Um, hi. Is the rest of the team not going to join us? Garcia's text seemed pretty urgent." You tucked your phone into your pocket.

"I don't think so, since I just heard Morgan barricade the door." He tried to open the door and failed.

"Oh my god they're Parent Trapping us. I'm gonna kill them."

Spencer tilted his head, confused. "Parent Trapping?"

"Oh my god have you not seen any of the Parent Trap movies? Were you living under a rock in 1998?" "I was seventeen and working on my first doctorate, so pretty much, yeah," he laughed. You couldn't help but laugh, too, as you firmly ignored how his smile made you absolutely melt.

"Fair enough. The '61 one is good too, but the '98 Lindsay Lohan one is Iconic for good reason. Anyway. The point is, they've locked us in here and won't let us out until we have a conversation."

"Just a conversation? Or do they want us to talk about something in particular?" He took a seat at the table.

"I- yeah, they have a particular topic in mind. I'm so sorry. This is my fault. I was tipsy and said things I should have just kept to myself. I thought they'd respected my wishes and left well enough alone, but clearly they didn't. And they won't let us out of here until I tell you-" you hesitated.

"Tell me what?" He leaned forward, and part of you swore you saw hope in his beautiful brown eyes. You looked at the floor, avoiding them.

"Tell you that I… have feelings for you. Romantic, cheesy, butterflies-in-my-stomach feelings. I don't know why they want me to tell you this. We've just gotten to a good place as friends, and you're straight, and-"

Somehow you missed the sound of him getting up and taking the few steps over to you, because you practically jumped out of your skin when his hands were suddenly on your shoulders.

"Y/N. Please, darling, look at me?" Bewildered by the endearment, you did, and his smile was blinding. "I'm not straight. I'm bi, and I think part of me has been in love with you since your first day at the BAU. The thing JJ said I was working through? The potential problems of having feelings for a coworker. For you. As soon as you walked through that door", he pointed and then took both your hands in his, "I loved you. The night at the bar? I was rolling my eyes at myself for how much I wanted to kiss you, and I walked away to stop myself from doing something reckless. I love you, Y/N. Can I do something reckless?"

"I'm trans," you blurted. "I hope that doesn't change anything, but it's something you should know. If knowing that I'm trans changes things, now is the time for you to say something. If it's a problem and it blows up later, it might actually kill me. Because I love you, too. So much. If it doesn't change anything, then please, Spencer, kiss me."

The words were barely out of your mouth before his lips were on yours. You weren't sure how long you were kissing before you were interrupted by cheers from the other side of the door. "Shit, Spencer, they're going to be the worst about this, aren't they?" You were a bit embarrassed by how breathy your voice was, but you were too happy to really care.

"Oh yeah. We're not going to get a moment that's just us in this building ever again. Do you want to get it over with and face them, or would you prefer we stay in this moment a bit longer?"

"What do you think, doctor?" you asked, pulling him in for another kiss.

#spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #otp: pretty boys

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peachyho · 3 years

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The Fall of Icarus II

pairing: Heeseung x Reader

genre: fluff, mild angst, mages

warnings: tattoo’s, some pain, a lot of fighting, some blood, sickening pet names, i write bad

word count: 3.3k

summary: Icarus laughed as he fell

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It had been 15 years since the two of you had pricked your fingers together, sealing the bond you’d had for all time. Since that day, you had never left his side. Now you were here in the giant house, resting on your entirely naked front while Heeseung was hovering over your back, following the stencil he’d lain on your skin a few hours prior while he tapped the black ink into your skin.

It wasn’t his first time, and now he’d worked on his powers enough to the point of you never feeling a thing. You never noticed how Heeseung shifted in pain every few moments with every new symbol he etched into your skin, how his skin seemed irritated for hours after, only testing your new abilities until your bones felt like they would break with one strong breeze.

Finally, everything was done, and Heeseung watched in awe as the ink slowly leached into your skin, leaving only a red impression of what he’d just sent hours working on. Slowly it faded even more to a subtle pink, looking like nothing more than just a bruise that hadn’t healed quite yet. The way it looped into the other symbols hidden on your back was nothing more than elegant, and Heeseung was thankful you had designed it so beautifully.

“You’re ready my little mage, it's finished,” his smile was showing in his voice, a gentle hand running up your bare side, finger brushing against the tickling spot on your ribs. Your hand came up to swat him away, pushing yourself up gently, anticipating the ache that never came as you pulled your shirt on.

“Thank you my kind warlock.” You pressed a light kiss to his lips, stretching as you stood up fully, tiredness already seeping through your body after lying down for so long.

“So what does this one do?” Heeseung grabbed your hand, lips brushing against your knuckles as he looked up at you from the chair. You ruffled his hair, eyes crinkling shut as you smiled at him.

“This, my little cat, is a looping sigil. If I ever wanted to activate it, it would be a fail safe.” Heeseung stared you down, eyes darkening slightly.

“A fail safe for what?” His tone was harsh, fingers gripping you tighter and tighter with every passing second.

“In case it's necessary, Hee. But it's just an if, I probably wont ever need it.” You crouched down in front of him, other hand taking his and squeezing it reassuringly. It didn’t seem to work.

“I promise you my little mage, I will never let anything happen to you. That sigil will never ever be used, I swear on my life.” With his words, a faint blue chain circled around your joined fists, barely noticeable in the light streaming in from the windows.

“I promise I will never use it unless it is the last possible choice.” Some chain links turned red, blending into the chain seamlessly. He let his head fall down slightly, pressing his forehead against yours while staring at the chain. You closed your eyes, letting your breath out in a shaky sigh.

“My little mage…”

“My kind warlock.” You tilted your head forward, brushing your lips against his ever so slightly. You opened your eyes as you pulled away, the chains no longer around your fists but a faint impression left on your skin.

—

17 years and 10 months. It had passed in a flash, the years creating up on you like a hunter stalking prey. Much like how Heeseung was acting now.

The two of you had arrived at this ball together, a friend and fellow mage celebrating his marriage in a night of drink and dance. Well, to call it a ball would be to imply some kind of fancy hall, servants standing at every possible area ready to serve drinks and food. This was not a ball in the typical sense.

The woods were lit by firebugs and fae light, stringed instruments playing a merry jig while some singers belted their voices to reach even the nearest village and most hidden creatures. People swung their partners in circles, drunk on mead and the feeling of true joviality. You were in the outskirts of the dance, spinning with a random mage with large rams horns protruding from his forehead, and two hooves for feet. He was a fantastic dancer despite them- or maybe because of them. With an unspoken count, all the ladies parted from their partners, running to the middle with a cheer, only to be spun by a new partner.

Your moss green woven dress flew around you, matching all the deep earth tones everyone wore, the only form of a dress code in this celebration. The hard chest under your steadying hands was familiar, and the laugh that bellowed out warmed your soul as Heeseung picked you up by the waist, twirling in time with everyone around him before setting you down, skipping with you in a large circle around the married couple in the centre.

“My little mage, I’ve been trying to dance with you all night,” Heeseung was slightly out of breath, small beads of sweat showing on his forehead, matching your own signs of exertion. “You’re a very hard woman to catch.”

“My sweet warlock,” a spin that almost sent you tumbling over a tree root sticking out of the ground. “I know you do enjoy a challenge,” you winked at him, spinning him this time, laughing as he almost fell over the same tree root. And with him distracted, the count finished again, all the women running towards the centre again with screams of glee, watching as Ilore grabbed Kirra’s waist, bending her and planting a tipsy, sloppy kiss to her cheek.

Another scream sounded out over the sounds of joy, a bloodcurdling scream that made you shiver, everyone around turning all over to see where it came from. The strings and singers trailed off at separate times, a dissonant sound making everyone cover their ears in pain. Another scream from a different voice came from your right, and some people started towards it to find the source, only to fall back as monstrous creatures emerged from the dark forest all around. The fae lights flickered out as people began running, some away from the monsters and some towards their weapons littered on the benches that had been pushed aside for the dancing.

You were almost frozen, head turning rapidly to try and find- Heeseung was helping up someone who’d fallen, but a creature was right behind him. Running as fast as you could, you tapped your right wrist with two fingers, feeling as the symbol began burning and a spear made of red lightning appeared in your hand. You stopped a few meters away, momentum carrying your arm as you flung the spear straight into the chest of the creature who was mere inches from Heeseung. He looked behind him just to see the spear return to your outstretched hand, turning into a whip just before reaching you.

Nodding at you, he returned to helping the fallen, while you continued attacking. Nothing was keeping them down, they just kept getting back up seconds after being knocked down. You tapped your wrist again, jumping back a few steps while someone ran into the side of a monster just in front of you. A hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you away just as another creature leapt on the man who was pummelling the fallen creature into the ground.

“Y/N we need to run!” Heeseung was desperately trying to pull you back from the fight, more mages joining in now they were armed.

“Heeseung, go now.” You spun, trying to get your arm free from his grip.

“I can't leave you!” His tone was desperate, fear making his chest tighter than anything he’d felt before. You placed a hand on his cheek, trying to calm yourself before you started running with him.

“I will always come back Heeseung, always back to you.” You tried to project a feeling of calm to Heeseung, knowing he could feel everyone’s fear which only helped in amplifying his own. A scream burst out behind you just as he was starting to calm, and the edge of fear returned to his eyes, expression heartbreaking as he looked over your head at the fight still raging behind you.

“Come back to me, little mage.” Heeseungs hand squeezed your arm before letting you go, turning to run and help anyone who needed it.

“Always.”

A snarl sounded just behind your ear, and you barely managed to duck underneath the claws that came for your head. You tucked your arms around you, brushing your elbows with your palms, and spun as you pulled your arms apart, palms staying against your arms until your wrists. A transparent red shield suddenly burst into existence on your left arm, right hand glowing as the creature slammed against the shield in fury. Gods it was strong. You finally could take in it's appearance and it almost made you run right there.

Wulvers.

It was humanoid, entire body covered in short brown hair with a wolf's head snarling down at you. Wulvers were never down this far from the hills, nor were they particularly violent towards those who didn’t wrong them. What the fuck were they doing here, attacking a gods damned party?

Droll dripped down onto the red shield, arms slamming down again. It’s eyes were feral, hunger tainting it's eyes while claws ripped at the shield, desperate to get through. With a shout, you pushed the monster back with your covered arm, right hand grabbing it's thigh as it stumbled. Almost instantly, the Wulvers back arched in pain, a silent roar opening it's mouth to an impossible width, the skin at the sides stretching and ripping as pain seized every nerve. It dropped after a long moment, curling into itself as you finally pulled your hand away, running your hands back up your arms till the elbows.

There wasn’t much time to concentrate on the way it looked almost pitiful, mages all around you still trying to fight off the remaining Wulvers. You saw as a mage you once knew a few years ago, who gave you your first sigil book fell down underneath one of the creatures. You moved on instinct, sliding on your knees towards the mage, knuckles pressing together. When they pulled apart, they glowed with a blood red mist surrounding them. A punch to the Wulver’s side sent it staggering away, another punch to it's head knocking it out swiftly. You turned to pull the mage up before realising the symbols were still glowing. A swift press of them together made sure the mage wouldn’t be harmed as you pulled him to his feet. A twig was digging in uncomfortably on your sole- when did you lose your shoes.

There was countless shouts now, both pain and anger mingled together. Everywhere you looked, there was some mage or warlock fighting a Wulver, and you didn’t know where in the Hells to start. There, a witch was trying to scramble away from a Wulver who’d caught her dress in it's claws. Taking off in a sprint towards her, you clapped your hands together twice, palms glowing as you jumped onto the back of the Wulver, pressing your palms to the sides of it's head. The hair underneath your hands was thickly matted and tangled, but the Wulver felt the pain from your magic anyway. It let out a pitiful howl, body curling in on itself while it's claws finally retracted from the dress, scratching at it's head in agony. A claw sliced down your left hand, and you had to fight every instinct to pull in back and cradle it. A second later and the Wulver dropped to the floor, not dead but simply passed out.

Falling back from it, you crouched next to the witch, making sure she was alright before clapping your hands back together. Once the glowing subsided, you ripped at your dress, getting a strip large enough to wrap around your hand. The adrenaline coursing through your body helped fight off the pain for now, but you could feel small ebbs breaking through every few seconds. Every time you looked around now, another Wulver was falling, and there was no more place for you in anybody’s battle.

You allowed yourself a moment of rest, pushing yourself back against a tree stump at the edge of the clearing, exhaustion creeping up on you after using so many sigils so quickly in succession. The final Wulver fell to a mages axe, and everyone stayed in a moment of high alert, scanning the clearing for a sign of any more appearing from the dark woods. All the light had left now, firebugs leaving moments after the fighting had begun. The only light source was people’s magic, different colours melding together into one large collective. One by one, they lowered their weapons, finding the wounded and gathering the Wulvers into a pile. You helped as much as you could, but the pain and exhaustion were hitting full force now.

A healer mage was making his rounds on the wounded, and you tried to wave him away to help the others, but the blood seeping through your makeshift bandage was at a worrying level now and the mage sat you down on one of the benches still intact after the attack. His power made you feel warm, and you were close to falling asleep until you heard more footsteps coming from the side of you. You were a second away from attacking again until a voice called out, one more familiar to you than the back of your own hand.

“Oh my Gods, are you okay?!” Heeseung ran up to you, sliding to a crouch as he grabbed your face, scanning for any marks. His touch was beyond comforting, and you sank into it without any complaints.

“I’m okay, I’m okay. I made it back in one piece to you, didn’t I?” Your jokes were an attempt to comfort him, but his panic was becoming overwhelming, hands running over you in an effort to find any cuts or injuries. You couldn’t handle the feeling of dread in your stomach any longer, and you grabbed his wrists to stop his frantic examinations.

“Heeseung, look at me.” His eyes continued scanning you, so you let go of one of his wrists, grabbing his chin this time.

“Look at me. I’m okay. Calm down, deep breaths. I am okay, I am alive and I’m here with you. Calm yourself.” You could see the tears welling in his eyes as he looked into yours with such feeling, it made your very soul ache. He closed them after a moment, a shaky breath leaving him, one he didn’t know he was holding. His head fell forward, a tear sliding down his cheek, and you let go of his chin, hand resting on the back of his neck instead as you smoothed his tousled hair down, pressing your lips to the top of his head. Neither of you pulled away, resting there for a long moment while Heeseung managed to calm himself down, pulling his emotions back inside.

Eventually, he rested his hands on your knee, pulling away from you. His smile seemed too forced, and he still looked on the cusp of tears as he looked at you once again.

“Let’s go home, little mage.” Home to where nothing could hurt you is what he wanted to say. Home to where he could keep you safe, where you had laid protection sigils all over so nothing that wanted to cause harm could enter, to where he could hold you for the rest of the night knowing you were staying by his side and weren’t leaving him. You let him grab your hand, pulling you up to his side so he could wrap an arm around your waist, keeping you as close to his side as possible.

He wouldn’t let you go for the rest of the night, stepping in behind you into the bath, pulling you close to his chest while he washed the dirt and muck from the Wulvers off. You let him shampoo your hair, his fingers dragging over your scalp in the most relaxing way. You turned to return the favour but caught his troubled face.

“What’s wrong Heeseung?” You asked, placing your palm against his cheek. He leaned into the touch, eyes closing with the comforting touch. He hummed, twisting his head to press a kiss to your palm before answering.

“For a moment, I couldn’t tell if you were there. I've always been able to feel your presence, but when you were fighting, at some point everything just… closed off. I thought I lost you forever, my little mage. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you.” His eyes stayed closed but you could see the way his brow furrowed and his lips trembled slightly. Leaning forward to press a kiss to his nose, you grabbed the shampoo from beside him and squirted some into your hands.

“Open your eyes Heeseung,” you started rubbing the shampoo into his hair while he complied. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m alive. I’m with you, right now. I’m not leaving you Heeseung, I promise.” Tears welled up in both your eyes as you spoke, and your voice shook with every passing word. He let out a breath that turned into a sob halfway through, and he wrapped his arms around you as he broke, nestling his head in your neck. The suds in his hair popped against your cheek as you pressed into him, bringing your arms around his neck, tears falling freely down your cheeks.

The two of you remained crying as you finished bathing, only pulling apart from each other when you had to wash his hair off. You dried each other gently, tears dried up but still sobbing, the weight of the day hitting the two of you fully in two very different but too similar ways. Heeseung lifted you up after your bath, making sure your legs were wrapped around his waist before carrying you out of the bathing room, arms wrapped oh so tightly around your waist as if he was scared you would suddenly disappear.

He did not let you go even as you reached the bedroom, sitting down on the edge with you on his lap. His head that was tucked into your neck pressed gentle kisses onto your skin, pushing himself up until he was now lying down, head against the pillows. You reached down to grab the cover, cold air hitting your still exposed skin making you shiver. Pulling it over the two of you, Heeseung adjusted so you were now at his side, still half draped over him. Your body felt too heavy to move on your own, so you just let him get the two of you comfortable, eyes feeling so very tired. Heeseung waved a hand, and the curtains showing the just brightening sky closed off, small candles being lit all over the room. He wasn’t ready to be in the dark just yet, fears that you would be lost to the dark if he couldn’t see you too overwhelming at this moment.

He felt so vulnerable when you were away from him, the knowledge that if you were hurt or worse, that he would go insane with guilt and loss was too much for him to bear. His arms tightened around you, needing to feel you close to him to know you were still there. Sleep felt too far for him to reach this night, but with the feeling of your steadying breathing against him, and the warmth you were giving off, somehow he managed to find himself moments away from drifting off.

“I can't lose you my little mage.” His whisper was so loud in the quiet room, the sounds of birds waking outside the only other thing he could hear.

“I fear I would lose myself too.”

#enhypen #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #heeseung #heeseung enhypen #lee heeseung #kpop writing #enhypen writing #heeseung series #heeseung imagines #heeseung fanfiction #kpop fanfic #tfoi

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ladybugsfanfics · 4 years

Text

The Case of the Blue Sweater | Tom Hiddleston

Pairing: Mob!Tom Hiddleston x cop!reader

Style: one shot

WC: 10.7k

Warnings: crime, alcohol, drinking, implied sexual content (very much so), uhh, theres no blood, also NB: THIS STORY IS INCOMPLETE AND I WONT BE THE ONE TO FINISH IT! (story is also unedited to please dont hate me for any mistakes)

Summary: Hey so I read your Mob!Tom x reader and it got me thinking.. Could you write a Fic where Tom is in the mob but the reader is a cop? And like they’re secretly dating but technically the reader has to make it look like they’re hunting him down but they really aren’t? (If that makes sense) Idk I feel like I just need this in my life rn 😂😂

A/N: i got this ask back in january i think and i jumped on it right away, but at some point tumblr deleted it so i cant tag who asked (and i know this wasnt anonymous bc i remember but i never put it in the doc annoyingly). anyways, i started writing it, got to 10k words and lost motivation and never finished it. i really like the AU but nothing ever really happened.... im so sorry. I hope you enjoy what i have ^_^

A loud ringing paired with the loudest on and off buzzing from your phone vibrating on the nightstand is what pulls you out of your slumber. The sounds screech in your ears and you reach over to stop it, to just slide the button over so that your ears can stop bleeding. However, as you lean out of the arms wrapped around you, their grip strengthens and you’re dragged back into the chest of the man sharing your bed.

“Tom,” you say. A smile plays on your lips, the set of events not unusual for an early morning.

He nuzzles into your hair, places a wet kiss at the base of your neck. “Five minutes,” he mumbles into your skin.

You shake your head slightly, as much as you can with the limited space. “Can I at least turn the sound off?”

