#too much time spent on the client and not enough spent on the characters

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 32

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Well, this escalated in a way I didn't plan.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Mr. Laufeyson’s voice is a low drone. You can hear his curt tone as he comes through the front door. His slither is met by a booming timbre that makes you jump. Thor speaks loudly, enough for some of his words to thunder through the walls that divide you.

Your ears pulse as you try not to listen. You know you shouldn’t. By Laufeyson’s reaction alone, you know his brother is less than welcome. Thor’s presence brings you little peace yourself as the memory of his creeping touch crawls up your spine.

You sit behind the laptop and try to focus on the screen. If you can distract yourself, it will be over soon enough and Thor will be gone. Maybe then, you can figure out why Mr. Laufeyson has turned to ice.

“...is she?” The two words echo and jar you from your failing battle.

Laufeyson’s response is short and sharp. You fill in the blanks of his deflection; ‘none of your concern’.

“...busy cleaning up your messes, eh?” Thor’s taunting question rolls upwards as footsteps hammer up the stairs, stopped halfway as another pair shuffle after them.

“I did not welcome you in,” Laufeyson is clearer now. You assume they are on the staircase with how their voices waft airily.

“Always the gracious host,” Thor counters.

“Do not lecture me on grace. Say what you’ve come to say and go. I’m busy–”

“Oh, yes, if I had a little maid like that, I’d always be busy as well–”

“Get on with it,” Laufeyson snarls.

Thor laughs heartily, “brother, one day you will see we are more alike than you care to accept. Maybe then you would see that it is the crux of our problems. You might even appreciate our shared tastes–”

“If you’ve only come to ramble, I’m not interested. I’ve spent enough time entertaining you lot–”

“You speak as if we are enemies,” Thor accuses, “you cannot waste time on family.”

“Ah, because kinship has always been sacred in your heart,” Laufeyson scoffs, “you are like a storm, you bluster but only make a mess. Say what you came to say and leave me be. I’ve work to do. Real work.”

“Well, if I am to deliver my message, I think both recipients should receive it, don’t you?”

“Say it,” Laufeyson hisses.

“But it is meant for both of you. The little maid as well–”

You sit up straight and tweak your head. You shouldn’t listen but you’re caught now. You cannot keep from overhearing.

“House manager,” Laufeyson girds, “I’m certain I can efficiently communicate whatever nonsense has drawn you here.”

“And they say I am stubborn,” Thor snorts, “Walpurgisnacht.”

“Walpurgisnacht?” Laufeyson echoes the single word.

“Surely you recall the old ways.”

“Don’t,” Laufeyson warns.

“Mother is having a celebration. Like when we were young. Father’s agreed to it.”

“She didn’t mention.”

“Ah, yes, well, you’ve much going on. She sent me to inquire after the little maid– house manager. She would require help with arranging the festivities.” Thor explains, “oh, and you’re invited too, I suppose.”

“She has her staff, does she not?”

“Frida is too old. She only serves tea and Gertrude’s never been very strong-minded. Mother needs input, not an empty vessel.”

“Charming,” Laufeyson remarks, "well, I will consider it. Next time, tell mother to call.”

“There will be many old faces. Many may even be happy to see you,” Thor goads.

“I wouldn’t expect so,” Laufeyson retorts, “must I ask you to leave anon?”

Another rolling guffaw fills the house. You hear a grunt from Laufeyson and a muted thump. Thor quiets with a sigh, “ah, fine, fine, I shall leave you to your little– house manager. You will tell her I say hello.”

Silence roils through the air. A scuff cuts through the tension and footfalls clamour down the stairs. The front door opens and closes, leaving you to wallow in the dark cloud left behind. Mr. Laufeyson’s long exhale blows up the staircase ahead of him and you listen to his approach.

You look at the door, expecting him to come through any moment. But it isn’t that one he opens. It’s the study door that slams with a terrible force. His growl permeates through and the adjoined door clicks as the lock is flicked into place. You stare at it and frown.

You don’t suppose his mood will thaw any time soon.

✨

Mr. Laufeyson does not emerge for supper. You barely eat anything yourself as anxiety tortures your stomach. You clean up after yourself and retreat upstairs. 

You near the study, lingering before the door as you pluck up your courage. You tap softly on the wood. There’s no answer. You didn’t hear him go but maybe you missed it.

“I made dinner, Mr. Laufeyson. I’ve left you a plate in the oven,” you speak through the wood, to the ghost on the other side.

You traipse away in defeat. You’re entirely confused. What did you do so wrong? Even before his brother’s unprompted visit, Mr. Laufeyson was coolly apathetic. Yet that morning, in the shower, he’d been on fire, consuming you like flames.

Maybe you’re not good enough. Maybe you didn’t kiss him just right or make the noises he liked. Oh, but how are you supposed to know what to do?

You sit at the writing desk and tap your fingers on your chin. You squirm in your chair as the scene in the shower replays in your head. You tear it apart, trying to pick out the exact moment of your offense.

You shift on the seat and the throbbing pressure in your core ripples through you. Just the thought of his touch has you alight. You touch your hot cheeks and flutter your lashes. You shouldn’t be worried about all that, you should be working on that spread sheet.

You glance over at the study door. The house is stagnant once more. Just like those early days when you made your slow progress with a broom and mop. Something’s gone terribly wrong. Maybe… you should just leave.

You put your fingers mindlessly to the touch pad of the computer. You swirl around the cursor mindlessly. You blow out through your lips and sit up, another fraught peek towards the door.

You bring both your hands over the keyboard. No, you shouldn’t. 

You need to figure this out. You need to know what you did, or didn’t do. You can be what he wants you to be, you have to. You have nothing else.

You type, then backspace, then type again. After several times, you hit search. You click through to a site with a black background and gasp at the obscene ads that fill the margins. 

You bite down as you try to focus past the small thumbnails. You key into the search bar ‘shower’. You hover your finger over the enter key before you will yourself to hit it.

The search results are just as chaotic. You don’t know what you’re looking for. ‘Best Shower Scenes STEAMY’. Your insides tickle and you squeeze your thighs together. Invisible flames lick at you and cluster in your chest.

You mute the computer as the video loads. The house is so quiet that you’re aware of every creak and crack. You fidget as you sit through the ad of a woman giggling over a URL for meet-ups. You press your hands to your thigh, sitting forward so your weight rests on your pelvis, dampening the tingly heat.

The video begins. A woman with caramel coloured hair and a curvy body. You admire her figure and peer down at your own. Maybe that’s it, maybe you’re not hot enough? You remember how Mr. Laufeyson touched you all over, almost as if he was examining you. Did you disappoint?

You flick your eyes back up as a man enters and they step into the shower booth. You chew your lip as you fixate on his large dick. He’s very big but you think Mr. Laufeyson is too. You’re not sure. This isn’t helping, you still don’t understand anything.

They kiss and fondle each other. You lean forward, watching with a stitch between your brows. The woman drags her hands down the man’s body and gets to your knees. She pumps him with her hand and licks his tip, dragging her tongue down his length. He grabs her head and forces himself into her mouth.

She takes him greedily. Oh. That could be it. Last night, you were so afraid, and you got all teary, and you didn’t know what you were doing. 

You watch her as she touches his sack, squeezing then works her hand in tandem with her mouth on his dick. You put your hand to the side of your neck and hold your breath. You wiggle on the chair, the friction making your own arousal more obvious.

Finally, the woman stands, the man lifting her by her hair. He spins her and bends her forward. She braces the wall and as he slaps her ass several times before gripping her hip. He’s so rough. You don’t know if you could handle that.

He slides into her and your mouth falls open. Her thighs quake and your own give a tremble. Your walls clench as the pressure knots in you. The thought of doing that with Mr. Laufeyson both frightens you and excites you.

You twiddle your fingers and blink at the screen. The furrow in your forehead deepens as you lean forward. You put your fingers along the touchpad but don’t press them down.

“Ahem,” Mr. Laufeyson startles you as he clears his throat.

You sit up and quickly hit the X in the corner. Your throat closes as you struggle to breathe, caught but not entirely. He stands in the doorway between the study and library. From that angle, he can’t see what’s on your screen.

“You are working hard,” he muses as he strides in with crossed arms.

“Yes, sir,” you answer breathily. You stare him in the face, too afraid to look anywhere else as your mind dares to imagine the shower again, both of you naked, this time, you’re bent over and he’s behind you. “Um, did you get your dinner?”

You close the laptop as you stand. You wince as the fabric of your panties clings to your wet cunt. You feel like he can see right through you.

“I’m not hungry,” he stops on the other side of the desk.

“Okay,” you swallow and your eyes flit side to side.

“I never told you to come out,” he drops his arms, placing his hand on the desk as he leans over it.

“Pardon?” You blink furiously.

“I said to remain in here until I told you it was safe. If you made my dinner, then you did not obey me.”

“I… Mr. Laufeyson, your brother’s gone–”

“And how could you know for sure if I did not confirm it?” He challenges with a wry tilt in his head. “I’ve been patient, pet, but I think you may require a different sort of discipline.”

“Mr. Laufeyson?” You babble, “I’m sorry–”

“Your apologies grow tiresome,” he huffs and stands straight. “Come here,” he points between him and the desk.

You put your head down and swiftly walk around the desk. He swirls his finger in the air and you turn your back to him. He backs away and rounds to the side of the desk.

“Hands down,” he nods to the desktop.

You press your palms flat, bent slightly at the waist. He considers you and strokes his chin with a hum. He circles the desk and you in a single, patient lap.

“Stay as you are.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you utter.

“Ah, no talking,” he warns, “remember your rules, pet.”

You gulp as he turns and struts away. Is it okay again? You can’t tell. He’s still rigid and painfully formal. He hasn’t touched you, he seems to be avoiding getting close. You stare at the wood beneath your hands and shiver.

You hear him in his study. You glance over as he appears in the door frame, his hands hidden behind him. He tuts. “Head forward.”

You look ahead and focus on the wall. He nears, his shadow skewed in the lamplight. He stands behind you, a foot away and he hums. He clucks and strolls around the desk to face you.

He pulls his hands from behind his back, revealing a thick leather strap. The brown leather is faded and cracked. Your eyes round as you stare at it and he brings it taught between his hands.

“Flogging is historically a long held practice. For the monk in his self-flagellation, for the heathen in his cell, and… for the woman in her disobedience,” he explains as his lips curl. “Spare the rod, spoil the child…” He takes a breath, “and you, pet, are growing spoiled.”

Your lips part but you don’t speak. You must follow the rules. This is the test. If you fail this, then it’s over. If you fail, you have nothing.

He walks along the desk and rounds the corner, brushing by as he purrs, “remember your rules. Not a sound.”

He comes up behind you and you hold your breath. He tugs at the back of your skirt and shudders. He pulls the fabric above your ass, his hand trailing along the back of your panties. He hooks his finger in the elastic and tears them down to your thighs. You quiver and clench your jaw tight, fighting back a squeak.

He stretches the leather across your ass. It’s cool and smooth. You twitch as bumps rise across your skin. He pulls back and you lower your head. You wait. Nothing. 

You cautiously raise your chin and look back. He snaps the whip across your ass as you do and you spasm with the hot flash of pain. He points to the wall in a wordless demand. Eye forward. You turn your attention back to the grey blue paint as your eyes glisten. He strikes you again, the agony scalding across the swell of your ass.

Your thighs shake as he pulls back again. You await a third but it never comes. You don’t dare move. He paces behind you. You watch his shadow cast before you and he moves abruptly forward. You bite your tongue as he lashes you again. Harder as he lets out a thick grunt.

Your hands slip and you fall forward. You plant your palms more firmly as you push yourself straight. A fourth comes and sends tendrils down to your toes. You hiss through your teeth, quaking, fighting not to collapse.

You deserve this. Whatever you’ve done, you’ve earned this. 

A fifth and your knees knock together. You barely keep afoot as the sixth lands with extra bite. Seven, eight, nine… He lashes you in quick succession, as if he cannot stop himself. The tenth has you heaving, about to vomit with the pain.

He stops himself, his shadow holding up the stap. He lowers it and steps back. He sighs and turns away.

“Tomorrow you will pack for our departure,” he declares, “we leave on Friday.”

We? So you are to go with him. You don’t dare ask or say a single word. You stay as you are, shaking as you roll your eyes back against the flood.

“You will be on your best behaviour,” he warns as he nears the study door, “I trust this lesson will not be forgotten.”

He passes into the study and the door closes harshly. Your legs fold and collapse beneath you. You land in a heap, holding yourself off your ass as you whimper. You won’t ever forget.

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #dark fic #fic #dark!fic #series #au #maid au #dirty work #mcu #marvel #avengers #thor

[myers-meadow]

Hellish beginnings

Pairing: Haarlep x Raphael, budding Raphael x Tav and Haarlep x Tav

Summary: After you paid the House of Hope a visit, you were gone before the master of the house even knew you were there. Yet, you left his personal incubus Haarlep with a delightful present that they just can't wait to share with their master. Perhaps this is not the last time you entered the House of Hope.

Warnings: none. Teen and up rating. They/them used for Tav, no appearance mentioned.

Wordcount: 578

beautiful divider by @cafekitsune. If you enjoyed, please reblog or comment! It is fuel to the fire that is my love for these characters <3.

"Oh, Raphael," Said Haarlep, in sing-song tone, as soon as their master entered his boudoir. "You'd never guess which of your clients paid me a visit today."

Raphael shed his mortal disguise as he walked over to the bed. By his walk, Haarlep could tell how their master's day had been. Not that good. Not that it mattered much to them, but it was good to know.

"I'm not in the mood to guess," Raphael answered, voice thick with displeasure.

"Only your most cherished one..." They said, and their form shifted. Raphael's little mouse laid on his bed then, draped casually, erotically over the ruby sheets. Raphael, who only barely paid attention to his personal incubus, did a double take. His eyes widened. For one joyful moment, he didn't know what to say. Haarlep's grin widened.

"Really?" He then asked, with one eyebrow raised. "Tav." His tone darkened. It was difficult to tell whether he was angry, or intrigued. You very well know that entering the House was forbidden as per your contract, the consequences could be devastating. He'd so hate to have to hurt you, just as you show such promise. "That is quite the surprise."

Haarlep adjusted their position, showing off your features in a different way this time. Giddy, they tugged alluringly at the straps of their underwear. Raphael, drawn in by the sight of you, climbed onto the bed. Haarlep was quick to make room for him.

"You like it?" They asked, rolling over and showing off your backside, curving your back like a cat doing a big lazy stretch. Raphael only hummed, but watched with eager eyes.

"I cant say I haven't thought about them..."

"They were so fun," Haarlep drawled. "Desperate and mewling after just a few kisses. Too bad you weren't there."

"I wonder why they came. If they thought they could break the contract-" Raphael clenched his fists.

"Oh, not to worry, they left without even getting that far. They just had a little gander at your archive, a little poke around the place. I'm sure this is their favourite room of the house. They spent the most time here, after all."

Haarlep changed shape again, into Raphael's glamour, determined to smooth over their master's anger. They laid a warm hand on his hip, trailing fingers up and down the formal doublet. With a flick of the hand, the doublet was gone. Hunger shone in Raphael's eyes, and Haarlep knew just a little convincing would be enough. It would be fun, to have a play with someone else for a bit. To have a third in the bedroom. They were curious to see what would happen. It was one of Raphael's known weaknesses that he got too involved in mortal lives, but this one seemed special.

"Surely it doesn't have to be such a big deal... They didn't do anything bad, after all."

Raphael tutted, finding comfort in the familiar touch. He played with the chains on Haarlep's outfit, tugging the incubus closer. "Perhaps we should invite them for a formal visit. Let us see if we can't talk this over."

Haarlep answered with a wicked grin. "They admitted they have thought of you too. I'm sure they'd be willing to... negotiate."

With his head falling back on the pillow as Haarlep pushed him on his back, Raphael laughed. "Oh, the plot thickens... Why don't you show me what it was about you that had our little mouse mewling, hm?"

#raphael the cambion #haarlep #haarlep x tav #raphael bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #raphael x tav #haarlep x raphael #raphael x haarlep #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 raphael #bg3 haarlep #haarlep x reader #bg3 #bg3 house of hope #raphael x reader #these characters are new to me; this was just a lil scene that popped up in my head while playing. please be gentle aughghg <3

[wake-me-up-inside-imagines]

Ok, I just read your sweet yandere post and would like to add something.

I love the idea of like a mafia boss yandere or someone who is usually cruel (like maybe a Hades sort of character) but is an absolute sweet heart to their darling. One of my fave tropes

OOOOOOH I LOVE THIS TROPE! I have a character who's just like this actually, a total sweetheart to whoever he's with but has a very low tolerance for most other people.

Sorry, this is a long one lol

I'm gonna make headcanons now because you've inspired me lol.

(Banner/divider credit goes to @cafekitsune)!

Tw: Kidnapping, mentions of violence

Mafia boss! Charlie who is no stranger to violence. He's lived his entire life surrounded by it, in fact. Having a mafia boss for a father will do that to you, he guesses.

Mafia boss! Charlie who's spent his whole life working for the mafia, being trained to kill, smuggle, and deal ever since he was a child. He grew up living a life of crime, rising up the ranks (thanks to his father), before taking over as the boss when his father was killed by an unruly client.

Mafia boss! Charlie who's a cruel, ruthless man. He's killed dozens of people, injured many more, and runs his organization with an iron fist. He may be young, but he's learned enough to know that any show of trust, any display of kindness is a show of weakness, a show of vulnerability. He can't afford that, not when he's the head of the mafia, so he makes sure to make it so that no one will question or challenge his authority by any means necessary.

Mafia boss! Charlie who has very few real friends, keeping those he does have at an arm's length. He'd rather die than admit that he craves real relationships, that he desires to make genuine, true connections with others. But he can't, so he pushes his wants to the side, reminding himself that his only purpose is to keep his business running smoothly, nothing more.

Until he sees you, that is.

Mafia boss! Charlie who meets you out on a grocery run one day. Your interaction is nothing special, at least to you, but Charlie can't help but marvel at how easily you make conversation with him while ringing up his items, how seemingly unfazed you are by his snappy attitude and unapproachable appearance. It's been a long, long time since he's met anyone unafraid of him, and those people are usually rivals who are too cocky for their own good. So this, this is new. He knows it's stupid, he knows that your tiny interaction shouldn't have mattered much to someone like him, but he can't help but feel giddy about the connection he's sure he felt.

Mafia boss! Charlie who, against his better judgment, wastes no time in trying to find out who you are. It's not hard, he has an entire organization full of trained trackers, stalkers, and informants at his disposal, and by the end of the day, he has your full name, address, social media accounts, family tree, medical records, and much more safely in his welcoming hands. He knows this is a bit overkill considering he only met you today and your interaction lasted five minutes at most, but now that he has a taste of real human interaction, he's addicted. He needs more.

Mafia boss! Charlie who quickly becomes awestruck and obsessed with you. His whole life, he's been surrounded by the craftiest, cruelest. most violent people imaginable, so to see someone, especially someone as precious as you, live a completely normal life, naive to the dangers he faces everyday? It's captivating! Of course, he can't follow you all day, he is a mafia boss after all, but he has enough people following you around and recording your every move that he doesn't need to! He's never been happier to be who his is than now.

Mafia boss! Charlie who thinks you're the most beautiful person in the world. You're a sweet little thing, too gentle and too unaware of the dangers around you for your own good. He loves everything about you, no matter how weird or embarrassing. He's content to watch you carefully for a couple months, but as time goes on, his need to feel our touch, to talk to you, to see you face to face is too much. He needs you. He needs you NOW. It doesn't help that you're so vulnerable and weak compared to him, with no knowledge of weaponry or stealth to keep you safe. What if someone were to try and hurt you? Of course, his goons wouldn't let that happen, not if they wanted to keep their organs, but he would feel so much better if he could keep an eye on you personally. Not to mention, every mafia boss needs a spouse, and some of his higher ranking associates have been hinting that it's about time he found someone...

Mafia boss! Charlie who immediately starts planning your "transfer" to his house, meticulously drafting out every last detail to secure your safety. He chooses his best, most skilled employees to carry out his plan, only the best for his darling, and sends them out to bring you "home". That day you come home from work, completely unaware of the people in your apartment, completely unaware of the sleeping pills dumped into your water while you weren't looking.

Mafia boss! Charlie who's ecstatic to finally have you with him, to finally have someone to hold, to talk to, to love. He brings your unconscious body to your new room, laying you softly on the bed while instructing his employees to pack up all your belongings and bring them to him. He doesn't tie you down or chain you up, he has enough security measures in place to make sure you won't be able to escape. You won't even be able to leave your room without him being notified.

Mafia boss! Charlie who watches the camera in your room as you wake up for the first time in your new home, confused and disoriented. All of your stuff is here, but this is NOT your apartment. Where are you? He watches as you start to freak out, guilt flashing through him for the first time in his life. He doesn't want you to be scared, he just wants to keep you safe!

Mafia boss! Charlie who sends one of his gentler employees into your room to explain everything, too afraid of scaring you even further by showing up himself. He waits a few days before revealing himself to you, when your terror has calmed down and you've become more familiar with your surroundings. He kind of just stands there, unable to formulate a sentence, which is extremely unnerving to you. You've been told you're to be married to a highly respected and violent mafia boss, and here he is, just...staring. When he opens his mouth to speak, your surprised at how soft his voice is, calmly explaining to you that you're safe, you won't be hurt. He reaches out his hand to touch you, but recoils when you flinch, not wanting to push you.

Mafia boss! Charlie who does everything he can to make you more comfortable and less afraid of him, getting you anything and everything you've ever shown interest in, giving you as much space as you need, and letting roam the rather large house freely. All you can't do is leave. He doesn't understand why you're still so scared, sure he's a criminal, but he promised he would never hurt you!

Mafia boss! Charlie who gets more desperate for your love as time goes on. He starts appearing in whatever room your in, softly talking to you about his day or about whatever you're doing, trying to get you to be more comfortable with him. Once you've gotten used to that, he starting slowly initiating physical contact, holding you in his arms like he's never going to let you go (because he won't). He tried his hardest not to push your boundaries, but eventually his need to be near you becomes too great. Rest assured though, he would never, ever dream of hurting you or purposely scaring you.

Mafia boss! Charlie who can't get enough of the feeling of your skin on his. He starts hugging/cuddling you whenever he can, holding you like you'll break if he presses too hard. He's always near you, cuddling up to you while telling you about how much he loves you, adoration shining in his eyes. He's the clingiest at night though, whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you fall asleep, him watching over you until he succumbs to his own tiredness. And his kisses? They are the softest, fluffiest thing you've ever felt. He cannot get enough of your lips, and he always kisses you passionately, like you'll disappear once he separates from you. With how loving and gentle he is, it doesn't take long for you to start loving him back.

Mafia boss! Charlie who starts giving you more privileges the farther you fall into stockholm. He'll even start taking you out in public on dates once he thinks there's no chance of you trying to escape him. He'd be able to find you if you did, he has many, many connections, but he trusts you won't. He loves going out with you and doing normal, coupley things with you, it's a nice break from his usual, violent life.

Mafia boss! Charlie who is insanely protective of you, never leaving you alone in a room with anyone except for himself. He knows how dangerous it is to be associated with him and now that he has you, he refuses to let anything happen to you. Any rival who attempts to hurt, kill, or kidnap you is met with Charlie himself, who enacts the most brutal, torturous death he can possibly think of on them. Nobody will come close to hurting you, he'll make sure of it. But no matter what happens, he'll always make sure you're far, far away from the violence. He never wants to subject you to the horrors he's seen (and done).

Mafia boss! Charlie who feels awful the first time you hear him raise his voice. It wasn't at you of course, he would never, ever think of yelling at his darling, you just happened to be in the room when he was meeting with one of his associates. It's scary seeing him yell, threatening brutal acts of violence on his own employee, and for the first time you realize how different he is with others than he is with you. He's quick to shut the meeting down once he realizes you're there, spending the rest of the night apologizing to you and assuring you he would never speak to you like that. This'll be the first time he truly opens up about what his job is like and why he has to be as cruel as he is, trying to help you understand why he behaved the way he did. It's difficult for him to make himself vulnerable, but he'd gladly to it if it meant easing your mind. From then on, he makes absolute sure you aren't around whenever he has to take care of business. He refuses to let you see him like that ever again.

Mafia boss! Charlie who never lets you forget how much he needs you in his life. You're the only thing keeping him from devolving into insanity, he wouldn't know how to handle himself if you were gone. He'll give you everything and anything if you listen to him and stay by his side, so please... please don't try to leave him.

Not that you would be able to, anyway.

#x reader #yandere male #male yandere #yandere #yandere thoughts #request #gentle yandere #sweet yandere #obssesive #obsessive love #obsessive yandere #oc x reader #yandere x reader #mafia boss #mafia boss x reader #yandere mafia #yandere mafia boss #soft yandere #tw yandere #yandere boyfriend #ocs #my ocs #charlie x reader #charlie craven x reader

[mirandasidefics]

But Home is Nowhere- Part 4

Lucien x Plus Size! Reader, Azriel x Plus Size! Reader

Summary: Feyre arrives at the Moonstone Palace. Reader meets those from Midgard. (I suck at summaries).

Author's Note: It's another short chapter, sorry. I read HOFAS and moved into a new apartment at the same time so I was a bit busy the past two weeks. There will be some minor spoilers from HOFAS in this and later chapters, but a large majority of it will diverge from canon. This is primarily an ACOTAR fic with a minor part of the main storyline requiring the characters from Crescent City.

Warnings: Mentions of minor violence.

Part 3

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You woke up to the feeling of sunlight on your face. The windows high along the tops of the walls of your bedroom allowed the light to pour in, cascading down the sheer fabric that draped alongside the bedposts. A breeze from the open-air bathing chamber flitted in and ruffled your matted hair. Last night’s dream had been intense and different from the images that haunted you most nights. Instead of simply reliving your week of intense interrogation by Azriel, last night you bore witness to…

‘Damn it, why can’t I remember now.’ Flashes of images leaked from your memory, only the essence of fear and longing remained. You brought your hand up to rub at your temples, a headache beginning to take root. When your hand placed itself back on your hip it didn’t find it. No, it found itself on top of another hand that was larger than yours. As your brain focused through the fog of the sleep tonic you realized something was pressed against your frame. Not something, someone. That wasn’t an outside breeze that brushed past you, but the warm breath of another person. You craned your neck around, careful not to jostle the body curling around yours. Your eyes caught sight of the shining red strands and you relaxed just a bit to see that it was Lucien in the bed with you. You relaxed even further when you noticed he lay on top of the covers while you were underneath. You weren’t sure how you would have reacted had there been less of a barrier between you two. Reflexively his hold moved from your hips, his arm wrapping around your waist and tightened, pulling you closer. You were surprised that his arm fit around you; his fingers curling in when they couldn’t find space on your opposite side with your body pressed against the mattress. Still you shifted slightly so that the flab of your stomach didn’t spread too far out in front of you. Or at least that was what you hoped.

It had been a long time since another person slept next to you. You had been too embarrassed and ashamed of your body to really let anyone else see or touch you. Logically you knew that you had a healthy body overall, but that didn’t stop the comparisons your mind made when you looked at celebrities or your friends. You always were the largest in your friend group, and sometimes-most times- the knowledge of that drained your self-esteem. You exercised and ate…well your eating habits could probably do with some improvement if you were honest. Your job kept you running around town for various meetings with clients or on phone call conferences all day, and your nights were spent pouring over books and online articles for your dissertation research. Quick and fast meals had become your go to over the past year prior to your arrival in Prythian. And more pounds than you would care to admit accompanied.  

A soft sleep filled hum from the male next to you brought your lingering thoughts to a standstill. You didn’t remember much from the night before, only being awake long enough for the bath. The sleeping tonic had worked incredibly fast. You had drunk the ounce as if it was a damn shot of alcohol, not bothering to dilute it with water as Lucien instructed. You felt bad that Lucien had to watch over you due to your nightmares, and you couldn’t help but wonder when he decided that lying next to you was the solution.

‘Then again, he could just be tired of sleeping on the couch.’ But, you couldn’t deny that you felt more at peace being held by him. His breath tickled your skin, his inhales evenly measured in a steady beat. You lay beside him for a few minutes longer, not really wanting to leave the comfort of the bed. Sadly, your body couldn’t allow itself to remain still for too long once it was awake. You found yourself having to stop the subconscious wiggling of your toes before the energy expanded to your entire foot. The jostling surely would wake the male and you wanted to allow him to sleep as much as possible. So, you decided you would just get ready for the day.

