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pen-observing · 4 years ago

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request: how lucifer, mammon, satan, belphegor and diavolo react and find out about you having 'I now own your soul' under the terms and conditions of a webpage.

Lucifer:

While Lucifer is certainly busy all the time, and tries to balance it by having you in his study as he works, he can’t hide how tired he has actually been for the past 4 weeks.

All you know is that Diavolo has made the meetings more frequent and they are taking a toll on him

And since he means that much to you, regardless of if you wish to acknowledge it or not, you have to ask what is going on once he stands up and walks over to reach for another bottle from his shelf Lucifer does not drink that often and he certainly doesn’t try to avoid work by drinking.

Just what could be making him act this way?

“Lucifer, you have to tell me what is going on.”

He stands on his side of the desk just pouring another glass down.

Curse him for being elegant and showing his forearms while doing so!

And then he dares to look at you with full focus and furrowed eyebrows and he is about to say something and he looks like-

‘no. You are human.’

Fuck.

“Come on! You know I won’t tell anyone!”

He does trust you at least after so long.

"Very well. I will tell you since it has something to do with a human. If, by any chance, you spread the information, the price you pay will be a heavy one."

He can’t intimidate you that much but you know when he is serious.

"You see, recently, Diavolo has had more issues than ever with someone we like to call ‘code soul stealer"

“Uhn,, and that is?”

He takes a sip of his drink and holds the glass while looking at you.

“Apparently, a pesky human added ‘I now own your soul’ in their terms and conditions on a web page and some application. With this, they have stolen many souls and Diavolo has grown even more concerned these past few weeks since the page is just gaining popularity.”

Oh fuck, oh fuck. Thats you that he is calling a pesky human! You only did it as a joke because you saw a meme! It wasn’t supposed to make an enemy out of you to the prince of hell!

How are you supposed to tell Lucifer that? How will he react?

Maybe if you do tell him it will actually create more good than harm?

Or, you could hide it for the rest of your life and- no! The honest way with Lucifer is the best way. He trusts you enough so you have to trust him too!

“Lucifer...I am the pesky human you are referring to...”

He drops the glass.

“I swear I had no idea souls were actually real and now I own a lot of them! O-On the good side I went viral 4 weeks ago so...oh, that is why you’ve been so busy....sorry.”

Lucifer says nothing.

He just falls into the chair in the most dramatic way you’ve ever seen.

He covers his face with both hands and groans into them loudly.

If you were not ‘code soul stealer’ you would laugh at him right now. But he has to figure out a way to protect you now.

Mammon:

You see, dating Mammon means that you two will bicker plenty.

However, it is usually silly stuff that you bicker about like; are gold or silver lines better on this cup of tea or not?

He just loves you too much to get into a serious argument with you.

However, Levi dragged you both to play a spy/heist game that just came out and Mammon cannot accept to lose such a challenge.

He is not proud that people call him thief, but he is proud and believes he has the skills to back up his many enrichment-plans

So the fact that you won against him for 3 times in a row is UNNACCEPTABLE under this dark, dark sky.

Mammon denies it all. ‘i went easy on you’; ‘I did it cuz you are happy when you win’ and ‘please, don’t you know who I am? I am THE Mammon!”

And while he is cute while bickering, sometimes it becomes unbearable.

So, you do what any normal human would: you challenge him by listing your biggest ‘heist’ ever.

“You don’t know who you are talking to! I have created a heist unlike any other! I have stolen a million souls so far! The DevilTV refers to me as – unstoppable soul collector!”

Levi left long ago so Mammon is standing there completely stunned with the stupidest look on his face so far. He kind of looks like a blowfish.

Still, he runs and puts a hand over your mouth and whispers:

“Don’t yell! We don’t want others to know that we run that business!”

Excuse him? Who is this –we- he speaks of?

“You will add your boyfriend to those plans, won’t you?”

Mammon will not let shock stand in the way of money or souls. You can explain to him how you managed that later but for now – just add him as your accomplice.

Satan:

You love your boyfriend.

You really, really do.

You love seeing him so excited and focused on finding clues to the newest Devildom mystery that you chose to let him have his fun by not telling him YOU were the one he was searching for.

And while you love him that much, you are about to ruin the whole game.

Why does he think it is appropriate to own 48 pairs of the same Sherlock Holmes outfit with THE UGLIEST MATCHING HATS YOU HAVE EVER LAID YOUR EYES ON.

First, he wore them in his ‘detective office’ only. Also known as the Lamentation house storage room for cleaning products. And that was fine, it was.

But then he started to wear them inside the house and in the garden. The saddest day was when a cat knocked the ugly hat off and ran away with it. Oh praise that cat! Praise the little paws!

However, he has gone too far.

He knows no bounds and shows no signs of stopping.

He started wearing the outfits OUTSIDE! In the middle of cobblestone paths of the main street while you were trying to have a nice date!

"Who knows where the soul snatching culprit could be hiding? I must wear this outfit everywhere to catch their clues. Trust me.”

That is it.

If one more iguana-looking-ass demon points their finger at you two and snickers as you walk past – he will have a rude wake up call.

How is it possible that he is trying to catch the culprit that is you but doesn’t pay any attention to you?

So, when you arrive home and he walks into the mop closet to add another unrelated photo to his crazy whiteboard as a clue – you tell him to sit down for a moment.

“Satan, honey, I have something to tell you about your soul snatching culprit.”

That definitely got his attention.

Finally! He is actually looking at you!

You lean down and gently kiss his head.

“I am the culprit you’re looking for. How does it feel to completely miss something right under your nose?”

He freezes up and throws a pen towards the whiteboard. It just bounces off and hits him in the back.

“You....you mean to tell me that,,, the biggest Devil Mystery TV phenomenon is ACTUALLY YOU?”