His grip slackens, making you able to reach the little way over to turn off the blaring alarm. The silence that comes with is welcome in every way, but the relief isn’t long-lasting when Tom drags you back into his chest, his nose quickly nuzzling back to where it was.

Two seconds is what it takes before he’s pressing kisses to your neck. Rough, slender fingers graze up the side of your body until they reach your neck, where they brush away your hair. With Tom’s easy access, the soft kisses slowly turn into something more, something rougher, and the use of his tongue causes a slight tickle to trail through your body.

“Tom.” You shift a little where you lay, taking away his access as you turn your head. In the shift, the man easily moves to trail kisses up your jaw, and as you whisper his name again, his lips connect with yours.

It’s a hungry kiss. He sucks at your bottom lip and his hand grabs your jaw, holding your head in place. You lean into him, kissing him back with equal fervor, however, you’re quickly dragged out of the bliss, when your phone goes off again.

There is no mistaking the death glare Tom sends the mini-computer. You chuckle slightly and push him off you to reach it. This time, it’s not an alarm, but a phone call.

Your boss’s call ID lights up the screen, and you give Tom a stern look as you press to accept the call. With the phone to your ear, Tom shrugs and moves under the covers. His hands trail down your body, teasing you as his fingers trace up your inner thighs.

“Y/L/N,” you say.

A grunt is heard from the other side first, then, “I need you to come in ASAP.” Your boss’s voice sounds urgent, desperate.

You check the clock. “I’m not supposed to come in in another hour,” you reply. “Is it that important?”

“Yeah, wouldn’t have called you otherwise.” It’s like you can hear him nod and roll his eyes at the same time. “We got a lead in the case.”

“What kind of lead? And which case?”

As your boss answers, you can feel Tom’s tongue on the inside of your thigh. In surprise at the feeling you barely manage to suppress the squeal that works up in your throat, and you miss your boss’s reply. (You don’t miss Tom’s smug laugh from under the duvet, nor how he continues to work his way closer to your clit.)

“Y/L/N?” comes from the other end of the line when you gain back… well, really some of your dignity, but mostly your mind.

“I’m here, sir.” You sigh. “Just something that happened that caught my attention. Cat nearly knocked down something made of glass.”

(You don’t have a cat, why was that the first excuse you could come up with? Your boss doesn’t know that, though, so it’s safe.)

“Didn’t know you had a cat, but that could happen to the best of us.” Your boss clears his throat. “The lead’s pretty good, but can’t say it over the phone so you gotta come in. It’s on the case about the Blue Sweater.”

You roll your eyes at the nickname of the case. One of the major criminals you were trying to take down is often seen wearing blue sweaters, and at a briefing you’d offered it as a code name; who knows who listens in on phone calls―they do seem to have a knack for being one step ahead of you, too.

But you don’t mention that to your boss. “Alright, sir, I’ll be on my way as fast as I can.”

“Make it less than half an hour and we’re good.”

“No problem, sir.”

Your boss is the one to hang up, and as you throw your phone down on the bed, Tom peeks his head up from under the covers. You send him a glare. “You should be happy you didn’t get started whilst I was on the phone.”

Your boyfriend smirks up at you. “Oh, you wouldn’t have liked that?”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t like it.”

Tom shrugs. “You got time, right?” Though before you can answer he slides back under the cover, uses his hands to steady your hips and dips his head low. God, if only you had more time.

The moment the elevator door opens and you step out into the crowded office space of the police station, you hear your name being called. You wish you weren’t the head detective on the, currently, biggest case pertaining to crime bosses. Just once you wish you could come to work and not have at least five people at a time want to ask you a question or pepper you with information you already have.

You kind of wish you weren’t the head detective for another reason, too, but that’s a minor detail. Actually, that might be the reason you need to be the head detective; way easier to steer an investigation when you’re leading it.

Nonetheless, you have no choice in which cases you lead or not. And that’s usually the reason why there’s three people cluttering your desk as you sit down. You’re not entirely sure that’s the reason today.

You plop down in your chair and stare up at the talking men in front of you. The three of them notice you quickly (after all, it was them that yelled your name) and the chatter dies out.

“I’m here half an hour early and I would love to know what made me skip my morning shower.” (It would have been morning shower sex, and you are a little very annoyed that you had to skip it.)

Your boss coughs, gaining your attention. “Briefing room. Five minutes.” The man looks slightly uncomfortable, but that’s not a big surprise. You’ve been told many times that you have that kind of face that makes people squirm; just something about you is, apparently, intimidating.

“Okay.”

And he walks away.

“You two doing at my desk then?” you ask your coworkers. The two men are your right and left hand in most cases, but this one especially. You wouldn’t even be half the way you are now if you didn’t have them. (Though how much that says, you’re not sure, because you really have nothing.)

“Well…,” starts Mackie. His hand goes up to scratch his neck. “...really we just naturally gravitate here.”

You squint at him, and divert your gaze to Evans (who you know is a shitty liar). Even though you’re not opening your mouth to say anything and he isn’t looking at you, you can see the big man trying to make himself smaller.

“We were gonna try and see if you’d left a hint to who you’re sleeping with,” he says, and despite the way he doesn’t meet your gaze, he says it so casually you’re actually taken aback.

“Excuse me?” You let out a huff, and shake your head. “My sex life is my sex life. You two” ―you point at both of them― “have no business with it.” You stand up from your chair and shake your head yet again. “And if you really think I’d leave evidence lying around, I gotta figure out how to let you know that’s not something I’d do.”

(And if you had, well, your career would for sure be over. If not worse.)

But with that out of the way, you make your way to the briefing room. Captain Cheadle, your boss, stands at the head of the table. In his hand, he holds a wireless presenter, and a few papers are scattered on the table in front of him. You take your place at the table, and as you do, your phone buzzes to signal a new message.

The captain gives you a shrug and that’s all the permission you need to fish your phone from your pocket and check the text.

[08.38] twh darling, you left something at your flat

[08.38] you you talking about yourself? that doesnt count

[08.39] twh that too but no, you left your keys

[08.39] you you doing anything today??

[08.39] twh you know i am, but i can get them to you

[08.40] you gtg but yes please or there are other solutions…

You let out a slight groan knowing you’ll have to figure out how to get your keys without actually meeting Tom. You can’t meet in public, and there are few places where you can meet without being discovered; there’s a reason you’re always at your apartment and never at his house. (well, you’ve been there once, but that was with work and it doesn’t count.)

Whatever his reply is to the latest text you sent, you don’t get to read (though you do feel the vibration on your thigh). Captain Cheadle has called for your attention, Mackie and Evans having seated themselves in the room as well, and you can’t do anything but pay attention to your boss.

“The tip we got is an inside tip.” The captain steps aside to let the projector show a photo of the biggest crime boss currently in New York City, Tom Hiddleston. As with every other photo he’s in, he’s wearing a fucking blue sweater. “The source is reliable, as we know of their work with Hiddleston, but we’re not sure if the tip is.”

He clicks to another photo, which is of the same man getting into a car. Only, he’s getting into the driver’s seat, something that is unusual for someone that has his own driver. “We can’t know if the tip is true or not, but we’re guessing there’s some truth to it.”

You roll your eyes slightly (not enough for the captain to notice). “Can you tell us what it is yet?”

Captain Cheadle nods. “There’s been a mystery woman in his life. None of his men know, but based on a lift in spirits and an increase in nights gone from his own house, they believe he has to be seeing someone. Rumor amidst his men, according to our tip, is that it's been going on for a few months.”

A knot tightens in your gut. A few months is a little less than correct, but yeah… It’s been six months since you started dating Tom Hiddleston. Off work, on a weekend, you met him in a bar, you got drunk and your mind didn’t work in any other way than tell you how hot he was and how good he made you feel. There was little persuasion needed for Tom to get you in a bed, naked, and screaming out his name. And so far, he’s managed to do it most nights since.

(The case had been assigned to you a month after your first encounter. You’d known his name well before you met him, but that hadn’t stopped you. And, even as his girlfriend, you had no evidence on him whatsoever.)

Yet, after six months of no one knowing anything, you’d been fairly certain you’d get away with it. At least until either one of you got enough of pretending. Tom has enough money for you to quit your job should it come to it, the only problem being that you don’t want to because you love your job.

“Did your source say anything about who the woman could be? Where to find her?” asks Evans.

You wait patiently for the reply. Your gut stirs with the thought that they’d know, that just your face (usually a poker-face no one could read no matter how much you panicked on the inside) would reveal you. But you aren’t revealing anything but being deep in thought, as you can feel Mackie’s eyes on you as your own flicker across the room and a frown has pronounced itself on your face.

“The tip was slight, but the source believes that there might be something to check at a bar. It’s one Hiddleston frequents, High Rise.”

Oh, if only the name didn’t chime with recognition at the back of your mind. There isn’t much to do but accept your fate and follow up on the lead, only try your best to avoid being recognized as the girl who left with Tom Hiddleston half a year ago. That could be rather easy, seeing as the bar was dark and you’d been wearing more make-up than usual and the dress you wore hadn’t stood out in any way, and it being six months ago.

You nod at captain Cheadle. “Anything else we should know?”

He nods slightly. “There came one more thing with the tip, but this wasn’t a written message.” He roams around his papers for something and eventually fishes out an evidence bag. Inside is an envelope and something small you can’t see from far away. He slides it across the table to you.

Your heart skips a beat at the sight of what lies in the bag. The envelope easily recognizable as one you’d written yourself (though you’d used a typewriter―fancy―so there isn’t any handwriting to check), and the content a barely visible silver and gold wristband inscribed with a phrase Tom has whispered time and time again in your ear (the most intimate you’ve been outside of sex); my safe spot is with you in my arms.

Your fingers graze over it as you look at the inscription. “That’s pretty intimate,” you say, and an agreed murmur comes from your captain.

“You traced it?” asks Mackie.

“Untraceable. Paid in cash, no receipt, and might even have been done illegally.”

At least you know that that’s not true, and if they’d tried just a little bit harder, it wouldn’t be that hard.

“Fingerprints?” you ask, though not sure exactly where it comes from. (Or, well, it comes from the fact that you’ve touched the wristband on several occasions and that, unless wiped, there should be fingerprints all over it.)

You look up from the evidence bag to see captain Cheadle shake his head. “A few around the clasp, but none enough to make a full print, and any other we could find are only Hiddleston’s. The envelope’s the same”

“The question is whether Hiddleston sent it to someone or if someone sent it to him.” Evans motions for you to slide the evidence over to him, and you do.

“He’s the biggest crime lord in New York, he’s gotta be real smitten if he’d make that to send to someone.” Mackie shrugs, not sold on the idea that Tom Hiddleston, crime boss extreme, could be sappy enough to send it apparently.

Well, if only you knew what Tom would do for the one he loves, if only you knew.

“Well,” you say and clap your hands together, “seems we have more to do today than reports.”

A slight chuckle comes from the three men in the room with you.

“I want you, Mackie, with me on a trip down to High Rise. Captain, is it possible to talk to our source other than written communication?”

A nod.

“Then I want you, Evans, to have a little chat with Hiddleston’s ex-buddy. Let’s see if he doesn’t have more information, and if you can’t get much, try a little harder on the wristband. There’s gotta be something to look for there, maybe mention it to our source?”

“On it.” Evans gives you a thumbs up, grabs the evidence and walks out the door. You and Mackie move to do the same, and on your way there, you fish your phone out from your pocket.

[08.41] twh i’ll have to get back to you on that, but you can probably count me in have a good day, darling

[09.27] you sounds great but, on some not so good news, you got a snitch amidst you and i have smth that belongs to you in evidence

You don’t wait for a reply, certain he’s busy and also because Mackie is a nosy asshole and you’re not gonna get caught on a text message.

“You know where High Rise is?” asks Mackie as you make your way to your desk.

“GPS exists, but I have a hunch,” you say as you grab your jacket. Unfortunately, that hunch is more a hunch that your relationship is getting threatened by your work.

(“A hunch. Yeah, right, you’ve probably been there.”

“Careful what you say there, kiddo.”

“I’m older than you!”

“And yet, I’m driving.”)

[09.53] twh name? and what might that be?

[11.16] you i didnt get one but one of my guys is questioning him smth i bought you

[11.17] twh ill figure it out, and that has to be my wristband. how?

[11.17] you you tell me

Mackie nudges your arm with his elbow as you make it inside the bar. It’s mostly deserted, highly unlike the life that was there the last time you set foot in the place. A man sits in the booth in the back sipping what looks like whiskey based on the glass and the brown liquid inside. By the entrance, a woman and a man sit across each other at a table. Each of them have a beer, though only the man looks to have touched his, and the woman doesn’t look too happy with him.

However, you turn your attention to the bar, and the bartender behind the counter. Fortunately, he’s not the same one that was here when you were. Making your way over, you note the exits (the one you came in through, a backdoor in the kitchen, and―one you noted the first time you were there―the window in the ladies’ room). You also note the man sitting at the edge of the bar counter, back hunched over and an old fashioned placed in front of him. Untouched.

“How can I help you?” asks the man behind the counter. A bushy beard covers his chin, ruffled brown hair the top of his head, and tattoos cover his upper arm, visible where his t-shirt sleeve ends. In his hands he holds a cleaning towel and a glass, but as you sit down, he slings the towel over his shoulder and puts the glass down. “Guessing beer for you, sir, and maybe a scotch on the rocks for the lady?”

You shake your head, and roll your eyes at Mackie’s almost nod. You’re at work, you’re not gonna drink. “Sorry, mister, but we’re here on other business.” You pull out your badge and give him a peek.

The bartender’s eyes go wide. “Sorry, ma’am, didn’t know. You could've fooled me.” He holds out a hand. “I’m Tom Hardy, co-owner of this shithole.”

“Shithole?” Mackie eyes the man.

“Can’t say there’s a lot of good going on in here, really. Nothin’ illegal, though.” Hardy winks at Mackie and you roll your eyes. The last thing you care about is the tiny illegal things going on at the bar. “What can I help you with? There’s not been any complaints, right?”

Mackie shakes his head. “Relax, man, it’s got nothing to do with you. We’re looking for information on a man, also named Tom, but with a different last name. Hiddleston, heard of him?”

The scoff Tom Hardy comes with is barely audible, but you catch it and cock your head to the side.

“Who hasn’t heard of Tom Hiddleston? Supposedly a big mafia boss, but the police has got nothing on him.”

“We got word he frequents this bar. That true?”

Hardy nods. “He’s by at least once a week, sometimes more.”

You try to drown the ache that falls over your heart knowing he still comes by. “You know what he’s here for?”

The bartender shrugs. “Don’t get into that shit, but I know he has a deal with my co-owner, Luke Evans.”

Mackie pulls out a pad and a pen and writes down the name. “Hiddleston ever leave here with a girl in the last few months?”

Hardy shakes his head. “Nah, leaves with the same men, though he has gotten different. Before he used to indulge a little more with the women, but now he seems to not want to. They want him, though.”

The ache fades a little at that. He’s loyal, he’s trustworthy, he’s yours. “Did he use to leave with girls before?” you ask.

“Dunno. He’s usually here when Luke works, only some shifts we got together.” Hardy shrugs. “Though the times I have been here, he’s never left with a girl. He’s followed some into the bathroom, but never left with one. Gotta be some special girl for him to leave with her.”

You suppress the smile that tugs at your lips. “Thank you, mister Hardy. Could you get us in touch with your co-owner? We wanna have a little chat with him, too.”

“He works tonight. Sorry, can’t give you anymore.” The man picks up a glass again. “But if we’re done here, you’re gonna have me excused. I have a job to do.”

“Thanks for the cooperation,” says Mackie and pushes away from the counter. “We might come back for more.”

You say a small goodbye as you follow after your coworker. On the way to the door, your eyes stray to the man in the back of the bar. Something about him seems off, and even more so when he holds up his glass and tips it your way with a slight hint of a ‘cheers’. The creepy smirk that places itself on his face sparks no comfort, and you let out a sigh as you walk through the door Mackie holds open for you.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

“Got a weird feeling from one of the dudes in the bar. Might be nothing, might be something.” You shake your head, slowly, as your thoughts whirr around in your head. “Doesn’t matter. If he’s here tonight, I might check into it, but it’s probably nothing.”

Mackie shrugs. “We didn’t really get that much here either, though. Hope Evans got better luck.”

“Yeah, gotta hope. But I have a feeling our source might’ve changed his mind on talking.” You open the car door and get in, Mackie following your lead. “I have a feeling Evans might not have been very lucky.”

“You thinkin’ we might end up with… homicide?”

You shrug. “Can’t be sure, but wouldn’t be surprising. Don’t believe we’re gonna be able to connect it to Hiddelston, though.” You start the engine and pull out on the road. “Don’t believe we’re gonna have any connection other than the guy’s snitching.”

“Good enough to talk to him.”

“Good enough to blow what we have if we do.”

The police station became a place of chaos in a matter of seconds. One moment, you’re talking to Evans on what he could find (the source had disappeared without a trace), and the next, it’s like the station is on fire.

Evans, Mackie and yourself are out of the loop. You lean against your desk, your coworkers leaning against the neighboring ones, and look at the chaos erupted around you. People run from one place to another, screaming for help or otherwise.

Then silence consumes the crowd as someone turns up the sound of the TV in the background. You turn to see the screen. On it, there’s a picture of a fire and countless dead bodies, burnt crisps until there is nothing recognizable left to see.

“In just a few minutes the house, that belongs to the infamous crime boss Tom Hiddleston, went up in flames. Whether the man himself was in the house or not, we do not know. Police have yet to arrive at the scene, and the firemen are doing their best to put out the blazing fire. So far, we have no witnesses and no way of knowing what caused it. We’ll be back soon with more updates.”

You lock eyes with Evans and Mackie.

“Our source was in that fire, wasn’t he?” Mackie makes a grimace, and then shakes his head and throws his hands up in the air. “You called it. You fucking called it.”

“I didn’t want to call it.” You shake your head. “And we’re not the force to go out there either, so we’re gonna need someone to talk to Hiddleston about this, about his source, without it being suspicious.”

Evans gets up from his place. “I’ll ask Sebastian.”

“That buddy of yours?” you ask.

“This is the kind of case he gets called out on.”

“Go ahe―”

“Y/L/N!” You’re cut off by the sound of your captain yelling your name. “You’re going out with the team. Take one of the boys. Don’t alert Hiddleston, but he’ll know why you’re there.”

“You got it, sir.” You turn to Mackie and Evans. “Looks like we got some luck after all. Which one of you wanna join me?”

When you pull up to the scene, the fire has been put out. But the fire that is the press and the countless people that’ve decided this is something they need to see live, that has yet to be handled.

You and Evans walk up to the police barricade tape and shove it aside. An office tries to stop you, but you easily walk past after a flash of your badge. The head officer on the case is easily recognizable where he commands what looks like some junior officers.

“What’s the deal?” you ask.

He turns to you, and there you find Evans’s and Mackie’s friend, Sebastian Stan. He smiles at the two of you. “Got five casualties, one critically hurt on his way to the hospital. Medics think his fate’s been sealed. Other than that the fire’s been put out, and the owner of the house arrived about five minutes ago.” Sebastian points to a male figure pacing up and down the sidewalk. “Don’t know if I’d wanna talk to him though.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. “We haven’t got much choice.” You’re about to walk from the officer, but you have one last question. “You got any identities on who died?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing, and so far it seems the fire was an accident. No fuel used of any kind, nothing weird about the source, and the six that were in the house weren’t close to it. Three of them were asleep.”

“Didn’t the house have a smoke alarm?” asks Evans.