The sun was surprisingly high in the sky, marking the first day that you had slept in since your arrival to this new reality. You maneuvered yourself out of Lucien’s hold, careful not to wake him, before softly walking over to the bathroom. You glanced at yourself in the mirror and were horrified at the image that reflected back. Craning your face close to the mirror-your glasses left on the night stand next to the bed-your appearance came into better focus. You looked at your red rimmed eyes as they sat sunken in above dark blue half circles. Sleep crusted in their corners before giving way to the dried-up streams of your tears. Your disheveled hair still clung to your face, the shorter parts sticking up at odd angles. Your eyes roamed over the long scratch marks that littered your neck and clavicle, even going as far down as your cleavage. The darkness of the thin pajama top brightening each of the red lines. Dread pooled into your stomach. What happened in your dream to merit such an attack on yourself? Which was something that you had never done before. Your fingers reached up to trace alongside what effectively looked like claw marks, and you winced at the tenderness of the skin.

A whip made of flames striking at your chest flashed before your eyes and you jumped back from the mirror. A shocking pain speared through your back at the sudden movement and you crumpled towards the floor. Another flash and barbed wire pressed against your throat. A blinding white hand reached towards your face, followed by piercing blue-violet eyes filled with a mix of emotion only described as loathing, sadness, and pain. Breathing ragged, your hand grasped the edge of the stone sink. Slowly rising back to your feet, you braced your body against the cool marble, allowing it to ground you in the present. You instantly knew the images were from your dream. Each image so vivid that they bordered on feeling more like memories, for they held no trace of the usual misty appearance that was typical of your dreams. You glanced at your throat again, making sure that the wire was gone. You noted a few crescent shaped marks along the outer sides of your throat, likely from your own finger nails digging in to your skin attempting to pry the imaginary wire away. With shaking hands, you turned on the cold water and splashed your face several times. You heard movement from the bedroom and turned to see Lucien standing at the archway.

“Morning,” You mumbled. Your hand rubbed along your chest at the base of your neck while the other wrapped around your torso. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t wake me. Are you alright?” He took a few steps towards you, his golden eye whirring as it looked you over. You felt a pang in your chest as his arms pulled you into an embrace. It was only when he held you tighter did you realize you had been violently shaking. Your throat tightened as tears brimmed your eyes and you wrapped your own arms around him. You were getting tired of this. Tired of constantly crying and feeling weak…a broken thing. What would it take for the nightmares to end?

“No,” You admitted, releasing your hold on the male. “There was something…different about the dreams last night. They…they felt too real.” Your hand brushed against your neck again as you moved passed him on your way back to the bedroom. You pulled out a navy V-neck sweater and black form fitting pants. You heard the tap of the sink in the bathroom turn on and quickly got dressed while Lucien kept himself occupied in the bathroom. It wasn’t long before the two of you headed out in search of food before settling back into your normal routine.

You and Lucien made your way to the patio, hopeful that you hadn’t missed the opportunity to eat before you dove back into your daily research. When you arrived though, an envelope placed underneath a rock was in the center of the table. Lucien picked it up and read over the contents.

“We’re wanted in the main dining hall,” He folded the letter and stuffed it in his pocket.

“Where’s that?” You wrapped your arms across your middle, a slight chill filled the air.

“Follow me,” He stated simply.

“What about the wards?” Your head swiveled as he brushed past you.

“Apparently they have been taken down. You’re free to move about the Moonstone Palace,” You tried to avoid the slight stumbling of your feet as you followed Lucien. He navigated the hallways as if he had been born inside them. There was no falter in his step as you both approached a set of intricately carved stone doors. The near opalescent shine caught the midday rays of golden sun light, causing flashes of blue, green, and peach to scatter across the surface as the doors opened on silent hinges.

Beyond the doors the room opened into a vast dining hall made up of the same stone. A long and intricately carved pinewood table sat at the center with several people already sat around it. Two chairs had been left vacant on the side closest to the doors you walked through. Your eyes swept over the faces of those gathered, only one of which you recognized as Nesta. She sat just to the right of another young female with the same piercing blue-grey eyes and coppery brown hair that sat at the head of the table. You paused as the female held an infant in her arms. Even from this distance you could make out the vibrancy of his violet eyes and the wings on his back. Down along the side of the table, spaced a seat away from Nesta was another female with deep crimson hair. She held a striking resemblance to Lucien, if not a tad shade paler than the male beside you. Two males sat next to her, the one closest to her with dark hair and eyes, a tattooed crown of black thorns peaked out from above his brow. The vivid bright blue irises of the male on the end met yours and you gasped. Your knees threatened to buckle from underneath you, the memory of your dream hitting you full force.

Running. Running through darkened hallways. Breaths ragged as your lungs strained to inflate. Three males, one with wings carried a third. The red of Cassian’s siphons glinting in the sun. The wind whipped through your hair as a metal gate crashed down. The sound of a machine gun firing coming to an abrupt halt. Running. Your joints ached and muscles burned with effort. The ground beneath your feet crumbled as you barreled towards a cliff’s edge. Shouts and chaos erupted around you. Gunfire. Running. Running. The cliff was so close. Pressure ripped through your back, the feeling of blood trickled down your chest. Falling. Followed by slamming into the earth. The cliff edge just a hairs breath away. Darkness. In the distance you heard the shouting of male. A blindingly bright hand reached towards you. True pain unlike any other ripped through you. Your throat burned from the scream it unleashed. Another shout. Darkness.

“(Y/N)!” Lucien stood in front of you, his mismatched eyes wide and face pale. His grip on your biceps was tight enough to bruise. You blinked rapidly, the dining hall coming back into focus. The female from the head of the table now stood to Lucien’s left. Her worried gaze studied your face.

“My dream,” Your voice sounded so far away in your ears. “They’re from my dream.” You stepped around the male to peer at the ones at the table. The male on the end was standing, staring at you with his own wide eyes. His hair was buzzed along one side; the other side a curtain of long black hair swaying in the breeze that came from the open archways along the far side of the room.

“What?” Lucien followed your gaze.

“No, it’s nothing, never mind,” You shook your head, the images fading back into the recesses of your mind. There was no way…You decided that while you may not have magic, it was best to keep the contents of this particular dream to yourself.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” He asked, worry laced in his tone as he brushed a strand of your hair back. The caring gesture making you self-conscious in front of your audience. While you were certain that his actions were strictly platonic, you didn’t want his mate’s sisters to get the wrong idea and cast you in a not so favorable light.

“I’m fine Lucien,” You ducked around his arm, breezing past him and who you assumed was Feyre. Nesta continued to sit in her chair, the infant almost toddler now in her arms. His legs stretched out in a standing position on her lap. The sight immediately conjured up old memories of your own nephew when he had been that age. As you approached the chair opposite Nesta, her eyes slightly widened.

“What the hell happened to you?” The child in her arms twisted his head, following and tracking your every movement. You held up your hands, curling your fingers as if they had become claws.

“Apparently I turn into a cat and thought my own neck was a scratching post,” You flexed your fingers for emphasis. You felt Lucien’s irritated gaze bore a hole on the side of your head, but you continued to ignore him.

“Don’t fret though, I’ve since declawed myself,” It was Nesta’s turn to show displeasure, however the child in her lap giggled. “Good to know at least someone thinks I’m funny.” You glance to your right and notice that the male at the end of the table is still standing, staring directly at you. The expression on his face was unreadable, and he had an uncanny resemblance to Rhysand.

“Her nightmare was particularly bad last night,” Lucien supplied the eldest sister with the information. You scoffed and sat down in your chair across from her. As if your nightmare was something to easily explain everything. You also found yourself not appreciating him telling your personal issues to anyone apart from him and yourself.

“You did that to yourself?” The blue-eyed male spoke up. Your gaze fell to him, his stern expression made you shift in your seat. In fact, the expressions of everyone else in the room made you uneasy. You had no control over what images your mind conjured in the middle of the night. So why did you feel that it was your fault and you did something wrong. The male’s companions both whipped their heads towards him, surprise on their faces. The red-haired female looked back to you.

“So, you can talk, and that’s the first thing you decide to say?” Her question was met with silence as the male sat back down in his own spot. “And back to silence.”

“Bryce…” The other male seated next to her sighed. Something in you sparked.

“Oh, so you’re Bryce,” You tilted your head as you examined her. The two males stiffed at your tone, but you didn’t care. Yes, they both looked like they would kill you if you said the wrong thing, but your mood was starting to become too sour for you to really care.

“(Y/N),” Lucien’s warning tone was foreign to your ears. You felt like a child being scolded and it only fanned the flames of your embarrassment at feeling so weak and…human. It had suddenly dawned on you that you were the only human in the room. Of course, they would look down on you and find your attitude to be at fault. The overly emotional human. Though the small voice in the back of your mind was also telling you to calm the fuck down before someone did decide to actually end your life.

“What Lucien?” You snapped. “I was nearly murdered and then tortured for a week because I didn’t know who she was. So, forgive me if I’m a bit salty.” You didn’t acknowledge the confused looks you got for your use of slang.

“What do you mean by nearly murdered?” Feyre asked. You turned to face her, the fire of your irritation in you not balking at her steely gaze.

“When your husband found me the first thing he asked was if I knew a Ms. Bryce Quinlan. I told him that I didn’t know any Bryce…I then found myself locked inside my own body. I couldn’t move, could barely even breath. I felt claws gripping my skull, felt them tear at the flesh on my temples. Which doesn’t make sense because his hands were in his pockets…then he brought to a cell in the Hewn City where Az-” Your throat closed up around his name. You felt the irritation in you sputter and die out. You had to press your lips in a thin line to prevent the lower one from trembling. Feyre’s expression softened by a fraction. You turned your head away, not wanting to see the pitying look she gave you. You didn’t want to be pitied for being so weak.

“I’d like to apologize on behalf of my mate and his brother,” She said, “I know that they both feel bad for how things with you were handled. Azriel is especially distraught-.” You scoffed again and looked up at the ceiling. Golden chandeliers slightly swung in the breeze. Your anger wouldn’t let you believe that Azriel felt bad.

“Its true,” Nesta added. You looked at the female, the child in her lap smiled brightly having no clue to the growing tension in the room. To your ever growing embarrassment and shame you had in what happened to you.

“He wants to make up for what happened (Y/N),” Lucien’s hand was warm against your thigh, his thumb rubbing gently against it. No doubt an attempt to comfort you. “He brought you the sleeping tonic last night and-” You went still and you could feel the color drain from your face. You remembered hearing Lucien speak to someone as you bathed last night, but you had no clue it was Azriel.

“He…he was…in t-the room last night,” Your breath came out as a mere whisper. You felt your limbs start to tremble, but you couldn’t tell if that was from fear or rage. Lucien had allowed the male that tortured you to enter the only space that you felt somewhat safe inside. Now it was tainted. You felt anger simmer under your skin. Lucien had allowed Azriel to see you in such a vulnerable state, half naked and crying from the absolute terror that flooded your veins due to the nightmare. However, you knew this wasn’t the time to have this conversation with Lucien, given the three complete strangers sitting at the table. Your ire would have to wait as you didn’t want to air your dirty laundry out in front of them. The male beside you seemed to read your thoughts when he spoke in a low voice.

“We’ll discuss this later,” He lifted his hand from your thigh and you immediately felt the cold air. A cold sting hit your chest. You fixed your eyes on the table in front of you and bit your tongue. You knew that things had gotten way off track, your emotions getting the best of you. You lifted your head and looked to the new faces around you.

“I have to apologize,” You sighed, “I don’t really sleep well and my moods can be a bit fickle as a result. Let’s start over. I’m (Y/N) (L/N).” You held out your hand Bryce over the expanse of the table. Bryce glanced at your hand, an eyebrow raised.

“You shake it,” Nesta whispered to the female, “Or at least that what she says they do in her world.” Bryce smiled.

“I know what a hand shake is Nesta,” Bryce held your gaze and shook your hand. You let out an involuntary sigh of relief.

“You’re not from here?” The male next to Bryce eyed you curiously.

“No, I’m not,” You held out your hand to him in greeting, “We call the planet I’m from Earth. I don’t think we have specific name for our solar system, but it’s within the Milky Way galaxy. Again, our term. I realize that other places could call it something else…if they are even aware of its existence. And… I’m rambling again…”

“I’m Hunt,” He smiled as he shook your hand in return. “We come from a planet we call Midgard.”

“It’s nice to meet you Hunt,” You rose from your seat, and walked around to Lucien’s opposite side to extend your hand to the last male. “And you…” His blue eyes bore into your (e/c) ones. He glanced at your hand, as if touching it would somehow burn him. You withdrew your hand and straighten to stand. You tried to not let the hurt that his demeanor caused show on your face. But it didn’t stop you from studying him a bit longer than you likely should have. Still you forced a smile to your lips.

“That rude asshole is my brother, Ruhn,” Bryce informed. You dipped your chin to Ruhn in acknowledgment. He remained silent; however, his eyes never left you as you returned and sat in your seat across from Nesta. As soon as you sat back down, Lucien’s hand was back on your thigh. Had you not known any better, you would have mistaken it as a territorial gesture. But Lucien had a mate. He was likely just wanting to reassure you that he wasn’t as mad as he may have sounded a few moments ago. You glanced at him from the corner of your eyes to gage his features all the same. He was staring daggers at Ruhn, who was still staring at you. Ruhn only looked away when your eyes met his. Lucien’s hand remained on you and his thumb resumed its unconscious stroking. You noted the action and would have to ask him about it later. You then settled you gaze upon Feyre at the head of the table.

“Well, now that introductions are out of the way,” She leaned forward on her elbows, “We should discuss your potential move to Velaris.”

Part 5

Tag List: @jenniferpendragon @impossibelle @sweet-chai-amore @myheartfollower @iimichie @fightmedraco @nikkitch0703 @eerievixen @ang-taylorsversion @randomness-it-is @thehighlordishere @rachelnicolee

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #lucien x reader #crescent city x reader #plus size reader #bhinfic #lucien vanserra x plus size reader #azriel x plus size reader

[bonkhrnyjail]

sweet plum | chapter three

masterlist | pinterest board

pairing: pedro pascal x fem!reader (plus size)

rating: mature (will become explicit in future chapters)

warnings: depictions of anxiety, drinking, nicotine use

summary: it's the final day of filming, and you go out to celebrate with your fellow cast and crew members

a/n: thank you guys for the love on the first two chapters! i honestly wasn't anticipating much of a response on here so it's been a sweet surprise. i have imposter syndrome up the fucking wazoo and this is the first creative project i have ever stuck with for more than a few months, and i think it's partially because of the kind comments i've received from people (and also because i'm fucking horny and delusional for this old man). anyways, hope you enjoy chapter three. xoxo.

You and a few of the other makeup artists and hair stylists are standing a few hundred feet away, watching as Pedro and Bella repeatedly break character on top of a magnificent hill. The roar of laughter from the distance still manages to reach your ears, Pedro doubled over with hands bracing on his knees to keep from toppling over completely.

You know your period is coming, but the emotions you’ve been experiencing today are something else entirely. You awoke this morning and immediately started to tear up, knowing today was the last full day you’d spend with everyone, the crew who's become more like family to you than anything else. You’re just so proud of everyone. Filming this show was grueling, the labor not only physical but emotional too.

Fucking hell, you’re tearing up again just thinking about it. 

“Awww, honey bun,” one of the girls pulled you into a side hug, squeezing into your hip with her resting hand. “I get it, I felt this way after my first long project too.” 

You hate crying in front of people, but you’re so exhausted from holding it in since the morning, it all just pours out.

“I just love all of you guys so much, I don’t want it to end. It’s been such an honor to do this job and to become friends with all of you," you sniffle, frantically wiping at your eyes to clear the streams of tears from your puffy cheeks. "And Pedro, he’s been such a dream to work with. Such a genuine, kind guy, I just love working with him-”

“Baby, we know.” one of the few guys in your group teases and everyone erupts with laughter.

“Wha— Why are you guys laughing?" you whine. "Did I miss something?”

Are they onto you?

You think that you’ve done an incredible job hiding your colossal, debilitating crush on your extremely attractive, kind, witty, charming client. Of course you’ve experienced work crushes before, most of the actors you’d worked with are incredibly easy on the eyes.

But with Pedro, things were different. The amount of time that you’ve spent together during this project and the way your relationship developed, you didn’t stand a god damned chance. The way he talks, listens, looking you deep in your eyes and transfixing you with his soft baritone, even in the most casual of conversations. He makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room. You barely survived some of those interactions, walking away with jello legs and a pounding chest, enough to make you a little short of breath.

“Oh, come on, kid, don’t play dumb,” another one chimes in, “We know you two have the hots for each other.”

Wait.

Each other?

The girl next to you squeezes your hip again.

“We’ve been placing bets to see which one of you would slip up first. It’s hard to watch. You guys are so, so oblivious.” 

EACH OTHER?

Your chest starts pounding hard as your breath kicks out from underneath you. You can feel the pinkish-red hue spread hot over your round cheeks, only masked by the makeup you had put on that morning.

“You guys,” you manage through slightly labored breathing, “He doesn’t… it’s not… he wouldn’t…”

“See, I told you guys, it's gone completely over her head.”

Everyone is chiming in at this point, fits of laughter erupting from either side of you.

You honestly can’t believe the implication. You, crushing on him, sure. Who wouldn’t? But him, crushing on you? This has to be some kind of joke.

It’s not that you lack confidence. You rate yourself. You’re sexy, funny, talented, kinky, a great cook and even better at cleaning, not that those last two are things that should define you in any way. You're versatile, you can go out dancing or cuddle up on the couch and have a great night either way. And as much as you’re high strung about your work, you make up for it by being fun in your personal life. Yes, you have some moderate anxiety issues, but once you feel comfortable around people you’re a pretty damn good time. As for your looks, you truly like your appearance, you feel at home in your body and love to flaunt your curves.

But you’re also realistic.

Being a bigger girl means things will always be a bit different for you. You have to watch your back, fatphobia is so rampant and completely acceptable according to society, especially in LA. You’ve been denied entry to clubs simply because of your size. You've barely dated and haven't hooked up with anyone since your big breakup, over two years ago now. But you're not an idiot, and you know if you did, it’s a whole different ball game when you’re plus size.

You’ve helped a few of your fat friends make Tinder profiles, constantly having to answer questions like 'Does this picture look like me?' 'Is this catfishy?' 'Should I put a disclaimer in my bio?'

It’s never due to lack of confidence on their part, it’s due to lack of trust in other people to not be fucking vile. It’s exhausting, constantly trying to protect and defend yourself from hatred towards your own body, a body that you've come to love so dearly.

Now, with that being said, Pedro Pascal does not strike you as the type to go after someone like you. Not because he’s a shitty person, but because he’s basically an A-list fucking celebrity who can likely pull any woman he wants. In your experience, most of the older men who have shown interest in you were simply fetishizing your body. You're absolutely certain Pedro would never do that though, his respect for women is so innate, you can’t even conjure an image in your head of him treating you that way.

But the truth is, as fucked up as it is, if men can have their pick of the bunch, most of them will go for a thin woman. Social conditioning is a bitch.

Not to mention, he’s quite a bit older than you. You're closer in age to Bella than you are to Pedro. It's not something that bothers you, you've always gone for people older than you, but you don’t know how he feels in that regard.

If you're being honest, you never even allowed yourself to entertain the thought of him returning your feelings. But now here you are, and for some reason the concept scares you utterly shitless.

You want to bolt in the other direction, get in your car, and drive until you see nothing but fields. Canada is pretty good for that, you can drive in any direction and end up somewhere with no houses or buildings for miles. You love to sing in the car and drive for hours with no destination in mind. Horrible for the planet, yes, but you have a hybrid so you cut yourself a bit of slack. It’s better than driving your quiet, elderly neighbors up the wall with your obnoxious belting. 

What if he did feel the same way about you? Then what?

First of all, he’s famous, incredibly famous. He’s a goddamn heartthrob. You’ve seen the TikTok edits that Bella saves on their phone to taunt Pedro with. People want him, bad, and you don’t think they’d appreciate him having a woman in his life. You aren’t sure you can handle an influx of cyberbullying from teenage girls with unhealthy parasocial relationships and too much time on their hands.

Secondly, there is of course the unexpected nature of you being his pick, decades younger than him and certainly curvier than most would anticipate.

And of course, your job. What would this do to your reputation? You don't want to be the girl who is known for this kind of thing, You don’t even know if this kind of thing is allowed due to the nature of your working relationship. Would you ever be allowed to work with him again? 

You can feel your breaths starting to get shorter and shorter as your internal dialogue continues to obsessively ramble.

“I have to run back to the trailer, y'all just... text me if you need me, 'kay?”

You briskly walk toward the direction of the massive white vehicles, grateful to be able to drop the act and let the panic you feel seep into your facial expression. You walk into the trailer and slump down into the chair, managing an unfortunate attempt at the breathing techniques your therapist taught you.

As your body finally begins to settle back into a healthy rhythm, you hear voices getting louder and louder. 

Shit, they’re breaking for lunch.

Without thinking, you bolt out the door with your bag and hide behind the trailer furthest from the incoming crowd of people.

You just need to calm down.

As you settle, you take some more deep breaths, your head flat against the white metal of the trailer, cooling the heat of your scalp. It helps, and you get lost in the sensation, the breathing steadying you back into your body. 

Suddenly you hear your name being called in a gravelly voice, slightly steeped in a southern twang.

“Don’t come back here, I’m infected!” you blurt.

Stupid, yes, but it’ll buy you a second to come up with an excuse as to why you’re hiding. Digging through your bag to find your phone, you suddenly see the vape your friend left with you months ago.

Perfect.

You pull it out along with your phone and quickly open Instagram to make it look like you’ve been casually scrolling this whole time. You take a quick pull from the cartridge and try to catch as much of the vapor in your mouth, trying to protect your lungs and throat so you don’t start immediately hacking. 

You exhale just as Pedro turns the corner.

“What are you doing back here? For some reason you’re never where I expect you to be.” he quips, his feet in a wide stance and arms crossed, illuminating his broad shoulders.

“Oh, it’s super embarrassing,” you flash the vape in your left hand. “My friend got me addicted to this stupid thing. I’m trying to quit but... clearly not going so well.”

He snatches it out of your hand before you can protest, studying it like it's an ancient artifact.

“What exactly is this?”

“You’ve never seen an ElfBar before?”

He looks at you, dumbfounded and a little peeved.

“Here,” you step forward and use your hand to guide his, lining up the vape with his lips. “Inhale.” 

That was a little more seductive than you intended.

He obeys, taking a much bigger hit than he probably should. A panic washes over his eyes just before he starts coughing and hacking, the mist flying out of his open mouth.

“What the fuck is that? It tastes horrible!” he starts making noises of disgust amidst his hacking.

You can’t help yourself from laughing at his excessive dramatics.

“It’s essentially flavored nicotine. I like it though, I feel like it tastes like Froot Loops.”

He attempts to gasp but chokes halfway through, his lungs still traumatized by the vapor.

“How dare you insult Froot Loops like that!” he booms, his face absolutely flabbergasted by the suggestion. 

Your hands are on your knees now, completely doubled over and barely able to manage a breath. His bellowing laughter fills the space, bouncing off of the trailer walls and waltzing with your high pitched cackles. Unable to hold himself up, he places a hand on your shoulder, and you both lose your footing.

You trip backward, back hitting the trailer hard as he stumbles into you. 

Your bodies collide for a moment, his face so close that you can feel his breath tickling your cheek. The laughter between you quickly subsides as your consciousnesses adjust to the proximity you share. You feel that familiar flush prickle your face as he places a hand on the surface behind you, pushing himself off.

You meet his gaze, gentle and sweet, eyes softly nestled in crinkled skin. Your breaths start to deepen and your lips part slightly, unconsciously, as you maintain the eye contact intensifying dangerously between you. His gaze wanders to your mouth and you draw in a sharp inhale, an image of his lips on yours flashing through your head.

Your body jolts when reality catches up to you. He quickly steps back, raises a hand to scratch his head as his eyes dart around. There’s a moment of thick, heavy silence between you, you hastily fussing with your fingernails as he continues to mess with his hair.

You can’t think of a single word in the English language to save your life right now.

“Sorry, I-I didn’t mean to—” he fumbles through the words before you cut him off.

“No! No, it’s ok. It was an accident! Don’t worry, I’m ok—”

“Good!” He continues stammering, an undertone of panic lacing his tone. “Ok, good, I really didn’t mean to—”

“Why are you kids hiding back here?” a familiar accent cracks through the tension, a wave of relief crashing through your body.

Bella. Thank fuck.

“I... got P to try my vape!” you tease. “He’s… not a fan.”

You start to walk toward Bella, hoping that Pedro will follow you back to the more crowded area, desperate to get anywhere that keeps you from being alone with him

“Listen, If I’m gonna have nicotine, I’m just gonna stick to a good old-fashioned cigarette.” he states, still clearly trying to shake the Joel from his voice. He follows behind you, back to the open field where everyone is gathered.

Your hands are visibly shaking, so you hold them behind your back to hide them from the crowd. Beads of sweat start to prickle the back of your neck, the reality of what just happened hitting you like a ton of bricks.

You feel a strong hand rest on the small of your back and you jump. Hard.

“You ok?” a deep whisper floats toward your ear.

Why does he always have to be so fucking thoughtful?

“Never better!” you blurt, flashing a toothy, gaudy smile.

You’re a good liar, but not that good.

The two of you immerse yourselves in the swarm, pulled in different directions by little clusters of people that demand your presence. You desperately fight the urge to look back at him, but accept that the further you are from him right now, the better.

.   .   .   .   .

“And that's a wrap everybody!” Craig shouts towards the crowd of people behind him.

Cheers erupt, the crew hugging and high-fiving each other, little sounds of glee coming from every which way. In the distance, you see Pedro pull Bella in for a tight squeeze, their feet hovering off the ground as he spins them around in a circle. Arms and bodies push tightly against you as you get eaten alive by a clumsy group hug.

“I love you guys so much,” escapes you as you’re squeezed harder and harder, struggling to manage a full inhale. You’re going to miss this, miss them, so much. You can’t believe how fast these months flew by.

The group slowly starts migrating towards the trailers scattered in the faraway field. You hear chatter about dinner plans, possible parties, future projects and people excited to go home to their families and pets. 

“Are you excited to go home?” The girl next to you inquires, her hand gripping yours fiercely.

“I mean, I miss my bed. And my bathtub. And kitchen. But honestly, I’m more sad to leave than anything else.”

It’s true, you miss your shitty little apartment. The AC doesn’t work half the time, the sink drains painfully slowly, and you swear you’ve heard scratching on the walls in your sleep. Staying in the pristine room you were put up in these past months has been far more luxurious than what you're used to, but it isn’t yours. You miss your posters, your record player, your stuffed animals, though you brought your most precious one with you to Canada. Just the thought of cozying up on your creaky mattress makes you feel warm inside, dissipating some of the discomfort you feel knowing this experience is over.

You sneak quietly into Pedro’s trailer and begin packing up your things. You snap a quick picture of your station, your hand in the frame making the heart symbol with your fingers that the kpop stars do.

The door creak open and you swing your head around to find Pedro standing in the doorway, hair tousled by the wind.

“Hey you!” he inches closer to you, opening his arms for a hug.

You throw your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes so you can rest your head on his shoulder. His arms find their way to your lower back, bunching the fabric of you shirt as he squeezes you tight.

“I’m so proud of you,” you gush, your hands unclasping from behind him and sliding off of his shoulders. “You were, you are, amazing. I can’t wait to see the final product.”

He reaches for your hand and gives it a little squeeze.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, you know. My hair could never be this gray without your magic.”

“Give it a few years,” you tease. “Next season you won’t need me at all.”

He lets out that laugh, the bellowing boom filling the space with its warmth and magic. Nothing butters you up more than that sound, a smile stretching across your face to make way for your giggles.

“So... a couple of us are going out for dinner and drinks after this, and you’re coming,” he orders, grabbing his shirt from the pile of folded clothes in the empty swiveling chair.

He begins to unbutton his flannel to reveal a white undershirt, slightly damp and sticking to his skin. Despite your straining efforts, your gaze follows his hands as they move lower… and lower… and lower…

“Whaddya' say?” he breaks your trance with the question.