You are met with complete disbelief. Satan demands a detailed explanation on how you did it. He even tells you to use his whiteboard to retrace your steps!

...good luck...

Belphegor:

Will Belphegor ever actually publicly say that he has changed because of you? No.

Will he ever actually admit that to other brothers besides Beel when they’re talking in the late hours of the night in their room? Oh, absolutely not.

Will he tell you? Yes.

Yes but.. He will leave something out.

Sometimes Belphie looks at how you smile and remembers things that make him famous in this realm.

Yes, he is one of the most powerful demons and yes, he has a reputation of rebellion and the biggest steak of unattendance in RAD but

He is also a fairly famous scholar.

His papers and research are cited on the regular.

But when you smile and say a witty joke – he remembers that most of them focus around him proving just how dumb or naïve humans actually are.

But, you’re human and he hopes that you never see those.

Except that you do.

Because he is so famous it is no surprise that while looking for research papers to reference for your next assignment you saw his name while browsing through

And while you love him - you will not allow him to just diss the whole mankind.

So, you grab one of them from the library. Walk home, go to the attic while he is napping and open it up, putting it right on his face.

It takes a couple of seconds but he feels something is wrong and his hand reaches for it.

When he pulls it away, he is met with his thesis that was further developed from the seduction speech class assignment.

It sets it up as: ‘Seduction speech as a matter of blatant deception that humans always fall for but could never recreate.’

You are not even that mad at it to be honest.

But proving him wrong is always fun. And little does he know about your biggest secret ever.

“I will cut right to the chase and say – fix your bangs I want to see the way your eyes look when I tell you this!”

“I wonder who messed up my bangs with the academic paper in the first place?” is what he replies but his hand is already on his forehead.

“Whatever. Prepare to be amazed! I am the one the elders of the devildom are always ranting about on TV! Yes, I am the ‘pesky little human’ who is stealing away ‘edible’ souls! How is that for your thesis now? Is that not true deception?!”

He likes your smile still. You’re standing in front of the bed looking at him with sparkling eyes and clenched fists while striking a pose. It is silly really but he smiles.

Because you are.

And while he will ask you a bit more about that claim, he is just happy to know that maybe his next academic paper (which everyone eagerly awaits) will be tad more positive to your kind.

Diavolo:

You got an urgent call from Barbatos.

On the doorstep he told you that Diavolo needs you in his study.

What could you do that Barbatos can’t and will help Diavolo? Does such a thing even exist?

You walk inside of his office and are pretty sure Barbatos did not want to go inside because of the fact that a rat could be hiding under the mountain of papers that are all around the room.

Usually, Diavolo immediately stands up, lights up the room with his smile and stretches out his hands for a hug.

Now? He hears the doors open and looks at you with a weak smile while his head is resting on his elbows from behind the desk.

He has never looked worse.

“Barbatos said you called for me?”

You are unsure where to begin with this so you state a fact while thinking of questions to ask.

“He has? I have done no such thing?”

Great. Now both of you are confused.

“Can you tell me what is going on?”

Diavolo sighs and his smile is still nowhere to be seen.

“The elders have been so annoying lately. I understand that the biggest threat to the Devildom and everyone’s life here still has not been identified but there is nothing I can do except search!”

Just what threat is that? What could be making Diavolo so miserable?

“They keep comparing me to my father without actually offering any ways of fixing this!”

“I will try to offer some way if you tell me what the threat is!”

There you are, making a grand exclamation and promise while trying to avoid papers on the floor. Diavolo sighs again.

“A human is ruining our business! They somehow set up a page that allowed them to own souls by consent in some application under the terms and conditions. I mean, this has never happened before! Humans were never expected to think of that or have access to such means! And the name they used was fake. How am I supposed to find them and then burn them in the darkest pits of hell as the elders want me to?”

You stop trying to avoid the papers.

Did...did he just say darkest pits of hell? Did he just say the elders want YOU burned?!

How are you supposed to fix this? It was a fucking joke! You did not imagine this could ever happen!

“Diavolo you promised you would protect me no matter what, right?”

His eyes are serious when you say that. “Yes. I will. Is something amiss?”

“Diavolo.... I am the enemy your elders want to burn.. PLEASE DON’T LET THEM! MY SKIN JUST ADJUSTED TO THIS TEMPERATURE!”

Diavolo looks at you and laughs like never before. It is cute, it is childlike. His laugh finally lights up the room.

He thinks you are joking.

He thinks you are joking and abruptly stops once he realizes that you did not join in on the laugh.

You were just trying to crack a joke and make him feel better, right? There is no way that is true, right? But judging from your reaction he knows it is.

So, he grows serious once more.

He runs to embrace you.

“Please tell me you are willing to make a compromise because the elders do not care about how your skin adjusts to the temperature.”

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sabraeal · 3 years ago

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If the Mind Is Willing, Chapter 2

[Read on AO3]

A million years ago (2018), I held a raffle to celebrate having 500 followers, and @bubblesthemonsterartist was the winner of the grand prize-- five fics of her choosing. These and the other winners were all supposed to have their fics post in 2019, over the 12 weeks I was taking off after I had my second son. Unfortunately, MANY THINGS OCCURRED, and now I have finally, FINALLY made it through all my backlog to grant Joanna her wishes. And this was her first request, because I left her BOY in the SNOW on her BIRTHDAY 🤣

Gray light filters through her sheer curtains, hesitantly washing over her room as if it would hate to impose. It has none of the determination of the winter sun, muting pastels into something just shy of monochrome, like a reel of film left out of its can to age. It’s...nice. Cozy even; the perfect weather for a day where there’s no classes to rush to nor study sessions to sweat through, no place to go nor person she needs to be. She’s just Chizuru, and for a moment, that’s enough.

It never lasts.