Sebastian shakes his head. “Nope. And you’re not gonna believe what they, as of now, believe to be the source.”

“What?”

“A hair dryer. Wasn’t turned off.”

You frown. “A hair dryer? Nothing else? It’s a pretty big house. Seems like a long shot.”

Sebastian shrugs. “So far we’ve ruled out arson, and seeing how annoyed the owner is over there, safe to say he wasn’t planning on burning his house down.”

Don’t say that. He wouldn’t care, seeing as that isn’t the house he uses mostly―that’s just the public one.

Even Evans knows that, and you give him a look as you move away from Sebastian and towards said owner of the house.

“Hiddleston,” you say as you near him.

The man turns around. His expression is curious rather than angry, but something tugs at his lips as his gaze flickers over to Evans. “Miss Y/L/N, what do I owe the lovely pleasure?”

“Your house burned down. Five of your men dead, and a sixth one just holding on. We’re thinking he’ll die, too, medics said it was critical.” You shrug. “But you already knew that, right?”

Tom smiles, and takes a step closer to you. You have to hold out a hand to stop Evans from coming in between, knowing you have somewhat of a bodyguard in the man. “Darling.” Tom’s hand comes up to cup your cheek and you have to fight the urge to lean into his touch. “How could I know that? No one wants to tell me a bloody thing.” His voice changes fast at the last sentence, the annoyance creeping in.

“Did you set the fire?” asks Evans.

You roll your eyes. “He doesn’t mean to ask that. But we would like to know if there are any of your acquaintances missing?”

Tom nods. “There’s one I wanted to talk to. Name’s Aaron Taylor-Johnson. Haven’t been able to contact him since last night, and that’s unusual.”

“You think he was in the fire?”

The male shakes his head. “I don’t believe he was there at all, but I do believe he would do this. I got the impression he isn’t quite happy with me, or my decisions lately.”

He’s the snitch.

“We’ll let you know if he was in the fire.” You use your hand to push Tom’s hand away from your face, his touch lingering a little too long to be a play (but you weren’t going to complain.) “I have one other inquiry.”

“Go on.”

You take a deep breath before the words leave your mouth. He should be prepared, considering you told him what was in the evidence bag, but you can’t be sure. “Any girlfriends or women in your life we should know about?”

He smiles (god, that smile). “Other than you, love?”

Smooth. You can practically hear Evans roll his eyes behind you.

“Yes, other than me.”

“Then no. I have a far too busy life to deal with girlfriends,” he says, and winks, “though you shouldn’t hesitate to contact me.” Tom leans in close, his lips grazing your ear and his hand taking yours―something cold grazes your fingers. “I can give you a night you won’t forget.”

You don’t let the hitch in your breath show, and when he places a kiss to your cheek, you only stare at him as he pulls away (and let your hand find comfort in your jacket pocket where you let go of your keys).. “Don’t leave town, Mister Hiddleston.”

“I won’t, darling.”

And then you walk away together with Evans. He keeps glancing behind him, and the confusion is written on his face.

“Just ask,” you say as you reach the car.

Evans opens the door. “How are you not fazed by that?” he asks.

You get into the car and shrug. “Because I don’t let it. He thinks it’s fun to play with me because I don’t have a reaction―” (ehehe, yeah right) “―I think it’s fun to let him. Eventually, something has to slip and we’ll be able to catch him on the spot.”

“But you gotta allow yourself to be harassed to do so?”

You chuckle. “I wouldn’t call it harassment, hon. I call it work.”

Evans frowns as you start the engine and pull out of the parking spot. “What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you noticed? When it comes to sexual harassment, Tom Hiddleston is the least of my worries.”

It’s supposed to be a brief stop; get into your apartment, change into something that doesn’t drag attention at a bar on a Thursday night (probably not going to be too crowded anyways), and get out.

But when you walk in through the door, you see a pair of shoes kicked off in the entrance hall. A coat lies draped over your living-room armchair―a coat easily recognizable.

You hurry to close the door, and kick off your own shoes. The trail of clothes leads you further into the apartment. A dress shirt folded together and placed on the cupboard in your living room. Pants lie discarded on the floor in the doorway to your bedroom. And the man who it belongs to, you find tangled in your sheets, buck naked with the exception of the tie around his neck.

“What do you want?” you ask him, an amused smile plastered on your face as you shake your head.

Tom lifts his head a little. A smirk colors his face and he shrugs. “Thought I could surprise you a little, before I have to get going.” He checks the wristwatch on his arm (which you first now noticed he hasn’t taken off either). “But you’ve used quite a lot of time to get here, and now we barely have time for anything.”

You shake your head, smile gone. “Sorry, babe, but I haven’t got the time.”

“What? You have plans for the evening?” There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, but it still slightly hurts seeing as you barely get out of the apartment when you get time off. Really, six months ago was a chance meeting unlike any other.

“I have work.” You move to open your wardrobe. “But if you want, you can help me figure out what to wear.” You turn your head to cast Tom a glance, eyebrow raised.

He turns a little, enough for the sheet that had covered him to fall off and leave him fully exposed. And with just the tie as a piece of clothing, you have to turn back around. God, what that man can do. You grit your teeth as you open the door and file through the few dresses you own, patiently waiting for his response.

“What is it for?” he asks, and his velvet smooth voice does nothing to ease the growing arousal in your gut, not with the image of him and that tie the only thing on your mind.

You swallow before you reply, but you don’t dare turn around. “Gotta talk to the owner of a bar, and don’t wanna drag attention with people there so we agreed to act less like police. Might have to have a drink or two.” You sigh, and close your eyes. “You should have waited with this until then.”

“What?” His voice is in your ear, warm breath fanning your neck. You bite down on your lower lip, hard. “You don’t like it? You’re not enjoying it?” His hands find the hem of your shirt. Fingers graze up along your skin and you find yourself complying when he makes a move to drag it off.

“Tom,” you whisper. You lean into him, into the fingers tracing along your bra and the way his lips ghost over the skin on your shoulder, up your neck. “I don’t―” You shudder as he presses a kiss to your jaw. “Ba― Babe, I don’t have―”

He tips your head back and his lips find yours. Barely touching, you close your eyes, and the image of Tom in bed and you using the tie to drag him to you has you swallow, almost succumbing to the pleasure you know you’ll get. His voice is low when he speaks. “Don’t have what?”

You don’t answer as your hand shoots up to press his head closer to yours, to push your lips together. Everything you can think about is him, your boyfriend, and in a matter of seconds your clothes are off as well, and you sink into the mattress as Tom throws you down on your bed. Your eyes open briefly, to see him study the contours of your body and, even as you do give into Tom and your desire, the haste is still on your mind.

With determination etched into you, you drag him to you with the tie and capture his lips in yours. There is no limit to what this man does to you, and there is no limit to what you let him.

With the already extra time you used with Tom, you didn’t have the time to shower. You’d tried your best to fix your hair and do something extra with your make-up, but Tom didn’t have it in him to let you dress and time was wasted.

Evans and Mackie pick you up outside your apartment complex in Evans’s car. As you approach, the two of them lean against it, deep in conversation. They barely notice you coming, but when they do, both give appreciative looks.

“Looking good,” says Mackie, eyes travelling up and down your body. Evans remains quiet, the way his eyes dance over you the only comment you get (and you have to admit, you’re not really complaining.)

You’d opted for something nice, but nothing too much. A skirt that stops mid-thigh, knee high boots with a thick heel, and a slightly revealing shirt. (You’d also opted for a thigh holster so that you could still bring your gun.

“You’re wearing that.” It’s more a statement than a question from the naked man resting on your bed.

You nod, and glance his way. “Problem?”

Tom’s eyes graze over you, hunger evident in them. “I would certainly like to take it off.”

You lift the hem of your skirt, revealing the thigh holster with your gun. “This too?”

“Yes, and right now.”)

In your hand, you have a clutch and you’re also wearing a coat to keep some warmth in the cool evening air. “Shall we go?” you ask.

And the two men both get off from where they’re leaning against the car. Mackie easily offers up the passenger’s seat to you, even though whenever it's him and Evans fighting over it, it’s first come first serve. You smile a thanks and then you’re on your way.

Evans parks a few blocks away from the bar (his expensive Audi with tinted windows certainly drags some attention), and you use the walk there to go through the course of action.

“Mackie’s the cop-cop. He’ll talk to Luke Evans, try something else. We try to talk to some of the people there. Whether that’s as a cop or not, I don’t really care. All we really need is a lead. If anyone sees any of Hiddleston’s associates, please alert the others.”

The two nod. “Sure, but before we go in there, you have to fix your hair.”

You raise your brow at Mackie. “Excuse me?”

“You got sex hair.” He gives you a ‘sorry’ smile and a shrug. “Like, we’re not judging you for having it, but if you’d told us you had a visitor we would’ve waited to come to give you more time.”

“Fuck.” You shake your head and stop. “One, help me fix my hair. Two, I wasn’t planning on it. I was ambushed.” Something that isn’t really that far fetched, it’s not like you knew Tom would be there when you came home.

Evans stops in front of you and asks with his face if he can help, and you nod. His hands move to brush a little through your hair, and fix a little on what probably stands out.

“How could you get ambushed?” asks Mackie.

You roll your eyes. “I got home, there were some clothes lying around, I followed the trail to a naked man in my bed and seeing as it’s the guy I’m currently seeing it wasn’t a bad sight. I tried to tell him I didn’t have the time, but he can be quite persuasive.”

As you talk, Evans tugs a little harshly on your hair and you let out a pained sound. He apologizes, but continues to try and fix your hair.

Mackie shrugs. “How long have you been seeing him?”

You shrug. “Few months.”

“How many months are a few?” asks Evans, his hands letting go of your hair and an approving smile on his face. He steps away to get Mackie’s blessing and the man nods affirmative.

“Uhh, six.”

Both Mackie and Evans stare wide-eyed at you.

“You’ve been dating a dude for six months and not told anyone?!” If you didn’t know better (and you’re not always sure you do), you’d think there was a layer of accusation in Mackie’s voice, but you don’t believe there is.

You shrug and begin to walk again. “What does it matter? It’s not like there’s a need to know about those things.”

“I thought we were friends.” Mackie shakes his head, a small friendly glare sent your way.

“What made you think that?” you ask, but the same friendly feel to your words as there was to his glare. “But can we let it go? I don’t want to talk about my private life.”

Evans nods. “We’re here anyways.”

And you sure are. You look up to see the blinking neon sign of the bar. The bass from the music drifts to where you stand by the door, and with a quick glance inside, you can see it’s fuller than you expected for there to be another work day of the week left. Though you do notice the age of the people; it's possible the college kids don't have class tomorrow, or don’t care.

The three of you make your way inside, gaining a few glances as you step in, but everyone quickly turns back to their own lives. You give a small sign to the two men you came with and move away from them.

It’s easy to step up to the bar, and you easily recognize the bartender as the one who was there when you met Tom. You’re guessing he’s Luke Evans, and you take a breath before you signal him for a drink. Hopefully, you won’t be recognized.

“What can I get you?” he asks.

“A whiskey, thanks.”

He pushes away from the counter, and easily grabs a glass and a bottle and pours. When he puts it down in front of you, his gaze lingers. “Have I seen you before?”

You shake your head. “Has to be somewhere else than here in that case.”

“First time?”

You nod.

“Recommend not drinking a lot. We get some sleazy people in here.”

“I hear you also get crime bosses. This the place to meet the Tom Hiddleston?”

Luke chuckles. “Hon, if you want to meet Tom Hiddleston, I suggest you start being careful what you wish.” He nods to the back of the bar. “Best luck is sitting down in that reserved booth. It’s his usual.”

You cock your head. “He’s coming here today?”

The bartender nods.

“Ain’t I lucky,” you whisper and smile at him. You easily get away from the counter and make your way to the empty booth in the back.

Sure enough, a sign reading reserved is placed on the table. Who it’s reserved for doesn’t say, nor is there a time stamp. You make for sliding into it, but a hand grasps your wrist and pulls you away.

As you fall into the chest of the stranger, you turn your head. The man who you’d seen earlier today is the one holding you back. Up close, you notice bags under his eyes and he reeks of alcohol. You pull away from his grip and raise a brow his way.

“I wouldn’t sit down there if I were you,” he says, and slides into the same booth he had earlier.

“Why?”

He shakes his head. “Tom Hiddleston isn’t a man to mess with.”

“And how do you know so much about Tom Hiddleston?”

The man pats the seat next to him. “Sit and I’ll tell you.”

You hesitate, but eventually slide in. You leave room between yourself and the stranger. If anything were to happen, you do have a gun.

“You got any relation to Hiddleston?” you ask (you have to admit, no matter how much you want your boyfriend not to be caught, you wish you knew more about what he did do).

“Name’s Aaron.” The snitch.

You motion for him to go on.

“I was hired by him three months ago. He felt the cops were gaining and wanted something, or someone to try and put a stopper to it.”

“So, Tom Hiddleston hired you to snitch on the cops?” You want to laugh, seeing as you snitch enough for Tom to never know exactly what you know, but enough to cover his tracks.

Aaron shakes his head. “He hired me to snitch on a cop. A specific one.”

You frown, sure if he was hired to snitch on you you’d know and he would have recognized you. Perhaps he had.

“The cop’s here today.” Aaron’s gaze travels into the crowd of people in the bar. You see where he looks. Evans. “His name is Chris Evans.”

“Why did he want you to spy on him?”

Aaron shrugs. “He never said. And eventually, I got sick of it. The guy’s obviously not a threat to Hiddleston and his business. Y/N Y/L/N is, but it’s impossible to find out anything about her. Don’t even know what she looks like.”

You try not to let it show that you flinched at the mention of your own name. And you find it weird that he can’t find anything on you. Tom did so, easily. But there’s no need to dwell on that. You glance at Aaron again, unsure how to ask.

“You say you got sick of it. What did you do? Just stop doing his bidding, or something else?”

A smile colors Aaron’s face. “Snitched to the cops. Left a message. Anonymous, but I gave them a way to contact me for more information.” He shakes his head. “Got contacted today, but never replied. But I saw you here this morning, talking to the bartender.”

You cock your head. That could be an easy way to draw the connection to you as a cop, not necessarily as Y/N Y/L/N, but you had been seen with Mackie, and usually Mackie and Evans were seen with each other.

“I have a proposition for you,” he says. “One that means getting close to Hiddleston, and that includes spying on him. Mics, cameras, whatever. I need him in jail.”

“I’m gonna have to say no. I was just hoping for a night, a friend of mine told me he was real good in bed.” You shrug. “But if you have angered him, I got told by the bartender that Hiddleston comes in today.”

Aaron smiles. “You’ll have to excuse me, then. I hope you don’t anger him with only the intention of a one night stand. Based on how you look, I’m pretty sure you’re his type.” The male slides out of the booth, downs his drink in one go, and waves goodbye. You watch as he moves to the restrooms, and you roll your eyes when he winks.

[10.47] you snitch is alive, in the restrooms hiddlestons supposed to come in today

[10.48] evans no snitch in the restrooms, window’s open tho guessing it was the guy that slipped past me just now

[10.48] you guess so mackie u got anything from the bartender

[10.50] mackie that hiddlestons coming in that their deal is just renting of the venue from time to time

[10.50] you well just have to do the best of it then im sitting in his booth so if he comes hell notice

[10.51] evans sure thats a good idea??

[10.51] you would very much like to know why he put someone to spy on you evans snitch was hired to keep tabs, got annoyed he wasnt keeping tabs on me

[10.51] mackie dam i wanna know that too be careful

You look up and meet the gazes of your coworkers. Evans looks uncomfortable, worried almost, judging by the crease between his brows. Mackie gives you a look of understanding and a pair of thumbs up.

You down your drink, try to cover the hiss as pain sears down your throat, and make to sit down in Tom’s booth. On the way in, you knock over the reserved sign, making it fall to the floor. Now, it’ll look like you didn’t know.

[10.57] mackie Incoming

The front door opens slowly. Heads turn to look who comes through, and unlike when you arrived with Mackie and Evans, everyone’s eyes stay on the man who weaves his way through the crowd.

Tom stops by the bar, has a small chat with the bartender and turns his head to look your way. A smirk grazes his lips as your eyes lock, but he quickly turns back to the man he was talking to.

You swallow. You have to steady your beating heart, have to shove the thought of the night’s previous events to the back of your mind, and kill the deep swirling feeling in your gut at the sight of Tom in that blue fucking suit. God, if there was something Tom Hiddleston was made to do it’s wearing suits.

The blue color suits his very being. It’s tailored to fit him perfectly; long legs encased in blue fabric that shows off his bum, suit jacket that fits his shoulders and back in a way that has you swallow. You can see his broad shoulders and some of the tightness that drags at his muscled arms. What you can’t wait to see, is how well the shirt underneath fits him. You simply can’t wait for him to pull off the jacket.

Thankfully, you don’t have to wait very long. With two drinks in hand he makes his way up to where you sit. He doesn’t say anything as he places them on the table, nor does he say anything when he pulls up the reserved sign from where it lies on the floor. He places it back on the table, eyes you warily, and sides into the booth.

Long arms grasp for the drinks. He pulls them in and pushes one to you. “Can you drink, darling? You’re working, right?”

You take the glass and swirl the liquid around inside it. “I can, actually.” And you take a sip. “But I won’t drink a lot.”

Tom moves closer to you, knocking his thigh against yours. You take a deep breath at the touch, the only one you can return―Tom flirting with you whilst you work is no news, but it would be quite different if you did the same. “Have you been waiting long, darling?”

“No, I haven’t. I managed to preoccupy myself.”

“Oh, can I hear?”

You shake your head. “What good would you have of that?” you ask. When you get a shrug in return, you roll your eyes and take another sip of the whiskey. “I have a question for you, though.”

Tom cocks a brow.

“Why did you need someone to spy on Evans?”

Your heart beats fast as Tom moves even closer, lips coming up to ghost across your cheek. You can see that the two in the crowd of people keeping a close eye on you flinch, but you don’t make a gesture to show any discomfort. “Have you not noticed, love?”

You push him away by placing a hand on his chest. “Noticed what?” You try to pull your hand back but Tom places his over yours and keeps your touch on him. A small hint of the love he usually offers you shows through the blue of his eyes.

“The man likes you, darling. A little too much. Can’t have another man try anything with my woman.” Tom’s gaze flickers out to the crowd, and as you follow it, you see how it lands on Evans and how your coworker squirms. “Now, if only I could show him.”

“Tom,” you say, voice bordering on affectionate. His eyes flicker to you in surprise; he’s only ever been Hiddleston in public. “There’s nothing to worry about, and if you try anything, anything at all, you will have a gun to your head.”

Tom chuckles. “Are you threatening me?”

“You know where the gun is.” And the hand that travels up and under your skirt, grazing by the thigh holster, has you swallow. You take a deep breath as his hand travels a little further, and the only way to stop him is to grab his hand. “I didn’t say you could check.” You push at him a little, creating more distance between you two (even though you would like to sit close to him).

“I didn’t think I needed permission, love.” He smirks and you shake your head.

You smile innocently at him. “Usually you don’t.” You go to slide out of the booth. “Bye, Hiddleston.”

Tom grabs your arm and pulls you back to his chest. “Have you really made that big a dent in the case of the Blue Sweater?” he whispers in your ear. You writhe in his grasp, but a firm hand turns your head to him and his face draws closer to yours. “Tell me what I need to do to have the lead again, darling. I’ll do anything.”

And you can’t stop the sound of surprise that escapes you when Tom presses a chaste kiss to your lips. The surprise is so big you only stare wide-eyed at him, not able to kiss him back (and good is that seeing as you’re in public), and when he pulls back, you push away from him and shake your head.