Your vision goes fuzzy trying to focus solely on his face as he removes the shirt entirely.

His arms.

“U-uh, y-yeah. Sure. Yes. Where?” you stumble.

“I’m not exactly sure yet, but I’ll call you when I find out. We might be going out after, so I’m going to try to dress nice. You can if you want, too, but no pressure.”

He pulls his black t-shirt over his head, messing up his hair in the process.

You instinctively reach up to fix the bird’s nest he just created, running your fingers through to calm the frizz.

“God, what am I gonna do without you, Plum?” he grins sweetly, a soft chuckle wisping past his rosy lips.

Your stomach flutters as you press the pads of your toes into your shoes. Anything to keep you grounded.

“I have no idea. You’re pretty hopeless when it comes to that hair of yours,” you jab, using the palm of your hands to pat down the remaining flyaway curls.

He reaches a hand up to try and wrestle with your hair. You quickly duck, avoiding his touch.

“Hey! Never touch the hair man! You know better!”

As much as you'd love to feel his fingers raked through your hair, you’d be damned if he ruined your fresh blowout.

“But it’s too perfect, it’s begging to be messed with.”

He tries for it again but you manage another successful dodge.

“Enough! I’m outta' here!” you sass, grabbing your bags and head towards the door. “See you later?”

You pause in the doorway, looking back at him.

“See you later,” he winks.

.   .   .   .   .

You’re sitting at the far right end of the table, wedged in the corner awkwardly with your ankles crossed under your chair. Most of the actors are sat by each other, so it felt natural to join the crew on the other side. Only one other hairstylists showed, you aren't entirely sure what happened to everyone else, but you heard they would meet up with your group later on. Fingers crossed.

The black dress you chose for the evening tightly hugs your curves, flaring at the thigh and hemmed just above the knee. You’re wearing a sensible two-inch heel and some Dr. Scholls inserts, with the hope that there will be dancing and booze in the later hours of the evening. You stand out from the rest of the group, a bit overdressed compared to the others, except for Pedro.

He’s wearing a black button down, two buttons on the top undone, and a pair of pleated green slacks that cling to his figure in all the right places. His belt is sizable but not gaudy, and a gold band is fitted perfectly to his right ring finger.

Despite your desperate efforts not to, you've repeatedly gazed across the table to him, your prolonged gawking completely overriding your willpower.

His hands, god his hands, the veins prominent as he uses his knife to carefully cut into his steak. You know his grip is strong, you’ve been subject to many an affectionate hand squeeze. The thought of him running his thick fingers through your hair makes you white-knuckle your silverware.

The scrape of your knife jerks you back to reality, and you quickly join the conversation happening to your right. One of the guys tells an animated story about an ex-boyfriend that leaves the rest of you erupting in laughter.

Through your lingering giggles, you instinctively find yourself turning your head to sneak a glance at the handsome man across from you.

Only this time, you meet his gaze.

He’s not exactly smiling with his lips, but his eyes are, soft and crinkled along the outer corners. Your chest starts to flutter, but in the same instant, you feel the tension in your body melt, as he continues to stare back at you with a remarkable gentleness. A grin slowly takes over his face, his teeth catching the low lighting of the restaurant, and like a puppet, your lips mimic his.

“Pedro?” Bella questions in a whisper, lightly tapping his shoulder. “Merle is trying to get your attention.”

You jerk your head the other way, so violently that you know you’ll feel it tomorrow.

You can barely hear the conversation across the table, your burning desire to know if anyone witnessed the interaction impossible to soothe. You try to immerse yourself back into your group when a slight wave of dizziness washes over you, so you choose instead listen quietly, fidgeting with your phone in your hand.

A few minutes later, you feel a quick buzz against your palm, a notification from Pedro appearing on your screen. He’s never texted you before, always insistent on just calling you instead. You tuck your hands under the table as inconspicuously as you can.

P: We r going to a club after this. Want 2 come?

Of course he texts like that. 

You hold in a chuckle and glance towards him. He smiles, throwing two thumbs up eagerly with a wiggle of his brow, clearly urging you to say yes.

You: I thought you didn’t like to text?

P: Didn’t want to yell across the table. Come party?

He attaches a bitmoji, an animation of him with a confetti cannon. Your eyes roll on instinct as you stifle your laughter.

You: I’ll come, but only if you take a shot with me.

He replies with a thumbs up.

.   .   .   .   .

After dinner, a celebratory cake, and a sea of hugs, approximately half of the group you started with hikes down a few blocks to a small, underground club. Pedro is a few feet behind you, out of your sightline as you hold hands with two of your favorite coworkers. The three of you try to skip in unison but fail miserably, the rhythm of your legs too disjointed to end with you all staying upright.

The bouncer lets you in one by one as you make your way down the steep metal stairs and into the bustling room. The lighting is mostly purple and blue, spotlights swirling around the shadowy, dancing bodies in the center. You mosey over to the bar and within a few seconds, Pedro slides in right beside you.

“What’s your shot of choice?” you shout over the blaring music.

He leans in, brushing your hair to the side so he can speak directly into your ear.

“You choose. I’m not picky.”

His breath tickles the skin on your neck, sending goosebumps down your spine with an inaudible gasp. Your focus flickers, thoughts of his mouth tasting your skin, mustache grazing as he trails lower... and lower...

No.

You snap out of it as you greet the bartender.

“Can we get four shots of Patrón?”

“Hey, you said one shot.” Pedro whines.

“You drink however much you want,” you place a hand on his chest, the atmosphere of the club creating a placebo effect of tipsiness. “I’ll drink whatever’s left.”

The bartender pours the tequila haphazardly into the shot glasses, already fixed with lime wedges, and slides them over to you.

“OK, grab one and lock arms with me.” you shout.

He obeys, linking his left arm with your right.

“Now, cheers me. Don’t break eye contact or it’s 10 years of bad sex,” you exclaim through a hearty grin.

“Can’t risk that,” he winks.

God, you want him.

Your glasses clink and you throw the shots back with your arms still snaked around each other. The smooth burn coats your throat as it settles in your stomach. You pull away, biting into the lime wedge asa you place your glass down gently on the countertop.

His skin is glimmering in this light, the purple and blue dancing along the dew decorating his hairline. The curve of his nose is especially highlighted by the beams, resembling that of a ancient sculpture.

“Another?” you grab the remaining two glasses and hold one up to him inquisitively.

“Not yet. Later, or I’ll pay for it in the morning.”

You hold both glasses up to your open mouth and pour, the sting burning all the way down your esophagus and warming your tummy. You leave the limes untouched.

“More for me,” you smile.

A hand grabs you by the waist and tugs at your dress.

“You have to dance with me to this song!” one of your friends from the makeup team shouts in your ear, much louder than she needs to.

Pedro grabs the shot glasses out of your hands, mouthing his words with a smile.

"Go."

You try to wave as you’re being dragged in the direction of the dance floor. The crowd swallows you entirely and he disappears from your eyesight. 

“Everytime We Touch” by Cascada is booming through the subwoofers and rippling the floor. The bass flows through you and somehow intensifies the heat spreading in your midsection. You start to move your body to the beat, flipping your hair to one side and running your fingers through it. You close your eyes and let the music turn you into a vessel of rhythm.

.   .   .   .   .

You’re drunk. About thirty minutes ago, a few friends bought more shots, clumsily pouring them in your mouth as you continued dancing. It’s only been an hour and a half, and you’re already five shots deep.

Your inhibition is nowhere to be found.

As you’re twirling and bouncing around the dance floor, the crowd cracks open slightly, allowing you a slivered view of the bar. Pedro is there, leaning against the counter and watching you intently. He waves diffidently when your eyes meet his.

“Be right back,” you turn, shouting to the group, squeezing the hand of the girl nearest to you. 

You manage to escape the sea of bodies relatively unscathed, although you're certain your hair is absolutely fucked. You plop down carelessly on the barstool next to Pedro, raking your fingers through your mane to hopefully tame whatever the hell is going on up there.

Pedro turns to the bartender.

“Can we get some water over here?” He motions towards you with his thumb.

The bartender slides a water bottle down the bar and Pedro catches it impressively.

“God, you read my mind.” you manage, still a bit breathless.

“Who said this is for you?”

He opens the bottle, his massive hand flexing, a thick vein prominent on the top. Your eyes wander to his tattoo, barely visible in the violet light. You're transfixed for a moment, your head crooking slightly to try and study it more closely, the dizziness that tequila inevitably sparks beginning to set in.

He chuckles at your ogling, handing over the water with a cracked-open lid. 

“You were staring at me,” you blurt, any semblance of a conscience you once had completely dissolved by the amount of alcohol in your bloodstream. “I saw you.”

His eyebrow cocks.

“I could say the same thing about you at dinner earlier."

Your stomach drops at the confession, but for some reason causes you to burst with unbridled laughter.

He giggles along with you, his shoulders bouncing as his dimple slowly appears.

“You’re just really fun to watch out there. You dance very freely. And your dress-”

“What about my dress?” you jut, cutting him off with a drunken, flirty shove on the shoulder.

“It looks really nice on you. Fits you... just right.” 

He doesn’t break eye contact as he says it, his voice gentle and tinged with desire. You can feel your heartbeat in your fingertips as your ears color in red. You can sense the wide, awestruck grin plastered across your lips, too inebriated to do anything about it. Your eyes soften as you melt into the moment, Pedro looking down at you with gaze that can only be described as one of pure admiration.

He reaches up a hand and smoothes down your flyaway hairs.

“I’m helping, I promise.”

You lock your eyes on a spot on a stain in the wood floor, suddenly overcome with a giddy shyness.

“Well, you… you look pretty spiffy yourself. I like your…”

Don’t say chest. Don’t say chest.

“... shirt… buttons.”

Shirt buttons?

He booms with laughter, hard enough that he doubles over, placing a hand on your thigh to keep from toppling over completely.

You throb at the touch, the core of it pulsing between your legs.

“I’ll have to wear this one more often,” he teases, his hand unmoving.

With every second that passes, the sensation of his palm pressing into your skin starts to burn, the throb morphing into a panging need under your skirt. You bite your lip hard, bearing through the searing ache.

You have to get out of here before you do something you’ll regret.

“I-I’m gonna go dance again. You wanna come?” you spring from the barstool. holding out a hand, beckoning him to follow you into the mass of sweaty bodies behind you.

“I’ll watch, you go. Have fun.” he smiles, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

You turn away with a stifled grin, his words echoing in your head as the crowd swallows you whole.

. . . . .

chapter four

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #plus size reader #the last of us #jose pedro balmaceda pascal

[venusthepirate]

like any unloved thing part two : the other woman

Author’s note : here we go ! I listened to the other woman by Lana del Rey on repeat while writing this. Her songs just fit so well with Fawn’s character. I hope you enjoy this ! I'll try to post once a week, maybe sometimes it'll take me longer because of college, but I promise to post regularly ^^

please tell me what you thought !!

Part one \ ao3

masterlist : @avocado-writing​ @little-sunflower-bug​ @evangelineflowers @humbug5 @yume904 @sarcastic-sourwolf

Fawn remembers perfectly the first time she met him. More accurately, the first time he hired her. First meetings are everything after all. So, she wasn’t exactly surprised when her handler told her she had a new client, and that he wanted to meet her first.

“Sure”, she replied, easily, balancing her phone on one shoulder, pressed against her ear, as she busied herself with washing a plate. “Where does he want to meet ?”

It’s not the most unusual thing, for clients to want to meet her first. They probable want to… Assess her, and what their money is going to be spent on, which she can understand.

Her handler had given her the name of the hotel, the one where they always meet after that. She already knew the place, and how expensive it was. So, she’d resorted to dress up a bit, with a nice enough dress, without doing too much : this was just a first meeting, after all.

The room this time had been the seventh. She’d knocked before letting herself in.

He had been sitting on one of the velvet chairs, with a glass of whiskey in his hand. From the first glance she had of him, she could tell he was tall. His hair was dark, slicked back, his moustache perfectly trimmed. He wore navy dress pants and a light blue shirt, the top buttons undone at the collar and sleeves rolled back around his elbows. At first, he looked like all the rich, handsome men who had hired her in the past, but then Fawn spied on the tattoos on his arms, the garnish rings on his fingers. Not quite, then.

She’d met his eyes, then. She had been startled, in spite of herself, by the blue.

“Hi”, she said. “I’m Fawn.”

One of his eyebrows had quirked up, almost as if he was surprised.

“Fawn”, he repeated. He had a British accent, voice smooth. “You can call me Orion.”

You can call me Orion was a bit of cryptic answer. Something told her it wasn’t his real name. People usually said “I’m Orion”, or “my name is Orion”. “You can call me”, though, it wasn’t exactly the same.

“Sure. Well, nice to meet you, then”, she replied, trying not to appear too thrown off.

“Oh, yeah, you can sit, if you want”, he said, waving at the seats in the room.

Fawn nodded, sitting down in one of the comfy chairs, facing him. He took a sip of his drink, his rings clinking against the glass.

“Is Fawn your real name ?” He asked, looking at her.

She shrugged. “Is Orion ?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. He looked… Amused.

“Fair point”, he said. “Did the other woman tell you why you’re here, or…”

She frowned. That didn’t sound exactly good. She really hoped it wasn’t a weird fetish or something. God knew how many of those people had.

“No, not really”, she told him, cautiously.

“Right.” He cleared his throat, rubbed at the back of his neck. He looked less assured now. “So, I have what could be considered as a very… fucking time consuming and stressful job.” He chuckled, as if there was a joke in here somewhere. “Look, I just don’t have the time for all the relationship bullshit, and also I don’t really want a relationship, but it’d be nice to, you know, have someone to confide in, the fuckin’… Comfort, affection, whatever you want to call it.”

Fawn was a bit taken aback by his rambling. Also, that wasn’t really what she was expecting.

“So you want me to give you… Affection, then ?”

“Yep”, he said, downing the rest of his drink in one go, head thrown back.

“No sex ?”

“Yeah, no, I don’t need you for that”, he replied, almost in a scoff.

Fawn didn’t get embarrassed about her job anymore. She used to, back when she first started. She would get ashamed, wouldn’t like when people spoke of it directly. It was as much a taboo for her as it was for everyone. But this was in the past, though. Still, it absolutely pissed her off when people, even more so when they were fucking clients, get all condescending and haughty about it.

She knew a good lot of her clients think it. Some might pity her, some downright looked down on her. They could think what they wanted, as long as they didn’t speak it.

“Look, you’re hiring a hooker, so if you can’t get over what I do for a living, I think it’s best if we don’t do this”, she told him, bluntly.

He seemed taken aback.

“That’s not…” He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant, I’m sorry.” She waited for some kind of elaboration. He raked a hand through his hair, looking away. “I just… I already have fucking hook-ups, but they just want… Sex. It’s just sex, and I just want something that is not that.”

She nodded, slowly.

“Alright. Sorry about that.”

He batted a hand at her.

“You’re fine”, he told her dismissively. “So, are you okay with this, then ?”

“Sure. Not everyday someone hires me for something other than sex, you know, but okay.”

“What, am I the first client who doesn’t want to fuck you ?” He had asked, the hint of a smirk on his lips.

“Honey, everyone wants to fuck me”, she had told him.

Now, it’s been one months or so since Fawn last saw him, when he told her he was going to Bolivia. The days got colder and shorter. There’s always a bowl of tangerines on the counter of her kitchen, nowadays. She has to admit, they’re very good fruits. She likes the joke of it, too, even though she doesn’t have anyone to share it with.

She’s working her day-job, in a small coffee shop, something cozy, a bit hidden in a corner. She likes that it’s never overpacked with people : only regulars come here. She likes the free drinks, too. Her whole day working here is spent making herself chai lattes and other cinnamon-based drinks, serving the rare clients, and fiddling with the playlist. Today, she settles on some jazz, sat behind the counter as she watches the few people sat inside, and the rest of the world walking by the windows.

She doesn’t make a habit of answering her phone when she’s on a shift, but the day is so slow that when it rings from where she put it, in the pocket of her apron, she doesn’t really think about it when answering.

“Your client Tangerine wants to know if you’re available tonight”, her handler tells her in way of greeting.

Oh. So, he’s back in town.

“I think I already have a client tonight”, Fawn replies.

There’s some conversation on the other side, but she can’t make out what’s being said. She must have him on the line.

“He says he’ll pay double”, her handler finally speaks again.

Double.

Right. Shit.

“Alright”, she sighs. It’s actually better than what she had envisioned her night to go, but she just hopes he won’t make her cancel on other clients as a habit. She can’t really say no to a double pay, though.

“Room 9, this time”, and the line disconnects.

Fawn stares at her phone for a moment after that, until one of the customers comes to ask for a refill. She smiles, slipping her phone back in her pocket, and busies herself with making the drink, something with coffee and a lot of caramel syrup.

When she finally leaves the coffee shop, the night has already set outside. She pulls her fur coat tighter around her. She’s glad she settled on a long skirt instead of a short one, but she’s kind of regretting not choosing pants for today. She decides on heading to the hotel now ; she doesn’t feel like making a detour to stop at her apartment.

The hall is packed when she arrives, much more than the last time she was there. Probably because it’s a bit early, and of the cold weather. She stays rooted in the entrance, overwhelmed with the smell of hot chocolate in the air and the heat of the room. It’s a comforting scent.

She’s glad for her outfit : she looks less like an outsider than last time. The girl from a month ago isn’t here when she approaches the reception desk. It’s a man. He gives her a quick glance, up and down, and then hands her the card key dismissively. As she rides the elevator, she wonders if he guessed why she was here. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was used to girls like her coming in here to see clients.

The room is plunged in the dark when she comes in, but this time, there’s no light coming from other rooms. She frowns, setting her bag done on the couch and looking around.

“Tangerine ?” She calls out, cautiously.

“Here”, a voice says, behind her.

She whirls around, startled, heart missing a beat. He’s leaning against a wall behind her. She can’t make out his face.

“Jesus”, she hisses, pressing a hand against her chest. “Why are you standing in the dark like that ? You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry”, he murmurs, his head hung low. There’s a slur in his voice.

Fawn frowns.

“Are you drunk ?” She asks.

He inches away from the wall with a hum, raising a hand to show her the glass he’s holding.

She takes a step back when he comes closer. She doesn’t trust people, and she trust them even less when they’re inhibited. She never accepts drunk clients, and he is not going to be the exception.

“I think it’s best if I come back later, alright ?” She tells him, grabbing her bag from where she had put in on the couch and inching towards the door.

“No, wait, wait, fuck, fuckin’ hell”, he curses, stumbling on his feet. There is panic in his voice, and that makes her stop. She watches as he sinks onto to the couch, defeated, and buries his head into his hands.

She stays rooted in place, halfway between the door and the living-room. But she doesn’t leave, in spite of herself.

Fuck.

“What’s wrong ?” She asks him, the words leaving her mouth before she can stop herself. Her feet take her further back inside, and she flicks the lights on. He nearly flinches.

His arm is in a sling, the wrapping crinkling the fabric of his shirt. She hadn’t noticed in in the dark. There are dark bruises underneath his eyes, and his hair is a mess of curls falling on his face, so different from the way he usually pulls them back.

He looks utterly disheveled, and lost.

She sets her bag down again, and slowly approaches him, standing in front of him. His head is hung low, and she can see the way his shoulders rise and fall heavily. She brushes her palm against the side of his face, and when he doesn’t pull away from her touch, she gently angles his face up so that she can look at him.

“You’re a mess”, Fawn tells him, bluntly.

He lets out a snort, but doesn’t say anything in return.

“What happened to you ?” She murmurs, brushing the curls out of his face. He closes his eyes, looking pained, but leans against her hand. His face is daunted, and Fawn can see the tiredness in his features.

“Just…”, he starts, breaking off. “Please, don’t go.”

He hangs his head down, hiding again, pressing his forehead against her ribcage. She curls her fingers around the hair at his nape, brushing them back and forth on his skin. His shoulders shudder, and the next breath he takes sounds rattled against the silence of the room.

He doesn’t answer her question, but she doesn’t really expect him to. He’s never really confided in her, and he isn’t going to start now. Allowing her to see him this way, to give him the physical comfort he so craves, is already making him vulnerable enough. Talking and putting into words would make it another special brand of real.

Whatever it is that he does, whatever prevents him from being able to get affection from someone else, someone he doesn’t have to pay for, seems dangerous. No one would have that many scars from just… Sitting a desk job. Fawn had wondered if maybe he was in the army at some point, but it would be something hard to miss. Former soldiers are easily noticed.

She doesn’t want to know what caused those injuries. But she can’t help but ask.

She’s heard stories, though, about girls being told too much from shady clients. It never ends well for them. She doesn’t want to be a part of them, doesn’t want to become a mere story used to warn others.

She can’t help but be curious, though. Curiosity killed the cat, and whatnot.

“C’mon”, she murmurs. “Let’s get you to bed, alright ?”

She helps him stand up, and he goes obediently, following her into the bedroom, flopping down on the bed when she tells him to sit. She unbuttons his shirt for him, the skin of his chest warm every time her fingers brush against it.

It’s weird, undressing someone just for the sake of undressing them. She’s not used to the simple… Domesticity of it.

When she finally manages to get the shirt off him, careful not to disturb the sling holding his wounded arm, he collapses forward against her, pressing his face into her shoulder. She holds him back, one hand holding the side of his head, the other curling around his shoulders to settle on his hair. She feels him take a deep, ragged inhale. There’s something wetting her top, where his face is buried into it. She doesn’t say anything.

His shoulders shake, and she shushes him, gently, caressing his hair.

He feels… fragile, beneath her. Like he’s breaking apart in her touch, and she’s desperately trying to keep the pieces of him together. Tangerine’s usually solid, warm, almost like something unmovable. Now, it’s almost like he’s disintegrating into dust and she’s grappling for him to keep him from scattering in the air.

She doesn’t like the way it makes her feel.

She feels close to tears. She blinks them away, staring up at the ceiling. Tangerine may not be used to be touched the way she touches him, but she isn’t used to touch someone the way she touches him either. To care for someone is something… Foreign. Like an old reflex that you thought you had forgotten, only to realize it hadn’t.

The loneliness inside her chest suddenly hurts, as if someone just gripped her heart and carved a hole in her ribcage. She swallows around the sudden lump in her throat.

Fawn doesn’t like to admit it, but she’s lonely. She always is. It’d be difficult not to be, in her line of work. The clients want her body, and other people just wouldn’t understand, so she just… Keeps them at arm’s length.

She feels like the other woman in that song, sometimes. The clients, once they leave, they go back to their families and their homes. Fawn, though, well. She goes home to no one, and nothing. At the end of the day, she’s alone.

Sex is easy. She knows what the clients want : they don’t expect any sort of feelings involved in it. Sometimes they want the illusion of it, but it’s just what it is : an illusion. She doesn’t really care about them, she’s not paid to do so.

Comfort and affection are… Something else. It requires a certain amount of vulnerability, even from her. The lines get blurry.

And with Tangerine… She feels a sort of kinship. He’s like her, in a way. Lonely.

***

When she wakes up, the next morning, the bed is empty. She finds Tangerine outside on the balcony, smoking. He’s still naked from the waist up. She wonders, briefly, how he managed to light his cigarette with one arm.

She slides the patio doors open and steps outside to join him.

It’s still early : the sun is barely peeking out. The air is chilly, her breath forming a little puff of condensation, but at least it helps fully waking her up.

She comes to stand next to him. He doesn’t say anything, simply takes another drag, the smoke twirling above his head.

Wordlessly, she extends her hand for the cigarette. He passes it to her, glancing at her, before looking away quickly.

She takes a drag, letting the hot smoke settle in her lungs.

“I’m sorry about yesterday”, he finally murmurs, shuffling a bit on his feet.

She looks at him for a moment, the cigarette hanging from her fingers. He doesn’t look back, but he must feel the weight of her eyes on him.

She sighs, taking another drag, and turns away to stare at the city. The sky is painted in a pale pink, the clouds almost golden. It’s a beautiful sight.

“It’s okay”, she finally replies, quietly. “Just… I don’t want my clients to be drunk when they hire me, alright ?”

He glances at her. She doesn’t flinch away from his gaze, and he nods. She hands him back the cigarette, their fingers brushing, and watches the way his throat moves as he swallows.

“Drunk father ?” He asks.

The question surprises her. She has half a mind not to answer him.

“Addict brother”, she replies, eventually, quiet. The admission floats between them, heavy. She doesn’t look at him, throat suddenly dry and choked up.

She’s never said it aloud before.

“My father was a drunk”, Tangerine tells her. “Still fucking loved him, all that… bullshit, you know. My brother, though, he kinda hates him. Maybe because he’s the eldest or shit.”

It’s the most he’s ever said to her about himself.

Fawn turns away so he doesn’t see her expression.

They lapse into silence, until she feels like she can speak again, without her voice doing anything embarrassing like wobbling and breaking.

“How was Bolivia ?” She asks.

She regrets asking immediately when she sees the way the line of his shoulders tenses. He lets out a chuckle, bringing the cigarette to his mouth. There’s no humor behind the sound.

“Fuckin’ terrible”, he says, after a moment. He flicks the cigarette off the edge of the balcony and rakes a hand through his hair. Fawn reaches for him to grasp his hand. He stills, looking at her as if surprised, and immediately relaxes against her touch. His fingers are cold. She drops a kiss against his knuckles.

“C’mon”, she tells him. “It’s freezing, let’s go back inside.”

She takes them back inside the bed, tucking the sheets around them both. He curls up next to her, breath shaky. She simply holds his hand, until he falls back asleep.

She watches him for a moment. His face is lax, in his sleep, soft, no tension or pain. She wonders how he is with his brother. She wonders if his brother looks like him, or if he acts the same way as he does.

The thought of brothers steers her to her own, so she closes her eyes and tries to think of something else. She won’t be able to fall back asleep, but she can get a little more rest.

When the clock starts inching towards ten a.m., she carefully extricates from him, making sure not to wake him. She pulls her skirt back on, adjusting it around her waist, and shrugs her cardigan on, buttoning it.

Tangerine starts stirring awake when she starts pulling her boots on.

“You leaving ?” He grumbles, voice laced with sleep.

“Yeah, I have a shift at eleven”, she replies, finishing zipping up her right boot.

“A shift ? He repeats.

“I work in a café.”

She probably shouldn’t have shared any more personal information.

“Oh”, Tangerine says, sounding surprised.

She hears him shuffle in the bed, and when she turns back towards him, he’s pulling a stack of bills from God knows where.

“Here”, he tells her, handing her a part of it. Just by eyeballing it, she can see that it’s way more than double.

“That’s way more than my usual rates”, she says.

He shrugs, unbothered.

“Look, I don’t want your… Pity, or whatever this is”, she insists, trying to hand him back the money.

He frowns.

“It’s not.”

She shakes her head, incredulous.

“It’s too much”, she repeats.

“Jesus, it’s not fucking pity”, he sighs. “You don’t take drunk clients. I was fucking drunk. Take it, alright ? Just let me… Apologize with fucking money.”

She snorts, in spite of herself. She eyes him for a while, before giving up and stuffing the bills inside her bag. He grins, for the first time since she came in the room. She’s glad for it.

“Alright, take care of yourself, alright ?” She tells him. He opens his mouth to answer, but she cuts him before he can say a word. “I don’t know what the fuck you do for a living, and I don’t want to know, but be careful.”

His grin widens.

“Is that concern ?” He asks, sounding like the cat that got the cream.

She rolls her eyes, clicking her tongue.

“Just concern about losing my source of income”, she retorts, shaking her bag full of money for emphasis.

“Wouldn’t want that to happen”, he nods, sagely, still smiling.