Her phone vibrates across the bedside table, tooting and carrying on until it bumps into the lamp, buzzing angrily at the inconvenience. It’s barely a breath’s worth of fuss, but Chizuru flops over, brushing her fingers over the screen like touch might soothe it. Or at least, she tries-- the sleeve of her sweater’s slumped, making paws where fingers should be.

Chizuru blinks, but sleep clings stubbornly to her lashes, making the world bleary and indistinct. It takes a good rub to get them clear, wool scratching where she can’t shake away her sleeve, and--

And this is Father’s cardigan, the one she’d kept before everything went into storage. He might not be a large man, but it’s too big for her by far; she wears it around the house when she’s got a craving to be cozy, but it’s not meant for bed. Even now it’s knotted up in the blanket, toggles tangled in the crochet, tugging in places never meant to give.

Her hand hovers, a flinch away from one of those knots. “This isn’t my blanket...?”

Not the one she sleeps under, at least. No, this is a throw, one she keeps across the room on her desk chair for when the little space heater beneath it manages to serve better as a footrest. And when she moves it aside--

Oh my, those are her jeans. The same ones from yesterday, along with the worn T-shirt she changed into after Yamazaki--

“Yamazaki,” she gasps, scrambling for the phone. It takes shoving her sleeves up past her elbows, but she scoops it up, cradling it in both her palms. Oh, how she misses her tiny flip phone, even if Shinpachi called it dinosaur technology; at least then she’d been able to hold it and type at the same time. Now she just has to swipe with her thumbs, hoping it’ll rouse enough to show the home screen.

It flickers on, reluctantly informing her that it’s 10:24 am, and she has a blast email from the university, one that reminds the student body to drive safely and make good decisions over break. There’s also a text from Sen, one that starts, busy now but we can drop by after xmas 🎄, and below that--

[Susumu Yamazaki] Arrived at my parents. Hope I didn’t keep you up. Sleep well.

Chizuru groans, forehead dropping to her fists. After that whole production about him checking in, and she couldn’t even do him the favor of staying awake long enough to appreciate it.

[Me] Oh please don’t worry about me!! I fell asleep waiting 😂

It’d be silly to wait for him to reply. Her phone slips from her fingers, cradled by the crochet slung between her legs. If she was asleep before he got in, it would only make sense that he was still--

[Susumu Yamazaki] Must have been pretty tired. I only live 20min out.

[Me] You must have taken longer than that! It’s 20 min under regular driving conditions but there was all that snow

There’s a long pause, long enough that Chizuru pecks out, Right?, fingers hesitating over each letter. Her thumb’s hovering right over SEND when the phone buzzes, screen scrolling up to read:

[Suzumu Yamazaki] Almost called last night but glad I didn’t. Looks like you needed that sleep :)

[Me] Oh no don’t worry!! I wouldn’t have minded!! It would be nice to hear your voice

“Oh!” The phone jolts from her fingers, shock making even the rubber case sear. That’s what she gets for typing too fast for her brain to catch up; sure, it had sounded so nice in her head, but now that it’s out in the cold hard reality of text...

It’s too much. Like she’s trying to-- to--

Susumu Yamazaki is typing...

“Please don’t,” she moans, slapping her hands over her ears. “I didn’t mean it! I mean, I did, but not in a weird way. Ugh.”

The message disappears. No, flickers, on and off, until it finally settles back to a steady, Susumu Yamazaki is typing...

There’s no reason for him to take that long to reply, not unless he’s trying to find a polite way to say, you’re being really weird, or maybe, is there something wrong with you?

She can’t watch. Mercifully, the screen flicks off. It may not change the fact that he’s writing a scathing dissertation about her poor socialization, but at least she doesn’t have to witness it.

It does, however, display, [Hachiro] eta 30min

“Wh-what?”

Her fingers fumble across the screen, never quite managing to slide up enough to get it open, not until she picks it up in one hand and shakes. It shouldn’t work-- percussive maintenance only works on machines with cogs and springs, Saito has told her too many times to count, not computer chips-- and yet, here she sits, staring down at a string of texts timestamped twenty minutes ago.

[Hachiro] good morning chizu! mom has me out running her chores today 😒 but looks like some of them are going to take me past your place maybe if i have time i’ll swing by your place been a while since we’ve been able to hang out 😄 k all done eta 30min

“Oh,” she breathes. “But what am I going to do with Souji?”

When Chizuru had first moved in to the house, hair shorn and clothes baggy, hoping that her compression bra could do the heavy lifting when it came to masculine body shapes, the doorbell had been a stately sort of tune. Bing-bong ding-dong, the mark of a Real Adult entering their home, like Professor Hijikata, or sometimes even Dean Kondo.

Westminster chime, Shinpachi told her, with so much confidence she could only stare. What? I can know stuff. They used it at my school.

Private school. Souji tossed his hair out of his eyes. Fuckin’ prep.

Hey! Shinpachi’s a big guy, only a few inches shy of Harada and twice as wide in the shoulders. But even still, he can shrink so small, folding in on himself like a sulking child. I don’t think there’s any need for-- for hurtful language.

Harada only snorted, Rich kid.

Either way, she’d liked that one. Sure, it went on a little long, and if they got multiple packages in a day the halls started to feel a little cloister-like, as if she’d really been sent away to a nunnery the way Father used to tease. But at least when she answered the door, people looked impressed, or at least impassive.

That is not the chime that rings today, though.

“I didn’t even know they made doorbells with that,” Harada mutters from under his covers as she sprints past, tearing the towel from her head.

They don’t, Chizuru’s pretty sure, but she doesn’t have the breath to reply, or even curse Souji’s ability to turn even the most innocuous objects into landmines. No, she only has enough to manage a shrill, “I’ve got it!” before pounding down the stairs, hoping she can move quicker than Souji’s sense for chaos.