“You’re an idiot,” you say (no teasing or play in your voice), and then you walk away. You rush out of the bar, feel Evans’s and Mackie’s eyes on you, and when you get out of the front door you lean against the wall. Your heart hammers in your chest. You’re panting, and you can feel the rush of adrenaline making its way through your body.

You may like to play with fire, letting him flirt and show affection in public, but you wouldn’t ever go this far. You wouldn’t ever think he’d even risk it.

“Are you okay?” comes a voice from next to you. Evans and Mackie have made it outside, and you push off the wall to start walking to the car.

“We’re not talking about it,” you say.

Neither of them make a move to say more, and you can hear them follow after you. Tom might be the worst person in history to be in a secret relationship with. Or maybe the best. You haven’t decided yet.

It’s no surprise to see the people surrounding your desk when you get to work. Your two usual pests sit at their own, and though not a part of the group waiting for you, they shoot you glances as you sit down.

You try not to glare at the group, but when they all just quietly stare at you, the anger bubbles. “What?” you ask.

A small murmur goes through them, until your impatient glare becomes too much and one voice squeaks out, “did Tom Hiddleston kiss you?”

He has more than once, you think.

You don’t reply, only giving them an unamused look in return. They quickly scatter, and you can hear the chatter that bubbles up amongst them.

Not only do you not have the patience for stupid pestering (and annoyance at Evans and Mackie for spreading the word), but your morning was the worst in a while. It’s almost become a usual for Tom to sleep over, whether because he falls asleep after sex or if he just wants to cuddle, but when you came home yesterday, there was no Tom.

And no Tom means no morning cuddles, or a goodbye kiss as you leave out the door. On top of that, he hasn’t texted either. No saying why he didn’t show. No explaining why he risked a kiss in public.

A text you did get in the morning, was a journalist asking for an interview. Especially interesting was the lack of respect for an ongoing investigation, and the bold way to ask whether or not you were secretly helping Tom not get caught (you want to know how they would even guess it. That’s a pretty bold assumption to make about the lead detective on a case).

Tired, you rest your elbow on the desk and lay your head in your hand. You massage your forehead slightly, and there’s no mistaking the groan that leaves your lips as your thoughts swirl.

A knock on your desk pulls you out of it. You look up to see Mackie leaning against it. “You okay?” he asks.

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter. We gotta talk about what information we got, though. But I don’t trust… I don’t want to talk out here, so, briefing room in five minutes. I don’t know if Evans heard, but make sure he did.”

Mackie scrunches his nose slightly and presses his lips together.

“What’s wrong?”

“Briefing room’s occupied.”

You curse under your breath and shake your head. “We got a meeting room, that occupied?”

Mackie shakes his head. “Not that I know.”

“We’ll meet there.” And as he gives you a thumbs up, you get up from your desk and move to the captain’s office. With a knock and a mumbled ‘come in’ you walk into the room and close the door behind you.

Cheadle looks up at you. “I heard what happened.”

You nod. “Yeah, but there’s something else I’m here about.”

He quirks a brow. “Oh? Important?”

You pull out your phone, ignore the new message you’ve gotten and find the text from the journalist. You hand the captain your phone. “Got this this morning. I want to know how they got my number, what made them think I’m colluding with the guy I’m trying to catch, and what the hell made them believe I’d ever talk to a news source about an open investigation.”

“That is weird.” Captain Cheadle hands you back your phone (just in time, too, because a message chimes in from twh). “When you have time, come back in here. I know you’re gonna talk to the guys now, but I’d like for it to be soon. And check if they haven’t gotten the same one.”

“Yes, sir.” You sigh and walk out again. You head for the meeting room and on your way you pull open your text thread with Tom.

[08.18] twh darling we need to talk i think i have some information you’d like to have

[08.23] you gonna talk about smth else too or just your problem??

[08.23] twh im sorry, darling, i got caught up in work we can talk about both tell me when you have time and ill show up at your flat

[08.23] you tonight, 8

The reply goes by you as you open the door to the meeting room. Evans and Mackie already sit down, Evans with papers in front of him and Mackie with his phone out on the table. You frown, but sit down across from them.

“I don’t know who wants to start.” You look between the two men, and when neither say anything, you shrug. “Guess I’ll go then.” You take a deep breath. “Our snitch’s name is Aaron Taylor-Johnson, the man Hiddleston mentioned yesterday when we questioned him about the fire. He isn’t dead because he was in the bar. He says he was hired a few months ago to keep tabs on Evans, but he got sick of it because, according to him, you’re not the threat. On the other hand, I am, but he didn’t know he was talking to me.”

“Did you find out why Hiddleston got him to spy on Evans?” asks Mackie.

You shake your head. “Hiddleston didn’t answer that. Snitch didn’t know himself, but he said he tried to keep tabs on me, too, only he couldn’t. He didn’t have anything to go on, no information, no way to know what I look like. And I find that interesting. Why would Hiddleston go out of his way to make sure they couldn’t do anything to make me a culprit or anything?”

“Maybe because Hiddleston has the biggest crush on you?” asks Evans, and there’s no mistaking the hint of spite in his voice as he says so. “Or, he finds you that big enough a threat he can’t have his guys going around doing stuff to hinder you because you’re smart enough to be able to connect it to him?”

“I hope the last,” you mumble. “But there was definitely something he wasn’t telling me. He seemed to know more than he let on, but I couldn’t push like I usually do because then he’d know. I want to see if we can contact him again, because he knew we tried yesterday without luck.”

“We’ll try, but I don’t think we’re gonna get much either.” Evans nods, and all three of you let out sighs.

You motion for them to start talking instead. Evans slides you a piece of paper. Not much is on it, but the words are clear. You look up at him.

“There were some regulars there that have witnessed Hiddleston many times. The man I talked to said that.” Evans coughs. “‘He’s always alone, at least when he sits, but he leaves with men. Never has a girl around him unless they come up to him, hasn’t had one in a long time. Only once did he leave with one. She was pretty, looked rather intimidating, actually. Don’t think it lasted.’ The man also went on to ramble about how after that, Hiddleston hasn’t been seen with a girl. Well, before you.”

“So he has left with a girl once.” Mackie confirms. “Luke Evans said the same thing. A pretty little thing that edged in on the man unlike no one he’d seen before, and that surprisingly got to leave with him. He’s never seen the woman again, and he found that odd. He doesn’t believe Hiddleston’s got someone in his life, though.”

You bite your lower lip. “Well, that is something. Any descriptions?”

Both shake their heads.

“There is one thing I noted, though,” says Mackie. “If Hiddleston does have someone he likes, is with, whatever. He so openly flirts with you that that woman has got to be furious, and he probably wouldn’t have kissed you either. I think the wristband was sent to him, not from him.”

You nod. “I believe you’re right there.” You know he’s right, but that’s details you’re not sharing. “But I have something more interesting.” You fish your phone out of your pocket (ignore the new messages from Tom) and open up the one you got this morning.

“What’s going on?” asks Evans as you place your phone in front of them on the table. They read over the text and cast eyes up to you. Something in the look both send, they’ve seen something similar before.

“Got it this morning.” You snatch your phone back, seeing the almost pop-up about a new text and not risking who it’s from. “I need to know who believes I’m colluding with the enemy.”

Mackie nods as he opens up his own phone and slides it across to you. “We got the same text, though slightly altered. They’re asking if we know anything about you colluding with Hiddleston.”

[06.53] unkown Hi, I’m a reporter from New York Times. I was wondering if there would be released more information pertaining to the Hiddleston case, and what you know about Hiddleston and Detective Y/L/N’s relationship to the man. I heard last night that they kissed, and maybe the reason you haven’t caught him yet is something entirely else than him being good at what he does.

“Fucking hell,” you mutter. You slide Mackie’s phone back to him and let out a loud sigh.

Things are not looking very bright.

A/N: thats what i have. if you want to, reblog this with a continuation, but please dont steal any of this and act like it’s your own. i worked a lot on this when i still had motivaton but i wanted to at least share it even if i wont finish it, to which im deeply sorry

would always want to know what you guys think...

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #twh #thomas william hiddleston #reader insert #x reader #unfinished #tom hiddleston imagine #imagine

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jazajas · 4 years

Text

okay so i finished love, victor a while ago and i saw some other reviews and thoughts about it here so now i've got a pretty good list on my thoughts and feelings.

tl;dr: it has some issues, yes, but im gonna hold out and hope it gets better later on because the same thing happened with the first few eps, i wasn't that into it but then it got good, and nothing is ever great with the first season, because at that point we're getting used to those characters.

⚠️caution: spoilers ahead (im on mobile, i cant get an under-the-cut)⚠️

1. while a leah on the offbeat movie would have been amazing movie sequel (even tho i havent read the book yet, im just here for the wlw content) i am kind of glad we got this instead. mostly because I've seen book series where one movie was good, so they decide to do the rest, turn out bad (hunger games? divergent? percy jackson? the hobbit?) because so much was cut from the book-to-first movie writing, that other scenes wouldn't make sense to future movies if they had those in while cutting others. however, i am sad that i didn't get to make the choice of deciding whether what was cut was wrong etc. about future movies, but i'll take what i can get.

2. LGBTQ+ POC as a lead! that's amazing! as a ace/bi lantina that's close to home (it also is great that victor's from texas and so is ya gorl) and even then it's a mixed latinx family! i think pilar mentioned that at least the grandmother left Colombia and i saw the Puerto Rican flag in victor's room. also the salazar's are definitely from small town texas, even without knowing the name. (church barbeques, the use of the words "such a diverse city" in regards to atlanta)

3. a lack of actual lgbtq+ main storylines (so far) is kind of sad for a show like this. i was getting serious bi/pan vibes (as a lot of other people) from victor from the beginning, and when it was implied that victor was actually gay (while great, not shaming) as it has been brought to my attention, there was a lot of looking at a lot of straight relationship problems (please let us know more about benji)- edit 6/18: upon further consideration, it very much is a show about questioning your sexuality, I'm speaking about the other straight relationship issues, not mia and Victor's, its just the first season.

4. let us talk about cheating for a sec. never okay, in any circumstance. i feel sorry for mia that she saw victor making out with benji and the fact that he was doing any of that in the first place. victor made a choice to lie about the espresso machine and then kissed benji at the hotel and then when benji was fighting with derek, basically confessed his love and mistakes, then proceeded to makeout with benji after he broke up with derek, he built that grave and now he must lie in it. i get having feelings for a guy when you are in a relationship with a girl, and not accepting yourself enough to end that relationship but you really want it to work so you can be "normal". really, he should have told mia after he got back from the trip tho. i get being in highschool and doing stupid stuff and making dumb decisions, but for a show aimed at teens i think we should also remind said teens to make good choices even if we have to lose some realism within the character choices.

4. pilar and her decisions based off her brother pissed me off. because i honestly think that if she'd kept her mouth shut about what she knew or confronted victor about it in the first place we could have avoided a LOT of mess. did she not learn from snooping around her mother's business about her relationships that going behind a person's back doesnt end well? i did, however, like the pilar/felix friendship and was really kind of hoping that they'd get together during their coffee hangout (although now im glad that didn't happen) because they had a deeper understanding of each other. same with wendy/felix, although they do seem to much alike to work out in the long run but i still feel bad for wendy.

5. i don't know how i feel about lake and andrew, as people separate from each other. both seem to be the way they are from their upbringing (not confirmed why andrew is such an ass, but if his comment about his dad is anything to go by i bet it's got something to do with attention) but andrew seems to be less, idk, superficial? like he turned down mia because he didn't want to be a rebound, he didn't out victor, he actually stood up to early teasing the other dudes in the lockerroom were doing at victor (with teasing of his own obviously but that interaction had him on my nice list until much later). lake? lake. i honestly don't have an opinion of her? not really. i mean after hanging out with pilar i was hoping felix wouldn't go back to lake. is her name laken? i feel like her full name is laken. but they also played the "im only like this because my mom is really superficial about stuff and i do like the geeky nice guy but appearances" to "actually screw the norms im gonna makeout with him infront of the whole student body". i honestly thought she was gonna be bi because she kept hitting on mia when she was helping set up for her "date" and "big night" and there was one point where i saw her face fall at something mia said in relation to her and idk i was hoping she'd be bi (i figured early on that victor/mia wasnt gonna work and was like "oh mia/lake would be cute" but now idk.

6. okay on to the "big night", i have one word. NO. i didn't like the peer pressure into having sex. i agreed with felix when he said "your body your choice" but im also disappointed that victor made out with mia and when lake was talking to felix after victor left he didn't try to stand up for victor.

7. on to age gaps because i hadn't really thought of this at first. we'll start with benji/derek: WHAT GRADE IS BENJI?! because that determines my thoughts. if he's a sophomore that meant that he and Derek started dating benji's freshman year and thats eugh, don't do that, don't care if its a gay couple that shouldn't be happening because the maturity of the two characters is DRASTICALLY different (this is also a reason i am not a fan of cmbyn) but that would explain why they were so rocky. hoping the event at the gay bar was open to anyone not just for drinking, but not liking that fact that not one of the adults with victor were like: hey, this is a 16 year old, that's kind of wack when that dude was hitting on victor. that made me question some stuff. although i figure it might be making up for the lack of a gay bar scene in love, simon. but even then, in svthsa it's a restaurant with a bar that some people go to just to drink at, it wasn't just a bar, simon could be there but should NOT have accepted drinks from college kids, not matter how attractive.

8. i loved how bram and simon and their friends helped victor out though. i like how bram was like: hey i know my friends are a lot so here's a gay basketball league becaue there's no one way to be gay. i like how Simon talked about needing help himself just to help victor and how he said his friends were cool with it because it's a community. i like of justin(?) mentioned how being what his parents wanted was putting on a mask and pretending, not him doing drag. my favorite lines from that ep are: "and before you ask my pronouns are they/them/theirs" "'they're all gay? even that guy? he's like [insert really tall number]' 'yeah. you should see him in heels'" "or in simon's case: really unathletic" "and also because bram said that if i wore [the jean jacket] one more time he'd burn it". also katya was there. and the group hug too!

9. the back hand homophobia in relation to family is sad, but realistic and i sincerely hope his parents are kind enough not to be too harsh on victor because of it. anything they say that isn't positive or supportive of victor is bad but i hope they realize that there is more to him than that and that they can come to terms with it because it's not always that hard to be a part of that community and super religious. i am biromantic and catholic. and while there are some things i wont agree on my mom with, i know that it's more of a strike against God for kicking out gay kids from families than it is to be gay, because those parents were given trust by GOD to love those kids no matter what, and be good parents. so in the end, the parents are wrong and harmful and in the case of christians against jesus's teachings to love everyone.

10. this is fan speculation but dont think simon/bram are going through a rough patch? i honestly think it'd be a little cruel to the characters to have on of their actors be producing but then not have that relationship stay. and while it's not set in stone and obviously things happen in the real world, we have no proof script wise about there being a rift. all we have are bad photoshopped ig photos and scenes where two characters are never standing next to each other probably beccaue schedules never link up correctly for minor characters. who knows, maybe nick robinson was filming for a movie where is does have an even more major role than victor's gay guru in a series about victor so his filming time was around that. im gonna keep hope that things are okay.

11. that being said: we need more mainstream wlw content, because someone said it earlier and it really does seem to be catering to straight girls. i'll admit i did freak out when benji played call me maybe which is something i associated with him and victor but then kissed a guy because who wouldn't? we get that serenade and sweetness and then it'a ripped from us. but i did mellow out. if i flipped later it was because victor was making dumb decisions and i had to give myself a moment of compsure before i continued.

in the end, i'd say that there is a lot of growth this series needs to go through, but i also know that some people just aren't going to like it and i get that. but i also know that sometimes the best of stories have rocky starts, nothing is ever perfect from the beginning. and besides, further seasons are on hold until we figure out this covid thing, which means that you bet they're gonna be looking at our feedback. they saw what we thought before, they can do it again

i really did like it but we need more ACTUAL lgbtq+ relationship stuff from this series and better decisions on what we are teaching the younger generations, as well as what we want to focus on and realism within characters. i'm giving it an 8/10, because there is always room for growth and i really hope we get better things out of this than what we have been given in season 2.

edit: someone mentioned it really seeming like it was meant for Disney+ and i felt that. also to anyone who reaches the tags agter reading ALL OF THIS: i am sorry

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writting-thingz · 3 years

Text

@/supernerdycookietrashblr ‘s comment helped inspire what I was going to write. Its not a chapter 2 unfortunately, rather it is an alternative ending.

Parts that led up to this point

The warnings remain the same- it’s implied that the reader has heterochromia, verbal abuse, yelling, threats against the reader, threat against reader’s dog (dog does -not- get hurt), manipulation, angst, sad

Please read at your own risk

Alternate Ending

“How do you practice everyday like that and not get tired.” You whined.

“I suppose my love for volleyball helps.” He shrugged. You laughed and he arched an eyebrow.

“Through the power of love and friendship you shall overcome this fatigue!” You teased. He narrowed his eyes and picked you up and twirled around.

“Ah no!” You giggle, “put me down. I take it back, I take it back!” He set you down and joined your laughter. For a moment the world disappeared. There was nothing but you, Kageyama, and this moment you were sharing. After the two of you finished you laugh he lifted your chin. Waves butterflies fluttered in your stomach when met with a genuine smile and caring eyes.

“I was worried I couldn’t make you smile,” his hand slipped back to his side. “I know you will tell me what happened when you’re ready but I want you to remember that I’m here for you. I know I’m not very good at this whole shoulder to cry on thing but I want to be for you.” He confessed. Those butterflies quickly turned to crows. Your insides twisted and churned as the crows tried to scratch their way out.

“I-.. I don’t know what to say Kags,” you turned your face away and rubbed the back of your neck.

‘What have I done.. I- I got too close…’ you cursed in your head. May god smite you before he ever sees the shame on your face from being afraid. The world snapped back into place around you. Kageyama quickly took your hand into his and began to walk. He gave your hand a squeeze,

“I-It’s oak- oaky- aye-… okay. You don’t have to say anything.” The worry in his voice killed you.

'I’m such an idiot.’ Your thoughts were engulfed by your mother’s voice going on about how she was right and how you’ll do nothing but hurt those around you.

Ruff, Ruff-Ruff. Hearty barks came from ahead you. To your surprise there sat, with a waging tail, your dog.

“KARMA! What are you doing here sweetness!?” You exclaimed as you hand slipped out of Kageyama’s. The two of you ran to the dogs side.

“This is your dog?” Kageyama pet the pretty pooch. You nodded your head as you furiously dialed your mother’s number.

“Yeah. Karma couldn’t have gotten out on her own though. Can you watch her? I’m not going anywhere but I don’t want to loose her while I’m on the phone.” You waited for you mom to answer.

"What do you want pest?“ She sneered upon answering

"You let Karma out!? You know how dangerous that is!!”

“Come home. We’re leaving tonight.” Fury coursed through you body,

“No! I’m going to stay here, I’m sure Kageyama’s family can lend an extra room for a while.”

“Strike one. If you don’t come home I will send her to the pound labeled as agressive”

“You can’t do that! Even if you did they’d see she was a sweet and kind dog long before a bad family tried to adopt her.”

“Strike two. Y/n, I’m getting impatient. Here’s what’s going to happen if you don’t come home, first I’m going to call the cops and tell them you ran away and that I know where your at. Then I’m going to claim that you are in danger due to a deranged stray mutt stalking the streets.” Your guts twisted and flipped with every new detail. “When I find you I’m going to charge Kageyama’s family with kidnapping-”

“You can’t do that!” You yell as frustrated and terrified tears start to fall.