#tangerine x reader #tangerine x oc #tangerine bullet train #bullet train tangerine #lemon and tangerine #bullet train #bullet train 2022 #bullet train fic #aaron taylor johnson

[depressedbagpipe]

Frenemies to lovers trope where billy Russo & you are each others secret Santa. What do you think that would be like?

let the hunger games begin :)

ah shit, here we go again

the only scenario that comes up to my head is billy being the boss and you being either his assistant or some other close worker of his at anvil

and maybe you all attended some workshop where you learned that group activities could boost the company's productivity so Secret Santa became a tradition shortly after

and for the first time, billy *actually* decides to participate after some peer pressure from other workers

now, you absolutely despised his guts

not like you genuinely hated him, but maybe working for someone 24/7 creates that sort of annoyance at having to organize someone else's life for them

he definitely kept you up all night working because he is the first one in and the last one out

this is turning a bit into devil wears prada but you get me

and the odds were never in your favor so naturally you get him as your Secret Santa

and you're complaining to your friend about what to get him as a gift

because what on earth do you gift a man who absolutely has everything already

and the way he treats you doesn't make it any better

because you're his employee, and the only person who always gets his coffee order right

but besides that knows absolutely nothing about you

so imagine his shock when he got you as his Secret Santa

now, if anything, this man is resilient

if he wants something, he'll stop at nothing to get it

so the long hours spent at his office where the two of you are working slowly turn into friendly conversations

initially, he wanted to know just enough about you to get you something he knew you'd like, but over time you actually became close

just imagine the slow-burn

i can see Secret Santa being assigned a few months in advance so everyone would have enough time to buy things

and during those months, billy and you keep growing closer

one day you're running late and when you get to your desk, your usual coffee order is sitting there

and you look up to see billy on a phone call, but his eyes briefly meet yours and he winks at you

and your face heats up in a way that's never happened before but you nod your head at him in appreciation and take a sip regardless

and these little acts keep happening until the Christmas party

Billy probably threw some big event, like a charity of sorts or a gala for new investors and clients

like black tie kinda thing

people everywhere are giving each other their Secret Santa gifts

and at midnight you go out on a balcony or the roof or literally any romantic space available in the building where you can be alone for a while

because you're the main character and need your alone time

so naturally, billy's already looking for you

mind you, this party is taking place a few days before christmas

i don't think billy would be that much of an asshole to have everyone working and dressing up on Christmas eve/day

and you're making small talk like your heart isn't beating loudly in your chest at the proximity

cause you don't really feel like his assistant right now

so then billy pulls out this velvet box from his pocket and reveals the surprise

and you frown as you open it and you tear up because it's a beautiful diamond locket with that one quote from that one book you love so much

you definitely bonded over literature, by the way, because i say so

obviously, you're at a loss for words because that's just too expensive but he insists on you keeping it

'cause he made it especially for you, 'because you deserve it'

and then you give him your gift

kinda matches too, maybe the most beautiful hardcover edition of the Picture of Dorian Gray

you tell him how you had to call in some favors

pull a few strings too

this is an afterthought but imagine being friends with a designer/editor/publisher and you get him this special edition with his face on it as if he were dorian gray (the multiverse is running wild lately)

and you recall that one conversation where you both stayed up late just talking and drinking, sitting on the floor of his office where you both accidentally poured your hearts out

but then were too drunk to remember what happened later

billy said that was his favorite book, and you remembered!

'of course I've remembered.'

and now billy is just looking at you with that glazed look he always gets like 'no one's ever thought of me that much'

and next thing you know he's kissing you with all that pent-up sexual tension

only this time you both recall what happened next ;)

you're still his employee but yeah, secretly dating from now on just adds more spice to your romance

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x y/n #billy russo x you #the punisher #bagpipe writes #billy russo headcanons

[femboyhunting]

Older au questions I have

1: sydney is a doctor- but is he a good or bad one- is harper still around? If so how do they interact

2: what happened to baliey?

3: kylar becomes cruel and awful but what happened to his parents??? Mercy kill? Church involvement? Other???

4: I know Mickie leaves and becomes a DILF but when does he leave- what shoves him to that point? At what time does he decide he needs to be healthy

Sydney is a therapist! He has his own little private practice. My impulse is to say that being a therapist in doltown would be unbearable and frankly impossible so Sydney would move away. But for whatever reason I don't really see Sydney leaving? I think probably part of it is his family. And maybe he wants to do his part in helping others in any way he can. He seems, at his core, to be a truly kind and altruistic person with a lot of empathy for others. And Doltown really does need an actual therapist. He's chronically overworked and develops unhealthy attachments to his clients, but he really does care deeply for them and genuinely wants to help. He works on a sliding scale, and will often take clients for free. It's not very good business practice. His real job is the sex club he opened at the edge of town, though so at least he's getting some amount of revenue to stay afloat. It's actually a pretty nice place, lots of bouncers to enforce strict safety rules. Sydney I think has the most wholesome future, which isn't at all surprising for his character.

Harper might have pushed back, and Syd definitely was hesitant because of this since he didn't even want to see his fucking face, but he was busy at the moment with the attack on the hospital and having lost an arm from it. By the time Harper was even aware enough to be in the know about Syd opening a private practice, he was not very happy but figured he'd let it be as long as Sydney didn't create problems for him. And Sydney doesn't! He really doesn't like the idea that he's not speaking up against Harper but he knows that won't end well. Sydney's just doing what he can to help as many people as he can.

2. I'm not too sure what happened to Bailey. He's an older man now and likely has retreated into more safety. His name still strikes fear in people though. I think someone else must have taken over the orphanage though. Maybe Robin.

3. I wouldn't necessarily say "awful". He just doesn't care. He probably wanted, at some point, to end their miserable lives. If they retained any iota of their former selves their existence must be pure torture. He missed them like crazy, of course. Like their absence as their former selves was a gaping wound in his chest. He'd vowed to care for them like they had him and one day change them back. And then MC/Mikie was gone and everything went wonky. He told himself that he'd be back like always, that his beloved would never leave him. But everything was so much harder to endure without him there. He spent his time searching, he couldn't go about his day normally like everything was ok it was agony. He really spiraled. A year went by before he finally lost hope and decided a life without Mikie wasn't worth it. Long story purposefully vague, he got carted off to the asylum. Then something no one had anticipated happened. From his dark claustrophobic cell, he heard a cacophony of blood curdling screaming, slamming, and horrific wet tearing noises. They had him on so many meds he was barely aware and kept fading in and out. But when he awoke again he was home, and in the cold clammy embrace of one of his parents, the three of them smeared with drying blood. He would discover later that the asylum had been attacked, countless people lost their lives. After that, no one ever saw him again. But he's out there. Specifically, deep in the woods. He's getting better at the occult. He figures that maybe if he gets good enough maybe he can bring his beloved back to him from the other side. It's been so long though, he's hardly the same person he was back then, would he still love Kylar even as he is now? Well, no matter, he could make them. If he could bring them back to him, prove that love truly is eternal, making them love him back would surely not be that hard.

4. I think Mike has always wanted and planned to leave. He has some idealistic plans in the mean time at one point. He though if he could just make the right moves in the shadows, get the right people to trust him, he could dethrone the bastards in power and make a real positive change. He thought there was enough good in the world that if everyone worked together they could save each other. He thought he was real fuckin' smart. He really thought he could outsmart people who have been playing this game since before Mikies papa even creampied his mum. There are some victories sure but the more Mikie learns about how the town is actually run, he realizes that he's dealing with forces beyond his comprehension. And he's just some guy that used his cute ass to get a guy to set fire to some crops. Every victory is so ephemeral and meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Every failure is devastating. He tries so hard and again and again he's reminded that he's in over his head. The traumas only build and build. The asylum, the prison, the way he can't go a day without being assaulted. Trying to get revenge on Leighton and realizing that the people in power create the law so the law will never persecute them. Beaten down over and over, reminded that he is nothing. It's hard to remain hopeful. He wonders if there's anyone who he can trust, anyone who actually cares about him or are they all using him. He isn't even really sure who he is anymore. But he is sure that no one knows him. All they see when they look at him is a reflection of their own desires. All they are is vampires, bleeding him dry. And he can feel himself becoming emptier every day.

It's possible it's not even a conscious choice, really leaving. Near the end he hardly really thinks at all, it's like his head is an overfilled water balloon ready to pop, everything he hears sounds like he's underwater too. He used to go empty when bad things happened to him, his eyes would go blank and he'd just wait until it was over. Near the end, he has trouble coming back, even in the good times. He doesn't really remember much. He doesn't feel human. Maybe one night he's slinking through the shadows back to the orphanage and into his tiny room. It's ransacked, someone's obviously been there. In the back of his brain he has a passive though that nowhere is safe. He rubs the bindings on his arms against the rough edge of a piece of furniture until the loosen and he can rub the angry red rope burns on his wrists. He catches a look at himself in his mirror. His hair is tangled and matted, it hangs in his face. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, and ringed in dark colors from a combination of chronic sleeplessness and bruises. His body is marred by cuts and scrapes and bruises. Dried blood crackles and pulls at his skin uncomfortably when he moves. Another passing thought; if he's ugly will anyone love him? When his abused body finally crumbles in on itself will anyone want to hold him anymore? Is that all he is? A pretty body degrading and rotting day by day?

He doesn't think about it, really. He just stockpiles food and money. Gets a little more withdrawn. Not enough to worry anyone who might stop him. He doesn't think about Sydney or Robin or Kylar. He doesn't think. Everything around him feels so far away. Buys a backpack. A train ticket. And he's gone. No one even worries for a good while, Mikie has a reputation of disappearing and coming back.

#sure I'll tag this as dol #dol #degrees of lewdity #This is about what happens in the future for the dol bitches

[traumatas]

Trigger Warning: Customer Service

Rating: Teen and Up Audience

Category: M/M

Relationship: Reigen Arataka/Serizawa Katsuya

Tags: Reigen Arataka, Serizawa Katsuya, Friends to Lovers, Character Development, Jealousy, Sexual Harrasment, All of it very lightly but it’s there, Protective Serizawa Katsuya, Slice of life, In a sense, Pining

AO3 Link

Summary:

“Of course we offer several options with multiple varying guarantees of success - exorcisms aren’t as straightforward as most people like to believe and need a lot of professional skill, mind you - and I am certain we will find something perfect for your needs.” Falling into his little spiel is easy enough now that he has a jumping off point, the words slipping past his lips almost naturally. Still, as he speaks he begins to notice Serizawa’s eyes on him and somehow he can’t help but want to squirm a little at how intense the other’s look feels. “Our most popular service is the 99% guaranteed exorcism. Lucky for you, we are currently offering a ten percent discount on it - for our first time customers only.”

He waves the pamphlet in front of the client’s face before eventually placing it in his hands. The perfectly stiff smile on his face doesn’t fall as the man’s eyes scan over it, Reigen waiting for a decision to be made.

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

Reigen likes to consider himself a master at dealing with all kinds of people. However, that doesn't mean that they don't drive him insane sometimes.

Reigen finds himself suppressing one sigh after another in favor of keeping on his perfectly crafted mask of professionalism. The sun has barely reached its highest point in the sky and lunch break has yet to pass - meaning, it is far too early for him to lose his patience with their clients. 

For allegedly having spirit related issues, the young adult sitting on the chair in front of his desk seems surprisingly uninterested. Reigen has seen far too much of the gum the man is chewing and at this point he wants nothing more than to reach up to rub at his temples in annoyance. 

Instead, his eyes move over their client once more and he briefly wonders how much longer he had to poke and question before he got any kind of useful information out of him. 

When he had accepted this job over a quick phone call the person now sitting across from him had sounded rather serious. However, now that Reigen is trying to figure out anything substantial or useful, he wishes he had just refused - money for rent be damned.

“Do you know what kind of spirit you are haunted by?” The questions almost seem redundant at this point and keeping his voice neutral is taking more out of him than it should. He can’t deny that being able to keep the irritation out of his words might be his most impressive skill yet. Feigning interest, he leans forward and tries to pick up on any sign that he might be able to use to his advantage when it comes to making this client worth the time he is wasting on him.

Sadly, he is still out of luck because his question is answered with a mere shrug that perfectly mimics all the previous ones. Reigen wants nothing more than to throw up his hands in frustration and give up, but that is neither in line with his business practices nor a socially acceptable option. Firstly, he has a reputation to hold up and secondly, he needs to make sure to set an extra good example for Serizawa. 

The ESPer stands next to him painfully ridgid. His fingers are flexing and unflexing in what Reigen assumes is an attempt to relieve some of the tension in his body, and every now and then it’s followed by a nervous twitch that he does his best to ignore. 

He’s more than aware that the other is new to all of this and that simply cleaning up nicely would not help Serizawa to magically feel comfortable or confident around their clients. With how much time he had spent isolated, there’s still a lot he has to warm up to. Additionally, the environment in the office has to be vastly different from what he is used to and it’s even more reason for Reigen to want to get the other accustomed to it all. It is important for him to show Serizawa everything that he has to pay attention to in this line of work. After all, without Mob being able to stop by at his very call, it is essential that Reigen keeps the only ESPer willing to work for him from quitting - in the end, most of his income is rather reliant on having someone with psychic powers around.

The past few weeks he had done his very best to include Serizawa as much as possible and they had certainly made some progress. He had realized quickly how the other responds quite favorably to positive reinforcements and even if he is visibly anxious and never quite able to stop his fidgeting, he's nothing if not eager to learn. 

So when Reigen had accepted this client's rather straightforward seeming request, he had planned to dare and involve the ESPer a little more than usual to help him build some confidence. This, however, is far from how this is supposed to go and for a moment Reigen wonders if he isn’t the one being cursed or haunted. Maybe it is worth it to check in with Dimple sometime soon.

“You truly do not know what kind of spirit, then? Where you could have acquired it, what you did to offend it or how long it has been haunting you. Is that correct?” One of Reigen’s hands shoots up to count along with his points, raising a finger for each of them, and he hopes that it doesn’t translate as impatiently as it feels. 

Once more the man across from him seems to consider his answer and for the first time since coming through their door, he nods. Though, the simple motion is most certainly not as comforting as Reigen had hoped for and far from a good sign.

“Yes, that is correct.” The client confirms. “I didn’t want to believe it was a spirit at first, but you already said you can see its influence, haven’t you? So shouldn’t you know what kind it is?”

“Of course, of course.” Reigen’s extended hand begins to wave through the air, easily brushing aside any possible doubts their client might have. Out of the corner of his eye he can see how Serizawa shifts his weight from one leg to the other, hands now behind his back to allow himself to pull nervously at the fabric of his cuffs without being seen by anyone other than Reigen. “Serizawa, you can see it too. What do you think?”

Maybe it isn’t necessarily fair of him to push this onto the ESPer and he can’t help but feel a little guilty when he’s met with the other’s startled expression. To him there isn’t much of an option, however. When it comes to spinning stories along, he likes to consider himself quite good at bouncing back the information he gets with half truths and lies. Unfortunately, his wits are at an end when there’s little to nothing to work with. Without any insight or idea of the actual problem, his course of action is limited. So, while putting Serizawa on the spot like this doesn’t make him feel particularly great, there’s only so many things left for him to resort to. Desperate times call for desperate measures and he tries to soothe his conscience with the fact that it would be great practice for the other nonetheless. 

“I uh- y-yes, Reigen, sir.” Serizawa stutters eventually, standing so straight now that it has to be uncomfortable. Reigen decides that he would have to buy the other some lunch as an apology - depending on how much money this job is going to get them. “It’s rather weak b-but I do think we should exorcize it sooner than later…. Reigen, sir.”

For a brief moment, his eyes meet the ESPer’s but the other isn’t able to stand their eye contact for very long, snapping his head back to their client. After a few seconds, that seems to be too much as well and Serizawa opts for a random spot on the wall instead.

“I suppose you’re correct.” Reigen agrees and snaps his fingers loud enough to make the man next to him jolt in surprise. He desperately hopes his praise does make up for it at least somewhat. While pushing some of the hair out of his face, he stands up and motions for their client to do the same. “Spirits are an urgent matter and we shouldn’t waste anymore time. If you truly do not remember where you might have gotten stuck with it or how, you will simply have to avoid all ominous or concerning places, including but not limited to cemeteries, parking garages, parks at night and corporate office buildings. All that, additionally to our exorcism services, of course.”

Once the both of them stand, he slips a paper off the surface of his cheap desk and holds it up to the man’s face with a large and bright smile. 

“Of course we offer several options with multiple varying guarantees of success - exorcisms aren’t as straightforward as most people like to believe and need a lot of professional skill, mind you - and I am certain we will find something perfect for your needs.” Falling into his little spiel is easy enough now that he has a jumping off point, the words slipping past his lips almost naturally. Still, as he speaks he begins to notice Serizawa’s eyes on him and somehow he can’t help but want to squirm a little at how intense the other’s look feels. It makes him nervous enough for his hand to stop its gesturing for a split second. However, just a bit later, it continues to move along with his words again. “Our most popular service is the 99% guaranteed exorcism. Lucky for you, we are currently offering a ten percent discount on it - for our first time customers only.”

He waves the pamphlet in front of the client’s face before eventually placing it in his hands. The perfectly stiff smile on his face doesn’t fall as the man’s eyes scan over it, Reigen waiting for a decision to be made.

Everyone stands in silence for a good few moments and Reigen’s eyes dare to snap to Serizawa who looks rather uncomfortable in his position behind the desk. The fleeting thought that it might be his lies and act that made the ESPer feel that way crosses his mind and he prays to whatever is listening that that isn’t the case. 

“If you have an option in mind but are unsure about how to finance it, we also accept multiple payments.” He elaborates, unable to stand the silence in the room much longer. Just to make sure, he follows it up with an encouraging nod to their client, pressing for an answer now. This is taking more of his energy than what he usually has to deal with and the indecisive silence is downright deafening to him. “So is there anything that looks like it would fit your needs?”

Reigen’s smile begins to fall when he sees the client's shoulders pull up in another dismissive shrug and he realizes that he would have to put much more effort into this than he had initially anticipated.

~♥~

After the incident at the Ibogami Hotsprings, Serizawa had opened up significantly. If Reigen looks at him now, it is plainly obvious just how nervous the ESPer had been around him previously

While Serizawa is still trying quite hard to impress and prove himself as a part of Spirits and Such, he doesn’t jump out of his shoes whenever he is addressed or asked for his opinion anymore. Instead of simply nodding along with whatever Reigen is suggesting, he seems to truly consider whether he agrees or not and as it turns out, he has some rather useful and interesting insights that have come in handy more than once.

Over time, Reigen found himself thoroughly enjoying Serizawa’s company and he had realized that the ESPer had not only begun to relax around him, but Reigen himself had started to feel progressively less and less pressured to pose as some type of role model and mentor. 

Pretending and performing is what he is best at - however, being able to unwind a little between clients every now and then is a relief. Especially with someone he is considering a friend at this point. The air in the office had shifted to something different ever since they had started to treat each other more casually and neither of them seemed to want to go back to strictly professional after that. 

The first time one of Reigen’s off hand and snarky remarks had made Serizawa break out in laughter, it had completely caught him off guard. The sound had been surprisingly warm and genuine, causing some of the objects on the ESPer’s desk to lift off the surface. Of course it had been a matter of seconds before Serizawa had profoundly apologized to him - unaware of how Reigen still had to recover from seeing the other’s face pulled into a large smile that made his stomach flip.  

With every day that passes, working with Serizawa becomes easier and soon enough Reigen starts to invite him out for drinks after particularly stressful days. At first the other had politely refused, but Reigen is nothing if not persistent and had gotten him to agree eventually. 

Even on their nights out, the ESPer is incredibly pleasant to be around - maybe a little reluctant still, but weighing in with his own experiences and thoughts to Reigen’s many and endless stories. His own never ending gesturing and talking had dominated the first few times, but soon enough he had started to listen intently to what Serizawa had to say and at this point he is unable to deny that he is looking forward to what the other is willing to share. 

Slowly but steadily, Serizawa starts to think and act for himself and Reigen notices a feeling of pride swell in his chest at seeing the other open up - Pride and something else that he can’t quite put his finger on and would vehemently deny if anyone ever asked him about it. 

In the end all he allows himself to say is that there’s a certain charm about Serizawa - and it affects not only him, but their clients as well. 

While it is unintentional, there’s no doubt about how the ESPer seems to catch the eye of some of the people walking through their door. 

Serizawa is a rather handsome man and with the gentle tone of his voice, his polite smiles and his nicely fitting suit, Reigen can’t really fault anyone for being interested. He feels a little smug about it and likes to hand himself at least some of the credit for giving the ESPer such an incredible makeover. Once the hair was cut and the beard was shaved, he had known almost immediately that the other would attract some attention - certainly not because something had clicked in Reigen at that moment, mind you. 

Every now and then he wonders whether it would be worth it to print  promotional posters with Serizawa's face on it. However one look at how flustered the ESPer gets whenever someone steps too close to him is enough to know that it wouldn’t be the smartest idea - for now, at least. 

“- and you’re such a proper young man, you know.”

Of course - like everything good and fortunate in Reigen's life - even Serizawa’s looks have to come with a downside. Unsurprisingly, said downside takes the form of an elderly lady that keeps Serizawa anchored in a conversation that didn't seem to find an end. There seems to be something rather inviting about him that makes their older clients flock to him like moths to light and normally it results in a nice and pleasant little exchange. This time, though, it had turned into downright torture. 

The woman’s problem had been rather simple. Essentially nothing more than a barely cursed picture frame that caused the curtains in her home to randomly shut at times. It had neither been dangerous nor life threatening and with the ESPer’s help the actual exorcism had barely taken a minute. However, she is somehow still in the office almost half an hour later, keeping Serizawa hostage right where he stands.

His smile is frozen on his face and he keeps nodding along rather stiffly, his eyes showing just how exhausted he is from the conversation at this point. It isn’t as if he - or Reigen for that matter - isn’t trying, but it seems that their client is quite adamant about wanting to continue her one sided interaction with him as long as possible.

“My granddaughter’s fiance is nothing like that.” Her picture frame tightly clutched to her chest, she sighs deeply. The boney fingers of her hand gently rub over the worn looking corners and pick at a small splinter. “Ever since she met him she is not visiting me anymore. Can you believe that? You know, I’m sure it is her mother that did not teach her to respect and care for the elders in the family. My son should have never married her, if you ask me.”

“Th-that’s a shame.” Serizawa answers with his eyebrows knitting and his smile growing a little softer in an act of compassion. The gesture is nice, but it only encourages more words to spill from her mouth instead of cutting the conversation right there. Even if Reigen had been excluded from the beginning on, it is grinding at him unbearably so. In annoyance and disinterest, his eyes shoot up to the clock hanging on the wall and they widen the moment he realizes just how late it is. Suddenly, he is reminded of their next actually scheduled client. They were both expected to arrive within the next hour and considering how long it would take them to get there by public transport, that is a rather ambitious goal. 

“Crap-” He curses without  thinking about it and only when the woman finally pays him attention to give him a deeply disapproving glance he notices how loud his outburst must have been. Almost immediately his smile returns and sweat begins to build on his forehead. “I-I mean. Yes. It truly is a shame. Young people these days can be rather disrespectful, can they not?”

It’s an attempt at covering up his swearing mishap and if the harsh and judgemental look he receives is anything to go by, it is not a successful one. Even so, it doesn't change the fact that they had to find a way to make her pay and leave as quickly as possible. Their next appointment marks the start of a rather tightly packed schedule and they did not have the time for idle chit chat with some old woman. Being patient is important in any professional setting, but so is getting things done. 

“They can be.” The answer is slightly sharper than what Reigen expects from her and it makes him swallow down a lump in his throat together with the annoyance that begins to bubble in his chest. Her wrinkled features are twisted in displeasure and her idle smile only returns when she looks back at Serizawa. Said ESPer gives Reigen an apologetic and lost look. “Now you - Serizawa, was it, yes? - You seem like a fine upstanding man. I wish we had someone like you in our family. You remind me of my own husband when he was still alive. “

By the way Serizawa’s eyes widen, it is obvious that he doesn’t know how to respond and instead he reaches up to fidget with the collar of his button up. Absent-mindedly, he nods and without batting an eye she goes on with her story. Either she is unable to read the room or simply chooses not to and neither scenario is much of a comfort to Reigen. From where he stands he can see how Serizawa's adam’s apple bops when a hand with thin fingers gently reaches out to pat at his arm. The old woman is pushing them into a spot tighter and tighter, but Reigen wouldn’t be Reigen if he were to give up on this so easily. He often prides himself in being an expert in wiggling his way out of tricky situations and he promises himself and the ESPer that he would not disappoint this time.

Right before she opens her mouth again, Reigen takes a step closer, hoping to interrupt her and help Serizawa out. One of his hands finds its way to the other's  back to hit it with a playful slap and he puts on the politest smile he can muster. “I have to agree. Everyone would want to. I’m quite fortunate to have someone as skilled and incredible as Serizawa here with me and-”

“Yes, yes. I am sure you are, but we are having a conversation here as you can see.” 

He had not expected to be dismissed so easily. It isn’t often that Reigen finds himself stunned and at a loss for words, but the boldness of the old woman is certainly taking him by surprise. Usually, agreeing with a client works wonders when it comes to stirring them in a different direction, but this woman seems to be far more stubborn and rude than Reigen had given her credit for. “Now Serizawa, you wouldn't leave your poor, poor grandmother alone, would you? Unlike some other young men you are so considerate and talented as well.”

He can feel his eyebrow twitch in irritation at her jab and he blinks a few times, needing to recollect himself. She cares incredibly little though, her attention solely on Serizawa. 

“My cat was also such a pleasant little guy, but he passed away recently. It’s been so lonely at home ever since. Especially with no one paying me a visit anymore.” Her hand never stops her assault on the ESPer’s arm and he does begin to look increasingly uncomfortable. 

“I-I’m sorry. Losing a pet must be… hard?” It’s obvious that he is out of his element and he dares to look at Reigen once more. When their eyes meet, the look behind them is desperate - almost begging him to help. If this were any other day, Reigen would have considered this good practice for Serizawa, but with each second that ticks by more and more of their precious time slips away from them. He is flooded with a sense of urgency not only for their next client, but also for the ESPer's sake.

Slowly, his hand slips off of the other’s back and he opens his mouth, prepared to finally ask the woman to pay and leave their office.

“Ma’am-”

“-and you see whenever he jumped onto my bed, he’d meow at me and-”

Once again his attempt to interrupt is shot down immediately by her voice rising over his at an almost uncomfortable volume. It makes the rest of his words die in his throat at the audacity the action holds. He decides then and there that he would rather be faced with multiple cockroaches than this one woman - maybe. When Serizawa realizes that even Reigen is unable to break through her determination, his usual friendly demeanor and brave openness to chat with their clients is completely replaced by an anxious expression he hadn't worn in a while. 

“-my granddaughter actually loved to chase him around our backyard! Would you believe that? We would-”

At this point, Reigen can’t fault Serizawa for being trapped by her, because he feels equally at a loss on how to stop her. His skill at convincing people is reliant on them listening to him and all of his previous confidence is out the window by how aggressively she is about ignoring him.

When it had been just him and Mob, clients usually didn’t wish to stick around longer than necessary and even the rather chatty ones would leave them alone within a few minutes or so. He had never truly witnessed someone who seemed to make it their whole purpose in life to waste his time specifically and he finds himself missing the quiet loneliness of the train to Ibogami all of the sudden. 

There’s truly nothing he wants to do more than push the lady along, but he knows better than to make himself known as the business being rude to the elderly - not a smart move if a large part of your income is dependent on superstitious old people.

So instead, he helplessly watches her step even closer into Serizawa’s personal space to continue her rambling about this and that and with a heavy heart filled with disbelief, Reigen has to admit defeat this time. One of his hands rubs over his face and he uses it to slap the ESPer on the back once more afterwards, earning a conflicted and confused expression that makes his chest twist a little. 

“Serizawa, you can take it from here, yes?” He asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer before he reaches deep into the pockets of his suit pants, pulling out his phone and flipping it open in the process. Unrelenting, the hands on the clock keep moving and at this point he knows there’s no way they’ll make it in time. “I’ll have a few phone calls to make, so if you’ll excuse me.”

As he steps away, he gives Serizawa a last apologetic look. His hand moves to give the other an encouraging thumbs up and he mouths an apology, praying that he would be able to pull through just a little longer. 

~♥~

Considering his line of work, danger isn’t something Reigen is unfamiliar with. By running a business that deals with a variety of evil spirits and curses, there is a rather high chance to get scraped and bruised every now and then.

At this point, Serizawa isn’t necessarily shy about telling him that he needs to be more careful, scolding Reigen more often than not whenever he gets himself into danger without thinking - which happens more often than he'd like to admit. What bothers him most, however, is that there’s always a barely hidden distress in the ESPer’s voice. 

The first time he had pulled Reigen aside after one of their jobs, he had looked so serious that Reigen’s chest had tightened almost painfully. 