She flings open the door, wet hair stiffening in the cold, and there is Hachiro, perfect as always, a smile already dawning on his handsome face.

“Morning, Chizu.” He lifts a gloved hand, shaking the snow from his lazy curls. “It’s good to--” Hachiro blinks-- “is that ‘Through the Fire and Flames?’“

“Sorry to make you rush.” Hachiro toes off his shoes-- boots, really, by their treads, but they still look nicer than anything else on the tray-- not dripping a single drop of slush onto the floor. “You’re usually such an early riser, I never thought you’d still be...” He hesitates, clearing his throat. “...In bed.”

It’s silly to blush, but she does, ducking her head against her shoulder. “I was, um, up late last night. Not for bad reasons! Just, er, dragged my feet getting to bed.”

“It’s quiet in here today.” He steps up beside her, his elbow giving hers a playful bump. “Are we alone for once?”

“Er...no. Harada’s in bed, last I checked.” She’s not really sure he knows there’s hours before noon, but that’s not what Hachiro’s asking. “And Souji is, um...around, I’m sure. Somewhere.”

His mouth twists, but it smooths to handsomeness so quick it’s barely more than a trick of the eye. “Good thing I brought breakfast, then.”

He holds up a bag, glossy and bright and oh-so pink, the logo cute, if unfamiliar. “Mom had me go into town today, and it took me right past that new pastry place. The one that used to be Mastudaira’s?”

“Ah, that one! It’s...Meiji now?” She pushes up to her toes, peeking through the handles for a glimpse of wax paper and crackled crusts. The reality, however, leaves her disappointed; instead of vanilla cream or cinnamon custard, she just sees...cardboard. Sleek, branded cardboard with pink ribbons wrapped around it, but still, she settles back on her heels underwhelmed. “Let me go get some plates. Maybe even a knife, or um, forks?”

Hachiro’s dimple deepens, smile tugged to one side. “Hands should be fine, Chizu. They’re not that fancy.”

“Oh, er, right.” Her cheeks burn as she pads past him toward the kitchen. “Just plates then.”

She expects him to duck into the parlor; the front one is typically where guests drift toward, the TV and sectional conveying entertainment area without the undeniable frat boy aura of the back parlor’s pool table and darts. But instead, Hachiro follows her into the kitchen, settling the bag on the counter as she drags out her step stool.

The cabinets aren’t terribly high-- if she stands on tip-toe, she can even reach the lower shelf with only the smallest tweak in her shoulder. It’s just that the top one, or well, either of the middle ones--

“Do you want me to get them?” He steps up behind her, close enough that she can feel the chill rolling off his skin, even through his sweater. “I don’t mind, you know. Must have these long arms for a reason.”

“No, no,” she assure him, getting one knee up onto the marble. “I can get them. Please, take a seat. We can--” ah, is it awkward to ask if he want to go to the parlor now that they’re already here? Would that seem pointed, like she’s insinuating he did something wrong, or-- “pick wherever you’d like to sit. I’ll be down in just a moment.”

His jaw sets, the way it used to before he’d start a scrap with one of the neighborhood boys, but instead of resorting to a full nelson to get his way, Hachiro simply steps back with a sigh. “If you say so.”

I’ve been small my whole life, she nearly tells him, I think I know how to manage it by now. It’s the sort of thing nine-year-old Chizuru would have said, puffed up and proud as she pumped higher and higher on the swings. She’d broken her arm jumping off them, fighting back tears as Hachiro ran to get the teacher.

“I’ve been wanting to try this for a while,” she says instead.

He glances up, wide-eyed. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. My dad came out this way for work trips all the time, and he would tell me how delicious their specials were. Linguini and clams. Roasted quail on yam puree. All sorts of stuff.” Her smile twists, wry as she hops down, two plates in hand. “When I first came out here, I thought I could at least save up for a table at Matsudaira’s, even if it was just for myself. I was heartbroken when I saw the empty storefront.”

“I would never have guessed. When we were kids you hated that sort of thing.” His head tilts, curious, watching her beneath heavy lids as she sets the dish in front of him. “Is that something that interests you now?”

“Oh, no.” She hops up onto the stool, feet dangling from the rungs. “I just thought...I don’t know. It’s silly really. I mean, since my dad liked it, I just thought...”

Chizuru’s not good at this, the whole...talking about it thing. Her feelings are so...so vast, like looking out over prairie as the lightning comes down, or an ocean as the storm rises. She’s not like the professor, able to take these things and distill them down to their essence, plastering perfection onto the page for everyone else to consume. They don’t squeeze down into those little boxes, becoming something easy to handle, they’re just--

“It would make you feel like you’re with him.”

Her chin jerks up, meeting his patient smile. “That’s what you mean right? If you could do something he enjoyed so much, it might feel like the distance wasn’t so much.”

Warmth blooms beneath her breast, a heat that scintillates out to her limbs and back, chest squeezing tight. Even sitting there, her skin tingling, she can’t decide whether it’s a good feeling, or...something else. Something complicated.

“Yes. That.” The words leave her on a gasp, a sigh she no longer has the breath for. It’s silly to be so worked up, to care so much about not having to explain, that she sets her hands to work, glossy bag slipping against her fingers. “But then Meiji opened up, and I know it’s not the same thing, not even a little, but...”

“It’s close enough.” The bag’s top clenches shut as he puts his hand over hers, giving her a squeeze she feels down to her toes. One that stops as quickly as it starts; she barely has time to blink before he’s retreated to his side of the table, smile slanted and inscrutable. “Once he’s done with his done with his sabbatical, I’m sure your father would love to go with you.”

There’s something lodged between the muscles of her throat, brittle as a pitted stone and ragged as a sob, and she can’t trust herself to speak around it, not without risking its escape. So she nods instead, the motion doing nothing to knock it loose, only ache.