Kageyama yanks the phone from you before you can her your mother’s retort.

“Wait-” you attempt to reach back for the phone but Kags points to Karma who started to wander. You quickly grab her and head back to him.

“YES! I CAN! By law I can charge them with kidnapping even though you went to them willingly. Finally when I tell them I found you I will approach you in an agressive way and one of two things will happen. Karma is such a good little pest that she wont be able to help protecting you. So, one she bites me or two you go to stop her and she bites you by accident. Either way that mutt will get put down for biting.” Your mother hissed and sneered. Kageyama furrowed his brows and left you surprised that he wasn’t burning holes in the ground with his glare. “Now we wouldn’t want to ruin you boy toy’s or that runt you call dog’s life, would we?”

“Kage-” he places a finger gently on your lips, quickly quieting you.

“Mrs. Y/L/N, should the cops come to my place not only will she have my support but the rest of the volleyball team’s. I’m confident my parents will have no problem housing Y/n until everything blows over. There is something you severely overlooked. Y/n is stronger than you think, smarter than you can ever understand, and a hell of a lot more persuasive than anything you can bring to the cops.” His voice was calm, collected, the opposite of his body and feelings. He shook with anger as his free hand flexed and relaxed over and over again.

“…put Y/n on the phone. Now!”

“SHUT UP! She’s walking home with me and that’s final. I am prepared to take on any consequences that come with it! Because for the first time I love something more than I love volleyball. I- they- Y/N is the best goddammit thing that has happened to me and I-.." Kageyama pauses and looks at you. He reaches out with his free hand to wipe a tear from your cheek, "and I love her. You don’t deserve and shouldn’t have the right to take care of a child, let alone someone as bright, talented, and as beautiful as her. So bring what you want but if everything I’ve been told is true so far you’re better off letting her go. Quit using someone else to get personal gain and actually work for your worth. Goodbye Mrs. Y/L/N.” He ends the call.

’No plastic or paper can take her or make her; Shake from the fact she’s my world devastator’

"Y/n?“ Kageyama walked to your side and Karma nudged your hand.

"I… I-I don- I don- I don’t know what to say Ka-.. geh.. yama.” You were a sobbing mess by this point. He wipes tears from your face with a comforting smile.

“Then don’t say anything. You don’t have to.”

You shake your head,

“But I sh- *sniffle* should.” You grab his hands and finally look him in the eye showing the shame you were hiding. “This whole time I’ve been thinking I shouldn’t have gotten so close to you.. that..” your sentences are consistently interrupted but gasps as your body tries to gain back air from crying so hard.

“that my mother was right, I will always hurt those closest to me. You are the only person I love and the best thing that’s happened to me.” Your chest felt like it was going collapse on itself.

“Y/n, breathe, your going to hyperventilate.” He states but you continue anyways,

“I’m so sorry.. I’m sorry Kageyama. *two exasperated gasps* I- I-..” your lip quivers so badly you can barely talk. “I want to be with you. I do. I want to be with the best thing that’s ever happened to me. *sniffle* I- *sniffle* Kageyama I-.. I love you.” You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him until your lips crash. His arms slip around your waist and lift you in a closer embrace.

After a few moments Karma barks and nuzzles in-between you two. Both of you chuckle and pet the precious dog.

“Come on, my mom is going to get worried if we stay out too much longer.” He kneels in front of you.

“What are you doing?” You giggled between sniffles.

“What does it look like dumby~? I’m carrying you home.” He states almost as confused as you were. You roll you eyes and get on his back. Off the two of you go. Karma trotts beside you and Kageyama. At some points he would twirl around or purposefully make it a bumpy piggy back ride just to hear you giggle. Karma would bark playfully and run circles around you two. You gave him pecks on the cheek occasionally and anything he had to say disappeared; it was adorable how that small act left him speechless.

Kageyama’s mother greeted you with a smile and happily prepared a plate and seat for you at the table. You and Kageyama explain your situation and his mother happily let you stay in his sister’s old room. Not wanting to enter a loosing fight, and especially not sully the name of your “prestigious” family, she allows you to stay with Kageyama’s family. Now you and Kageyama were able to spend more time with each other and grow closer as a couple. You helped him study and he would geek out about volleyball to you.

’You… I think the blondes are done; We’re all too cool for fun’

~The End~

#tw: abusive parent #tw abuse #cw abuse #cw abusive parent #tw abusive parent #tw threats #cw threats #tw verbal assault #cw verbal assault #tw manipulation #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #tobio kageyama #kageyama x reader

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skgway · 3 years

Text

1832 Nov., Mon. 12

9 1/4

12 1/2

Pickles came at 9 1/4 which roused me up – To see him after breakfast at Lower place or he to call here again in the evening – Letter 3 pages and ends from M– [Mariana] (Lawton) vide line 27 page 285. Inquiries about Miss W[alker]. Smokes what is going on. Writes with implied affection, true and great as that of former days. Is unhappy and carless off living long, and has made her will and …… the tears started to my eyes and all my own affection burst upon me again –

Breakfast at 10 40/.. with my aunt – George Robinson came almost immediately for near an hour – Settled with him for stone leading for James Smith’s road etc. – He proposed some means of getting rid of Lower Brea lane footpath – To see about another day –

Breakfast at 11 40/.. – Told my aunt of M– [Mariana]’s letter – Came to my room at 12 20/.. – Fire in my room and from 12 25/.. to note 2 pages of 1/2 sheet from Miss Walker at 1 10/.. in consequence of which off in 1/4 hour to Lidgate and there in 25 minutes –

Home again in 1/2 hour at 5 20/.. – At my desk in about 10 minutes – Wrote the last 1/4 of page 3, and the ends and under the seal and finished my letter to Breadalbane MacLean – Began yesterday – Thanks for her letter and the willows (sent off Monday 29th instant from Coll house)

"which I am very anxiously expecting, not only for their own sake, but because they are associated with many remembrances that I value most highly" –

Should have written some days ago, but waited in the hope of announcing the arrival of the cuttings – Shall write by tonight’s post to Glasgow to inquire about them – Bavardage amical – Wonder how her people did without her so long (5 weeks away)

"Your life is one continued benefit to them; and a five week’s arrear of such services is hardly to be made up" –

Sorry her father is so dead to the world and that Sir Hector’s health is so failing – Mention the death of old Lochiel on the 19th September – Only known to Lady S– [Stuart] on the 6th ultimo and not known to Vere on the 24th ultimo the date of her last letter to me (from Turin) – Hope

"if Lochiel is obliged to come over immediately surely V– [Vere] will remain with her friends till he can return for her – I should quite dread her being hurried across the alps at this season of the year …. You would all be pleased at dear Vere’s having got her rank – Surely, it has some value in a world of vanities like this" –

Civil congratulations on Mrs. Maclean’s being again about to increase her family and sorrow at Mrs. Hunter’s having lost her youngest daughter – The loss of my steward and my aunt’s suffering health have kept me so long here or I should have been on the continent again before this – But my aunt so very much recovered, no longer uneasy about her – She herself spirits me up to get off, and I hope to leave here about the end of January but all things here so uncertain never think much of plans very long beforehand – Kind regards to all I know "and believe me always very truly yours A Lister" –

Had written the following 2 1/4 pages to M– [Mariana] just before being off to Lidgate –

"Shibden Hall – Monday 12 November 1832

Mary! I have been late this morning, and have done nothing but see and speak to Marian, and breakfast, since reading your letter – It would be difficult to describe the effect it has upon me – It is many months since I have basked beneath the beam of happiness, and without courage to think of the past, or hope to calculate the future, I am attempting to answer your letter –

Your account of yourself unnerves me – I grieve over your leaving Lawton, and tho’ I could, and would, see good in your going to Leamington, if you would let me, I am now uneasy at the thought, and little out of sorts than you can be – The only thing I rest upon, is the manner in which you mention coming here for a few days –

It makes me fancy, nay almost hope, my scheme is not quite impossible – You would have been agreeably surprised, and satisfied to hear what Marian said about it – Say I am not well (God knows I am sick enough at heart) or, which is true, that I am in great perplexity, or that my aunt is poorly (tho’ she is very much better, and probably in no danger) or say what you please, but lose no time in coming to me for at least a few days –

I really do want to see you – I will take the carriage and meet you at Manchester – Do pray make an exertion and get off – At any rate, answer my letter by the second post after you receive it, and tell me if you cannot come off immediately – Nothing like the spur of the moment –

You will get my letter tomorrow afternoon – and, if your answer is off on Wednesday morning, at night on that day I may hear whether I may be off for you on Thursday or Friday morning at seven, or not – Bring merely a few things and yourself – I will take care of you from and to Manchester –

You will see from my manner of writing, that I am not likely to relax my interest while it is yet necessary to your happiness – Your pages of Saturday make me fancy, I may have been mistaken, and that, in the bitterness of disappointment and regret, I may have miscalculated what it was my interest and desire to estimate most correctly

This here written after dinner –

It is needless to write more – I shall anxiously and impatiently wait your answer – I would give worlds to hear of your being in better health and spirits – I had a letter from Eugénie last night – I consider her engaged; and she is to wait my orders till January –

I cannot enter upon the subject of my friend, as my aunt and sister laugh and call her – I am too much thinking of the interests of other days – Come if you can – You might be almost ride over to Manchester –

But cheer up, my dearest Mary – Time was when I had power to charm you into pleasure-stirring thought, and almost into happiness – I am what I was – And yet this power is gone, – Parted like Aynt never to return?

God bless you! The heart knoweth its own bitterness – ’Tis harder than you think to break the spell of twenty years – Entirely and very especially yours AL –

Sent off at 8 by John my letter to Miss Maclean of Coll, Coll house Aros North Britain and my letter to Mrs. Lawton Lawton Hall, Lawton, Cheshire and my letter to the “Reverend T. Ainsowrth, at Miss Bentley’s, 1 crescent, Salford, Manchester”

George Robinson then came and staid till 9 – Said Ramsden, now the constable of H–x [Halifax], bought the last ground sold adjoining my Northgate land at 11/6 [shillings/pence] a yard – and Stancliffe bought his ground fronting into Broad street the street given at 12 /. [shillings] or 12/6 [shillings/pence] a yard but then it was cleared, or sunk down ready for building –

Had seen Bates of Washer Lane who said that I might build a good corn mill at Mytholm with saw and goit and wheel and machinery for £1500 and might have 7 to 7 1/2 percent for my money tho’ people in general did not look for much for their money now –

Some man (Brook?) of Brighouse is letting a mill had 10 percent on his money for the 1st ten years, and then 5 percent rent afterwards – The Embargo on Dutch vessels has already made a great difference – Has stopt the German trade –

Went into the other room for 1/2 hour till 9 1/2 – π [Mariana] thought I might have gone from York to Langton

"Is it Miss Walker of Crow Nest with whom you seem so suddenly to have formed an alliance? You mention her twice as "my friend" and as you were not wont to bestow this title lightly I am puzzled to unders[t]and, not having ever heard you mention her name, how Miss W[alker] has so quickly succeeded in adding herself to the list so designated.

You say, "I shall be glad to hear your friend was etc. etc." I am glad to hear anything that gives you pleasure, and so far shall be pleased to hear all possible good of Miss Walker, but as I don't remember ever having seen her.

She must be satisfied with secondhand interest for I cannot fancy her at all one of those who could herself awaken it. So far as her better health can contribute to your comfort, I rejoice that it is likely to improve and hope by this time she has somewhat recovered the loss of her particular friend" –

You say ‘I always tell you how much better Mr. Lawton is,’ because you always ask me. In bodily health he is certainly better than I have known him for years, but in mind and temper he is infinitely worse. As he improves I fall off, and I have been weak enough to fret and discomfort myself about this Leamington plan until I have almost made myself ill –

M– [Mariana] in very bad spirits about going to Leamington – "and if I could get to you, I should come for consolation" – Should be glad to spend a few days with me but does not know how it can be managed –

Watson more philosophical than π [Mariana], thinks she shall get all her mistresses things off to a place of safety

"Made my will the other day, and told Watson where to find it – I do not fancy, my dearest Fred, that my health or happiness will claim your attention 20 years longer, so dont relax your interest while it is yet necessary to my happiness. I live in so much discomfort that it cannot be expected that I should covet living forever”

Concludes with

God bless you Fred. Whatever I have said or may say, trust me, there is not much warmer affection bestowed upon you than that which flows from the heart of yours, very entirely, Mariana –

Poor π [Mariana].

Vide line 4 of today – The following is Miss W[alker]s note

I have received a letter, which you shall see, but we must meet on different terms. Oh that I had taken you at your word last Monday, and as you said finished the matter on that day. I should then have spared you this additional bitterness.

I did hope when my word was once given to you that I should have felt at rest and satisfied, but in reflecting on all you have said and trying to turn it to my own advantage I cannot satisfy my conscience, and with such sufferings as I have endured since Wednesday, I feel I could not make you happy. That I should only bring misery upon you, for misery I am sure it would be to you to see me in the state I have been in for several days.

It was this sort of wretchedness that was expressed in my note on Friday. It was these miserable feelings that prompted my request

(that is I suppose for me not to send to York for the ring)

For your own sake, fly whilst it is yet in your power,

(I smile as I copy this sentence)

and believe that I will never intrude myself in any way upon you (unless it is your wish) whenever you revisit the neighbourhood.

Nov[embe]r 12 eighteen hundred and 32 writton [written] on the outside of this half sheet but under cover,

Read this alone

–

Off I set. Found her twenty minutes ago returned from Cliff hill and lying on the bed in tears. Kissed and soothed her till in a few minutes she went down to dinner. I remained in her room a little while read overMr. Ainsworth’s letter pathetic appeal to her feelings, making sure that she must be engaged and hoping that her choice would do all he, Mr. A[insworth], had hoped to have done.

Begging her to take the scrapbook as a friend and to condescend to write in answer to say if he might send the book and a narrative of himself. And if this business should be the death of him, he would only pray for blessings on her. But much bad tact and the whole ill done, tho better than I expected.

I went down before dinner was over. Agreeablized and amused both Miss Parkhill and Miss W[alker]. Then pretending business letters for Miss W[alker] to answer, Miss P[arkhill] left us, and I talked the poor girl into admiration of my conduct and into thorough approbation of my writing and sending (I wrote there and shewed it to her) the following to Mr. Ainsworth,

Lightcliffe Mon[day] 12 November eighteen hundred and 32.

Sir, I am commissioned by Miss Walker to acknowledge immediately the receipt of your letter of Saturday and to inform you that she has given me for the future, at least for some time to come, the surveillance of all her letters and parcels.

I am Sir your obedient servant, Anne Lister

Before writing I had asked if it was her heart that had changed towards Mr. A[insworth]. No, it was all her conscience. She owned she was not in a fit state to judge fairly and tho she had felt great affection for him, yet she did not know how it was, now all seemed dead. And if she felt at liberty, she did not know or think he was quite the man she should choose, in spite of the two great things, his being a clergyman and liking to live at Cliff hill.

‘Well, but what would you have done had I not been here?’ She said she would certainly have exone[ra]ted herself now. Would have gone to her aunt Ploughs in London and then brought down the Chapmans with her. She would not have been alone and would have kept out of the way and done the best she could.

This, said I, is enough. In answer to her note said I did not think her at liberty to marry anyone without my consent, in which she agreed, and that Wednesday had given me a power over her which I was determined to use in her service. She would be better by and by and more able to judge for herself, and then she might try again, but now I should not let her.

She might safely trust to my honour, but I pledged myself to nothing. She brightened up and owned how much better she was. I even brought away, with her full consent, and A[insworth]’s letter, and the book of prayers he gave her with a long rigmarole written on one of the flyleaves promising to get her another of the same from London, and on asking for my dirty night things to bring back she said no till I promised to send clean ones, and we parted very good friends.

She agreeing with me that she had reason to be thankful for the great event of Wednesday – Who could have anticipated such a result as the consequence of her note? She likes me. But my affections are not so fearfully and I irretrievably hers as she thinks, and I shall manage well enough, tho I really will do her all the good I can –

Writing the above till 11 – Came to my room at 11 20/.. and then wrote note to Mrs. Holroyde

“Mr. T. Holroyde Esquire Solicitor Halifax” in answer respecting the land at Northgate – Not in any way anxious to sell, but would sell lot A as marked in the plan if his client would give my price – But before naming any terms I wished to know what sort of buildings it was proposed to erect –

Wrote to desire Booth to get me Gilpins practical hints on Landscape gardening and theform of family prayers published by Hatchard and Son Piccadilly London 8 edition 1828. 12mo. [duodecimo] pages 159 and 2 bottles of Albin and Chapman’s chemical writing ink –

Did my clothes for the wash. Very fine November day – Fahrenheit 49º now at 11 40/.. – Sent off my note written last night to Mr. Holroyde –

[in margin] vide line 12 page 286

nothing like the spur of the moment

very fine November day

#anne lister #ann walker #shibden hall 1832 #mr. ainsworth #anne lister code breaker

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bleakcreek · 4 years

Text

If it’s almost the end of the year, and we think i can safely say that this has been an AMAZING year for fic in the rhink fandom! there have been so many incredible new authors, on top of authors that have been around for years who are still writing about our boys, and i wanted to give a little bit of recognition to some of my personal favorite fics written in 2019!

i am not in any way implying these are “the best” fics, just the ones that i’ve personally enjoyed. i’m mostly sticking to either completed mutli-chapter fics or longer one-shots, and i’m limiting myself to no more than one fic per author so i spread the love.

without further ado, my (personal) top rhink fics of 2019. (behind a cut, because this post is very long.)

If You’re Wondering If I Want You To by @ssodangdark Rating: Teen Chapters: 5 Words: 10,234

Summary: “The year is 2006 — you just crafted the perfect away message, The Fray is playing on your clock radio, and you're trying to figure out what band t-shirt to wear to school today. Meanwhile, two teenage boys meet for the first time and navigate their feelings for one another through the songs on one of their iPods.”

this fic is everything you could want in a high school au. it’s sweet, and full of pining, and comes with it’s own built-in soundtrack. i can’t recommend this fic enough. this fic is so sweet, you might get a cavity reading it.

Honorable Mentions: most of em’s other fics are oneshots, so i wanted to feature a longer fic, but i also have to acknowledge her oneshots too! Three’s a Crowd (rhett/link/jessie) and Chris Springs are two of my favorite fics and i would highly recommend reading them.

Don’t Hold Back by @likeaswitchinheat Rating: Explicit Chapters: 26 Words: 86,501

Summary: “Link has a lot of responsibilities resting on his gorgeous shoulders. It’s Rhett’s job to unburden him of all that. When Link is Rhett’s, he doesn’t have to think about a thing. Rhett will take care of him.”

laika is another ridiculously prolific author, and i’m actually ashamed that it took me until a few weeks ago to read this fic even though it’s been finished for months. this fic is basically half shameless filth and half feelings and angst, which is pretty much exactly what i look for in a fic.

Honorable Mentions: i absolutely love all of laika’s oneshots, of which there are far too many to name, but i’ll put myself on blast for my particular tastes by giving special mention to Man Bites Dog and Selfie.

Candids by @captainsourwolf Rating: Explicit Chapters: 8 Words: 19,635

Summary: “Rhett is a photographer fresh out of SCAD. He lands his first gig soon after graduation, just a simple print ad for a high school advertising their new senior class wear. At the shoot he meets in-demand fashion model Link Neal. It's tense from the start. Rhett ends up being his photographer on most of his shoots, and at every single one Rhett starts a collection of candid shots that he keeps for himself, in a box of trinkets he finds comforting.”

i absolutely loved this fic. i loved the premise, and the slowburn and build up, and the tender longing between rhett and link in this fic. i’m such a slut for pining, which is why this ultimately won out over a couple of elizabeth’s other fics, which are also very good.