He can’t help the anxiety that spreads in his gut whenever Serizawa sees the need to remind him that he had promised to be more careful on multiple occasions and at this point Reigen has run out of barely believable excuses to reassure him. Without fail he would see Serizawa’s eyes wander over him to check for any sign of injury and it allows an unfamiliar warmth to sneak its way into his heart. It’s odd for Reigen to know that someone cares enough about him to see the need to be upset at his own stupidity.  Conflicting is probably the best way to describe the feelings swirling in his chest whenever he catches a glimpse of the ESPer’s disappointed expression.

On one hand, he feels ashamed about causing Serizawa so much trouble, but on the other - and he doesn’t dare to dwell on it too long - there’s an almost overwhelming pang of happiness at having someone around him that wants to make sure he stays unharmed. With the way Serizawa looks at him, scolds him and tries to keep him out of harm’s way almost frantically, Reigen indulges in the sensation of feeling taken care off. It satisfies him in a way he can't explain and while the happiness he feels is accompanied by a sizable amount of guilt, he still allows himself to revel in the other's caring but short touches. Having someone right at his side that he feels comfortable with, causes him to feel content in a way that he has a hard time accepting. 

Still, it doesn’t change Reigen is used to the dangers that come with the job at this point - that is, if they are of the evil spirit or falling-apart-building kind. He’s rather unfamiliar with hostility from people, as long as said people are not part of a terrorist organization. It’s not as if clients never yell at him, call him a fraud or throw a fit, but most of the time he manages to smoothly talk his way out of any risky situation with impressive ease and a good chunk of luck. Almost everyone that storms through the doors of Spirits and Such in a fit of anger is usually pretty easy to handle. It’s no secret to Reigen that he has a knack for stumbling his way through conversations without clients necessarily realizing what he’s doing. With a business such as his, it is most certainly an essential part of how it functions.

Even before he had decided to dabble into independence, dealing with an angry and furious client is nothing he would have considered new to him. His way with words and his ability to deflect every accusation thrown at him had gotten him pretty far.

However, that did not mean that he never found himself confronted with people he couldn't get a grip on.

“Sir, please. I understand that you’re upset, but I promise you that all of our exorcism oils are one hundred percent authentic and-”

“Oh shut up!” A loud slap on the surface of Reigen’s desk accompanies the client’s booming voice and it makes him jump out of his chair a little. At the other end of the room, Serizawa looks equally startled. He is still drying his hands and if Reigen had known how quickly this would escalate, he would have not asked the ESPer to handle this particular massage on his own. “No way in hell this was an exorcism! What kind of stupid fraudulent place is this? Should have known all those reviews were fucking fake-”

“Now, now. No need to get this…. aggravated.” Reigen dares to interrupt their client, careful about his choice of words. Reluctantly, he stands up from his chair to get a little closer. His hands feel clammy and the man’s face is colored in a deep and maddened red, trembling with anger. There’s no doubt that he would rather avoid this from getting any more out of hand and as confidently as he can he smiles at the client, ignoring the cold sweat that builds on the back of his neck. “I assure you my associate is more than qualified and physical exorcisms are just an advanced form that take a long time to master, you see.” 

“Physical fucking exorcism, my ass! Listen up you asshole, I don’t buy it.” The man takes a few steps forward, his eyes now narrowing in on him. “Like some backrub will get rid of being possessed!”

“But you are feeling better, do you not?” The room suddenly feels much heavier. There’s a pressure in the air that Reigen is unfamiliar with and for a second he wonders if this man truly is possessed after all. However, he opts to trust Serizawa’s earlier judgment of him not being affected by any type of spirit whatsoever, rather than his own instinct. He does prefer to leave the ESPer work to the actual ESPer - which means he had more or less assigned himself the talking portion of this particular job. Though, as it turns out it is much trickier than it would be on their average day. 

Suddenly, the man in front of him grabs him by the collar and pulls him closer. The tug on his shirt is painful and causes fabric to dig uncomfortably in the back of his neck. Almost immediately, his body responds. His heart beats rapidly and his hands shoot up to feign innocence, his smile has lost a good part of its fake confidence and he prays that the man wouldn’t notice how nervous he is at this point.

“Listen, Sir. There’s- there’s no need to do anything anyone might regret. I am sure we will be able to resolve this without the need of any of this?” His hands gesture widely now and eventually end up on the client’s arm to carefully push at it in an attempt to get some space. The action quickly backfires and causes the hand around his shirt to tighten even more. Reigen swallows roughly and as unbelievable as it may seem, dealing with the 7th division had been far less nerve wrecking.

“I don’t know who you fucking think you are-” At this point, the excessive use of swears is certainly getting old, but Reigen has far more important things to worry about. “- but don’t you think I’ll let you scam anyone else out of their hard earned money.”

With how much force he is pushed backwards, he is sure that his body is about to hit his desk rather harshly. Out of instinct, his eyes screw shut and he expects the unavoidable impact. However, there’s neither a large crash nor any sharp pains or aches to complain about and once he realizes there would be none at all, one of his eyes opens hesitantly. 

Instead of on the ground, he finds himself with a steady and large hand on his back that digs into the fabric of his suit to keep him upright. 

The pressure and stuffy feeling of the air makes a shocking amount of sense now. While he can not see Serizawa’s aura, it is rather obvious that it must be his powers spreading into every nook and cranny of the office. With how the tips of the ESPer’s hair are floating and with how his hand is wrapped around their clients wrist tightly enough to make his knuckles turn white, it is plain to see that Serizawa is angry. Angrier than Reigen has ever seen him for a fact. 

Saying that he feels fortunate to not be on the receiving end of the furious stare on the ESPer’s face is an understatement. Reigen has never considered Serizawa particularly scary looking and to him he’d been nothing if not great company. His bright smiles never fail to make him feel something he probably shouldn’t and his incredible kindness and interest had only made Reigen realize how much he had needed another adult to consider his friend. 

Now, however, Serizawa looks downright terrifying, his eyes filled with an intensity that would make everyone’s blood chill in a moment - with the exception of Reigen, of course, who has to deal with a sudden burst of emotion including but not limited to awe and amazement. Still, he dares to tear his eyes away from the ESPer in favor of looking back at their client. His previous anger is replaced by fear and for a moment Reigen worries that Serizawa grip would tighten further. There’s no doubt that it would be followed by a most likely sickening crack if he did.

Not wishing for any lawyer costs, Reigen’s own hand moves to carefully and gently push at Serizawa’s shoulder. Trying to not be too loud, he clears his throat.

“Serizawa-”

“Sir. I think it’s time for you to pay and leave.” When he speaks, none of the usual warm kindness or determined enthusiasm is left in Serizawa’s voice and his tone is dangerously low. The pencil holder on Reigen’s desk begins to rattle slightly and he realizes that the ESPer is doing a rather incredible job at holding back his powers despite everything. Even so, he is suddenly aware that to him there’s no reason to worry about it either way. It hits him like a ton of bricks, but he realizes right then and there how safe he feels with Serizawa this close and how oddly comforted he is by the steady pressure on his back.

With his voice now lost, their client nods after a moment of silence. He’s shaking now, eyes blown wide and shrinking under Serizawa’s stare. Not only the man’s but Reigen’s attention as well returns solemnly to the ESPer. Though, he has the sneaking suspicion that his own reasons for starring are vastly different from their client’s - that is, if his extra clammy hands and the warm feeling in his stomach are anything to go by. 

One of the drawers of his desk creaks concerningly when the sheer force of Serizawa’s powers pulls it open. The hand on his back lets go almost hesitantly and the ESPer roughly drops the wrist in his grasp to pluck the in-office wallet that is floating closer out of the air. 

Considering the previous attitude of their client and his insistence of not wanting to spend a single yen on them, he seems rather eager to pay now. There’s a significant amount of fumbling with change and in the end Serizawa ends up with a bunch of extra bills and coins being shoved into his hand. 

With his metaphorical tail now tucked between his legs, the man bows deeply before turning on his heels and the door to the office falls into its lock behind him rather loudly. In the now silent room, Reigen can hear just how heavy Serizawa is breathing. There’s a few angry intakes of air, but eventually the pressure in around them gradually dissipates and the other’s breath evens out. 

Reigen’s own heart is still pounding violently in his chest and finds himself wanting to reach out. For now, he hesitates, though, unsure about what the ESPer needs right now. Instead it slowly dawns to him that the reason Serizawa had reacted this strongly is most likely because Reigen had gotten himself into trouble once more and he can’t help and curse himself silently for causing the other to lose some of the composure he had worked so hard on. Whatever he has felt up till now is replaced with shame, but Serizawa doesn’t give Reigen time to beat himself up even further when he turns to face him more properly. 

For a split second Reigen is prepared to be scolded for being reckless and irresponsible. Yet, when their eyes meet, Serizawa’s face is no longer twisted in anger. His eyebrows are knitted now and the crease between them is deep with concern. The hand that had wrapped around their client’s wrist in a death grip is incredibly gentle when it lands on Reigen’s upper arm. 

“I-I’m so sorry.” Serizawa’s panicked tone catches him a little off guard just as much as the sudden proximity of the ESPer when he steps a little closer. For a moment, his lips are pressed into a tight line and his eyes jump over Reigen’s features, causing his heart to skip a beat. When Serizawa continues to speak, his voice is filled with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to be- to lose control like that.” 

His expression changes rapidly and he shakes his head as if to take back his words, not quite allowing Reigen to open his mouth to respond just yet.

“Are you okay, Reigen? He didn’t hurt you did he?” Within an instance, he brings distance between them again, his second hand moving to rest on Reigen’s other arm. He doesn’t catch on immediately, but Serizawa is obviously waiting for an answer now. 

“I-I’m okay-!” He says, sounding so out of it that he follows it up with an embarrassed laugh. The other’s worry is suddenly far too overwhelming and needs to take a step back. With how much warmth Serizawa’s simple touch makes him feel, he can’t help but feel a completely different kind of worry that makes itself known. “All- all fine as you can see. Still in one piece, unharmed. Splendid, really.” 

As if to emphasize his point, he gestures at himself from head to toe. Even if his smile isn’t necessarily genuine, he still tries to look up at Serizawa reassuringly. However, one look at the ESPer lets him know that he can tell that Reigen isn’t unscathed by the encounter - though, he truly hopes that Serizawa doesn’t know what exactly is bothering him. 

“Are you... sure?”

“Yes.” The answer comes so quick that it is barely believable. Reigen is unable to face the other any longer and he turns around to run a hand through his hair, taking the chance to wipe over his forehead while he’s at it. “Not the first time I had to deal with a complicated client.”

Once again he clears his throat and he dares to turn back again, Serizawa’s hands  now nervously playing with each other in front of his chest. It’s plainly obvious that he isn’t satisfied and is considering how to ask his next question. Reigen, however, doesn’t want to give him the opportunity to dig deeper, scared that he might reveal too much of what he’s feeling right now. 

Before anything more can be asked, he adds, “Thank you.” There’s a second in which he hesitates, his fingers flexing and unflexing much like Serizawa’s often did. Eventually, though, he reaches out to gently slap the ESPer’s arm. “Saved the day once again, did you? Great job.”

A small laugh escapes his throat and he knows that it’s not necessarily making anything better. He reaches into his pockets afterwards and pulls out his key to jingle it in front of Serizawa’s face, not wanting to give the other a chance to think about his words or behavior all too much.

“I think we should close up a little earlier today. I’m certainly ready for a drink or two.” He licks his lips and finds himself asking something he might be regretting later on. “Want to tag along?”

~♥~

“No, it was over there! How would you even know where it was when you’re barely home?”

“Because I definitely saw it there! Our daughter said so as well. You might call me a liar, but you should at least believe her!”

“She’s seven! How would she even know know what she is-”

Even long before opening Spirits and Such, Reigen had experienced just how exhausting most clients could be. However, the kind he has to deal with these days are oftentimes much more eccentric than your run of the mill housewife or fellow business man. They range from old people taking advice from their know-it-all children, over groups of friends all the way to his least favorite category: bickering couples.

A single person usually is able to explain their problem rather well but when it comes to people that are dating - or married for that matter - they always seem concerningly out of sync with one another. It’s either that one of them falls into Reigen’s net of sweet talk and half truths while the other is much harder to convince, or they simply can not decide on who’s version of the problem is the correct one. 

Worst of all, those aren’t even the biggest issue Reigen has with them these days. What bothers him most is that, even with all their bickering and complaining, they do nothing but remind him of how single and pathetic he is himself - and of course his helpless and ever deeper growing crush on the man standing right next to him. 

Almost a little cautiously, Reigen allows himself to look up at Serizawa. The ESPer looks just as much at a loss as him and listens to their clients' exchange with a deep frown. His arms are crossed and his fingers drum nervously on his upper arm that Reigen is focusing on for a moment longer than is appropriate. Only when Serizawa looks back at him does he notice his own staring and he hopes his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. To his relief, the other doesn’t seem to have caught it. 

“Arataka, should we…” Serizawa’s sentence stays unfinished and it doesn’t seem like he had known what he wanted to ask in the first place. Reigen understands his sentiment. Dealing with people that are actively fighting without much care for who’s witnessing them isn’t his favorite thing to do, but sometimes their line of work requires to get involved with things he’d rather leave alone. 

In response to Serizawa’s unfinished question, he waves his hand and leans a little closer. His voice is only loud enough for the ESPer to hear, though, he doubts either of their clients would have listened to him anyways. “Leave it to me.”

Breaking up disagreements is not far up on the list of his preferred parts of the job. It takes expertise and care to not accidentally make things escalate any further and most of the time it is best to simply let one of them tire themselves out and give in. However, with how this one is going, Reigen isn’t certain that either of them would be able to let go of their pride any time soon.

“You didn’t even want to hire anyone in the first place!” The wife huffs and her arms are crossed tightly over her chest, her foot angrily tapping on the floorboards. Eventually, one of her arms unlocks and she points right at Reigen. “If it weren’t for me we wouldn’t even have anyone here at all and now you’re just wasting their time!”

With their presence now acknowledged, he sees the perfect chance to interrupt, “There’s no reason to worry. We at Spirits and Such know just how to-”

“Oh is that so? Well who is going to pay for this service then? You?”

The utterly offended gasp that fills the room is everything but a good sign and the rhythmic tapping of her foot stops with a rather loud stomp. In response she earns a glare and a cock of her husband’s head. In Reigen’s opinion, this is getting rather ridiculous and he realizes that this situation requires a gentler hand than he had initially anticipated.

“Actually, there’s no need to worry about the payment. I am sure we can figure something out that will sit right with the both of you.” This seems to grab the couple's attention and Reigen finally feels confident that he can turn this around - as long as one of them would be willing to listen to him. A large smile spreads on his face and his hand accompanies his words effortlessly from there on. “First and foremost we are here to prioritize any and all of your otherworldly problems.” 

The husband sighs at his words. “I apologize. This isn’t about payment. We certainly do have the money.” There’s a sense of relief that floods Reigen and with how Serizawa straightens next to him, he must be feeling the same. Finally, it feels like the end of their headache might be getting closer. However, both of them have to face the harsh reality a few seconds later. “This is actually about how my own wife doesn’t believe me when I say, that-”

Within a split second, they resume their arguing as if Reigen had never intervened in the first place. His expression must have been quite miserable, because the ESPer slides up next to him to gently bump his elbow against Reigen’s arm. It’s obvious that it’s supposed to be a gesture of comfort and while he appreciates it, he knows for a fact that Serizawa is much more uncomfortable than him. The ESPer is familiar with the ups and downs of the job at this point, but there’s still a lot he doesn’t know how to deal with and feels more comfortable with Reigen handling. Knowing that quite well, Reigen gives him a questioning and partly worried glance, silently asking if he’s still okay. 

Though, one proper look at Serizawa is enough to figure the answer out himself. The discomfort is almost radiating off of him and he finally gives Reigen an uncertain shrug that turns into a small shake of his head. It fills Reigen’s chest with a sense of accomplishment to know that the other trusts him enough to let him know about how unsure he is feeling with all of this.

“Well, it’s not my fault that you constantly have to deal with that!” At this point, the argument is completely irrational and it makes the ESPer’s face contort in a way that doesn’t sit right with Reigen. It makes his chest feel tighter and in an attempt to lighten the other’s mood he bumps him back a little, hoping the gesture brings him some kind of relief. When he has Serizawa’s attention on him, he moves his hand to signal the ESPer to lean down.

“How about you go and check if there actually is a problem, Katsuya.” Reigen says, his voice lowered. It is less of a suggestion and more of an opportunity for Serizawa to excuse himself. His own eyes drift back to their clients and it makes him click his tongue, one of his hands moving to rub the bridge of his nose. Whatever these two were arguing about is something that had to be bubbling under the surface for a long time and he wonders if he should start adding disclaimers about scenarios like this in the fine print of their pamphlets. “Meanwhile, I’ll make sure to babysit.”

Serizawa’s shoulders relax a little and one of his hands finds their way to Reigen’s shoulder. His smile melts into something so genuine that it makes Reigen’s heart hammer against his ribcage and the sudden squeeze of his shoulder makes it skip a beat. Before he has the time to get too lost in the touch and expression of the other, he reminds himself that there’s still clients to deal with. He has all the time in the world to pine and lament about Serizawa once he is back home. Right now it is more important to have the ESPer’s back and to get the job done. 

“Thank you.” Serizawa says, his voice filled with relief. Reigen can’t help but to return the other’s smile with one of his own, all of his annoyance making way for something different almost in an instant. The warm hand gets removed from his shoulder and Serizawa gives him a determined nod. “I’ll try to be as fast as possible.” 

“Good luck.” One of Reigen’s hands waves through the air a little while his other digs deep into the pockets of his suit pants. He gives the ESPer another once over, his cheeks heating up yet again. “And call if you find or need anything, yeah?”

A soft and sweet laugh escapes Serizawa and he gives Reigen a playful salute in agreement. “Same goes to you.” Though, he looks a little more serious right after, his voice a little quieter now. “Especially if things escalate.”

“Don’t worry, I think I can handle this.” Reigen mumbles reassuringly and the ESPer seems to judge his words for a moment before deciding to believe him - for now at least. 

Without wasting another second, Serizawa politely excuses himself even if nobody but Reigen is listening to him. He gives him one nod before slipping out of the room and Reigen realizes that it’s time to pull his part of the weight now. Whatever the couple is fighting about at this point, is beyond him and he braces himself for the inevitable headache. All that’s left for him is to do his best and de-escalate the situation with as much finesse as he can while Serizawa finds the root of the problem. 

Fortunately for Reigen, his pleas seem to be heard, because the ESPer manages to track down and locate the spirit quite quickly. Considering how much chaos it seems to have caused for these people, it’s no surprise that it’s a rather feisty one. It slips through the house with trained ease and gives them somewhat of a difficult time, but sooner than originally anticipated, they find themselves back in the small rental car on their way home.

Despite finally nearing the end of the day, Reigen can’t deny that he feels incredibly stressed out at this point. He’s glad to finally be out of that place. The constant arguing had never truly stopped and if it were not for Serizawa’s presence he would be completely frazzled. It’s comforting to know that the ESPer is right there with him and at this point he wouldn’t know what to do without him. The thought that the other might leave one day had struck him before but every time he had pushed the idea into the very back of his mind to confront it another time that would probably never come. 

For now, he has to be thankful for having the other at his side and every little bit of self doubt that tries to force its way up is ignored in favor of concentrating on the comfortable silence between them. The sound of the motor is all that fills the space between them, Reigen having gone as far as to turn the radio off to have a moment of peace.

The quiet is interrupted only when Serizawa decides to speak up after a heavy sigh 

“I really hope they won’t ask for compensation for the cupboard I broke.” There’s honest concern in his voice and for a split second, Reigen’s eyes shift from the street towards the ESPer. His cheek is resting against his palm and his gaze is fixated on the road, while his free hand is casually drumming on the fabric of his pants, only stopping to play with ironed in fold every now and then. “Or any of the possible water damage to the walls.”

His lips turn up into a small smile then and with the evening sun hitting him through the window of the car, Reigen can’t help but admire how beautiful he is. When he finds himself getting lost in how nice Serizawa’s hair looks now that it’s a little grown out and with the curls returning, he finally forces his eyes back on the road. There were better times to admire the other in secret and most certainly better places than the middle of the street, even if there is a surprising lack of traffic. 

“I don’t think they will.” Reigen says with a shrug, his fingers tightening around the tacky plush covering on the steering wheel as he speaks. The texture of it is absolutely disgusting. “They might have completely different things to figure out than broken fixtures. Really, I was losing my mind. How can two people who fight like that even be together for that long - and have a daughter! I’m glad she didn’t have to witness that disaster. ”

One of his hands moves to emphasize his point, but he quickly forces it back down when he notices the car drift too close to the side of the street. Talking reminds him of how he’s exhausted not only mentally, but physically as well. It isn’t often that he’s left this drained after a job and he’s quite glad that there isn’t any other waiting for them today. He’s only slightly invigorated when the idea of asking Serizawa to grab some dinner strikes him. Maybe if the other still felt up for it, they would be able to spend the rest of their evening together and there’s no doubt that it would be filled with countless complaints about their clients. 

“There’s nothing worse than to spend that much time of your life with someone you only disagree with. Having a fight is one thing, don’t get me wrong, but this was ridiculous. I mean, shouldn’t a partner be someone that actually enjoys being around you?” Reigen can’t help the amusement in his voice and now that he’s able to talk about it a little more freely, he goes on without thinking. “Kinda like us, right? We spend all our time together, basically, and I’d say we are doing much better. Actually, I’m really glad we aren’t fighting like that, Katsuya.”

Instead of receiving a response, Reigen is met with another short stretch of silence that is long enough to make him realize how strange his statement must have sounded. The wave of embarrassment that hits him also fills him with anxiety. Suddenly, he wonders if that little mishap is enough for the other to see right through him. 

“I mean- I didn’t want to imply that we were together like that. A-a couple or married or anything.” One of his hands leaves the steering wheel once more to move through the air wildly in an attempt to distract from how flustered he is. The plush of the wheel cover comes in quite handy as he absent-mindedly begins to wipe his other hand on it to get rid of some of the clamminess. “I just mean in the office as coworkers. N-no, as friends, obviously-”

With his body switching to autopilot almost immediately, Reigen loses focus of his driving and without him noticing the car slowly begins to swerve dangerously close towards the middle of the street and to the other lane.

“Arataka-”

“I didn’t mean to imply anything or make you uncomfortable, we are strictly professional-” No, that isn’t right either. “Friends. Professional friends and-”

“Arataka, eyes on the road!” The volume and panic of Serizawa’s voice makes Reigen’s attention snap back to the road immediately and once he realizes what is happening, his free hand shoots back to the steering wheel. Maybe a little rougher than is needed, he pulls the car back to where it should be, breath a little heavier now, knuckles white with how tightly they hold on.

“Sorry. I just-” He laughs nervously, hunching closer to the windshield now than necessary and forces himself to focus forward almost obsessively. Partially for their safety and partially because he can’t bring himself to look at Serizawa right now. “Just meant to say I’m glad we are on the same page.”

“I know.” The ESPer sounds equally out of breath and strained, his body shifting to sit up straighter now. It takes some moments of Reigen keeping the car where it’s supposed to be for him to relax again. Though, he doesn’t sink back into the seat the same way. Serizawa takes a deep breath before he speaks again, obviously trying to sound as casual as possible. “I’m glad too, but- how about we stop talking for a little while?”

~♥~

There’s nothing more rewarding than a job well done. Not only does it fill Reigen with a sense of having done something good - at least when an actual spirit has been involved - but the rest of his afternoon is much more rewarding when it feels earned. At the end of the day, he always looks forward to being able to unwind.

A small and genuine smile tugs on his lips and he looks over to Serizawa, who’s standing a little ways away with their last client of the day. The old woman is fumbling with her wallet while the ESPer is busy writing her a receipt for the job. At this point, he is running Spirits and Such as much as Reigen does and it’s something that he had never thought possible when a fumbling and nervous Serizawa had accepted the offer to work for him. Even when he had started to entrust the other with more and more tasks, Reigen still hadn’t expected him to stay for very long. He has a hard time wrapping his mind around the fact that the ESPer had no intention to leave and admittedly, thinking about it too long makes it seem too good to be true. Serizawa makes an incredible effort to let him know that he isn’t going anywhere, though. 

After all, they weren’t only coworkers anymore and neither were they just friends. A bold moment of weakness was all it had taken Serizawa to cross the line they were tip-toeing around and it still makes Reigen’s heart race to think about what they were now. Just a few months ago it had seemed impossible and ridiculous for him to even hope that the other returned his feelings and to now know that he truly does is a realization that keeps overwhelming him every time.

The giddiness and excitement spreading through him as he considers what they would get for dinner tonight feels almost childish and yet, Reigen allows himself to simply enjoy it without doubt just this once. With neither of them having much planned this weekend, he tells himself that there might be enough time to indulge in Serizawa a little without listening to the voice in his head that still tries to convince him that this wouldn’t last. There are more than enough things he can think of that would most certainly distract him and each makes him more eager to get back to one of their homes than the last. Truly, if anyone had asked him what he had thought his future would look like, he would have not in a million years expected that he would run a somewhat questionable exorcism business with his psychic boyfriend. Now that he has it, though, there’s nothing he wants to change.

“You did a pretty impressive job today.”

His little moment of watching Serizawa help the woman count her change is interrupted by her son. He was about their age - maybe a year or so younger than Reigen - and had been around for most of the day. He had assumed that it was to make sure they weren’t trying to scam her, but now that it had come to actually collecting the payment, he had slid up next to him instead of keeping a close eye on his mother. 

“Thank you. We at Spirits and Such are always here for any of your needs concerning hauntings, possessions and the like.” Reigen says and it’s accompanied by a confident snap of his fingers. He reaches inside of his suit jacket, pulling out one of his business cards to hand over. It’s never too late for a little bit of self advertisement and if he had learned anything over the past few years it’s that one haunted family member usually resulted in a few more. “If you - or any of your acquaintances for that matter - are ever in need of any of our services, do not hesitate to give us a call. We pride ourselves in being flexible to your every need, though, short term out of office appointments do come with a fifteen percent price increase.”

The man looks down at the business card, turning it over in his hand a little. When his head pulls up again, he gives him a look.“Oh is that so?” Something about the dip and infliction in his voice makes Reigen shift where he stands and he starts to play a little with the cuff of his sleeve. There's something about the tone that strikes him as strange. He’s heard people trying to be sleazy before, and something about this is far too similar. “I’ll certainly keep that in mind. It’s not bad to have someone skilled and smart like you around in an emergency, is it?”

“Well- y-yes of course. Mind you, our services are for issues of the supernatural kind only. They come in a large variety from in-office physical exorcisms to on-site operations. However, we will gladly refer you to places that fit your needs in case your problems are not related to anything spiritual.” As he talks, he feels the other’s eyes roam over him from head to toe. The response he gets is a short intrigued humm and he doesn’t like the way he’s being watched. A smile tugs at the man’s lips and Reigen can’t help the way his eyebrows knit in confusion when he sees him pull a pen from one of his pockets. There’s a moment in which he scribbles something on the card and just a few seconds later he steps quite far into Reigen’s personal space to hand him back the little piece of cardstock.

Out of reflex and in hopes of the man stepping away after, he takes it and squints at the series of numbers messily added under the office’s contact info. A phone number, Reigen realizes.

“I’m sure physical exorcisms aren’t the only thing you’re good at - especially not with that amount of energy you have. I’m rather interested in those flexible services you mentioned.” Reigen’s head snaps back up from the business card and he notices just how close they were now. When the man has the audacity to wink at him, he allows himself to take a step back as politely as he can. While he is used to being the center of attention, he prefers it being of the professional variety rather than the personal. Blatant flirting isn’t something he’s familiar with and while at some point he might have been desperate enough, he can’t say he is now.

At an arm’s length, he holds out the card to return it and clears his throat.

“I … apologize for the misunderstanding, but my business is not the type to give you a hand in such things.” It’s a horrible choice of words on his part, but with how tense and sick he suddenly feels there’s no time to reconsider them. His free hand flies through the space between them dismissively and he hopes that is enough for the other to get a clue. At this point his forced smile grows painful and the smirk he gets in response makes anxiety curl in his gut.