She tries to grab the boxes, flimsy little things that bend under the weight of her grip, but her fingers keep falling numbly off them, nicking her knuckles on their corners. It’s as if her hands know what to do, but her mind can’t focus on making them do it, at least not with any sort of skill.

“You’ll like what I picked, I think,” Hachiro tells her, lifting up one of the boxes with a delicacy and elegance she could only dream of. “I haven’t seen them around here before. They’re called maritozzi.”

“It...sounds fancy,” she agrees, glancing dubiously down at the package he’s placed in her palms. “It’s not...hard to eat, is it?”

His mouth quirks at a corner, and for a moment, he looks almost as roguish as he had at age ten, just minus the bruises. He’d been chubbier then, all the sweeping curves of his face softened by baby fat and his nanny’s cooking, but beneath that it’s the same bones, the same boy that had cried when a bully pushed him off the jungle gym, and then sat on him a week later when he’d tried to do it to Chizuru.

“Not at all.” His voice is different now, not deep like his father’s but full. Masculine, but pretty enough that the choir director would still compliment him if he ever went back. “They’re deceptively simple, actually.”

She braces herself, pressing at the corners until the paper hinge gives, and then-- “Oh.”

“See?” Hachiro’s too kind to laugh, but she hears the hint of one his his voice as she lifts the little bun from its box, careful to keep cream off her fingers. “Nothing to be worried about.”

There really is nothing strange about them, save that she’s never seen anything quite like them. The roll’s only the size of her palm, split down the middle and filled to the brim with black-flecked whipped cream, smoothed over until it looks natural, as if it were all one piece. “Is that real vanilla?”

His shoulder lifts, casual. “So I would assume.”

She takes a bite, or at least she tries to-- like anything with a filling, she nearly has to unhinge her jaw to keep cream from making a bid for freedom. But that first taste hits her tongue, and oh, it’s so, so good.

“So,” Hachiro hums. “Where is your father now?”

Her mouth is full-- he knows it’s full, he just saw her take a bite-- and yet he’s sitting there so mildly, as if it’s normal to hold a conversation this way, like she might not choke herself trying to swallow enough down to speak. Not that she wants to-- oh no, she needs every second plausible chewing can give her if she wants a believable answer, one that won’t make him give her that look, the one he had the morning he moved away--

“Er...” She takes one last swallow, loud enough that his eyebrows lift at the gulp. “I’m not quite sure! He moves around a lot for his research. I think...the South Pacific right now? His connection’s been iffy since he left the mainland.”

“Too bad,” he drawls, too mild to be sincere. “I take it that means he won’t be home for Christmas?”

She picks off a piece of roll, dipping it in the cream. “Ah...no. But, um, I think he’s going to call tonight!”

“That’s something.” Mr. Iba used to have a way of saying nothing so nicely it sounded like a judgement, and it’s clear that Hachiro’s inherited his gift. “Do you have anything planned for Christmas Day?”

“N-no.” It hadn’t bothered her, not really, but now that she’s said it out loud it feels...sad. Incomplete. Like watching an orphan in the first act of a holiday film, before Santa or the spirit of Christmas or whatever gets involved. “I’m just staying in, I think.”

His eyebrows lift higher. “Here?”

It’s not until she glances up, trailing an assessing eye over the kitchen’s corners, that she realizes the house is hardly festive. There’s a tree in the front parlor-- it used to be by the side of the highway, growing quite peacefully past the guardrail before Shinpachi and Heisuke had driven by a few weeks ago, pulling over and declaring it the perfect Christmas tree, and chopped it down with a set of hatchets they found under the seat of the SUV. It’s been a funny story to relay to Sen-- it’s only illegal if you get caught, she’d said, but Kiku says they’re stupid-- but when she looks at Hachiro...

Ah, well, the son of a judge may not have the same opinion about it. Nor appreciate their dubiously legal decor.

“It’ll be fun!” Chizuru says instead, forcing a smile onto her face. “Hajime left me his Netflix password, so I have all the Christmas Prince movies right at my fingertips!”

“That sounds like a pretty nice day, actually.” To her surprise, he’s sincere, smiling as he take his own bite of his bun. “Though I don’t think Saito’s going to forgive you for the damage you’ll do to his recommendeds.”

Her mouth twitches behind her napkin. “Don’t worry, he told me I could watch whatever I wanted...as long as I stay on the profile he made for me.”

A grin breaks across his lips, just as mischievous as when he used to pluck his mother’s cookies off the counter. “Oh, I see, you’ve already been quarantined.”

“I prefer to think of it as ‘special accommodations,’“ she informs him, doing a terrible job of hiding her smile. “It’s very kind he offered at all. He denies he even has an account when Souji asks.”

“Who could blame him?” Hachiro rubs his fingers, dislodging crumbs while his good humor smooths to vague distaste. “I shudder to think what might entertain that guy.”

True crime documentaries and Tarantino movies from her experience, but Chizuru doubts that will help her any. Not when his first impression of Souji had been ‘that guy looks like he pulled wings off flies for fun as a kid.’

“Anyway.” Hachiro clears his throat, arms folding stiffly behind his empty plate. How he eats so quickly, she’ll never know; she’s only three bites in and already her stomach is protesting. “I know you have you plans, but my mom wanted me to ask if you’d come over out place for dinner tomorrow. Her and dad are dying for an excuse to see you again.”

“O-oh!” Her cheeks heat, warm enough she’s sure he can see it. “Would they really--? Um...”