Honorable Mentions: a very close second for this my favorite fic of elizabeth’s was None Like This, but i ultimately had to give it to Candids because i’m a sucker for that softness. Aftercare and hump a little also deserve to be mentioned, too, if you’re looking for oneshots.

Rhinestone Cowboy by @soho-x Rating: Explicit Chapters: 15 Words: 26,439

Summary: “If he was honest with himself, he could admit the glamour of being on tour for one of Country Music’s biggest acts had clouded his better judgement. He’d quickly dismissed all apprehensions regarding living in a conversion van for three months, instead focusing on the idea of working a stage during a live show, standing in the wings while country maverick Roy Walker played to crowds bigger than the population of the town Rhett grew up in. It was a dream come true for a small town boy like him.”

this fic hooked me right from the first chapter! i was absolutely in love with the premise of rhett and link as country music stars, and this fic did not disappoint. if you like tender slowburn and pining, you’ll absolutely love this fic. it killed me in the sweetest possible way.

Honorable Mentions: for how recently em jointed the fandom, she’s written a ton of fic! Stolen Moments, No Good Very Bad, #Dormlife, and Only For Your Very Space (unfinished) are some of my other favorites from her.

Apartment 69 by @apparentlynotreallyfinnish Rating: Explicit Chapters: 18 Words: 86,501

Summary: “Link has it all figured out. He has a plan for his life. He has a nice girlfriend and a nice job and a nice routine. It really doesn't mean anything that sometimes he gets off on watching men fuck each other. He's just curious. But when a famous gay porn star moves next door to him, his perfect plans start to fall apart.”

appa is one of the most prolific writers in the fandom, so it was really hard to narrow it down to just one fic from her. i actually almost put another fic of hers on here instead, but apartment 69 was the first fic of hers that i read, so i felt like i had to give it the edge over incognito if only for that.

this fic had me on the edge of my seat with every update, and it should be a testament to how much i loved this fic that i was genuinely shocked by how long it was, because i could have sworn it was less than 10 chapters. that’s how quickly i tore through it all.

Honorable Mentions: while i didn’t officially include them, i also want to mention her fics Incognito, I Only Want You to See Me (unfinished), NSFW, Wingman, and Let Me Be Your Light, as well as her entire library of oneshots. she is INCREDIBLY prolific so you can easily spend weeks going through her ao3 page and never run out of things to read.

remember that time in college I found your handcuffs? by @egocentrifuge Rating: Explicit Chapters: 3 Words: 10,435

Summary: “Rhett feels antsy, wants to leave this entire conversation about the fetish gear he found in their dorm behind, but he still wants to know despite his better judgement.

“Okay, the - dom? takes control of a scene. Why wouldn’t the dom just do whatever he wants?”

“Because it’s all about trust, man.” Link’s face is open and sincere in that way he only gets when he believes in something; Rhett can’t look away. “The sub trusts the dom to make it good for them, and so the dom does their best to. It can be a lot of pressure, but it’s - good, too, being able to make someone feel safe and taken care of, you know? For someone to be willing to be that vulnerable…”

Something in the way Link says it trickles warmly down Rhett’s spine, and he puts his beer down.

“Alright,” he says firmly. “Fine. I don’t understand it completely but that’s - that’s fine. As long as you’re both happy or whatever.” There are more questions Rhett wants to ask, but it’s - too much, for some reason. Not just knowing weird kinky details of Link’s sex life, but the way he’s talking about it.

It's twenty years before they discuss it again.”

eggsy has the market cornered on a very particular genre i like to call “porn that makes you cry.” this fic mostly gets the spot because a lot of eggsy’s other fics are much shorter and/or not on ao3, and for purposes of a fic rec, i really wanted to give something long enough to really sink your teeth into, but i an assure you that every single one of their fics should and would be on here if i didn’t limit myself to one fic per author.

eggsy packs an incredibly amount of feeling into a small amount of words, and strikes a perfect balance between hot, angsty, and loving. i cannot recommend eggsy’s work enough.

Honorable Mentions: what of eggsy’s fics isn’t an honorable mention? Reciprocation, You Know What They Say, Men Who Dress Like They Do in California, Reprobates, Unbuttoned, and literally everything on their tumblr (which has a lot of stuff that isn’t on their ao3).

The Murmur of Yearning by @its-mike-kapufty Rating: Explicit Chapters: 35 Words: 108,811

Summary: “When burnt-out professor Link Neal is offered a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that whisks him to the farthest reaches of the world, he isn't as ready as he thought he would be for the biting cold or the overwhelming darkness of Antarctica. Though at least he'd been given fair warning of those hazards.

The same couldn't be said of his new boss and research partner.”

mike has so many amazing fics that it by all rights should have been impossible to narrow it down to my one favorite, but honestly, this was a surprisingly easy choice. in spite of how much i love every single fic of mike’s, this one was so beautifully written and poignant, and i don’t think any other fic has ever made me cry the way this fic did. it hurts — in the best possible way.

i started reading this fic one evening after work, and was so captivated by it that i stayed up until 3 am, passed out midway through a chapter, then went home early from work the next day (sick! i was legitimately sick!) and laid in bed with a fever reading through the rest of this fic. the last written work i plowed through with that kind of speed and determination was harry potter and the deathly hallows...ten years ago.

Honorable Mentions: truthfully i could just link to mike’s whole ao3 page here, but i have to at least give special mention to You Have (1) New Message for making me sob (and being the first fic of mike’s that i read), Feel Good for being delightfully fluffy and soft, Untethered for being so incredibly creative and exciting and having me on the edge of my seat for the entire month it was coming out, and And Sundowns Mend Rhett for making me feel things, as mike is wont to do.

The Traveler by @the-average-bear Rating: Mature Chapters: 13 Words: 52,712

Summary: “Rhett's on a journey.”

this fic is probably tied with The Murmur of Yearning for my favorite rhink fic of all time, but i had to give The Traveler the edge only because it’s not...quite an au, and while both fics gave me a lot of feelings, this fic focuses on the rhett and link we know and love. it explores what might have been and what could be — and it touches on my favorite genre of fiction, which is sci-fi.

rhett finds himself accidentally traveling between timelines, exploring what his life could have been like under different circumstances. the build up to the rhink content is slow, and while there’s some smut, it’s pretty minimal, so this is a very different type of fic than a lot of the others here. but god, if you want to feel every feeling possible about these boys, if you want to cry, if you want to be overwhelmed by how much rhett loves link (and vice versa)...?

please, please read this fic.

Honorable Mentions: a lot of their other stuff is from pre-2019 so it’s kind of cheating to rec them on a post of the best fics of 2019, but seriously, please read any and all of their stuff.

More Honorable Mentions: i was going to do a lot more, but this list got really long and time consuming and i wasn’t able to do as many as i wanted. but some other authors i absolutely adored this year (in no particular order) are:

Rhincoln | @bloodbros

evenlypaced | @youdidinthedark

cockymclaughlin | @cockymclaughlin

pringlesaremydivision | @pringlesaremydivision

ohmyflavors | (not sure if they have a tumblr?)

LinksLipsSinkShips | @linkslipssinkships

missingparentheses | @missingparentheses

festivalofpudding | @festival-of-pudding

RileyRooin | @rileyrooin

crackers4jenn | @crackers4jenn

TheMouthKing | @themouthking

chronicallyilltrashcan | @chronicallyilltrashcan

#rhink #fic #fic recs #this is incredibly long and it would have been a lot longer if i didn't get tired in the middle of it and decide to be lazy #i'm sorry if i missed anyone #we have so many talented writers i'm sure there are a lot of people i didn't list #but that doesn't mean i don't love your fic

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texanredrose · 4 years

Note

Anyone in the Schnee family, E

Whitley took the pen in hand and paused, looking down at the form in front of him. For years, it had remained unspoken within the family. Implicitly known, yet, written down nowhere, documented nowhere. Now, that would change.

“It’s okay.” He looked over to find his sisters standing there, both appearing with their own brand of excited. Winter’s remained reserved, almost aloof, but visible to those who knew where to look. Weiss, on the other hand, wore her heart on her sleeve, obviously barely containing her happiness as she spoke. “It’s finally time.”

“Yes. It is,” he said, drawing in a steadying breath and turning back to the form, neatly writing his name at the bottom.

Whitley Schnee

While he wished he could claim credit, Winter actually suggested the name when they were younger. Back in the days when his given name didn’t fit right, didn’t feel right, along with a few other things. To everyone’s surprise, Father didn’t mind when he asked to go by ‘Whitley’, when he said he wanted to be treated as a boy; if anything, the man seemed ecstatic. Well, in his own way, as their family seemed wont to do.

His eyes briefly lingered on his old name, his dead name. He actually didn’t hate the sight of it but it felt... strange. It was someone else’s name, not his. He had no attachment to it. And, now, he legally never would again.

“Alright,” the solicitor said, turning towards his sisters. “Now, the form only requires one witness-”

“Are you implying a second witness is unauthorized?” Winter’s cutting tone carried an unspoken threat, which seemed to state her argument easily enough.

“Of course not; simply, er, share the line.”

“That won’t be a problem.” Weiss stepped up beside her brother, signing her own name as a witness while Winter did the same after her, and he handed the paper to the solicitor.

“Very well. One moment, please.” He turned around, quickly inputting the information into the terminal. Once finished, the man asked for Whitley’s scroll, which he surrendered, receiving it back a moment later with his personal information updated. “There you go, your name and other personal information have been officially changed. Is there anything else I can assist you with, Mr. Schnee?”

His lips quirked into a smile as his sisters stepped up beside them.

“There.” Winter set a hand on his shoulder. “Now, there’s no excuse for people to ignore our little brother.”

“Or, misgender him.” Weiss nodded resolutely, on his other side.

“Never again.” He collapsed his scroll. “Now what?”

“We should celebrate, of course.”

“Indeed.” Winter turned on heel. “To the ice cream shop!”

Her younger siblings hurried after her, Whitley feeling more comfortable in his skin than ever before.

---

(So, what if during V2, the operator wasn’t referring to Winter, because only those well known to the Schnee family know Whitley as ‘Whitley’? Thought that popped into my head.)

#TRR asks #TRR writes

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maythedreadwolftakeyou · 4 years

Note

1, 4, and 10! (Frankly, I'm interested in all of these, but I'll take these to start!)

Thank you! These are from this ask meme

1. What made you start writing fanfic?

Hmmm you know, I had read, I think, 3 fanfics ever (i’m lumping the 3 harry potter novel-length Neville POV pdfs a friend sent me in college once into one group tho), before 2015. And always only things friends had linked to me/I wasn’t seeking them out myself. I tried looking some up once to see what the hype was about but never got interested in anything, even when the writing was objectively good (I think some Marvel, some Dr Who, etc that friends posted and which crossed my dash).

Trying to be as brief as possible on the leadup details, after a very low period for all of 2014 and while I was between jobs/living with my parents, I started DA:I just after Christmas and put in 104 hours/beat the game within 8 days, one of which I did not play at all during. So! You can say the Obsession had kicked in as they are wont to do.

I had a job lined up for March onward but nothing to do for the rest of Jan/Feb, so I played the game another two times, joined the good ol Bioware Social Network/forums, followed a bunch of new people on tumblr, and joined an online chat group or two about Inquisition! Fanfic was popular with everyone else, and while at first I wasn’t as interested in it as I was in talking about game meta/lore, after reading a couple I realized I actually enjoyed videogame-based fanfic much more than the kinds I’d bounced off before. I’m pretty sure it’s because in the games you get to make your own character/choices, so you don’t always know what’s actually coming next, and there’s someone “new” you’re reading about even if the other characters are the same. There’s just a lot more room to develop characters and side storylines while not contradicting the main plot, since a lot of what happens in games is implied/off-screen conversation/skipped over time-wise. It was also a good outlet for the mess of emotions DAI left me with (as a solasmancer: :( :( :( ), and it was people I knew who were creating it, so it was a fun way to engage with the online communities that were at the time my only social outlet.

As someone who has written my own stories since childhood (I’d won NaNoWriMo that year with an original middle grade novel concept), it was pretty natural for me to transition over, about a month after I finished the game. My first couple attempts were very much figuring things out/playing with the genre, but I jumped in pretty fast. I wrote two short/messy one-shots, a few tumblr only drabbles ≤100 words, and then the third fic I ever started is Fallout From the Fade, my on-going longfic that is now the single longest story I’ve ever written and its been uuuhhhhh 5 years whoops. It’s been a long process but I’m the kind of person who jumps around between ideas but if I latch onto something it doesn’t really leave me (even the NaNo novel from 2007… i was 15… please i dont want you in my brain anymore) so even though sometimes life takes me away from stories for a long time I always have them in my head and intend to come back to them :)

The biggest thing for me though was tumblr prompts/prompt boards. Fanfiction was the first time EVER that I was actually writing for an audience instead of myself (I have entire original novels that no one’s ever read on my harddrive). I very quickly learned that I’m good at writing angst and oh boy it’s a rush to directly hear from people that they Felt Something because of what you wrote. So most of my story stars I get from the kinkmeme or asks because then I know, specifically, that I’m writing something someone else wants to read. It’s also interesting to me in the psychology that way–I will often read through peoples blogs to get an idea of what they’re into theme or headcanon wise, and incorporate those into my works. I am very interested in the reader/work relationship and having that extra element of control over it is something I like to play with.

Wow, giant answer. Stopping there.

4. Do you think your style has changed over time? How so?

I think I’ve gotten better at writing for the conventions of the genre. Fanfic is more about emotions than plot than original work, though both can play a role/stories can vary on how much of each they put in. But the more you write about a character the more you explore their backstory, personality, motivations, etc and I think the better you can understand them to write more. Really though, I go into each fic with a different style in mind though. Some are more economical, and I put a lot of work into show-vs-tell. Some I go past purple into ultraviolet with the prose, especially for shorter works. A lot of it is self-indulgent, but I’m pretty mindful about the tone I write in and what I want it to convey when paired with that specific plot.

10. What’s a theme that keeps coming up in your writing?

I have yet to meet someone as into the concept of meta-narrative as I am. I am constantly thinking about the relationship between the reader and what I’m writing, and how that will be affecting their reading experience. I’m big on using fic to create a sense of tension, leaving people on cliffhangers wanting more, and basically using things like paragraph length/repetition/clues/word choice to either keep the reader engaged or jolt them out of the story for a moment in order to wring as much emotion from them as possible. There’s definitely times I don’t get it right but I think I hit the mark a decent amount. This is one of those things that’s “invisible” to the reader though unless they’re directly looking for it, so, I don’t know that it’s something anyone would think of unless they’ve talked to me about writing–though if you have, you KNOW i go off about meta-narrative within my first three comments.

For more traditional themes, on the physical side: as a career botanist/geologist, I am always very aware of nature and setting. Sometimes maybe too much so. So a lot of my metaphors/allusions/breaks between plot or dialogue involve nature in some way, especially plants, water, and light. I’m being very indulgent in a current WIP and going on about the weather (I HATE that weather is a stereotypical “boring conversation” marker because i LOVE meteorology and its very important!!! esspecially if u spend all day running around outside!! as both I personally and my OCs do) but I try to tone that down normally.

On the figurative side: I write a lot about mental health while trying to keep it both realistic/non-glamorized but still as big as it really feels; I write about complicated relationships and not being fully aware of your own emotions/reactions (love me a flawed narrator); about things the character has lost like family/identiy/language; and I can’t keep away from stories about self-sacrifice, duty, transcendence, futility, and rage. I have yet to write a piece that can truly be described as fluff, I think.

Aaaand I’ve gone on FAR too much already, so I’ll end it there! Thanks so much for the q’s!

#replies #ramblings #loquaciousquark #my stuff #tumblr games #my writing #fanfiction #long post

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wardencommanderrodimiss · 5 years

Text

halloween special 2019

(Or, Halloween Special 2027, because this is set immediately after Turnabout Academy but contains no reference to it besides the fact that Juniper exists.)

A Fae AU side story. A classic meme of the autumnal season gets a cannibal joke twist, and the real horror story is the friends we made along the way. Written with the profoundest apologies to the professor from whom I took an entire semester course on Edgar Allan Poe.

----

It still feels like the crack of dawn, after the week they’ve had, but dawn is admittedly later in late October, and the sun is already risen, so it’s not early at all. It’s no one’s problem but Phoenix’s own that his brain is still zombified. Trucy woke him up, flinging her things all around the apartment to get ready to head out: Juniper has joined her trick-or-treating group that already consisted of Trucy, Vera, Jinxie, Athena, and Pearl, and Pearl still doesn’t have a costume, and now neither does Juniper, and Vera hasn’t finished making hers, and it’s T-minus two days until Halloween.

So he scrambled some eggs for his daughter and ushered her out the door after making her promise to say hi to all of the other girls for him, and then he crawled back into bed. Barely three minutes after, his phone rang. That was marginally better than his phone ringing once he had fallen back asleep, but this deprives him of the chance of going back to sleep at all, probably, and actually it’s not better. Phoenix doesn’t know why he thought that. He squints at the tiny screen on his phone to see that an impossible amount of symbols, including what looks like some Japanese characters, a pentagram, and a simplified pixel art hand making a middle finger.

“Hello, Maya.”

“Niiick! I need you to settle a dispute!”

Phoenix groans. “Between who?”

“Hello.” Iris’ voice comes through as clear as Maya’s, clearer than humans ever are on phone calls. Magical speakerphone. Phoenix drops his face into his pillow.

“Iris says that the only one of Edgar Allan Poe’s stories to involve cannibalism was his one weird-ass novel that he never finished. But he’s gotta have had more than that right? He strikes me as a cannibalism kinda dude.”

“I don’t know,” Phoenix mumbles into his pillow, and then, resigned to his fate, he lifts his head and repeats clearly, “I don’t know. I’m not the literature guy.” He knows Shakespeare, and what he knows about Shakespeare is that he needs to keep Maya away from it, else she might decide that Puck is a role model. “Iris would have more of an idea than me.”

“Nick! You can’t take your ex’s side over me!”

Iris giggles in the background. “This is an argument about objective facts, Maya,” Phoenix says. “I’m not ‘taking sides’ personally.”

“Okay, but, Montressor was definitely saving Fortunado down there to chill him to a good eating temperature and then have him as a snack with the Amontillado. Like that’s gotta be why he killed him that way.”

That’s one of the few Poe stories Phoenix knows. He can answer this one. “There was no Amontillado,” he says wearily. “That was the whole point of the story, Maya. He lied about having the fancy wine to get Fortunado down to the catacombs because that was the best place to kill him quietly. There wasn’t any cask of Amontillado.”

Maya gasps. “What?” She sounds so betrayed that Phoenix almost laughs and almost feels bad. “He lied? He can’t lie!”

Now Phoenix does laugh. “What, did you think he was fae because elaborately killing someone for some unmentioned slights is a fae thing to do?” She sounds more scandalized at the lie part that the murder part, which, for anyone even slightly versed in fae culture, does make sense.

“Well—” Maya sputters. “Yeah!” She heaves an exaggeratedly loud sigh. “I guess The Cask of Amontillado really isn’t a story that implies cannibalism.”

“There was other wine in the wine cellar where he walled up Fortunado,” Iris says. “Perhaps one of those would pair with him just as well for Montressor’s meal as you imagine the Amontillado would.”

“You don’t need to patronize me,” Maya says, sounding less irritable than Phoenix expects. “But, oh, Nick, other question! Why would the narrator, obviously possessing greater strength and no morals, not simply eat the old man so as to get rid of his creepy staring eye and better muffle the treacherous tattletale heart?”