Throughout the day, there had been a few rather impressed whistles and huffs that Reigen had assumed were meant for the flawless job Serizawa was doing. Now, however, he’s certain that if he had paid even an ounce of attention, he would have realized that they were most certainly not aimed towards any display of psychic powers. It takes him a sizable amount of willpower not to shudder in disgust and to keep up the professionalism. All he has to do is decline the other’s intrusive offer and move on with the rest of his day as planned. Though, it doesn’t seem to be as easy as that - it rarely is in Reigen’s case.

“Oh no. I think you’re misunderstanding my intentions.” He most certainly isn’t with how clear the other’s intentions are. ”I’m not asking for the services of your business. I’m far more interested in what you have to offer. I’ve been told I’m rather skilled at showing people a good time and don’t you think I haven’t noticed the way you look at that associate of yours. So no reason to deny yourself. Actually-”

Reigen’s extended arm is pushed out of the way in favor for the distance to be crossed again and the other rummages through his pockets once more. He pulls out a few spare bills and gently shoves them into the exposed front pocket of Reigen’s shirt. The unwanted touch makes him jolt. “A little tip for today. Enjoyed having you around, Reigen. Make sure to think about it.”

Reigen does not consider himself a particularly angry person and while he tends to get rattled if unprepared, he’s usually able to brush it off at the end of the day. This, however, is going too far even for him. While it certainly isn’t the first time one of their clients had gotten up close and personal with him, this oversteps far too many boundaries. 

“Excuse me, Sir, but who do you think-”

He doesn’t get much further than that before the man suddenly gets pulled back. Not even a second later an all too familiar arm slides around his waist and pulls him close to Serizawa’s side. So lost in his utter disbelief about the advances towards him, he hadn’t realized that the ESPer was done with collecting the payment and had joined them. He looks up at Serizawa in confusion and by the way the other’s forced smile doesn’t reach his eyes, Reigen can tell that he is absolutely furious.

It would most likely be possible for him to count the times he had seen Serizawa this upset on one hand and he realizes that the ESPer must have used his powers to bring some distance between them and the other man. In most instances, Reigen might remind him that this isn’t necessarily up to company policy, but considering the circumstances he’s rather glad for the intervention. With how protective the hand on his waist is holding onto him and with how close he is pressed up against Serizawa, he can’t help but feel a little flustered It isn’t unknown to him that he finds himself incredibly affected by the other’s protectiveness, but it still catches him off guard each and every time.

He’s so distracted by how inappropriately warm he feels under his collar, that it takes him a moment to realize that the ESPer has plucked the business card from his fingers. He reads it over for a moment and his eyes grow a little darker before he uses his powers to crumple it up midair and tosses it to the side right after. 

“We won’t be needing that.” His voice is level but cold and Reigen, despite how in awe he is, still hopes that Serizawa isn’t too affected by his own anger. He knows him well enough to be aware that the ESPer doesn’t particularly like to lose control of his emotions. However, this isn’t his normal protective behavior either and the sudden realization of what it is makes Reigen gasp quietly, his pale cheeks most likely a dark shade of red. Serizawa is jealous. 

“Taka, I think we should be going.” The ESPer’s voice is more demanding than Reigen is used to, but he finds himself too caught up in his revelation to care. While jealousy isn’t necessarily the most elegant way for him to find out, it still finally dawns on Reigen just how serious Serizawa is about him. The thought makes his head spin and all he can do for a moment is nod.

“Ah- Sure. Yes. It is quite late.” His answer is more of a breathless laugh than anything and he knows full well that his expression must be dumbfounded. Even if he would never admit it out loud, he finds himself finding an odd sense of fulfillment in the other’s possessiveness. It may just be for a moment, but he truly feels important. 

Serizawa gives the man across from them a last sharp glare and tightens his hold around Reigen even further. The only answer to the action is an audible swallow and without giving anyone else another chance to speak, Serizawa finally pulls him along. His guidance around Reigen is surprisingly gentle and all he has to do is keep up with the ESPer’s quick and long steps.

Only when they make their way off the premises does the pressure in the air around them fade. Carefully, the hand around his waist slips off in favor of moving to intertwine their fingers, a thumb brushing gently over his knuckles. He gives himself a moment to mourn the loss of contact and warmth and Serizawa a moment to collect his thoughts. 

Eventually, the ESPer sighs deeply, his shoulder sinking and his eyes firmly locked onto the ground. 

“I-” Serizawa’s words die in his throat immediately and his hand squeezes Reigen’s apologetically before he tries again. “I’m sorry. I know that wasn’t called for and I know you can take care of this stuff by yourself. I shouldn’t have- I just- ah. I just really didn’t like the way he was touching you. He was…”

His words drift off and once Reigen knows that Serizawa won’t continue, he allows himself to be the one stepping closer this time, their shoulders brushing ever so slightly.

“He was going too far.” He states matter of factly, huffing a little in annoyance. It’s obvious how nervous and guilty Serizawa feels about losing composure. His free hand is nervously rubbing his fingers together and his eyes are looking anywhere but Reigen. From where said man stands, he can see the ESPer worrying the inside of his cheek. He hopes that his almost casual tone is able to take some of the edge off and keep Serizawa from beating himself up too much. For a moment, he closes his eyes and concentrates on the warmth of the other’s hand in his. “Not only inappropriate, but right next to his mother as well. People these days. Every alleyway behind any old bar would have made for a better place to hit on someone. Really, what nerve that guy had. Is it too much to ask for just one normal client every now and then?”

 One of his eyes cracks open to glance up once more. His smile is encouraging and when he sees Serizawa smile back sheepishly, he is flooded with a wave of relief. The simple gesture is enough to make the last bit of Reigen’s work demeanor melt away and he exhales softly, fully relaxing now. 

When he speaks up again, his words are filled with honesty and much gentler than his previous attempt at being funny. “Trust me, ‘Suya. I don’t think there’s anyone that could ever begin to compare to you. Certainly no one I’d rather have here with me than you.” 

Reigen himself isn’t prepared for the amount of adoration his statement is laced with and faintly he wonders when he had started to lay his emotions out in the open like this. It makes him a little nervous but the small blush that spreads over Serizawa’s cheeks makes saying it worth it. 

Eventually, both their steps come to a halt and for a few seconds they do nothing but study each other’s expression, Reigen taking in the ESPer’s beautiful smile and any wrinkle that it comes with. 

The intimacy overwhelms him soon enough and he feels silly for not being used to it at this point. They had gone much, much further than just holding hands, but Reigen still isn’t able to feel so seen by someone else for longer than just a few moments. Though, if it’s for Serizawa, he is nothing if not determined to work on it.

“E-either way. Next time let’s try not to scare potential future clients to death. That isn’t good for the business.” His lecture is a weak attempt at distracting from how hot his face is and how fast his heart is beating and without much of a second thought, he adds, “Even if I have to admit that I didn’t mind it all too much. So don’t worry. With- I mean you looked-”

Serizawa looks at him with wide eyes and curiosity now. With the redness of his cheeks it is almost the complete opposite of his furious expression from earlier. Reigen can’t help but feel a little awkward now, not quite sure where he had expected himself to go from here. In the end, they still had a lot to learn about each other and he isn’t exactly sure what his words mean to the other. His free hand busies itself with flailing through the air when he continues, trying not to embarrass himself any further, “I-It’s good to know that you care that much. A-about me, I mean. Not that I doubted that or anything.” 

He isn’t able to keep their eye contact for much longer than that, but the last look on the ESPer’s face had already told him that trying to save himself had long gone out the window. Serizawa is already turning Reigen’s words over in his head and by the way  his hand squeezes once again, it is obvious that he starts to catch on. With the last of his dignity and his voice dropping into a slightly more serious tone, he tries to cover up at least some of the humiliation, “Still, try not to do it again.”

“Oh. I-I see.” The infliction of his words makes Reigen’s stomach twist in sudden excitement and he isn’t sure whether that’s a good or a bad sign. He has the feeling that his last statement hasn’t necessarily been taken seriously and he has the sneaking suspicion that Serizawa is working on his own plans now. Soon enough, the ESPer’s hand slips out of Reigen’s own sweaty one, just for an arm to find its way back around his waist.

“Won’t do it again, ‘Taka. Promised.” Considering the urgency and eagerness in Serizawa’s steps, he isn’t inclined to believe him. However, with how quickly he is matching the pace, he shouldn’t be allowed to point any fingers. “Let’s head to my place for today. It’s a few stops closer.”

Even from this angle, Reigen can see the way the other bites his bottom lip in excitement, his cheeks a few shades darker than normally and they just had to look ridiculously in love to everyone they pass. He finds himself not caring all that much, though, as long as he wouldn’t have to think about any other clients for the rest of the weekend. 

#Serirei #Mp100 #Mob Psycho 100 #My writing #can you believe i actually decided to upload this on tumblr too <3

[irrealisms]

every martyr in this jungle liner notes

fic here if you haven't read it!

okay so this first point is, like, barely a liner note for the fic proper. but did you know i have spent the past several weeks engrossed in the mcyt-trio polls. i have written two fics for it and made a web weave and i'm already planning a third fic for the finale next round as a thank you to the mods. shit's crazy. i rushed the editing timeline on every martyr in this jungle because i wanted to publish it before the time on this poll runs out. vote eclipse federation if you haven't already, with the disclaimer that it's got like 16 hours left as of me writing this, and keep an eye out for a bench trio fic coming soon to a blog and/or ao3 near you

anyway! fic time!

the most-used word in this fic that is not a name (the top three words are of course Vitalasy, Zam, and Subz) is again. this is on purpose. during editing i deleted an instance of "again" due to awkward phrasing and i had to double-check before doing so that it was still winning in Word Frequency or else i would've added it back in somewhere else. they have had this conversation before. maybe not in its details, but in its shape. they are having this conversation again, again, again.

vitalasy has so many issues around zam being afraid of him, even though (a) vitalasy hasn't actually done anything to anyone other than himself*, (b) zam is the one who killed vitalasy. some things i was drawing on for character inspiration here: the song hold no guns by death cab for cutie, the poem ON BEING RAISED ON FAIRY TALES IN WHICH YOU ARE THE MONSTER by a.m.h. *sorry for the planetlord erasure

zam...isn't actually as afraid of vitalasy as vitalasy thinks he is. zam is, like, a normal amount afraid of all social interaction, due to who he is as a person. he is an incredibly scared and jumpy guy, because he has an anxiety disorder, but he isn't actually particularly scared of vitalasy qua vitalasy anymore. vitalasy just...has issues from when he was.

relatedly: if this were from zam's pov, every time there is the slightest pause in the dialogue you'd get his internal monologue, which is approximately "oh God oh fuck this is going so terribly what do i say why am i so bad at talking to Vitalasy what do i do" the entire time. he's trying! and the tension on his end is much less "aaaa Vitalasy who I am scared of is here" and much more "WHY DO I KEEP SAYING THE WRONG THING. WHY AM I SO BAD AT THIS. OH NO HE'S EVEN SADDER NOW?????"

it did need to be vitalasy pov, though. as soon as i got the idea i knew it had to be vitalasy pov. i knew it had to be vitalasy pov because the previous one was zam pov and they're mirrors. here they are, at the grave, (again!) but now it's vitalasy standing vigil, and zam awkwardly showing up to put flowers on it.

the way it is still, constantly, about subz. vitalasy gets mad at zam for this, because zam cares so much more about subz than him, but he's just as bad--every two seconds he's thinking about subz's death, subz's note. the grave is the space between them. the grave is the only thing bringing them together. this is a bit of a continuation of the last fic. it is about zam and vitalasy but it is also about the ghost of subz.

the moon-representing-subz has Less of a presence in this one vs the last one, except for at the very end. the moon is rising. subz will be back soon. (well...it rises once zam leaves. this, too, is a metaphor.)

also related to the ghost of subz: i considered bringing up the fact that zam's been [hallucinating? haunted?] seeing subz everywhere. it didn't quite work but it's a fun little detail that is, btw, canon. canon in a "one-off line that was a little bit a joke" way but nonetheless canon enough to make me crazy about it.

the note about zam fidgeting a lot to the point of half-dancing around mapicc and spoke is about his lunar client emotes . and how he does them Even More Than Usual (which is already a lot) when he is around ppl who are also being silly w lunar client emotes <3

the thing where... they know each other. they know each other so well. they are, both of them, trying. this does not fix anything, it just makes it hurt worse.

sort of related to that and sort of related to zam's Fear (in general, of vitalasy) and sort of its own thing, zam is.. mm. zam's got certain expectations of people. and it's easy to assume they're about his [past issues in relationships] or even about [the person he is presently talking to] but they're...not, really. they're not zero about those things but they're not only about those things either. they are in large part about what zam, personally, thinks he deserves (punishment, death, bad things, etc). (occasionally when zam feels better about himself it's about how zam is a Victimhero Martyr and everyone else is a sort of prop in that, which vitalasy also has a huge complex about, but that's less relevant in this fic specifically than the...thinking he deserves for vitalasy to hurt him & on some level he wants vitalasy to hurt him as a weird self-harm-by-proxy thing & therefore vitalasy is probably going to hurt him)

the song the title comes from is Estate Sale Sign by the Mountain Goats. it's one of my #1 eclipse federation songs, tbh it's also one of my #1 s4 zam songs in general--i also am fond of it for team awesome. the title, though--that's all eclipse fed. they are all martyring themselves. they have all either banned themselves off or seriously considered it. they remember loving each other and now they still love each other but they are giving away that love. mm. [i remember when we loved each other day and night//and high above the water/the eagle spots the fish/every martyr in this jungle/is gonna get his wish]....man. also thinking about ["This is a song about, um, you may find it necessary to get rid of all your stuff, at some point."] and vitalasy burning all his stuff before his suicide. that's less relevant to the fic, though.

the series title is really funny to me. credit to angel qfitmc on tumblr for making this joke on hyperbeam chat and me cracking up every time i remember it. the thing is. while vitalasy and zam are being so fucking angsty and miserable about subz's suicide. subz IS playing dark souls. also elden ring. jump king. etc. bro killed himself in minecraft to become a variety streamer and i think that's beautiful. he's just chilling. this was of course epitomized when zam tried to bring him back but he was too busy playing dark souls and so he just Didn't. point is you don't have to stand at his grave and weep he is LITERALLY doing a pokemon nuzlocke run right now on twitch dot tv. unfortunately this is not stopping these two. from standing at his grave. and weeping

#therapists dni #my writing #any british ants in the chat?

[weekend-conspiracy-theorist]

in which damian has an agenda, cass has been keeping secrets, and gotham has just the worst infrastructure in existence. (an entry in the tim&steph role swap au)

Unlike Tim's non-flashy but solidly respectable apartment, which had been purchased with the intent of fooling his case worker into believing the lie of his beloved and financially stable Uncle Eddie Drake, the offices of Red Bird Investigations were kind of a shithole. The office space itself was clean, recently painted, and well-repaired, thanks to the elbow grease Tim (assisted by his begrudging blonde minions, plus an utterly unhelpful Cassandra, who had never held a paintbrush or screwdriver in her life) had put into it when he first signed the lease, but it was nonetheless housed in a crumbling brick building in one of Gotham's many questionable neighborhoods--

And 4032 Dixon Ave was exactly what you'd expect of a crumbling building in one of Gotham's many questionable neighborhoods. In theory, a person had to have a key or get buzzed in to access the building, but really you could force the lock if you jiggled it just right and pushed down on the knob, and the super kept the side door propped open so he could chainsmoke in the alley.

Half the offices were empty, and the rest were primarily a combination of loan sharks, con artists, and realtors. Roaches were a fact of life, the elevator had been out of order for upwards of a decade according to the manager of the phone line on the second floor, and the air conditioning was reliably unreliable during the hottest months of the summer. There was one gargoyle statue on the corner of the roof, which was neither attached nor an original aspect of the structure, but had been added (and gaudily painted) by someone with an impeccable sense of humor sometime in the semi-recent past.

Tim, who periodically spent an hour wistfully scrolling rental listings for the boathouses on the marina before reminding himself it'd be stupid even for a millionaire to move out of his apartment when it was fully paid off, couldn't have been happier with this particular life choice. He liked places with history, even when said history was as mundane as being an office building from the 70s which had survived the Quake by dint of thick walls and being far enough off the harbor to actually have been built on decent soil. He liked fixing things, sinking his time and his sweat into routine maintenance and non-lease-breaking improvements.

And more than anything, what Tim really liked were the people. Messy, vibrant, petty, compassionate people. There was character, there was life to the parts of the city which weren't directly under the heel of Gotham's glamorous rich, and Tim thrived there.

In rare form, Stephanie didn't even usually give him a hard time about his office space, because she got it. She liked them too.

Damian Wayne was less impressed.

"I was under the impression you ran a respectable business," the kid said, as he stood in the center of the main room. His shoes alone probably cost as much as every piece of furniture in the office combined, and his expression was deeply dubious.

He looked painfully young, in the washed out gray light seeping in through the big windows on the back wall, sandwiched in between the doors of Tim's office--a shoebox full of filing cabinets and the best computer equipment he could cram into it--and that of "Alvin Draper," which was bigger, nicer, and only occupied once a week, when the actor he'd hired to play his boss made a perfunctory appearance. The main room had a few of his better Gotham-by-night photographs framed on the wall, a kitchenette with a sink and a minifridge and a miniscule sum of counterspace mostly taken up by the drying rack for the two plates and two forks which Tim kept on hand for his lunches, as well as a nice couch and a coffee table at which Tim usually interviewed his clients.

He had spread the details of his latest case out on said couch and coffee table, not having anticipated any visitors after 4 PM on a Friday afternoon. "Uh," he said, intelligently. His hair was a mess, between the sweat and the running his fingers through it while he thought, and he'd stripped to his undershirt an hour ago. He debated, briefly, grabbing his dress shirt off of the arm of the couch and putting it back on, but 1) it was too damn hot, and 2) it was a sign of weakness. "'Respectable' is as good a word as any, I guess."

"Tt." Damian clicked his tongue, that sharp green gaze of his sweeping across the room and across Tim. "This building is incredibly insecure."

"It is," Tim agreed. His computer network was quite sound--and only got increasingly so, as he continued hanging out with Stephanie at the Clocktower and picking up advice from Oracle--but the information he kept in his filing cabinets was a careful mix of useless and non-confidential. Most of the physical files he built throughout the course of a case ended up digitized and shredded before he sent the final invoice. "But for the kinds of clients I prefer to work with, it's familiar. For the ones I tolerate for the sake of my bills, they're just excited that I'm cheap."

"The air conditioning is... insufficient."

Tim, who had been glistening with a light sheen of sweat since he walked in the door at 7 AM, really hadn't needed Damian's help to figure that out. "Oh, is that why my paperwork keeps sticking to my arm," he drawled, snide, and leaned back against the couch as he tossed down his pen.

This was already the longest one-on-one conversation they'd ever had, with the exception of the union mediation Tim had arbitrated, which didn't really count. Well, and the time Robin had cornered him during a stakeout to give him a shovel talk regarding Steph, which had been hilariously out-of-date. Point was: he and Damian didn't just talk. They talked so little, in fact, that Tim hadn't even found an opportunity to launch the "actually we're cousins, didn't you know?" prank for which Cassandra had dutifully planted evidence in the Wayne Manor library.

They sat in silence for a moment; Tim studying Damian and Damian studying the weird water stain in the middle of the ceiling. (There were two floors between this one and the roof, making rain damage unlikely, but there were also no utility pipes running through the ceiling above that spot; Tim had checked the as-builts. He'd left the mystery alone from there, because he was certain he didn't want to know where it had come from.)

Tim was good at reading people, and good at reading Robins in particular. The wrinkle between Damian's eyebrows and the poutiness of his frown said there was something on his mind; the fact that he'd showed up at Tim's office said... honestly, Tim didn't know what it said. He had a hard time believing that he'd done something to offend the kid and an even harder time believing that Damian would seek him out regarding something someone else did to offend him, considering they never talked.

Speculating about it wasn't going to get him anywhere. Leadingly, Tim asked, "Are you here for, like... a reason?"

Damian thinned his lips and narrowed his eyes, briefly transforming into the spitting image of his mother on the one time Tim had seen her, a brief glimpse caught from opposite ends of a League compound, as Z whisked Tim away by the scruff like a recalcitrant cat and Cass and Pru gleefully tore the place apart. With careful deliberance, Damian said, "Stephanie tells me she sought your counsel often during her tenure as Robin."

Tim was still Stephanie's favorite sounding board, and vice versa. Damian definitely knew that; the two of them weren't shy about it. Which meant it was purposeful--and significant--that the kid had specified her Robin days.

Tim looked at the papers spread across his coffee table. This particular case wasn't going to fall apart any time in the next two hours.

Standing and stretching, he draped his dress shirt over his arm and jerked his chin towards the door, ushering Damian out ahead of himself. He flipped the sign on the door--THE INVESTIGATOR IS OUT. IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, PLEASE CALL: (862)-555-9321--and locked up, for habit's sake more than any belief that it would actually keep someone out of his office who wanted to break in. "This sounds like a taco tax situation. Steph ever explained to you how that works?"

"The purchase of tacos can be traded for assistance or advice," Damian recited dutifully. "I need neither," he added, even as he quickened his steps slightly to catch up to Tim's longer stride.

"Sure you don't," Tim said dryly. "You just showed up at my office all hangdog for no reason."

"What is 'hangdog?'"

Tim really wanted to say, "Nothing much; what's hanging with you?" but he knew that--despite Stephanie, Cassandra, and Dick's best efforts--there was no chance Damian would get the joke. "It means you look like a kicked puppy," he said instead, hands in his pockets as he turned the corner for the stairs.

"I am in no distress," Damian said, with stubborn insistence.

"Sure you aren't."

Damian bristled, coming to a stop abruptly, and Tim turned to look up at him from several stairs lower down. "This was a mistake," he said flatly. The line of his shoulders was tight and hostile. "I do not know why--I will be taking my leave. Apologies for the interrup--"

"Screw off," Tim said, exasperated. "You came to me, you don't get to get pissy when I try to actually talk to you, even if I'm being a dick about it. Look, whatever, fine; you don't need my help." He threw up his hands, turning back to the stairs. "I guess we're just hanging out, like normal people do with a friend of a mutual friend." That was a reductive description of what Stephanie was to either of them, but--whatever. He took two more steps and then hit upon an idea. "Cass has been teaching you to skateboard, right?"

"She has," Damian said, suspicion coloring his voice.

"Cool. We'll swing by my place, grab a couple boards, hit the park."

"You skateboard." Damian's voice remained flat.

"Kid," Tim said, exasperated, "I'm the one who taught Cass. Which took, like, four hours and now she's better at it than I am, because she's Cassandra fucking Wayne, but still."

***

They didn't go to a skate park.

On the way to Tim's apartment, he'd grilled Damian thoroughly regarding what Cassandra had taught him so far, and decided that there was a better (stupider) use of their time. Damian, for his part, was intrigued.

"It sounds like an engaging test of skill," he'd said, eyes glinting, and Tim had grinned.

"It's also illegal," he'd said cheerfully. "Of course, trespassing and illegal entry are probably less of a thrill for you than for the average skate punk." They shouldn't have been a thrill for Tim at this point, either, but sue him. There was a reason he'd ended up in the Girl Wonder's rolodex, and it wasn't for not being an antiauthoritarian adrenaline junkie.

What they were about to do was a classic rite of passage within Gotham skate culture. The first time Tim had heard about it, he'd been thirteen, and therefore not nearly cool enough for the fifteen-to-seventeen-year-olds that hung out at his favorite skate park to acknowledge his existence. The older kids, the eighteen-to-twenty-year-olds, were much more chill about being willing to teach new faces; but those kids in their mid-teens had something to prove. To themselves, their teachers, their parents, the older kids. They didn't let kids like Tim in on their secrets willingly.

But Tim had been, as Tim continued to be, both unconscionably nosy and very good at flying under the radar.

A kid Tim had only ever known as "Scoop" had showed up one day with his arm in a cast and half his face scraped up, looking nonetheless pleased with himself as he claimed the center of attention amongst that mid-teen crowd. There'd been a lot of whispering, a lot of back slapping, and just enough details dropped for Tim to figure out what had happened, and why it mattered.

Gotham City's infrastructure was, to a brick, old and confusing and unnecessarily complicated, and its storm sewer system was no exception. There were culverts under the city large enough to float a mobile home down the river with room to spare, entire streams which had been turned into trapezoidal concrete flumes, and detention ponds that never drained the way they were supposed to. And then there was this:

The Gotham Aqueduct.

It was one of the few above-ground portions of the storm sewer system, and despite being a triumph of masonry techniques, it made no sense. A lot of old school civil engineering had been pretty myopic, focused on one particular result with no understanding of the subsequent consequences (see: turning urban streambeds into concrete flumes in order to prevent stream migration, thereby also preventing soil infiltration while simultaneously increasing the velocity of the water, resulting in rampant downstream flooding), but even for the time period, the Gotham Aqueduct was bizarre.

The main section--the one Tim and Damian had scaled a chainlink fence to access--was approximately a half mile of semi-circular brick switchbacks that ended abruptly in a twenty foot drop into the reservoir. The slope along the centerline of the tunnel was so steep that the aqueduct almost never actually had any water in it, because of the speed at which the water flowed through it in the aftermath of a storm.

(Presumably, the switchbacks had been intended to slow said velocity. Functionally, the first couple switches tended to overtop and flood nearby streets because water didn't really love to navigate 90° angles. Tim was begging the people who'd designed the damn thing to think about K-values.)

Naturally, Gotham skaters had been treating the thing as a half-pipe since the day skateboards had been invented. The bricks made it unpredictable; the slope made it fast; and the fence along the top edges meant there was exactly one safe opportunity to bail once you got moving, about three yards before the drop off into the reservoir, where there was about five linear feet of fence set back from the edge in order to accomodate a gate.

Eight years ago, Scoop had missed his chance to get off and been forced to ditch his board, breaking his wrist and scraping himself up in the process. Of course, it had been impressive that he'd even made it that far; most everyone wiped out long before the reservoir, and ended up crawling up the sides to make a painful and embarassing trip back over the fence.

A Gotham skate culture rite of passage.

Tim laced his fingers and pushed his hands upwards in a stretch, blowing out a breath. "Let's get our story straight before we do this," he said sternly. "If you get seriously injured, we're telling people that Jason pushed you off a roof."

Damian rolled his eyes. "I will not get injured," he said confidently. He was still in the same very nice clothes as he'd showed up to Tim's office wearing, but Tim had put his foot down about trying to skate in dress shoes, so he'd borrowed a pair of Tim's Vans. That he was three inches shorter than Tim and still wore the same shoe size was depressing evidence that he wasn't going to stay short for long.

Tim, though, had taken the opportunity to change; switched his work boots and khakis for sweats and Converse, and he'd opted for a long sleeve tshirt despite the heat, in the vague hope it might cut down on the inevitable road rash in his future. Last time he'd skated the aqueduct, he'd been fifteen and a much better skater (more consistent practice) than he was now. He'd still missed the chance to bail and opted to take a dive into the reservoir rather than try to stop. Stephanie had had to use a grapple line to fish him out.

Choosing a swim over a crash wouldn't be an option today: the water level was too low after the fire department was forced to overtax the system while fighting the efforts of an arsonist collective.

Tim shook his head. He didn't really think Damian was going to get hurt; the kid had a lot of advantages compared to the average fourteen-year-old moron on a skateboard--better balance, better reflexes, better understanding of how to fall safely, not to mention he was best friends with Superman--but it was a terrible idea to get cocky about it. "I'm serious, Dames. This thing is going to be a wild ride. Stay low, stay alert, and get ready to bail if you have to."

"Yes, yes. Your concern is touching. I agree to sell out my brother to protect a near stranger should we get into trouble." Damian gestured toward the aqueduct. "Are we going to do this?"

Tim tipped his head back, laughing, and held up three fingers. "On my count. Three, two--

"One." In unison, they shifted their weight and dropped into the aqueduct.

Tim let out a whoop of excitement, and even Damian let out a small gasp, but both were rapidly snatched away by the vibration of the bricks and the roar of the wind. The first switchback came up fast, and Tim dropped his center of gravity as low as he could, fingers nearly brushing the ground as he leaned hard into the turn. The trucks on their boards were practically screaming already. Damian's smile didn't drop, not exactly, but it did turn downright feral, his green eyes sharpening as he realized Tim hadn't been fucking kidding.