It’s been years since she’s seen them; the same with Hachiro until she tripped over him outside Hijikata’s class. But her memories of them, of their kitchen--

It’s like another home, one warmer and more full than her own. There had certainly been weeks where she’d been there more often than her own house. The ones where Father had to work late on his research, leaving her with leftovers-- and her too short to reach the microwave. But it had never occurred to her that she might be anything more than a suffered annoyance, yet one more mouth to feed when they had two growing boys. To be a wanted guest in a home like that...

Her mouth works, and she takes a bite of her pastry, waiting until is sits like lead in her stomach before she says, “I...I couldn’t possibly impose--”

“Of course you can.” He laughs, so easy, so careless, as if it should be obvious. “It’s hardly an imposition when you’re invited. Look, she even put you on my list! Right under dropping off the charity gifts, it says, get Chizuru--”

Her hand flicks up, deflecting the paper he pulls from his pocket. “I believe you,” she squeaks, barely able to look at it. “You don’t have to, um, show me.”

He hesitates, a smirk shoring up one side of his smile as he slips it back in. “All right. But you’ll come, won’t you? I’ll even pick you up.”

“Um...” His offer’s more than tempting, but the thought of showing up in their home empty-handed... “I don’t think--”

“If you’re worrying about gifts, don’t.”

Chizuru jolts in her seat, feet just barely catching her before she can topple out of it. How did he--?

“My mom said to say your presence is present enough. It’s corny, but she means it.” His gaze flicks to hers, too warm to hold, like cider fresh from the pot. “I think so too, if that matters.”

“Oh,” she breathes. It’s all so nice, but it’s also too much, like sticking frostbitten hands right into the fire, and she doesn’t know if she’s warming up or burning--

“You know, Iba, I can tell you hang out with Hijikata.” Souji sweeps into the kitchen like funeral shroud, leaving a pall over the kitchen with nothing more than a drawl. “You both don’t know how to take a hint. And by that I mean, the door is over there.”

“Okita,” Hachiro manages, his smile so saccharine her teeth ache. “I see you’ve decided to make another attempt at human socialization. I applaud your courage.”

When Souji grins it’s all teeth, prowling around until he stands at her shoulder. “Well, you know, I keep telling myself that no matter what I do, I’ll never sound as stupid as you striking out. And then I have all the motivation I need to keep going on.”

“We all have to find inspiration somewhere, even if it’s only from our own imagination.” Hachiro glows with a grace so serene that paintings of saints would patina with envy. “Ah, it seems I didn’t bring enough pastries for all of us. Looks like you’ll have to go figure out something else on your own.”

“It’s okay.” A long fingers reach past her shoulder, plucking the bun off her plate. There’s a soft crackle right above her ear, and oh, she doesn’t need to turn around to know where the crumbs tumbling down her shoulder come from. “I figured something out.”

“That,” Hachiro grits out, his smile finally as strained as his patience, “is for Chizuru.”

Souji’s arm dangles lazily off her shoulder, hand close enough that if he just tensed his fingers enough to curl, he’d brush below her clavicle. It’s...distracting. “She doesn’t seem to mind.”

“I think--”

“So are you actually gonna go to this loser’s house? Hang out with his parents?” Souji snorts, bending close enough for his hair to tickle over her ear. “Food poisoning sounds more fun.”

A breath hisses between Hachiro’s teeth, but still he only says, so calm, “Don’t you have somewhere else you need to be?”

Around the last of her pastry, Souji mumbles an unfortunately clear, “No.” With a swallow, he adds, “I’m having fun right now.”

“Is that so?” Hachiro’s mouth cants to a dangerous angle. “Then maybe you could--”

There is an end to this suggestion, Chizuru can see the way his mouth moves to make it, eyes glinting like a knife beneath the kitchen lights. But it’s impossible to make out what it might be, not with what sounds like a stampede coming down the back stairs.

“Hey, guys anyone seen my shir--” Harada hauls himself up short, nearly clipping his head on the top of the door. “Oh, how you doin’, Iba? Didn’t expect to see you here.”

One arm hooked over the chair back shifts Hachiro’s posture from high alert to casually confident, Souji entirely forgotten. “It was short notice. Sorry for the surprise.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” His giant hand paws at the towel slung around his shoulder, lifting it to dab at his hairline, and-- oh no, he’s not-- he’s--

“Would it kill you to keep your clothes on?” Souji grumbles, slinking from her shoulders to glare from a safe distance like a particularly hostile housecat.

The past three months had exposed her to so much bared boy flesh-- so much she’s sure Shinpachi only begrudgingly tolerates any clothes that aren’t made out of jersey or spandex-- that it’s practically the wallpaper now, utterly unnoticeable unless she’s got her nose pressed to it. But now that Harada is here, strolling through the kitchen, shirtless and dripping right in front of Hachiro, casually advertising her every day, well--

Chizuru can’t blame Souji; she’d like an excuse to slip out of this situation too.

“It might.” Harada scratches at the scar that bisects his stomach, thoughtful. “So does this mean the professor’s coming by too?”

Hachiro laughs, shaking his head, as if just gym shorts were a perfectly normal outfit for a grown man to wear in company. “No, as much as I’d like to see him today, I’m afraid it’s only me. I just stopped in to invite Chizuru to Christmas dinner.”

There’s no reason for it, not at all-- only minutes ago the offer had been as welcome a surprise as it was terrifying-- but now ever muscle stiffens, her knuckles white where they grip the countertop. As if somehow everyone knowing made it-- it--

A coy smirk hovers at the corners of his mouth, a silent tease ready to unravel her. “Oh, that sounds--” Harada glances down at where she sits, and his confusion snuffs his mischief as quick as a match-- “er...nice?”

“You mean stupid,” Souji mutters, but if Hachiro hears him, he doesn’t show it.

“I think so too.” It’s hard to resist when he smiles at her, bright and warm as the best summer day. “My parents will be so happy to see you again.”

“Oh.” Harada’s eyes widen until she can see whites around them. “That’s, uh...I didn’t realize you guys were...serious?”