“Telltale,” Iris says. Maya groans at the correction.

“Bitch-ass snitch,” Phoenix says.

“No,” Iris says. “Definitely not. Now, to return to the heart of your question, Mystic—”

Maya and Phoenix both snicker. What follows is not a long silence, but it is a loaded one, and then Iris resumes speaking, her clipped tone betraying her annoyance with the inadvertent pun. “The heartbeat was not a real sound,” she explains, “but rather the psychological manifestation of his guilt at committing the murder.”

“Oh,” Maya says. “So it’s like when you want to get coffee you have to have a barista make it and hand you the cup because if you tried to serve yourself from a machine it always explodes back in your face. It’s not the machine that hates you, it’s you who hates you, and the machine is the expression of it!”

“That is…” Iris trails off, clicking her tongue in thought. “Actually, yes, similar, though no one but the narrator could hear the sound of the heart.”

“So he wasn’t fae either,” Maya says. “Otherwise the whole house would’ve been, ba-dum! That they all felt it! And then probably it would explode.”

“Y’know, if he had eaten the old man,” Phoenix says, because sometimes it is fun, a flex of creative muscles he doesn’t usually get to stretch, to play along with Maya when she has her inane musings, “he still would’ve heard the heart beating, right, because it was just in his head. But instead of yelling at the cops that it was under the floorboards—”

Maya knows where he’s going with it immediately; either he knows the way she thinks too well, or she knows him. “—dude woulda been yelling about hearing it in his own stomach. Man, can you imagine? You’re just some beat cop coming in to investigate and then the guy starts shrieking about killing a dude but instead of starting to tear up the floorboards to show you the body he starts trying to claw open his own stomach?”

Phoenix considers that. He decides that yeah, it would be pretty far over on the scale of fucked-up things he’s seen as a lawyer. Sort of like Matt Engarde tearing up his own face in despair and fury, but also way worse because it would involve definite cannibalism and possible disembowelment, depending on how far the narrator got in his attempts. “Yep,” he says. “That’d be fucked up.”

“You could write it,” Iris says. “Poe is public domain, is he not, and you an adult man who could get away with it under the name of ‘literary reimagining’ rather than it being called ‘fanfiction’.”

“No thanks,” Phoenix says. “I’m not gonna be the man who messes with the classics.” He’d pitch the idea to Larry if Larry made his name on literally anything other than wholesome life-affirming picture books. Actually, he still wouldn’t, because Larry is an artist as well as a writer and there’d be a chance that he’d turn it into painting rather than prose and that is a level of horror Phoenix doesn’t want to go to. Better just to stay on the level of Maya reading cannibalism into every horror story that crosses her path.

(Would Athena call that projection? He is not going to think about that any longer.)

“Glad anyway you could help with our dispute,” Maya says. “Cuz” - she’s never settled on one nickname for Iris, but cousin or a derivation usually means she’s not angry with her - “was getting wistful when Pearly went off to talk shop with all your daughters, so she wanted to get in the holiday spirit and it spiraled. I made it spiral.”

As tends to happen around there. As Maya is wont to do. Phoenix isn’t surprised. He also decides to ignore the “daughters” remark. It’s not worth arguing that Trucy is his only daughter, and okay maybe Vera half counts, but on the other end of the spectrum, he’s known Juniper for not even a week.

So instead he voices the matter that is bothering him. He’s afraid to speak it into the world lest she hadn’t thought about it, but he also needs to be prepared. “So, Maya,” he begins warily, “you planning on venturing out for Halloween?”

He’s dreaded this holiday ever since that first year, when she figured out what trick-or-treat meant and decided that this was the most fae of holidays, what with one being allowed to threaten and extort strangers for goodies. It’s more blatant than the fae usually are, even. That first year, he had to keep her entertained and distracted all night, with candy and other sugary sweets and campy movies, so she couldn’t go and fulfill her suggestion of egging Edgeworth’s car as revenge for him being “a huge douchebag to us in court”. She had gotten the eggs ahead of time and stashed them in his fridge so at eleven they made a run to the corner store for other ingredients to teach her how to make omelets.

“Nah, don’t worry, I’m staying right here. Pearly can have her fun. But you and I are totally on for our post-Halloween bargain bin on-sale candy shopping spree. You’re buying! It’s tradition.”

“Huh?” It happening three years in a row, and then not for the next seven years, does not a tradition make. “Objection!”

“Nope!” She sounds positively gleeful; he can picture exactly what her smile looks like, how wide and toothy. “Ignored! What’s it that judges say again - overruled! You are overruled! And your penalty is reading Poe for a refresher so we can talk about it more! We need to talk about the one with the cat because I can’t decide if the cat is fae! Or even if it’s one cat! I want everyone’s input!”

His phone display shows a pixel jack-o-lantern with a grin in a probable approximation of Maya’s. He drops his head back onto his pillow. “Goodbye, Maya.”

The second Halloween, they carved pumpkins in the office; Pearl demanded they not have scary faces, Maya ate half of the seeds even before they roasted them, and Phoenix tried not to think about how last year at that time Edgeworth was around that they could consider the prospect of egging his car. When they dropped pumpkin guts on the floor, Mia flung it right back at them to get it stuck in their hair. The third year, they brought Pearl along for candy shopping, too, and she sat in the cart atop a throne of bagged sweets and pointed out clearance decorations she wanted for next year. They’re boxed up somewhere. He should find them for her and the other girls. For next year, or seven years later, it’s not that much of a difference, is it?

“And,” he adds, “I’ll see you in November.” Start anew. “Tradition, right?”

#fae au extras #roddy fanfics #fae au tag #fic: the witches of los angeles #Wolf would you believe i had this concept BEFORE talk started of the poe musical in chat

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angrylizardjacket · 5 years

Text

time’s arrow {Roger Taylor}

Anon asked: Hi, I love your roger/ben imagines so much and was wondering if you could do some angst with Roger x female, maybe they are good friends and she sees him with another. Whatever you would like! Thank you x :)

A/N: 2727 words. A story told through Seasons. I took a little bit of liberties with the prompt, if that’s okay? This hit me like a lightning bolt and I had to write it. Angst with a happy ending. (I’m just trying to show I’ve got versatility in writing, okay?)

Warnings: Implied sex.

You meet him in Spring, before it all begins, he sits up the back of your Intro to Head and Neck Anatomy lectures, the only class with open spots available by the time you were looking for a science credit. You find out he’s in a band three weeks into the first class, finally going to the local bar, sick of cramming your brain full of information you’re not even sure is necessary for your degree. He grins at you and wow okay, you didn’t even think he’d recognise you.

“You’re in, um,” he’s leaning against the bar next to you in this dimly lit pub, grabbing a drink between sets. Faltering for a moment, his eyes travel down before you clear your throat, angry at yourself for blushing, but his smile widens, “my class.” He finishes, taking a sip of his beer. You agree, rolling your eyes at him, but even that seems to amuse him. He asks your name. The guitarist is calling him over, setting up for the next set, but you tell him before he leaves. Something tightens in your chest when, later that night, he catches your eyes mid-song, his look of intense focus shifting for a moment as he grins, giving you a wink.

He takes to sitting next to you in lectures, chewing the end of his pencil and taking occasional notes in a falling apart notebook that looks as though he uses it for every class. You catch lyrics in the margins and at the bottom of some pages, but he’s cagey about that in a strange way, just says you’ll have to come to a gig to find out what they’re about. So you do.

Gigs become a regular for you, and you start to become friends with the girls who frequent the shows, often hosting predrinks in your dorm room for Mary and her friends on a Friday night. You learn on one of those nights that at least two of the girls have hooked up with him, and there’s a strange, sinking sensation in your chest. You’re not sad, or at least, you tell yourself you shouldn’t be. You and Roger are just friends, it’s not like there’s anything going on there, sure, sometimes after a really good show he’ll give you a pash, but it’s- that’s just him.

It’s not like you’ve never thought about it, but you also know his reputation, and that it’ll do more harm than good to get involved with that. He’s the one mistake you don’t think you want to make.

It’s Summer, a few years later, when they trade in the van to get money to hire the recording studio. Roger had really loved that van, and he lay on your sofa for a solid hour grumbling about it, about how Freddie had some kind of nerve. You roll your eyes at him, call him a drama queen, which he takes offence to, but moves obligingly when you sit down, letting him rest his head in your lap.

When you raise the point that it might be worth it, he looks frankly aghast, griping about how he has to catch lifts everywhere now. He calms down somewhat when you start carding your fingers through his hair, though he still pouts.

“If it comes to it, I’ll buy you a car, you baby.” You snort, despite the fact that you’re currently barely making a living wage on some retail job, it’s not where you’d thought you’d be after university, but sometimes that’s just how it is. He looks up at you, and when you look down at him, he’s looking very intense. Perhaps he might say something poignant about your offer, you think, but instead he reaches up and pokes your nose.

“I can see up your nostrils.” He tells you, and you smack his hand away, scowling. You stand abruptly, ignoring his complaints, smoothing your pants out against your thighs.

“Come on,” you offer your hand, which he regards with both confusion and a bit of disdain, “you can’t mope around my apartment and complain about the band again. We’re going out.” That gets his interest.

You’ve been to bars with him before, and usually you go home alone while he gets the pick of the prettiest girls of the night, or he decides to wingman you, which hurts your heart a little, but you won’t decline. You were attractive in your own right, you won’t deny that, you didn’t technically need his help, but a selfish part of you likes the way the attention to you, even if it’s to help you get with other people.

Tonight is different, tonight he doesn’t leave your side, he slings an arm around you as the two of you stand by the bar watching the truly mediocre band they had on that night.

“You know why they aren’t recording an album?” You ask as the set ends.

“Because they didn’t sell their van?” Roger mused, vaguely bitter, but not melancholy as he swirled the last of his drink in his free hand.

“No, it’s because they’re terrible.” Turning, you smile at your own blunt remark, and when he looks back at you, he’s grinning with a little disbelief. There’s very little space between the two of you, but that doesn’t make your heart race anymore, he’s your best friend, close contact was part of the bargain. But he kissed you, quickly, without warning, and when he pulls back, he turns away to order another drink like nothing had happened.

Your mind is spiralling, this isn’t post-gig excitement, this wasn’t something you were expecting. The selfish creature in your chest that you tried to deny for so long was crowing with victory. Taking a quick look around the bar, you don’t recognise anyone, though there are a few girls who look like they’d be his type- but his hand is moving to wrap around your waist as he turns back.

“What was that?” Voice quiet, you take his drink and have a sip of it yourself, the movement done from muscle memory alone. He raises his eyebrows at you, not regarding the drink, that was a usual occurrence, but at the question. He doesn’t seem to know how to answer, baffled at the question. Dropping you gaze, you take a sip of your own drink. “Why me? Why tonight?” You asked. Looking incredulous, he stepped back, looking you over.

“Have you seen yourself tonight, love? Couldn’t help myself.” You’ve heard him talk like this before, to other girls, not as blunt, but with you he can get away with it. The creature in your chest is elated, and you find yourself smiling, actually blushing. He moves closer once more, his arm around you, voice low as he spoke into your ear. “Trust me, you look very fit tonight, any man would be lucky to have a crack at you.” Heart in your throat, you hope you’re reading the situation right, at the same time ignoring the part of you that knew this was a bad idea.

“Even you?” You turned to face him, watching the way his smile shifted to a smirk, and he pulled you a little closer.

“You know I’m always feeling lucky.”

You kiss him, feeling your blood thumping in your veins, selfish and excited in equal measure, but with his hands on you, you can’t find the focus to care about the former.

Once the bad starts up again, Roger pulls away, making a face at them, asking if you wanted to get out of there. You do, and the two of you are elated on the quick walk back to his apartment, stopping only when he pressed you up against the wall of an closed shop to suck a hickey into the skin of your neck. You catch sight of it in his bedroom mirror, but he’s pulling off your jacket and you have better things to worry about.

It’s not weird, like you thought it would be, when you wake the next morning and he’s curled up, fast asleep with his back to you, but your chest aches just a little. He avoids eye contact over breakfast, though you chat like normal. The gripes about his van have died down, though he makes an offhand comment about things are changing that you read enough into to realise what had happened.

“You’ll always have me, Rog.” You reach across the table to take his hand, and he finally looks you in the eye, he looks so relieved, not that he’d ever say it. Afraid of losing another thing he cared about, he had panicked last night and tried to keep you close in the only way he knew how. He certainly loved you, but not in the way you wanted him to. Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, you give him a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. It’s not his fault.

Bohemian Rhapsody airs in Autumn, you’re regional manager now, and you’re sitting in your office when you hear for the first time; you almost scream when the first harmony comes in after the radio host introduces the song.

“You’re a star, Rog!” You gush over the phone on your break, unable to wait until that night when the band was having a celebratory get-together to talk to him.

“Of course, I am, you think I sing that high to be paid in peanuts?” You can hear the smile in his words without even seeing him, and being able to hear his voice warms your heart.

“That was you?” You laugh, the ‘Galileo's playing back in your head, and you try to picture him singing it, which only made you laugh harder.

“Oi,” he bristled, indignant at your laughter, “I’m the only one with the range to execute Freddie’s vision.” You could see him in your mind now, proud and stubborn, standing tall to defend the decision.

“I’m proud of you.” Suddenly sincere, you find your smile turning to something more genuine as you think back on far he’s come.

“Thank you.” His own voice has become less animated, more sincere, though you can still hear him smiling.

“Love you, Rog.” You tell him, just as you always did when you parted ways.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

He’s grinning, draped with casual confidence in an armchair in Freddie’s living room when you arrive, and you feel like you’ve been taken back five years, the casual enthusiasm he’s exerting. Smile brightening, he stands when he sees you, striding across the room to enfold you in a hug.

“Good to see you!” He practically beams at you, holding your shoulders as he looks over you, as if assessing you, seeing if anything has changed.

“Of course, you’ve been holed up for weeks, I wouldn’t miss this for the world!” Though he’s in front of you, you’re words address the room as a whole, and when he steps back, Brian moves in to hug you as well, asking how you’ve been.

The boys are your friends, all of them, you’ve been around for most of their big band moments, and it eases something in your chest to be here for this one too. But then the ease sharply tightens as a woman you’ve never seen before sits on the arm of Roger’s chair, and he rests a hand on her thigh, smiling up at her.

Mary follows your gaze, and her smile is sad as she pulls you down to sit beside her, asking you about your thoughts on the single. You answer, though your heart’s not in it, and the selfish creature in your chest rears it’s ugly head after such a long slumber.

The monster has shifted, changed and grown, it hadn’t cared about him running around with any pretty girl he could find for the past few years, but this was different. Roger had made it clear that he was far from sacred, but this was the band, this was Freddie’s home, this was the place of some of your happiest memories; this was yours.

You stay well into the early hours of the following morning, despite the interloper, but Roger still stopped you at the door.

“I’m really glad you could make it, I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.” He’s smiling at you, but you don’t smile back. It’s been a long night of being kind and pretending that you’re heart didn’t hurt.

“Well, you’ve very busy.” You shrug, punctuating it with a yawn. His expression turns confused, and you open the door.

“Y/N.” He tried to get your attention, but you left, throwing a goodbye over your shoulder to him. “Love you.” He calls through the door, but you stay quiet, refuse to say it back, just keep walking. You’re too tired to be upset, but maybe you’ll get there tomorrow.

Things change, and you’ve grown to accept that, but sometimes old aches don’t heal like they should. Or at all.

“I’m getting married.” He calls you at the end of Winter.

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

Your relationship’s been on the mend in the years since the Bohemian Rhapsody launch night. You two smile and laugh like you had when you were younger, and you’ve learned to listen to his exploits and his gripes about women, offering your own about your partners, though they’re few and far between. He’s still your best friend, and you learn to act like it.

“Congratulations.” Your voice is flat. It had been a shock, you’d heard about his latest on-again off-again girlfriend, and had even offered advice in certain situations, actual advice, no malice at all.

“Thanks.” He doesn’t seem to know where to go from here, and silence stretches out between the two of you.

“I should go.” You finally murmur.

“What? Why?” He spluttered, and you sighed deeply.

“Was there something else you wanted to talk about?” You asked, closing your eyes and leaning your forehead against the wall.

“I- no, but I want you to be there.” He paused. “And I wanted to be the one to tell you.” Clenching your jaw, you make a snap decision.

“I can’t-”

“Why not?” He actually sounded angry, which was perhaps warranted, though your next words shut him up.

“Because it hurts, Roger.” After a beat, your voice is quiet. “Because I love you.” Taking a breath, you let yourself relax. “I want you to be happy, but I can’t watch you marry someone else.” There’s silence for a very long moment, but you hang up before he can respond. You take the phone off the hook. You need to be alone, just for now.

“After everything, you still-?” It’s the first day of Spring, and he’s on your doorstep, seemingly unable to say the word love. You’re wearing your pyjamas and he looks like he’s just walked out of a Rolling Stone cover shoot, though he just sort of looks like that now, you supposed.

“Don’t worry about it.” You try not to betray how much his visit shocked you, or the way his very presence after your recent conversation hurt you.

“You’re my best friend! Of course I’m gonna worry about it!” He threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. Sighing deeply, he stepped forward. “I thought I fucked everything up when we hooked up, I’m sorry, I panicked.” He was looking at his fidgeting hands, rather than your surprised expression. “And then... I thought I fucked it up again when I chose the band over you.”

“You never-” You tried to protest, but he smiled self-deprecatingly.

“No, I did. I loved you, and I thought that would get in the way of the band.” Clenching his jaw, he looked up and you could see the regret in his eyes. “It was easier to fuck around that tell you I love you.” Your breath stopped in your throat as he finally walked closer. “And I thought after everything, that you deserved better; you know what I’m like, why would you-?” But you cut him off with a kiss.

“You’ll always have me.” You murmured, finally letting yourself smile. Nothing about it felt selfish, in fact, it felt as though the sun was finally shining on you, warming you from the inside out.

“I know,” he agreed quietly, wrapping you up in a hug.

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x reader #borhap #queen #bohemian rhapsody #queen imagine #ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #bo rhap #the angry lizard writes

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buttsonthebeach · 5 years

Text

Overwhelmed

EVERYONE! I had the distinct pleasure of writing a full scene commission for @lauren-draws-things/@lauren-draws-xxx based off of one of her very NSFW and very amazing drawings! (The link might not work - Tumblr is giving me a hard time, of course)

Thank you for letting me write Lenneth, and I am so pleased that you think I did her justice <3

My Ko-Fi || My Commissions (Slots for February coming SOON!)

Pairing: Solas x Lenneth Lavellan

Rating: EXPLICIT. Content warnings for double penetration, dom/sub dynamics, and inappropriate uses of magic.

**********

Solas was always entirely too controlled, in Lenneth’s humble opinion. He didn’t misplace a single spell or word. He considered each bite of his food, each sip of his drink. He was mild-mannered to the rudest of nobles, quiet in noisy arguments. Of course, she did have to admit that that made it extra fun to rile him up. To be the only one who saw another side of him. To creep up behind him as he stood in front of his desk in the rotunda, wrap her arms around his waist, nuzzle into the space between his shoulder blades, feel him relax into her touch – and then to stand on tiptoe and place a wet, smacking, sucking kiss on the soft skin where his neck met his shoulder. “Lenneth!” He was trying to be scolding, but there wasn’t much use in trying to be scolding when one had just yelped like a dog. “You’ve been at this for far too long. Those oculara skulls won’t get any deader, you know. They will still be here in the morning. Come to bed, vhenan.” She wrapped her arms around him again and cuddled into the crook of his neck. He smelled like ink and lyrium and his own skin and it was perfect, and she wanted to drown herself in that scent. There was already a prickle of heat between her legs, and she would stoke it to a flame before the night was done.