Tim's teeth nearly rattled out of his head as the bricks whizzed past, and his eyes were watering from the wind as they continued to accelerate, faster and faster. There was no time to think; only to react. Every slightest shift of weight held the potential for catastrophic failure--and it was exhilarating.

On turn four, Damian came in at the wrong angle and nearly threw himself off balance when he overcorrected; Tim yelled at him to stay fucking low, and Damian snarled in response. On turn seven, Tim nearly wiped out. Damian managed to grab his sleeve and yank him upright while still somehow making the turn himself.

Turn eleven--the last turn--was where it all went to shit.

Tim came out of it a little ahead of Damian, and he purposefully swung high up the wall to give himself a better angle on the gate access before stepping on the back of his board and braking as hard as he dared. It wouldn't do to wipe out right here, and he still needed enough speed to make it back up the other wall--it was heartstopping, heartwrenching, but he let out a triumphant yell as he hit the gap just right.

He made the top of the aqueduct, grinding the edge with a mildly terrifying crunching noise before the fence pole caught his hip and slammed him to a stop. He spun on his board, bracing himself to catch a high school freshman to the midsection--

Just in time to see the moment that Damian's wheel caught a loose brick and yanked his board off course.

There was no time to think: only to react. Tim was throwing himself and his board forward again before he understood what his own plan was. Luckily the brick had stolen enough of Damian's speed for Tim to catch him on a cross-angle. One arm snagged Damian around the middle; his other hand shot outwards, catching at the final fence pole and only barely managing to get the first two joints of his fingers around it.

It wasn't enough to stop them. Tim had the insane grip strength of an urban climber who spent a lot of time scaling brick walls and pulling himself up onto rooftops by his fingertips, but between their combined body weight and their momentum, there were hundreds of pounds of force he was fighting against. He could only slow their flight by a fraction of a second--

Which was enough for Damian's Robin reflexes to kick in.

The two of them spun around the fence pole, grounded by Damian's own iron grip, and then tumbled across the concrete on the other side when he let go. Through the ringing in his ears and his own panting breaths, Tim heard the splash of two skateboards dropping into the reservoir.

He slowly pushed himself over onto his back, wincing as his shoulder protested loudly, and stared upwards at Gotham's moody gray sky. "Well," he rasped. "What'd you think?"

Damian moved in Tim's periphery, and Tim looked over to find him inspecting his palm, shiny and raw from where it scraped against the fence pole. His clothes were ruined, and there was the start of a beautiful bruise on his cheekbone. "A qualified success," he said, with satisfaction.

Tim stared at him for a second. Then he burst out laughing, draping his arm over his eyes, and after a moment, Damian started laughing too.

"We're never telling Batman about this," Tim ordered, when he'd managed to calm himself down slightly. He rubbed at his shoulder--it had taken the brunt of their impact against the ground, he was pretty sure--and sat upright, brushing his hair out of his face. He could see the skateboards from here, half-submerged where they'd caught onto a floating raft of trash fifty feet out into the reservoir. "Damn," he sighed.

Damian followed his gaze, and a frown ticked at the corners of his lips. "I find it unlikely we would be able to retrieve them."

"Yeah, no. Not even with a grapple." Tim huffed another laugh, shaking his head. "Good thing I'm a millionaire and can afford to replace them," he added dryly. "C'mon, up. We've managed to crashland by the corner of the treatment plant. We gotta get out of here before the cops make an appearance."

Green eyes narrowed, though Damian did find his way to his feet and fall into step next to Tim. "But you aren't," he said.

"Aren't what?" Tim asked distractedly. His vision nearly whited out when he tried to stretch out his shoulder, and he caught Damian's arm in a death grip to keep himself upright and moving.

"A millionaire." Damian brushed his hand off (not unkindly) and circled around to Tim's other side, inspecting his shoulder with brusque, professional movements.

Tim chose not to be offended that Damian had been investigating his finances. He was kidding himself if he thought any of the Bats hadn't. "First aid can wait," he said gently, ushering Damian onwards. "And, yes, I am. Officially, on paper, I have a net worth of a hundred and something blah blah blah. I just can't actually touch most of it, by design; almost everything liquid immediately gets funneled into various charities. Help me over?"

With enviable grace, Damian found his way to the top of the chainlink fence, straddling it as he leaned down to clasp Tim's good arm and pull him upwards.

"It's a lot like what Bruce does," Tim added. He hooked the toe of one shoe into the other side of the fence, holding tightly onto the top bar (Damian's hands hovered nearby in case he lost his grip), and carefully swung his other leg around. "Except it's chump change comparatively, and it's not my own foundation I'm putting money into. I'm also not trying to fund the Justice League and probably a hundred other vigilantes while maintaining a frivolous playboy persona, so percentage-wise I hold onto a lot less of it." Tim stretched down from the top of the fence and then dropped lightly to the ground.

Well--he meant to drop lightly to the ground. He actually tripped over his own feet slightly and stumbled. Damian snorted, and Tim flipped him off. "Fuck off. Anyway. I'd keep back even less--my bills are practically nonexistent; I bought my apartment as a cash sale, I don't have student loans, I don't even own a car--but I try to keep a discretionary fund around in case Red Bird doesn't make enough money to pay rent one month or I have to bail Steph out of jail again or something."

"Again," Damian repeated.

"Again," Tim confirmed, smirking, as he gazed up at Damian where he still sat atop the fence. "Seriously, Bruce has no idea what we got up to while he wasn't looking." He gestured between the two of them, raising his eyebrows, and then at the general predicament they currently found themselves in. "We've been hanging out for like two hours, Dames. Steph and I have been hanging out for seven years."

With a tilt of his head to acknowledge the point, Damian leapt down from the from the top of the fence, landing with a panther's grace and a fourteen-year-old's smug pride.

"Yeah, yeah," Tim huffed, reaching out to ruffle the kid's hair. "You're so much cooler than me. Whatever. What d'you want for--ah, shit." The hour hand on his watch was way closer to eight than Tim had realized. "No time to eat unless we do it on the move. I've gotta get you back to Bristol for patrol."

"You should come to the cave as well to get your shoulder checked out," Damian told him sternly. He paused, tilting his chin slightly, and Tim was coming to recognize that glint in his eye as a herald of Damian's patently mean and deeply hilarious sense of humor. "We'll tell everyone that Jason pushed you off a roof."

Tim was still laughing as they pulled Damian's bike up to Wayne Manor.

***

Whyever Damian had showed up to Tim's office that afternoon, he never let it slip. But it did... turn into a thing, after that. Damian showed up; Tim found something for them to do for a couple hours; Damian asked a probing question about Tim's life and/or his methods; Tim set aside the sarcasm and did his best to answer it.

(Robin was just bored, Tim had decided, as he was falling asleep on Friday night. The Black Bat was off spreading the fear of the bat across international waters, Batgirl was in space getting up to shenanigans with Young Justice, Nightwing was too busy with a gang war in Blüdhaven to be spending time in Gotham, and Tim was a mildly interesting puzzle hanging out at the edges of Damian's family. A puzzle that had even accidentally conditioned itself years ago to asking, "How high?" whenever Robin said, "Jump.")

Saturday, Tim woke up to find Damian climbing in through his bedroom window. He had already thrown a pillow by the time he realized who it was (force of habit of hearing the bell ding at an hour that Stephanie knew he would be asleep if she came by), and it bounced off Damian's scowling face. "I'd apologize, but I'm not actually sorry. Come back at noon," Tim mumbled, rolling over and pulling the blankets over his head. Next to him, Bernard snored loudly, blissfully unaware of the teenager skulking his way back out onto the fire escape.

Tim had samosas and paneer tikka masala waiting on the coffee table when Damian returned, at 12:00 exactly, and this time it was a Switch controller that Tim threw at his head. Damian caught it and proceeded to kick Tim's ass at Mario Kart for an hour.

"How are you so good at this," Tim groaned, slouched low into his couch with his feet kicked up onto the coffee table amongst the empty tupperware containers and dirty plates.

"I play against a speedster on a weekly basis," Damian said dryly.

Tim snorted. "Right. I mean, Steph plays against Bart all the time, and she still fucking sucks at this game, but I'll accept the premise. Tell me, though--is 'Thunderheart' regretting the superhero name she chose for herself when she was nine yet, or...?"

"I was actually talking about Kid Flash, but you tell me, Drake: does it matter how ridiculous the moniker she uses is when she's one of the single most powerful metahumans on Earth?" Damian countered.

"Point." Tim backed out of the race selection and scrolled through the wheels available for his bike, ignoring the snort that very clearly said that Damian didn't think any changes to the stats on his set up were going to help him win.

"You know her true identity as well, don't you?" Damian asked abruptly, just before the starting whistle on their next set of races.

"The second Iris West," Tim confirmed. "One of Wally and Linda Park-West's adorable little muppet children."

"How many civilian identities do you know? How did you deduce them?"

"Well, for the Flash family specifically, I didn't actually deduce anything; Bart just told me. Or he told me enough, at least." Tim groaned as his bike took a dive off of the course after being hit by a red shell. "There's a lot of that for what I know with regards to the greater superhero community--I was never a member of Young Justice, obviously, given that I'm not a superhero, but Steph dragged me around to a lot of their bonding exercises, so I was sort of honorary. Knowing the sidekicks tends to make it easy to figure out the Justice League."

"But you figured out the identities of the Gotham-based heroes on your own."

"Mostly. The others in Gotham--Huntress, Black Canary, etc--aren't as paranoid about covering their tracks as your whole brood is, and most of you are pretty easy when you walk in knowing Bruce Wayne is Batman. Steph generally kept mum on secret IDs unless I'd already figured it out myself, but I probably wouldn't have known Cass's Batgirl or Oracle even existed if I hadn't been friends with her." Tim gave up on trying to beat Damian the normal way and just shoved a hand into his face to keep him from being able to dodge the banana he was throwing.

(The conversation devolved at that point.)

Sunday night, Tim was shooting pool at a dive bar in one of his more lowkey aliases when Damian appeared out of nowhere to loudly judge his shots. The kid refused to answer how he'd gotten in (though at least he was dressed like a normal person and not like Bruce Wayne's son), but Tim decided after a brief argument that it was in no way his problem. If Batman didn't want his fourteen-year-old to have a good enough fake ID to somehow convince people he was seven years older than he was, then he shouldn't have given him the tools to make one. They played a few rounds, and despite the shit talking, Tim won most of them.

They were walking down the street afterwards, Tim with a chili dog in each hand and Damian eating the fries, when Damian said, out of the blue, "There is a firearm registered to your name."

Tim chewed his next bite a little longer than he usually would have, trying to discern if that was judgement or curiosity hiding behind the casual tone. "There is," he confirmed. It was a simple six-shot .38 revolver; Tim had no intentions of ever being in a fire fight that would require him to get off more than one or two shots, much less six, and revolvers were way less likely to jam than semiautomatics. "I also have a concealed carry permit."

"But you don't actually carry it."

"I do sometimes." Tim licked chili off of his wrist, pretending he didn't feel Damian's surprised gaze boring into the side of his head. "Look, I may not have the obscene level of trauma surrounding them that your dad does, but I don't like guns. I don't believe in capital punishment--I don't even believe in the prison industry and its focus on retribution over rehabilitation. People can change; in fact, people do change, all the time. But."

He took a deep breath. "I am not a superhero. What you and the rest of your family do, Dames, is not something that anyone can do just because they want to do it. You are brilliant detectives and above Olympic level athletes, trained not only in a wide variety of martial arts but also in deescalation and hostage negotiation techniques. There's a genetic component to that. There's also a truly insane physical and mental training regimen.

"The simple fact of the matter is that even if I wanted to become what you already are, which I don't, I literally can't. I've come at it too late to ever be as good as one of you. And that's fine, because for the most part, the stuff that I do doesn't involve bashing heads together or making daring rescues. But every once in a while, I find myself in a situation where my life or somebody else's life is being threatened, and you and I are both aware of how much more difficult it is to stop someone from hurting someone else without hurting them in turn. In the moment, when it comes down to an innocent person's life versus the life of the person who is actively attempting to maim or injure them, I'm not willing to discard any of the potential tools at my disposal just because I find them distasteful."

Damian was quiet for a couple of blocks after that. Tim was wandering them loosely towards the bus stop that would get the kid back to Bristol--ah, nostalgia; he and Steph used to ride this line two or three times a week--but hadn't yet made it obvious that he was pointing them in any particular direction.

"It is an interesting perspective," Damian said, finally. "I hadn't expected such nuance, given your vocal distaste for the Red Hood."

"The Red Hood is a hypocrite," Tim said flatly. "I've got more respect for Deadshot's moral code than I do Hood's. At least 'I'll kill anyone you pay me to' is fucking consistent. Don't--don't fucking get me started on the number of bullet holes he's put in random enforcers and runners. Some of them undoubtedly were absolute scum whose lists of crimes would turn even Hood's stomach, but just as many of them are people trying to get through the fucking day. People who could get out if you just gave them a fucking stepstool, which is purportedly something Hood cares about."

Tim slammed the remains of his second chili dog into the nearest trashcan, his appetite suddenly gone. "'I'm just doing what Batman can't,' what a load of schlock. Dames, listen to me: I know I don't really know you and it's none of my business to say this, but I'm so fucking proud of you for the steps you've made to break away from the League conditioning and follow your dad's code instead. Whenever you grow up and start to figure out what's actually true to you, though, just promise me you're going to be smarter about it than Hood has been."

Damian was staring at him again. Tim supposed he probably wasn't used to hearing it stated, blatantly, that people were proud of him, or that they would keep being proud of him even if he decided one day that he did actually think killing people was okay under certain circumstances.

Tim fidgeted. "Just my two cents," he offered. The silence continued to stretch on. Akwardly.

"Shouldn't you have been in Bristol getting ready for patrol like two hours ago?" he finally asked, bluntly, because he was feeling a little like a bug under a microscope, and Robin was still staring at him, and he still didn't really understand why the kid was even here.

Damian shook off whatever had been going through his head. "It is my night off," he said, ducking his head back towards his fries and leading the way towards the bus stop. (Figured he'd already known where they were going.)

Tim wanted to ask why he wasn't in Kansas or Metropolis, hanging out with the younger Superman, or why he wasn't in San Francisco with the Titans, but he didn't. The kid was bored, and Tim was there, and Damian wanted to know why Stephanie liked him so much. Probably.

(Tim was beginning to doubt that theory, but he had no idea what to replace it with.)

Monday afternoon, Damian found Tim at the Department of Finance, pursuing a records request for one of his cases.

"You could obtain this information much more easily and quickly through other means," Damian murmured, hands in his pockets as they waited in the lobby. He'd sidled up sideways to Tim's conversation with the office manager, and Tim had done his level best to ignore him until Maureen had become too clearly distracted by his presence, at which point he'd been forced to tell her that Damian was his assistant. This had earned him an eyeroll, but Damian must have finally taken Stephanie's lessons on how to "yes, and" to heart and hadn't argued. "I have not had cause to assess your hacking capabilities myself, but Gordon considers you moderately competent."

Tim raised an eyebrow. He kept his voice similarly low, and turned his head partially away from the camera in the corner of the room to make it difficult to read his lips, same as Damian had. "High praise. But there's a difference between what I do, and what you do. Namely, legality, and therefore paper trails. Besides--you'd be shocked how useful it can be to build rapport with the office staff who do all the paperwork and greet all the visitors. I know CPAs who explicitly start their tax audits not by investigating the spreadsheets, but by talking to the secretaries. Support staff, janitors, waitresses, bartenders--these are all people who hear and see a lot of things because people who think they're better than them pay no attention to them. Relatedly: there's a reason your dad pays his PA as well as he does. It's a good habit. Make sure you continue it when you take on a role at WE."

"Noted," Damian said, looking like he actually was making a mental note of that, and Tim didn't bother to resist the urge to reach out and ruffle his hair. He'd gotten away with it after the aqueduct adventure, when his shoulder (which was still sore, but workable) was fucked up, but it got his hand slapped this time.

Offended or not, Damian still shadowed him all the way back to 4032 Dixon Ave, at which point Tim paused on the sidewalk next to the propped open side door, resigned to the idea that this was happening whether he liked it or not. "Okay, look. It's Monday," he said.

"Yes?" Damian was looking at him like he was reevaluating his opinion of Tim's intelligence.

Tim sighed, shifting his files higher up into the crook of his elbow and bracing his other hand on the doorframe. "Monday means my boss is here."

Damian's opinion of him plummeted even lower. "Your boss doesn't exi--"

Tim slapped a hand over Damian's mouth. "My boss, Mr. Draper, is here today," he said firmly. "He doesn't know anything about anything, including who it ultimately is who's paying his salary. As far as he knows, I know nothing about anything either. Do you understand me?" He lifted his hand and placed it back on the doorframe, barring Damian's way in.

"First of all, had I been anyone else in our immediate acquaintance, I would have bitten your hand for that; consider yourself lucky I am above such base instincts. Second of all, I absolutely do not understand you," Damian said flatly. "You mean to tell me, Drake, that you have hired a real person to be your fake boss--"

"There has to be someone until I'm old enough to get my own license," Tim said tiredly. He and Stephanie had already had this argument a dozen times. "And if I had to spend a couple years answering phone calls and making coffee runs before I was allowed to actually do any investigating, I'd have gone full supervillain."

"Remind me what you were just saying earlier about legality and paper trails--"

"Screw off. Are you gonna behave or not? I'm sending you home if you won't pretend to be having a client meeting with me or something."

They glared at each other for a long moment. Tim had the upper hand, literally and metaphorically, but Damian was the biological synthesis of two of the bitchiest people on the planet Earth, so it was still a pretty even match. Finally, with a roll of his eyes, he ducked beneath Tim's arm and pushed through the door into the building.

"What reason could I possibly have to hire a private investigator?"

"You've got four flights of stairs to figure it out," Tim told him, and waved a hand at the super as they passed him, headed out to smoke with an unlit cigarette already dangling out of the side of his mouth. "Maybe you want me to look into whether or not Bruce has another biological kid floating around out there."

The elbow to the diaphragm that earned him had him wheezing all the way up to the office.

Damian didn't come up with a fake mystery for Tim to be solving, but he did stick his nose in the air and tell Mike Haskins (the actor Tim had hired to play Alvin Draper), haughtily, that his case was confidential and he was only interested in working with Tim, and that was good enough. They passed a quiet couple of hours in Tim's office--Damian ended up on top of his filing cabinets after picking the locks and rifling through them, because there was nowhere else for him to sit--as Tim sifted through the copies of the records he'd gotten from the Department of Finance and Damian took what had to have been the world's most uncomfortable nap.

Tim was starting to wonder if the kid was grounded or something. It would explain the lack of patrol, the fact that he wasn't seeking out Dick or Jason instead--Dick was too busy with the gang war to indulge him and would have pressured him to return to Gotham, and it was fifty-fifty on whether Jason would have held him hostage, to infuriate Bruce, or ratted him out to Alfred, to infuriate Damian.

Running off to the Titans would be guaranteed to result in Batman hunting him down and dragging him back by the cape, and any time spent with Jon Kent would probably also mean time spent with Clark Kent, which would mean Batman wouldn't even have to hunt Robin down; he'd just get a politely concerned phone call from his best friend.

Tim texted Stephanie that Damian was being weird, although he didn't expect a response until she was done being crowned the Queen of Mars or whatever she had going on with Young Justice, and then he texted Cassandra to tell her that he missed her. If Cass were home, Damian definitely wouldn't be having whatever crisis he was having all over Tim's office.

Tuesday night, Tim finally found out what was going on. And he was right: if the Black Bat had been home, Damian wouldn't have been spending so much time hovering over Tim's shoulder.

She was, after all, the one who'd asked him to keep an eye on Tim while she dealt another blow to the League of Assassins.

***

Tim woke up in the Batcave.

He only recognized it so immediately because he'd just been in its Medbay a few days earlier, letting Alfred determine whether or not he'd managed to tear his rotator cuff during the "unexplained incident" he and Damian had been involved in. It was easy to figure out why he was here now, given the pounding pain ripping through his midsection.

Tim woke up in the Batcave with a stab wound.

Which was, to be fair, better circumstances than the last time Tim had woken up from a stab wound related to the League of Assassins. Yeah--it was coming back to him. He closed his eyes against the brightness of the lights, breathing out through his nose.

Tim had been on the roof of some random apartment building in the Diamond District, which was never his favorite place in Gotham in which to be on a random rooftop. The buildings were too high and too far apart on the whole for him to easily maneuver without a grappling hook, which he staunchly continued to refuse whenever Stephanie offered him one. It seemed like a really good way to get himself in all sorts of trouble with both the police and Gotham's underworld if anyone ever discovered him carrying it.

But alas: Laney Franklin's wife was cheating on her with a beautiful lesbian couple with high class taste, so he wasn't exactly going to catch evidence of the affair at one of Gotham's many seedy motels. Skyscrapers and champagne and long walks up ugly stairwells it was.

He hadn't really been surprised to hear the purposeful thud of boots hitting the roof behind him; after all, it had been over twenty-four hours since he'd last seen Damian, which broke the trend of the past five days. "Rob," he'd greeted, without looking up from his camera.

"Timothy," Damian had returned (thankfully; it would have been embarassing if Tim had missed that called shot) as he took a seat next to Tim, and Tim's hands had briefly frozen while adjusting the focus on his shot.

Sure, he'd been purposefully needling the kid by using nicknames without having had permission offered to him like Stephanie (eventually) had, but he'd expected to be "Drake" always and forever for the rest of his life. Were they actually friends now? He didn't have a problem with that, but it was certainly a surprise.

He finished taking his shot and took a guess as to what had brought Batman and Robin to this corner of the city in the first place. "Catwoman busy tonight?"

"Unfortunately," Damian had said, so sourly that Tim had choked on a laugh.

"I take it Batman has things... covered."

Damian had made a disgusted noise, and Tim had laughed again. Then he'd heard the faintest whisper of a blade being unsheathed, and things had gotten--

Hectic, after that.

Tim reopened his eyes, biting back a groan as he levered himself up to sitting, and carefully removed the IV line from his arm and the electrodes from his chest. There was a murmur of voices out in the main chamber of the cave, and he was, as he always had been, unconscionably nosy.

He was still wearing his jeans but he raided the lockers for a shirt on his way out, relieved to find his own "Everything's Bat-ter in Gotham" tanktop stashed away inside Cassandra's, and then he hovered, not quite out of sight to the canny observer (Alfred, Bruce, and Damian alike were usually canny observers, but they were distracted by their conversation) and comfortably within earshot.

"--is not why my grandfather would be interested in Timothy," Damian was saying, his voice high and fast with impatience in a way that said he was annoyed with the conversation. "He is a reasonably gifted detective with a temptingly flexible moral code and unusual familiarity with both our inner workings and those of the superhero community at large. The question, Father, is how and why Ra's is even aware of his existence."

Wait. Tim set his hand over the stab wound in his side, frowning heavily. The ninjas had been after him? Not Damian?

"Black Bat gave no indication of what was going on when she asked you to keep an eye on him?"

"Ah," Tim said, reflexively, and then remembered he wasn't actually part of this conversation. Three heads snapped towards him, and he ruefully moved forward fully into the light.

"Master Drake, please--"

"Tim, please." He waved away the concern as Alfred and Damian both took steps forward to help him walk. "I'm fine; not the first time I've been stabbed in the spleen, and knowing my luck it won't be the last. Were you able to get hold of Cass?"

"Went to voicemail," Bruce said, gruffly. His blue eyes were sharp as he watched Tim lower himself carefully into one of the chairs at the table near the Batcomputer, on which grainy night footage of the rooftop fight was playing out silently.

"I appreciate the compliment, by the way," Tim told Damian, "but your grandfather isn't interested in me. At least, not as anything but leverage against Cass. Pretty sure the only time he's ever referred to me in conversation has been as her lapdog." He pulled his phone out of his pocket, grimacing at the traces of blood still present, and scrolled through his contacts. "Here we go," he said, with satisfaction, and set it on the table as he turned it onto speakerphone.

It rang twice, and then--

"Go for Prudence," she drawled, so very English and so very sarcastic. There was gunfire in the background, and it was staticky like there was wind blowing across the microphone.

"High, darling," Tim drawled back. "Hand the phone to the Bat on your right, would you?"

"Ah, tictac! No can do, she's very busy." Another gunshot. This one much closer. "Pru had probably been the one holding the gun" kind of close.

"I know she's busy, Pru. Her being busy is why I'm calling. Her being busy is why I have a brand new stab wound to add to my collection."

A pause. The phone audibly flipped to speaker, and Pru called, "Batsy, I thought you said they were just trying to kidnap Tim."

"They are," Cassandra her, more distant and barely audible over the spotty connection. A thud; a groan, and she added, "Stay down this time," in her scariest voice.

Prudence asked, "Then how come he's saying he got stabbed?"

There was a jumble of audio feedback as the phone changed hands. "How did you get stabbed? What happened to Robin?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "Well, C, when you don't tell me that there's a kidnapping threat against me and you just send Ra's al Ghul's grandson to hang out with me all day, there ends up being some miscommunication about which of us the ninjas are focused on, and I end up shoving the kid out of the way of a knife."

"Ridiculous," Damian added icily, his arms crossed over his chest. "I was wearing body armor. You were not."

"I could have been," Tim countered, "if someone had told either of us what was going on."

Cass huffed, managing to sound annoyed with the both of them even while in the middle of raiding a League base or whatever the hell it was she was up to. "I thought it'd be obvious."

"Can I ask," Bruce said slowly, "why Tim is even involved in this in the first place?"

"He drove me here," Cassandra said lightly. "The first time."

Tim bolted upright, then immediately regretted it and set a hand over his stab wound with a hiss. "C, you're in Nanda Parbat?"

"You've been to Nanda Parbat?" Damian asked Tim incredulously. He looked at the phone. "You're currently in Nanda Parbat?"

"What do you mean he drove you there," Bruce repeated flatly.

"When you were supposed to be dead and I realized you actually weren't," Cassandra began.

"When Cass was having her mental breakdown road trip of grief and self-discovery," Tim began.

"Rude," she huffed.

"Tell me I'm wrong." He waved a hand. "Never mind, point is: she recruited me as team mascot and secondary moral compass for the semi-feral, only-recently-ex assassins she was teaming up with."

"Rude!" Prudence yelled in the background.

"And then he drove me here," Cassandra repeated.

"Don't sell yourself short, TJ," Prudence added. "You were a little more than just a mascot; blowing up the bases was your idea."

"Yes," Tim said, feeling his face heat up. "Well. It just seemed... prudent."

Cassandra booed. Prudence booed. Damian looked like he wanted to boo. Bruce just looked constipated, which probably meant he also wanted to boo.

"Sorry. Look, I'm locked down in the Batcave now; Ra's tried and failed to gain leverage to counter whatever it is you're doing right now." Tim grimaced. "Do we want to know what you're doing right now?"

"Ra's started it," was all Cassandra offered in response to that.

Tim rested his forehead in the palm of his hand, closing his eyes. "Right," he said. "Ra's started it. Look, whatever. If you see Damian's mom, could you give her my business card again? I'm serious that Drake Industries could use her. Anyone ballsy enough to take Luthor on from inside his own company has exactly the kind of forward thinking we need."

"I've given it to her like three times now," Cassandra told him gently. "I don't think she's interested."

"I can and would fire our current CEO."

"I know, Tim."

"I've been dragging the company kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century; really pushing for an eco-friendly and worker-forward approach, but it's like pulling teeth when it comes to the board, and god knows I want to kill myself every time I have to spend more than three or four hours at a time pretending to be a respectable businessman. I could really use someone with a vision who's willing to push forward their own agenda without needing me to hold their hand."

"Tim, I promise you. I gave her your elevator pitch word for word last time."

He sighed. "I can still dream."

"Yes, you can," Cassandra told him, sounding amused. "And Pru wants to know if you'll also be dreaming about paying her phone bill for the month since you're wasting all her international minutes right now."

"She's a globetrotting antihero and she doesn't spring for an unlimited international plan?" Tim asked scathingly. "Tell her I'm disappointed in her. Then flip her off when she flips you off."

A pause.

"Done," Cassandra reported. "Do you need anything else?"

"Keep yourself safe, please? One stab wound between us is already too many. My poor spleen can't take much more of this."

"Why is it always the spleen when you get attacked by ninjas?"

"This is all I wanna know." Tim sighed again. "Since Steph's off world, you have a brief reprieve before Bruce and Damian explain to her that you've put me on Ra's al Ghul's radar and gotten me stabbed twice. Might wanna figure out how to defend yourself, because she's going to tear you a new one."