Chizuru’s hands fly up, waving as if that might help dispel-- er, whatever this is. “Ah! That’s not-- we’re not together. We’re just-- we were neighbors in elementary school. I’ve explained this before...”

“O...kay,” Harada says, just as Souji adds, “See, I told you it was stupid.”

“They haven’t seen her for a long time,” Hachiro explains smoothly, making it all sound so normal, the way she never could. “That’s why they’re so excited.”

“It’s very kind of you to, um, offer, but I don’t--” Guilt’s been nibbling at her since he invited her, but now it takes huge, gulping bites, her confidence as tattered as lettuce left in the crisper. “I mean, do you really think that, er--?”

“Really collecting husbands now, aren’t you, Chizuru?” Souji snorts. “Don’t you already have one stalker that thinks you’re married to him? And now this jackoff’s taking you to meet his parents.”

Hachiro finally turns to him, flushed and out of patience. “Do you have a problem?”

“Yeah, your fa--”

“I--I’m not!” Her hands slap the counter, too loud, but it gets their attention, as little as she likes having it. “I mean, not collecting husbands. No, I mean, I’m not doing that either, but I’m also--” she takes a steeling breath-- “I’m not going. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

Hachiro’s brow knits, the skin there as furrowed as his frown below. “You don’t need to listen to him, Chizuru. There’s nothing wrong about coming over, or weird either. You’re always welcome at our house.”

“I’m not. I mean, I know, I’m not listening to him. It’s just--”

There’s a thousand things she wants to say, a hundred explanations that bloom and rot off the vine. But none of them fit, none of them are what she means. There’s no way to say, it still feels too intimate without implying I don’t want to lead you on, nor I miss my dad without also saying I’m going to waste my life waiting for a phone call.

“I’m not,” she repeats, stronger this time. “Thank you for the invitation, Hachiro, it means a lot to me. But, um, I just finished exams last night, and I’ve really been looking forward to some down time. I just don’t think I’m ready to be good company.”

“You’re always good company,” he tells her, unconvinced. “But if you’re sure...”

“We’ll take good care of her.” Harada slings an arms around her shoulders, squeezing her close enough to catch a whiff of his bodywash. “I promise, no sad Chizuru. And maybe you can stop by again after the holidays and hang. Shinpachi and Saito are gonna be sad they missed you, man.”

Hachiro spares her one last lingering look before he sighs, easing into his laid-back lounge. “Sounds like a good time. Maybe we can even get Toshi in on it...”

He might be on errand for his mom, but Hachiro hardly seems in a hurry when he makes his way to the door, the late afternoon sun already threatening to fall behind the horizon.

“You’ll call me if you change you mind?” he mutters as he zips his coat, sending her a concerned glance. “Really, I’m happy to come out and get you, Any time.”

“R-really!” She pats his shoulder, giving him her best big-girl smile. “I’ll be fine. But thank you. If I do change my mind, you’ll be the first to know.”

His gloved hand lingers on the handle for a long moment before he manages, “Merry Christmas, Chizu.”

“Ah, you too!” He’s nearly got the door shut behind him when she adds, “Tell your parents I said hello!”

It closes with a soft shunk, the cold air displaced with a huff, and she slumps, all the tension gone out of her limbs--

“Wow,” Harada snorts. “You know, I thought Shinpachi could come on a little strong, but that was a whole other weight class. You should have told me he was your ex, I wouldn’t have backed him up.”

“He’s not! He’s just...overprotective.” She’s flushed as she slips past him to the kitchen, desperate to avoid that knowing side-eye. “He used to look out for me when we were small, and then we lost touch, and now...I...I guess he feels like it’s his job to make sure I’m taken care of.”

He nods, arms folding across his chest-- a detail she can note now that he’s put on a shirt. “So he’s making up for lost time.”

It’s weird to think of it like that, like taking care of her might be something to miss, rather just a burden that’s been foisted upon him. “Ah, I...guess, yeah.”

Souji scoffs from his corner, perched up by the sink like a judgemental cat. “Making up for lost blue balls is more like it.”

Harada ignores him, stepping close to put a hand on her shoulder. “You know, if you want to do a Christmas thing, we can just do one here. It may be just the three of us--”

“Count me out.” Souji hops off his perch, clinging to the walls like he expects someone to chase him out with a broom. Or worse, try to pet him. “I don’t do lame ass Christmas stuff.”

“All right.” Harada huffs out a laugh as Souji skulks up the stairs, shaking his head. “Just the two of us then. Maybe we’ll pop some movies on TV, make some popcorn? I can even get some hot chocolate going as long as you don’t mind it coming from a packet.”

He winks, and for a moment, it sounds...so nice. To be able to sit her phone on the arm of the couch and not have to worry about whether she might miss a call, or about whether she’s interrupting by taking it. To have company while she waits, a distraction, something to make her feel less like she’s missing Christmas, and more like something new--

“Mine will be slutty, of course,” he rumbles, so close to her side he nearly looms. There’s a smile when he says it, a twinkle in his eye, and sure it’s supposed to be a joke, but-- but she’s been here long enough to know that friend tends to be a stepping stone to fuckbuddy when it comes to Harada. Not something he plans, but something he falls into; a fiction he fools himself into believing right up until his flavor of the week walks out of his room in his shirt.

Movies and cocoa sounds like the perfect evening with friends, but there’s also something...intimate about it. Two people on that couch, curled up in one corner, sharing heat under the same blanket...Harada might have the best of intentions, but she’s not convinced he knows how to hang out with a girl and not have sex. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, so to speak, so long as everyone is having a good time. But for Chizuru...