“I am close to done.” He said, gently extricating himself from her grasp, giving her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. Lenneth looked him over from head to toe. “Really? You don’t even look like you’ve started.” She let her gaze linger on the part of his sweater that preserved his modesty in order to make her meaning clear. He rolled his eyes. “You are more clever than that.” “When I want to be, perhaps. Right now I just want to be underneath you. Or on top of you. Whichever you prefer, really.” She rocked up onto her toes and then back onto her heels, full of her own excitement, her affection for the stoic man before her. She would peel back every layer soon enough. “No,” Solas said breezily, walking around to the other side of his desk. With a lazy wave of his hand, he reignited a candle that had fizzled while they talked.

That gave Lenneth a thought. One that had more to do with said prickle of heat between her own legs, and less to do with actual candles.

“You know,” she said. “You could always try using your magic on me instead.”

The aura of her own magic heightened around her at the thought, as though prickling with a hundred needles. It was one of those things she’d always wondered about when she was younger, and coming into her power. Things were always complicated with other mages in her clan and outside of it. She hadn’t had a chance to try with anyone else.

And Solas - the creativity in his spells, the way he confounded Vivienne and Dorian and Bull with them, the way he always seemed to be holding back some of his power - he was the perfect person to try with.

It helped that he was also handsome, and charming, that he loved her, and that she loved him, of course.

It also helped that goading him into giving it a try would be the most fun Lenneth had had in a long time, and the gods knew she needed the fun after the tension and horror of Halamshiral and Adamant.

She sent one long lick of her mana towards Solas and used it to trace the curve of his ear. She could feel the lightness that always filled her body when she stood halfway between both worlds - Fade and reality - and that only amplified that hunger growing within her. It did good things for Solas, too, from the vibration she felt in his aura at the touch of hers. The way he stood up straighter and breathed in through his nose was a good indication, too. A grin broke across her face.

“I have no idea what you are implying,” Solas said mildly.

“Come on,” she pleaded, following him, draping herself around him, nuzzling against his back and running her hands down his sides, perilously close to the fronts of his thighs. “I know how much you love to show off.”

“Lenneth, I promised this report to your council by the time you have your morning meeting.”

Solas’s tone was exasperated but he did not draw away from her. She knew how much he craved touch, how under that confident, austere veneer he was desperate for it, so desperate he could not even admit it fully, and had to show it in the way he would inevitably take control from her so he could have exactly what he wanted, needed, and from the way he seemed to hate every inch of space between them once they were alone, and bare.

Lenneth liked the role she played in that dance. She liked teasing, teasing, prodding, until she reached the soft, vulnerable center of him, and he had to react. She knew he liked it too. He didn’t know how to let it out otherwise.

“Well, that’s the marvelous thing about being in charge,” she said. “I hereby push your deadline to the afternoon meeting instead.” She traced a line down the front of his left leg with just one finger. He shivered but did not react otherwise.

Solas shook his head. “You know full well that the Seeker asked for the report. She wants to know how it intersects with what she learned from Lord Seeker Lucius. And she will not be present at the afternoon meeting.”

But he was starting to lean back into her now. Lenneth let her wandering finger wander inward, away from the warm muscle of his thigh towards the warmer, softer part of him that she most wanted to touch.

“I’m sure it wouldn’t be hard for you to amuse me for a little while, and then finish your report later,” she said as she cupped him and felt the beautiful weight of his sex in her hand.

Solas sucked in a breath.

“Lenneth,” he said. “We are in public.”

“And?” she said, cupping him closer, tighter, feeling him start to swell. “Am I not allowed to embrace my lover in public?”

“I believe that you are currently doing much more than embrace me,” he said, voice pitched low. It vibrated in his chest and she wondered if he could make his magic vibrate like that.

“Oh, my mistake then,” she said, withdrawing the touch, stepping back around to the other side of the desk, adding a twirl because she was alive and happy and she knew the dance between them had begun, and she was taking a night off from thinking about anything else. She retreated to the couch, feeling Solas’s eyes on her the whole while, knowing he was eyeing the sway of her ass as she walked.

“I have never known you to be so easily convinced,” Solas said.

“Disappointed?”

“In you? Never.”

It was such an unexpectedly sweet response. His smile was so genuine. Lenneth curled her toes with delight and then slouched down on the couch so she was reclined, and let her legs fall open, and Solas’s gaze was so heavy on the place between them that she could feel it, as real as if it was his hand.

“I must finish this,” he said.

“Would you really have me believe that you can’t finish me at the same time?”

She could see the delicate flaring of his nostrils, the flicker of his gaze from her casually spread legs to the report on his desk. He was weighing his obligations and the challenge she’d just thrown down for him. His parents, whoever they had been, had done well to name their son Pride.

Solas sat down at the desk and picked up his quill, as calm and poised as if their conversation had never happened. Lenneth deflated, dropping her head back against the sofa, and sighing theatrically. But Solas’s timing, as ever, was unerring. At the exact moment that she began to think she really had fallen in love with the most stubborn, unyielding man alive, she felt a row of wet kisses trickling down her neck. They were plush, warm, exquisitely placed. She would have sworn she felt Solas’s breath brushing across her skin with each one, that his weight was braced above her on the couch. But even as she let out a pleased hum and arched up, seeking more, she saw that he was still at the desk.

His left hand was busy with his quill, and his right hand was somewhere beneath the desk, on his knee, perhaps, and that was the trick. That was how he was doing this. He had so much power, so much control, that he could make her feel his presence with just a few subtle, out-of-sight gestures of his fingers.

Lenneth knew exactly what else he could do with a few subtle gestures of his fingers.

The ethereal kisses went lower, between her breasts, towards her navel. She whimpered, then slapped a hand over her mouth. It was late enough that the tower was mostly empty, but there was forever a spy in the rookery above, or one last scholar in the library scribbling notes, and she did have to be some sort of figure of authority at the end of the day.

“I cannot believe I ever found your focus indomitable,” Solas said, a chuckle warming the words.

He ended whatever sentence he was writing with a decisive stab of his quill onto the parchment. She could see the muscles in his right arm tense and before she could respond she felt a wash of sensation all over her body, a rain of a hundred kisses all over her skin, as if her clothes didn’t exist, as if nothing existed except his affection for her. He was kissing her breasts, her shoulders, her earlobes, her thighs, her ankles, the length of her spine. He was kissing her everywhere except her throbbing sex. She felt unbearably hot there, unbearably slick, unbearably swollen, already half undone, and she was still fully clothed, and he had not actually touched her once.

But Lenneth had some pride, too. She bit back the final mewling cry that threatened to spill from her when the rain of kisses faded, the last six or so being placed strategically around her lower belly and the tops of her legs, accompanied with a gentle nuzzling sensation. She propped herself up on her elbows and met Solas’s gaze.

“You know, I really thought your tricks would be more impressive. Is that all you can do?”

“Oh?” Solas said, returning to his writing, looking away from her. “I did not think I had to impress you. I thought I had already won you, my heart.”

And there, again, that disarming sweetness that made her want to melt into the floor, that made her breath catch in her throat. She felt a final ghostly kiss, this one on her forehead. She loved this side of him. But it wasn’t quite what she was after tonight. They could have all of that later. For now, she wanted him to transport her, to shed every pretense, to make her forget they were anything but animals.

“Didn’t you say something to me about Halamshiral? How no victory is permanent?” she replied, sitting up now - but keeping her legs spread wide, her feet planted firmly on the stone floor, and invitation and a challenge alike.

“Ah, so you do listen to my - what did you call them? My ramblings?” Solas continued writing, and now there were gentle fingers whispering up and down the outside of her legs, hands kneading the tension from her shoulders and running through her hair. Lenneth moaned in spite of herself, widened her legs further.

“Occasionally. And if I didn’t?” She did not bother to hide the breathlessness in her voice, even if she did not yet beg for him to stop teasing and fuck her already.

“That would be your choice. But I do so enjoy talking to you. You have the loveliest voice, you know.”

And that was when his magic placed a sloppy, open-mouthed, hungry kiss right on her cunt.

Lenneth arched, keened, scrabbled for purchase on the sofa, tried to press forward into a touch that wasn’t there. Other sensations joined that of his mouth - she felt hands spreading her legs, pushing them onto the sofa, felt the bulk of his shoulders, and even if she stared at the empty air in front of her, even if she stared at Solas, whose eyes were lowered demurely to the report, she could not convince herself that the feelings were anything less than utterly real.

“Oh, please, oh, more, yes, more -” she cut off her own babbling, felt her face go flame red, rode against the shape of his jaw and the press of his tongue. Her clit twitched, grew, ached for more.

“More of what?” Solas said. “I thought my talents were not impressive.”

That was, of course (of course) when two fingers slid inside of her, when he sealed his lips around her aching clit and sucked, when she had to bite down on her wrist, and even then her desperate whimpers still echoed off of the stone walls, and even then the ravens in the rookery rustled and clucked.

He kept working her. Lenneth’s smallclothes clung to her body, each stroke of his fingers and his tongue bringing a fresh wave of slick welling up from within her, and she was pulsing with her own need, writhing against the couch, shuddering every time he fluttered his tongue around her clit and calmly continued writing. The space between them was an ocean now, a gap so vast it took her breath away.

“Please, please - I want you and this, you and this, you and this.” She babbled her own refrain, not even really sure of her own meaning, just knowing that she needed all of him, every last scrap of Solas she could have, that she needed to be totally and utterly overwhelmed.

She opened her eyes. Solas had stopped writing. He was staring at her, hard, the muscles in his jaw working, like he really was there between her legs, eating her like she was his last meal. They locked eyes. He guided her closer, closer, closer to that precipice, she felt all the pleasure gather in one place, felt it about to explode outwards, felt a scream building in her throat - and then all the sensations stopped. She hovered, locked, at that precipice, panting, her throat raw.

“Upstairs,” Solas said, that one word a command. Then, smiling slyly: “If you can stand.”

Between the two of them and their ability to warp the Veil around themselves for speed and silence and cover, they made it up to her bedroom relatively unnoticed. Lenneth started shucking off her clothes on the stairs. She wasn’t sure who reached for who first - if it was Solas who clutched at her, or she who clutched at him, but before they ever reached the bed they were wrapped up in each other, clawing, biting, kissing. There was no magic now, other than the magic of their own connection, of how they bent and swayed together.

“More,” Lenneth said, reaching between them, cupping and grasping him, already ramrod straight and painfully hard in her hand. Solas made a muffled, gutted sound against her throat, where he was leaving sucking kisses behind. His hips rocked forward and so did hers.

“Bed,” Solas said.

And like that, Lenneth knew she had him. He had gone from his usual eloquence to single words, to ripping the hem of his tunic as he drew it over his head, to dropping his jawbone necklace with a clatter against the stone floor instead of setting it gently aside - he had gone from carefully controlled forays with his magic to a crackling power that seethed around him as he followed her onto the bed, crawling over her, his eyes all hunger and his hands all need.

“More,” she begged again. “More, vhenan, please, more -”

She was still soaked from their earlier play, and that had to be the only reason it didn't hurt when Solas drove himself into her, filling her up. She looked down the length of their bodies to watch his cock pumping in and out of her, the steady, driving rhythm of his need, the way her body parted for his, the shine of her slick on his rosy, rigid flesh.

“More,” she whined again. “I can't ever have enough of you, give me more.”

“Patience.” Single words again, this one little more than a growl.

“No.” Lenneth nipped at his chin, his throat, the corner of his mouth, squeezed herself around him.

And like that, she was on her stomach, and he was hauling her hips back, keeping her legs spread, pressing down between her shoulder blades, spreading her with two fingers. She ached with her own emptiness, leaned towards him, utterly wanton now.

“I am going to fill you with my magic,” Solas said. She could not see his face but she could hear his harsh breathing. “Will that satisfy you at last?” He stroked the length of her spine. It was a soothing, gently touch that made her skin prickle.

“No,” Lenneth said. “I want you, too. I want you everywhere.”

Solas's hand paused in its journey on her back. Lenneth turned her head so she could see him. His blue eyes gone black with desire, the flush on his high, sharp cheekbones, the angle of his jaw, his parted lips.

“I do,” she said, raw in her own need, her own vulnerability. She was spread before him, needing him, opened up to the most primal parts of her self. Nothing else mattered but this. She had wanted that tonight. After everything she had given for others. She just wanted this and all it meant.

Solas slid two fingers into her, curled them down, and her belly hollowed out with pleasure. He pressed on that rough spot within in her over and over again.

“I want all of you, too,” he said. “Will you give me that?”

“Of course,” she said. A wave of pleasures rippled through her, made her wetter, made Solas groan, finger her harder. “Please, gods, Solas - fuck me.”

Solas pulled her up by her waist - their bodies were flush together - he turned, they stumbled a bit, they ended up against the headboard of the bed, Lenneth spread wide between his legs. Another moment of fumbling, hands and legs - a lifting - and he was inside her again, but still this time. It was his mana that was stirring, rising, thickening from the ethereality of the Fade into something she could truly feel. Something pressing against her opening, close against Solas's length, rubbing shyly, teasingly, not quite breaching her.

A shiver ran through Lenneth's whole body.

“Oh, please, please, please -”

“You beg so prettily,” Solas said. She could feel his grin against her cheek.

The magic pressed inward by the smallest margin, stretching and burning her. She was full of Solas's body and she would have his magic now too, the essence of him, every ounce of him. She thought of him coming like this, filling her up the way she liked best, how he would groan and shudder behind her. Her cunt clenched. The magic slid in further. It was heavy, thick, blunt, pulsing with energy. Solas muffled a sound into her shoulder. Lenneth squeezed around him again, whined high and loud at the fullness, the vibration coming off the magic, the flex of Solas's own flesh within her.

“Wicked thing,” Solas murmured, rocking his hips, easing the magic in further.

“More, more, more,” Lenneth begged, and probably more besides that. She was not really in the business of paying much attention to what she was saying at the moment. All of her focus was reserved for swiveling and grinding her hips against that all consuming pressure within her.

“Needy thing,” he murmured.

And then he thrust hard, up into her, and she was so full she could not breathe or speak at all.

She burned, she ached, she felt herself on the verge of coming, her core so hot and so wet and so built up that surely all that pleasure would spill over soon. Solas seemed to sense that. He withdrew.

“No - no no no, please, vhenan, I need you, I need you to fuck me, right now, please, fuck me -”

She was being loud (as usual) and she did not care (as usual). Solas chuckled. The sound reverberated between their sweat-slick bodies. Lenneth looked down between them, caught a glimpse of the swollen red head of him, leaking clear fluid, the way his cock twitched and bobbed and the way he held back his own need.

“Noisy thing, too,” he said. “Perhaps I shall find a way to silence you. Would you like that, my heart? To be so full of me you cannot even speak?”

“Yes, please, yes -”

“Then have -” he paused, inched himself in, nestled his head into her folds. “Patience.”

Then Lenneth watched as the magic swelled beside him, a pale, shimmering phallus that found its own way into her body. They slid in together. She tried to watch but her eyes rolled back and it was good, so good, so overwhelming in the best way, there was nothing but sensation, pressure, friction, closeness. Her own magic hummed with the touch of his, the core of her connection to the Fade swelling at the same time as her clit, the walls of her cunt. She started up her sounds again, her noisy cries and moans and pleas. Solas worked her, held onto her hips to give himself stability, bounced her up and down and both the cocks filling her up. It was too much and not enough, when she came she would only get tighter and tighter, and she was going to come, her skin was all sparks and she was shouting now, feeling the wave building, her head tipped back -

And that, of course, was when her mouth was filled as well.

If she had not watched Solas’s own cock disappear inside her body, if she could not feel the slow, powerful pumping of his hips beneath hers, she would have sworn that that was what happened - that he had pushed himself into her mouth and was fucking her there, too. The cock that filled her mouth was smooth, thick, heavy, warm, as urgent in its movement as the two inside her sex were.

Lenneth only shouted all the louder. She was sweating. Solas was too. Beneath the sound of her own pleasure (trapped in her throat as it was) she could still hear him grunting his own joy. It was perfect. Perfect, perfect, perfect - the rough jostling of their bodies, the ecstasy of feeling him everywhere, of not being able to think of anything but how fucking good it all felt, how wet she was, how tight - tighter, tighter, tighter, she’d come so close the first two times, this time would she tip over the edge, would all that pleasure spill out in wave after wave, would that make Solas come too -

Solas nuzzled against her ear. He pinched her nipple. How did he still have a hand free? He went slower, harder with each thrust, and the sheer power, the power in him - he had such control over his magic and over himself -

“Do you think you will ever doubt me again?” he crooned.

The cock in her mouth slid further, teased the back of her throat. She tasted salt. She wanted it to spill all over her mouth. She wanted him to spill all over her belly. Her clit twitched, twitched, twitched. She wanted to come. She was babbling all of that but he couldn’t hear it, of course. Although - maybe he did, because he bit down on her shoulder and resumed one last driving rhythm, filled her, filled her, filled her, sent a spark of magic down to the place between her thighs and then -

And then her whole world was light, and sound, and pleasure.

She was coming, coming, coming, jerks and spasms, long keening cries, her whole body shaking, and she felt the ethereal shaft in her mouth jerk and spasm too, felt Solas’s whole body go tense - felt the magic dissipate, suddenly, half of the fullness leaving her body just as the last pulses wracked her - and then he pulled himself free from her body just in time to splash her with his spend, groaning and shaking all the while behind her, and he had been full, too - he went on and on, rope after rope, until he too was weak with the force of his pleasure.

Lenneth lay back against him, trembling. Solas barely held her up. He was panting. Lenneth was sore, and exhausted - and alive, so alive, and in love, so in love. She did not ever want to move or think again.

“Are you well?” Solas asked some time later. Lenneth wondered if she had dozed off and worried him. But, then again, he was like that - solicitous, caring, aware of her needs, perhaps even to the detriment of his own.

“I am perfect,” she said. He hummed and kissed her shoulder in response.

“Shall I clean you off?”

“After you worked so hard to make a mess of me?”

He laughed. She burrowed against him, determined not to let him move her off of him. She could not see his face this way, but she could feel every part of him - could feel him softening against her thigh, could feel the rhythm of his heart - and that mattered far more.

“Oh, Lenneth,” he said, absently. Maybe he was falling asleep, too.

“Are you well?” she asked, no mockery in her repetition of his question.

Solas was quiet a moment before answering. She wondered if it disconcerted him when she pushed him to lose control, or even if it just drained him. She waited for his answer, attentive.

“I am more than well,” he said. “As always, vhenan, you - transport me.”

She wondered what he meant by that. It was an odd choice of words. A careful one.

“I hope I transport you somewhere good,” she said. “Especially when we play like this.”

This time she had to turn around to see his face, to be sure. She flopped over inelegantly, so that she was still lying on top of him, but face to face this time. He was more flushed than she expected, but his face had a dreamy relaxation.

Solas cupped her face in both his hands, like she was something precious.

“Always,” he said, kissing each of her cheeks. “Except, perhaps, when you refuse to clean up, and then roll over on top of me, and make a mess of me too.”

Lenneth laughed, and that made her more sore, but once again it was the best kind of soreness - the kind that came from connection, from happiness. From feelings that overwhelmed.

#beach does commissions #lenneth lavellan #lauren-draws-things #solavellan fanfic #smutty literature #lemon #i can't believe we are using that tag again #ahhhh i really enjoyed working on thissss #beach writes

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