"Easy," Cass said confidently. "Batman and Robin needed Batgirl; Bruce needed the Black Bat; Cass needed Tim."

Tim blinked. He blinked again, harder. "Love you, too, Cassie," he rasped.

"I need to go. Tell Bruce I'll be back in a few days."

"You got it." He hung up, groaning, and leaned back in the chair. "Your daughter is simultaneously one of my favorite people in the entire world, and also someone I would frequently like to strangle," he informed Bruce. "'I thought it'd be obvious.' I know she operates on a literal different wavelength than the rest of us, but c'mon."

Bruce had his eyes closed; one hand on his hip and the other pinching the bridge of his nose. "When I asked her what happened while I was gone," he said, slowly, "she told me, and I quote, 'Oh, you know. The usual.'"

"To be fair," Tim said magnanimously, "for Cass, fighting assassins, struggling with her mental health, and taking down worldwide conspiracies with the force of her convictions is the usual."

***

Alfred did manage to bully Tim back into a hospital bed after that. Not that it took much, because the painkillers were wearing off and Tim was starting to deeply regret the decision to be upright.

He wasn't surprised when Damian flopped into a chair next to his bed. He wasn't even surprised when he pulled over the bedside tray on its swinging arm and started shuffling a deck of cards.

"So Cass asked you to keep an eye on me, huh?" Tim asked dryly, as he watched Damian deal. "And you decided that you might as well take the opportunity to figure out what makes me tick."

Damian tapped the remaining cards sharply on the tray, straightening them up, and set them in the middle. "I had assumed she believed you to be in over your head regarding one of your cases. Not that she expected my grandfather to send a team of ninja to kidnap you."

"Without the context of either how I'm involved in her vendetta against the League or that her current trip is in pursuit of that vendetta, it's not an 'obvious' assumption," Tim agreed. "What are we playing?"

"Go Fish."

Tim snorted.

"Fuck off. We are both capable and inclined to count cards; I don't see a point in pursuing a more sophisticated game. And I could always leave you here alone to be bored out of your mind, if you'd prefer."

"Nope, it's fine." Tim reorganized his cards, humming. "Got any 2's?"

Damian eyed him suspiciously for a moment, and then handed him a card.

"What I want to know," Tim said, a couple turns later, "is how come you were only coming around for a few hours a day if you were supposed to be on protection detail."

With a snort, Damian said, "You don't honestly think I was only there for a couple of hours a day."

Tim paused in the middle of drawing a card. "No."

"Yes."

"No."

"You should work on your situational awareness."

"Oh my god."

"You didn't do anything especially embarassing during my surveillance. I am, however, concerned about the amount of take out you consume."

"You're a menace," Tim said despairingly. He set down his cards and flopped back into the pillows of his hospital bed, running his hands down his face. "Fucking shit, Dames."

"I enjoyed our acquaintance far more than I anticipated," Damian added, with the same blunt abruptness with which he'd been interrogating Tim for the last week. He was looking firmly at his cards, and there was a pink tinge to the tips of his ears. "I suspect Cassandra had the ulterior motive of attempting to get us to bond."

Maybe. The Black Bat was sneaky, but she wasn't usually that kind of schemer.

"I just think it was inevitable," Tim told the bright, obnoxious lights on the ceiling. "We should count ourselves lucky we struck up a friendship before Steph decided to duct tape us together or something."

#tim drake #damian wayne #cassandra cain #the tim&steph role swap au #I wrote this #many thoughts about this one none of which that are well disposed to going in the tags #it's about time tim and damian bonded!!!

[sovonight]

Hi you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, I just have a question! You know a lot more about charms than I do, I was thinking about opening custom charm commissions and ordering the charms from Vograce. I think production, if I had 6 charms/slots, would be around 40-ish dollars if I include shipping? Maybe 50? I’m wondering if you have suggestions on how much I should price per charm. At first I was going to charge just $50 per charm, $65 if someone wants two characters, but then again, I don’t want to undersell myself at all, I’ve seen artists charge from $90 up to $105 per charm commission. but I wanted to ask your opinion first. I’m always afraid to price high because a lot of people complain if anything is over $50 when it comes to artwork, but then I have this habit of underselling. One time I only charged $10 for full body full colored artwork and I really burnt myself out making almost 30 of those, it took me eight months to complete them all... and I’m afraid of repeating that mistake with charms too. I’m experienced with drawing and ordering charms and experienced in drawing commissions, but I’ve never done custom commissions for physical items before. Thank you for taking the time to read this!

(disclaimer that i haven't done charm commissions before either, but i've been thinking abt it a lot so i've been paying attention when it's discussed on the art discords haha)

to establish a starting price for the art alone, just time yourself and multiply your hours by at least minimum wage as usual (i'd start with $15/hr). then add in production/shipping cost, then consider adding in extra based on other time factors (in the bulletpoints)

in the end i'd expect at least a $100-$200 starting price for charm commissions, especially if you're drawing the charm fully custom each time. the exception is if your process is relatively quick and easy, like if you use a simple style that's quick for you or a pre-posed base that you only need to make adjustments to. in this case i could see the starting price go down to $50-$100. so if it turns out that the price you calculated based on your hours is higher than what you think your clients are willing to pay, cutting down your hourly rate should be a last resort; i'd suggest first trying to see if you can make your process shorter and faster by offering a more simple or limited design. or you can offer designs that utilize art assets you've already drawn beforehand, and just cleverly select the customizable element of the charm

other things to think abt:

consider adding to your initial time estimate by accounting for time spent formatting your files, placing the order, quality checking, etc. plus the normal commission stuff like time spent on revisions. charm commissions also often mean extra time spent messaging the commissioner compared to digital commissions (explaining choice of clasps/finishes, communicating production/shipping status, etc) so you may want to account for that extra correspondence time too

personally i wouldn't heavily discount multiple characters. maybe a 10-15% discount, but tbh no discount is normal too. if the characters are separate, they're as much work as 2 commissions, and if they're interacting, that interaction takes extra effort to plan and pose, so it's still the work of 2 commissions

bc the difference in cost is small and it adds a lot of value, i'd definitely offer the charms as double-sided. it'd be no extra work, just the same image on both sides, where one side's flipped. you could offer an alternate expression for the other side of the charm for an additional cost

if the character is asymmetric and the commissioner wants them to be correctly asymmetric on both sides of the charm, charge extra (or alternatively don't even entertain this as an option, some silhouettes are difficult to flip for this)

you could consider offering a discount if the commission is of a character with enough demand that you can reprint and sell the charm separately

remember to update your tos to cover the details of physical charm commissions 👍

and on the production end of things, these are what i immediately thought abt:

how many copies of the charm will you give commissioners by default?

how much will you charge for additional copies of the charm?

how many copies will you actually order? (do you get extra to account for flaws, or order exact amounts)?

do you cover shipping cost to the commissioner, or does the commissioner cover it?

what happens if the package gets lost or damaged--either on the way to you, or on the way to the commissioner?

what happens if the charms come in and they're flawed?

can your pricing setup cover the occasional need to order replacement charms for the scenarios above?

#sovo answers #art tips

[storiesofsvu]

Second Chair Spark Ch 13

Warnings: Language, smut. Fam, I’m 99% sure this is the end of this fic, I don’t really know how to wrap it up otherwise, (plus who TF knew it would end up being 13 fcking chapters?!) I know I don’t want it to end super fluffy cause it’s not that kinda fic, so I guess send in your requests/prompts/even just a character so I have some shit to do this quarantine! Also yes, in this house we stan Liz Donnelly & Rita Calhoun…

***

A few weeks had passed since the squad had found out about the shenanigans going on at the D.A.’s office, and while there was some teasing, it came to a stop when Casey blew up, admitting to them that it was more than a hook up, you were her girlfriend (and you’d started talking about moving in together considering how much time you were at her apartment anyways). You’d beamed at her, promptly not caring about being in the middle of the bull pen when you pulled her into a kiss, knowing it would make half the squad embarrassed while the other half simply cheered. You still spent most of your time on joint cases, though your case load was nearly to the point that you were practically working solo, but it worked, you had a system by now, barely needing to communicate before a trial started. And those trials were still spent completely torturing the other, playing into each other’s games so by the time you retreated to Casey’s office or the apartment you were both drenched and could barely keep your hands off each other.

Rita would openly groan whenever she walked up to see both of you outside interrogation, Nikki always liked the challenge, and Buchanan slowly started to accept you into the world of lawyers. After you’d wiped the floor with his 5th client, a smirk on your face as you turned back towards the gallery, knowing that no one had been able to break the perp yet, he actually congratulated the both of you, mentioning he must owe you a drink. (Which honestly, you both politely declined, claiming there was too much paperwork to be done).

Despite the detectives and Rita knowing about your relationship, your games in the courtroom were far from coming to a halt, you still used them to trap each other, being so fucking turned on that you’d barely make it to privacy before pouncing on each other. At least now everyone was overly cautious to knock and then wait for at least a vocal reply if not one of you opening the door for them before they entered.

You were currently working together on a sex trafficking ring case that you were obviously taking the cross examination on, Casey had interviewed multiple suspects, edging you on the entire time with the way she inflicted her voice, the raised brow she’d give the gallery that was so obviously intended for you, the way she’d bite her lip while concentrating.  You brought your fucking A game when it came your turn to talk to the mastermind pimp, Casey not missing that you discreetly undid one button lower than appropriate for the courtroom on your shirt. Your hair was loose today, your lips plump with a red lipstick, your voice smooth as velvet as you tortured the asshole who spent years torturing girls. You basically sauntered your way through the courtroom, leading the asshole on, if she hadn’t know any better Casey would think you were even flirting with him past your normal amount. You pulled your usual weakness stance, hands leant against the barrier of the box so the perp could really drink you in, she saw his eyes linger, much longer than normal down your shirt before he stuttered over your question. A few more rounds of back and fourth and he was fucking putty in the palm of your hand, and to be completely honest, so was Casey.

The jury left to deliberate, not giving you enough time to sneak off, especially since Olivia and Elliot kept commending you on how insanely well you’d handled the trial. They’d handed you a wreck of a case (which, on separate occasions, you’d both let them know) and now you were coming out miles ahead of the defence. Before you’d managed to escape the multiple people talking to you, the jury was back, naturally, all guilty.

**

As fast as you could disappear from that courtroom you could, barely managing to keep your hands off each other before you reached Casey’s office, her hands buried into your hair, pulling you against her, moaning against your lips. Your hands traced around her body, squeezing her breasts, pinching at her nipples as her hand found its way up your skirt. She chuckled against your lips at how fucking drenched you were already.

“So fucking hot baby girl.” She murmured, pushing you back against her desk. Her tongue slipped into your mouth, gasping against you as you pulled her hopelessly close to you, her free hand reached out, pulling open the top drawer of her desk as she dug around for a second before she managed to get the ring vibe on her thumb. You did you best not to shriek as her hand made its way back to your cunt, fingers buried within you, the vibe directly on your clit as she pushed down against it, rubbing the vibrations in circles as your body shivered against her. Casey could feel your arousal drenching her hand, slicking your thighs as she continued to press against you, her teeth biting into your lips. You pussy pulsating around her fingers when a brash knock on the door interrupted you. You whipped apart from each other, you couldn’t help but drop into her desk chair, not sure if your legs could hold you up right now, Casey hit the button to turn the vibe off as she called a soft ‘come in’.

None other than your boss Liz Donnelly entered the room, and she didn’t look impressed.

“Judge Donnelly..” You somehow managed to pull yourself together before Casey did.

“There’s no need with the  fanciness,” She started, “You both know this building leaks like a sieve, right?” You both nodded, somewhat confused,  “So why is that I am just now finding out that that the two of you have been screwing around for over a year?” You felt your face pale, you could practically feel Casey’s heart stop. 

“Well we..” Liz was quick to cut her off,

“When I told you to figure out whatever the hell was going on between you…this isn’t exactly what I meant!”  You both stumbled over your words at an attempt to respond, “That being said, I’m glad you two finally came to your senses and fucked because we were all going insane having to deal with your bullshit.” THAT certainly thew you both off,

“Elizabeth I…” Casey began,

“Don’t..honestly, I’m happy for you.” She moved a couple of steps back, “Though if you use my courtroom as a goddamn thirst trap for each other ever again I’m charging you both in contempt.”

“Yes…” You both managed out, she was almost out the door when she turned back for one more, 

“And Casey…” Novak looked up at her, “I’m really hoping your hand wasn’t up Gerard’s skirt 5 seconds before I knocked on the door.” Donnelly may have disappeared faster than she came barreling in, but she knew exactly what was going on. You’d both moved so quickly Casey hadn’t removed the vibe from her thumb (at least it was turned off). Everyone knew now…and there was no hiding it…maybe it really was best if you kept your sexual shenanigans at home….but where was the fun in that?!

#casey novak #casey novak x reader #second chair spark #law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #svu #law and order

[birdy-brainrot]

Oc summaries

alright I decided do a mini lore dump of my different characters because my brain wont shut up about them ill put my ramblings under the read more if you want a summary of who exactly are my characters (its the characters ive drawn before and shared here lol) warning it does gets long as I realize each character I wrote a big paragraph explaining each of them lol

Birch: the dude as my profile pic lol. basically had a rough childhood its just him and his dad growing up and to help out for the house he got into sales and realized rich people are stupid and gullible so he got random junk as sold it as the next big thing and it worked. One night at one of the mansions of his rich clients finds this very odd book detailing a ritual of some sort with promises of knowledge and power beyond comprehension. He does the ritual ends up getting in contact with an eldritch being and has his mind (just slightly) broken but got these cool new powers now. He goal is now to go on a search for more information on how to contact these beings again and unlock more of that forbidden fruit (tho more he does it more he starts to turn corrupt its a whole thing) Hes not happy how its changing him physically and mentally but he is too obsessed over his goal. (tho in the campaign im going to play im hoping he learns the power of friendship and he stops before hes too far gone lol) oh yea hes also a warlock forgot to mention it and my fav rn.

Clay. Oh my baby my first dnd character I love her. Shes just a water genasi pirate I know cliche. She had an infamous pirate captain mom named Brooke but her mom settled down for a couple years with this hippy wood elf and she had twins clay and kai. Brooke pulled a parent trap on them where she took one kid and the dad took the other. Clay grew up with her mom and the crew on her ship. Brooke decided she needed to calm down and became a normal shipping company (most of the time there was some pirating aside) This made Clay a very wild child who does everything in the most chaotic way possible. Sadly her mom got deathly ill (she got poisioned) and she died so clay got the ship. She has been traveling around the seas with her crew which is basically her family and keep her moms spirit alive by living like her. She is a bard and loves to make friends everywhere she goes and get what she wants. She is about that grind baby all about da money. Very loud and pushy personality but if you get to know her shes just an excitable puppy who loves her friends so so much.

Kai. The sweeter and gentler of the twins. He grew up in a hippie commune middle of the forest with his dad. however since he was the only genasi there he was often treated differently than the rest. Always seen like an outsider. He became very reserved and recluse and spent most his time in the forest where he became friends with the mushrooms. Making him a druid. The mushrooms formed this symbiote relationship with Kai and now they help each other out and besties. He also is accidentally very morbid now as mushrooms are all about decay Kai is very comfortable with death and does not realize other people arent lol.Kai decided he had spent enough time in the forest and set out to go find his long lost twin that his dad told him about. However he has a difficult time in large crowds and dealing with people and takes a while to find her. When he meets up with clay the two are inseparable and become a very comedic and chaotic duo as both are unhinged on the opposite sides of the spectrum.

Vera. Shes basically the closest thing I have to a mary sue lol but I love her so much my unhinged little mad scientist. Basically grew in a rich family and was the top of her class for math and science. Got into a prestige university where she specialized in chemistry and biochemistry (im not a science major please dont judge my lack of science knowledge lol) and graduated top of her class. She is however a bit of a sadist and very curious so she often makes chemicals and viruses that could destroy humanity if she felt bored enough and likes to test it on anyone whos gullible enough to trust her. She even gets paid often to either make these dangerous chemicals or the cures for some. For her its not about the money its the science behind it. Big party girl loves to go to raves often gets dressed up in the best drip. Is up at ungodly hours chugging monster drinks like it water. You know she has that rgb gamer set up. Tried getting dark vision but her project backfired and now she just has glowing green eyes. (still cant see in the dark tho) just living her best life being a mad scientist and having fun with it despite how often she endangers her life and others lol

Quinn. She is high elf royalty however They hate their family (mostly her parents) so so much so she decides to run off and join the circus. Lol not really but they do become a famous jester who plays for all the royal courts across the lands. While they distract the crowds she likes to steal from them adding to her own collection of riches as a fuck you to their parents. They enjoy putting on performances as well for the children she visits when traveling around. She has a soft spot for kids. Otherwise a very standoffish personality who acts like they are above it all. Even tho she acts like that she is very, very lonely deep down and wishes they had even one friend who has their back. Oh yea absolute bisexual disaster, looses all sense of grace around whoever she finds attractive and becomes a rambling mess. Also she/they nonbinary, they like to fuck with gender presentation as a treat. i havent really fleshed them out more than that so yea lol.

gabriel, oh my poor gabriel I dont think of you that often. Basically hes a victorian british man who was happily married to his wife and was going to be a father but she falls deathly ill and tries to find this "cure(its vampirism)" that could save her, however things goes wrong and he ends up turning a vampire himself and the poor wife dies (no i did not fridge her i promise she has a backstory just im not putting it here) lives in his lonely home for hundreds of years isolated other than when he goes hunting for blood. Mopes around the place most of the time being a sad boy. Finds a vampire cat and now he has a cat. Eventually he finds a fellow vampire widow and they fall in love (I havent fleshed out the other vamp yet) and yea. I am not big into romance so I dont know why I wrote so much for gabriel so I tend to forget him as I dont care too much about his story lol hes mostly there so I can draw blood and cool victorian outfits.

#oc lore dump #oc lore #birch #clay #kai #quinn #vera #gabriel #i need better tags for them other than their names lol #it felt so nice writing about them again lol even tho its just the summaries i love my blorbos so much #even tho most of them are dnd characters lol #long post #i know that probably no one wants to read all that but I do when I need more content for my ocs lol its like a refresher for myself

[romeulusroy]

hi!! id love if you could ship me with a succession character :) thanks for doing this and i love your writing !!

i have long curly hair, am 1.67m/6'5"ft and from brazil. im a psychology major and im thinking of going into research and possibly teaching (in universities) eventually. i have autism and adhd, i speak 2 languages fluently (pt-br & english) and know a bit of spanish and i love intellectual conversations. im a somewhat quiet person but i like learning and sharing knowledge so i can get excited and into a conversation quite easily. i like routine and organising things and i kind of a worrier, i think too much about the future and am seldom "present". i hate parties and nightclubs, dislike attention, am a quite private person and prefer to be alone (also i NEED time alone or i go crazy) or with a small group of people. also im a ravenclaw in case it wasnt obvious lol (unlikely).

im very nerdy, im a star wars, doctor who, lord of the rings etc fan and i also love video games (currently playing witcher 3 and stardew valley <3). i love musicals and i listen to many different genres, but mostly alternative and pop.

i dont feel the need for luxurious things and big houses and expensive cars, my dream house is a small 1 room apartment with a balcony in a big city (like london or barcelona). my dream life would probably be said apartment, a cat, a job that i liked and being able to wake up and have breakfast in my balcony just listening to the birds sing and watching the people walking on the street. i like anonymity and just being another face in the crowd, being able to just observe the world around me; which is probably one of the reasons im so drawn to big cities.

in terms of my type, i love smart people that can hold interesting and deep conversations. i also dislike rude people and immaturity and stupidity annoy me a bit (i dont mind it in friends but i think that if i spent too much time with someone like that id murder them lol). i smoke weed but i dont feel the need to date someone that does as well, since i dont do it that often – and its the only drug i do.

hope this isnt too much or not enough djcjsksk anyway thanks again !!! have a good day :)

Hi my love! I ship you with: Shiv Roy!!!

She loves how nerdy you are. Every time she sees something about Lord of the Rings or Doctor Who or Star Wars she thinks of you. It could be something little like a key chain or something bigger like an all-night screening of the Star Wars movies, it always makes her smile. She's not the biggest fan of it, but when you're watching she can't help but enjoy it. She loves how excited you get when you talk about it, about your favorite characters or the plot. It brightens her day. She also loves how smart you are. Shiv is surrounded by idiots, mostly her brothers and father. To be able to come home and use her brain and have a stimulating conversation with you, it brings a smile to her face. You're incredibly intelligent and she can't get enough of it. You have worked so hard to get where you are, put in so many study hours, she can't help but feel proud of you.

You love how driven she is. Shiv knows what she wants and what she wants, she gets, even if she has to take a lot of shit from those around her to get it. She works so hard under her family and you couldn't be prouder. She puts everything she has into her work and unfortunately doesn't get the recognition she deserves. You're there to remind her that she's doing an amazing job, that she's Shiv Roy and that people should be scared when they hear her name.

Your relationship is smart. The both of you are fiercely intelligent go-getters. You don't have time to waste on mind games and wondering what the other is thinking and small things that should worry you as a couple, but doesn't. You talk openly about your wants and needs and feelings. Shiv figures she plays enough mind games at the office, with clients and her brothers and her father, she can't come home and do that there, too. It would be exhausting. You both know what you want in life and you get it, easy as that. You want to go out to dinner for date night so you do. You want to take an impromptu vacation so you do. Your relationship is easy and comfortable and to the point.

Your first date is for drinks. She takes you to this place that she knows that won't be too crowded or busy or flashy, but of course her definition of flashy is far different than yours. It's there she is able to open to you, ask questions, relax. It's rare you get to see this side of her, you welcome it. She laughs a lot when she's around you. She can't remember the last time she felt so at ease around someone. She wants to keep feeling this way, she wants to keep spending time with you.

Relationship Headcanon: Shiv surprises you one weekend to a little apartment she bought in London just for you. She surprises you with breakfast in bed and makes your dream come true. It's a beautiful little place you two can escape to when things are stressful and you need a break. You people watch from the balcony, just the two of you, letting the day slip by. It's one of the most wonderful days you spend together.

Thank you my love!!! Hope you like it! 💜💜💜

#shiv roy #kaitbishop-ships

[justforbooks]

The writer Isabel Colegate, who has died aged 91, had her greatest success with The Shooting Party, published as a novel in 1980 and adapted into a film four years later. Like most of her 13 novels, it was set among the country-living English upper classes in the first half of the 20th century.

This was familiar home territory to Colegate, and although her writing never suggested she was inclined to tear down that privilege, she nevertheless sought to unravel the uneasy secrets of the grand English country house, often to a backdrop of war, politics and financial disarray.

In The Shooting Party, Colegate skilfully assembled a broad swathe of characters representing both the aristocrats of England in 1914 and those who served them. All seems set fair for a house party and a shoot, but there are undercurrents of conflicting ideas, and the violent death of a poacher signifies the end of that pre-first world war era. “Yes, he was only a peasant. But we all knew him, you see,” explains the teenage granddaughter of the house – one of Colegate’s strengths lay in portraying the nuances of class.

As the novel’s first line proclaims: “It caused a mild scandal at the time …” But not enough to frighten the horses. It was the coming conflict that would do that, as Colegate, too, acknowledged.

When the book came to be filmed, Colegate co-wrote the screenplay, and its starry cast included Dorothy Tutin, John Gielgud and James Mason. The book was also adapted for BBC Radio 4 in 2010, with Olivia Colman. In his foreword to the Penguin Modern Classics edition, Julian Fellowes, who wrote the Oscar-winning script for Gosford Park, wrote of his debt to Colegate; in 1981 the work won a WH Smith literary award.

Born in Lincolnshire, Isabel was the youngest of four daughters of Winifred (nee Worsley), the daughter of a Yorkshire squire, and Sir Arthur Colegate, a businessman and Conservative MP. Isabel spent a happy childhood in affluent and rural surroundings, both in Lincolnshire and, during the second world war, in Shropshire, in her father’s constituency, The Wrekin, and at Hovingham Hall, the vast Palladian stately home in north Yorkshire that was the family seat of the Worsley family (Katharine Worsley, later the Duchess of Kent, was brought up at Hovingham, and was Isabel’s first cousin).

After Runton school in Norfolk, in 1952 she went to work with the then literary agent Anthony Blond, a flamboyant figure who had just set up shop in London’s New Bond Street. Colegate, for whom the literary world would have been a suitable destination for a well-brought up and moneyed young woman with an interest in writing, was introduced to Blond when she was 19 by her future husband, Michael Briggs (they married in 1953), who had been at Oxford with him. Investing £50 in his business, she was, in theory, his partner.

However, as she recalled much later “I was too shy for what I think was not yet called networking, so I did the typing, kept the accounts and wrote what must have been deeply disheartening reader’s reports, so impossibly high were my standards.” Despite being confined to running the office, Colegate was clearly not a shrinking violet: when Blond, as he did, referred to her as “the girl” to visiting clients, Colegate would glare at him from behind her typewriter. This would compel Blond to backpedal and explain: “I see the girl’s not in today. My partner, Miss Colegate, might be kind enough …”

At the same time, she was writing her first novel, The Blackmailer. When Blond turned publisher in 1958, it was one of the first books of his new imprint, and was admired for its humour and incisive prose. Her next two novels, A Man of Power (1960) and The Great Occasion (1962), were also published by Blond, and in different ways examined Colegate’s interest in the clash between the world of aristocrats and new money.

Then came Statues in a Garden (1964), which to some extent foreshadowed The Shooting Party. Set during the summer of 1914 among the English aristocracy, Colegate exposed how sexual and financial shenanigans among the privileged and powerful led to disaster. The Observer’s reviewer described it as having “the right mixture of doomed fun, melancholy and faintly lascivious despair”.

Orlando King (1969), Orlando at the Brazen Threshold (1971) and Agatha (1973) came in rapid succession. Ranging over that familiar Colegate territory of powerful men and politics, and their downfall before, during and after the second world war, the three were republished in one volume as The Orlando Trilogy (1984) and later under the title Orlando King (2020). Her eighth novel was News from the City of the Sun (1979).

After The Shooting Party came a collection of short stories, A Glimpse of Sion’s Glory (1985), and three more novels, Deceits of Time (1988), The Summer of the Royal Visit (1991) and her last, Winter Journey (1995), followed. None, however, repeated her earlier success, although Winter Journey was relatively well reviewed with its ruminations on the lives of a brother (a photographer) and sister (an unlikely former MP) in late middle age reflecting on their pasts. For a time, Colegate’s focus and style seemed perhaps just a little out of fashion.

For nearly half a century, until 2007, Colegate and her husband, who was for many years chair of the Bath Preservation Trust, lived at Midford Castle, outside Bath. Together, they took much pleasure in restoring its 18th-century Gothic buildings complete with battlements, towers and a gatehouse.

They added a croquet lawn and swimming pool, and incorporated surrounding woodland and parkland, which they lovingly managed. In addition they renovated a house in Tuscany and spent summers there for many years.

Colegate’s one piece of non-fiction, A Pelican in the Wilderness (2002), and what was to be her last book, was inspired by the ruins of an 18th-century hermit’s cell that she discovered in woodlands around Midford Castle. Once it was rebuilt using the original stone, it became a place for her own contemplation and observation of nature. As she wrote: “The biggest roebuck will pass as close as 15ft, giving me time to smile at the lackadaisical way he dangles a sprig of hazel from his mouth.”

As in her novels, Colegate delves into a wide-ranging cast of characters in A Pelican in the Wilderness: in this case hermits and recluses of many vintages, from Saint Simeon Stylites to JD Salinger. She travelled widely for her research and used her observant eye to explore how history, religion and the natural world feature in the lives of her chosen figures.

From Midford Castle the couple moved to Mells, Somerset, and again spent some time in restoration work: this time, a house in the village. She was made FRSL in 1981, received an honorary MA from the University of Bath in 1988 and for some time was a book reviewer for the Times Literary Supplement and the Daily Telegraph.

Michael died in 2017. She is survived by two sons, Barnaby and Joshua, a daughter, Emily, eight grandchildren and two great-grandchildren.

🔔 Isabel Diana Colegate, writer, born 10 September 1931; died 12 March 2023

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#JUST FOR BOOKS #Isabel Diana Colegate #in memoriam