Chizuru can imagine it. She would lay her head on his shoulder-- or rather, somewhere in the vacinity of his shoulder-- letting his hand creep around her rib cage, thumb brushing right below the lower limits of her bra. It would shock her; she’s not the type of girl who lets boys this close, but Harada’s always felt safe, treating her more like a mascot than a woman. She’d look up, confused, and he’d look down, fond, and then he’d lean in, bending down, and down--

and down--

Ah, he’s just...too tall for her. Sen may have told her that was part of the fun when it came to being just a hair below average, but when Chizuru considers the health of his spine--

She turns her head, hiding her grimace. “No, I think I’m-- I’ll be fine on my own.”

It’s Harada’s turn to look concerned now. “Are you sure, Chizuru? It’s really no problem for me to--?”

“I’m sure,” she says, firmer, in the same tone her father used to keep inspectors from asking more questions. The last thing she needs is for him to get the idea in his head to why; your height is daunting, is not an answer she want to have to explain, nor is, and I think you’re too experienced to stop at holding hands, too.

“Don’t worry,” she says instead, reaching out to squeeze his arm. “A day by myself is just what I need. Now, what do we want for dinner?”

It’s dark by the time she gets back to her room, her bedside table the only light in the room. She pads over to it, curious, wondering just why she might have left it--

“Oh no,” she gasps, hurrying over. “My phone, I’ve left it here all day!”

Missed texts and university emails stretch across the screen, but she doesn’t spare them a glance, thumb nudging her past every icon until she’s sure-- no voicemail, no missed calls, no emails with greetings from tropical climes. It’s Christmas wherever Father is, but he hasn’t thought of her.

“He’s not up yet,” she tells herself, the sound of the words calming her when thoughts can’t. “There’s lots of time zones in the Pacific. He’s probably just in one that’s still asleep. Waiting for Santa, I bet!”

That gets her to laugh, the strange ache in her chest easing as she settles on the bed, looking through what’s she’s missed. More holiday greetings from Sen and Kimigiku it seems, filled with semi-ironic usage of stickers; a message from Hijikata telling her to take it easy over break, and not to let the boys run her ragged; blast texts from classmates she’s friendly with, impersonal maybe, but Chizuru’s happy to be thought of; and--

[Susumu Yamazaki] I could call now if you like

She blinks, stymied. “Call? Why would he...?”

With a tap the chat unfurls beneath her fingertips. The message its at the bottom of the screen, timestamp that morning, a few minutes after her own text, one that read--

“Oh!” She claps a hand to her cheek, mortified. “Oh my gosh.”

[Me] I’m so sorry!! I didn’t see this until now!! Hachiro sprung a surprise visit on me. I had to get ready quick!! 😱 Well actually I was asleep when he sent the text. 😴 So it wasn’t meant to be a surprise. But it was!! 🤣

She sighs, letting the phone drop to her lap. Yamazaki’s at home with his parents, doing...whatever families do at holidays. It’s too much to hope he’s sitting around, waiting for her text even after she let him sit for a whole day unanswered. It’d be her just deserts to wait for hours, hoping--

[Susumu Yamazaki] That would do it.

She stares, speechless, her thumbs hanging limp on the screen. “Is he really...?”

[Susumu Yamazaki] Iba hasn’t been by in a while. Did you have a good time?

[Me] It was nice to see him! 😄 His parents wanted him to invite me over for Christmas. Hachiro must have told them my dad’s on sabbatical.

[Susumu Yamazaki] Is that were you’ll be tomorrow? That was kind of them.

[Me] Ah no. It felt too weird to see them for such a big event when we haven’t seen each other for like seven years. And plus I don’t have gifts! 😂

[Susumu Yamazaki] Iba’s parents wouldn’t care about something like that. Not if they’re anything like him.

[Me] Ah I didn’t mean to imply they would!! 😧 They definitely wouldn’t!! They’re so kind!! It just...felt rude. And I wanted to wait for my dad to call. So staying in seems like the best option all around.😄

[Susumu Yamazaki] Is there something planned at the house? Never asked you guys, I guess.

[Me] Sanosuke offered to do something festive tomorrow, but Souji isn’t interested.🤭

[Susumu Yamazaki] Okita hasn’t met a positive experience he couldn’t make worse. So what are you doing with Harada?

[Me] Nothing!! 😂 Sano is super nice. He’s just also very...friendly? A little too friendly I guess. I know he didn’t mean anything by it but being alone just the two of us... You know how he is.

[Susumu Yamazaki] lol Didn’t want to tell you what to do. But he has his reputation for a reason. Will you be okay by yourself? Or is it cool to not have plans?

I’m fine!! sits in the box, ready to send, but for once, Chizuru hesitates. It’s easy to give out niceties to Harada or Hachiro-- they want to be assured she’s all right, that they don’t have to worry about her. But Yamazaki has never asked her a question he doesn’t want a real answer to. To give him some stock response...it feels like lying, even if it was to put him at ease.

[Me] A little of both if that makes sense?

There’s no delay before he replies, I don’t want to pry. Do you want to talk about it?

Her fingers squeeze tight around the case, rubber buttons biting into the fleshy bits of her knuckles. She’s not used to doing this, to admitting things aren’t always sunshine, but somehow it’s easier to press the buttons than it is to speak the words, and once she starts it pours out of her, flooding the screen.

[Me] It’s just that Christmas was a big deal with my dad. It’s weird to not do anything for it? But also no one can be my dad? So if I spent it with other people I’d feel like I’d have to prentend it’s just as good. So if I’m by myself there’s no pressure to do that. I can just let it be bad or only okay. No one has to feel like they’re not enough. But also that feels a little lonely? So I don’t know. At least this way I’m the only one who has to worry about it.

The second she finishes, a tidal wave of regret threats to pull her under, to drown her in her own words. What was she thinking, telling him all that? He can’t have possibly wanted--

[Susumu Yamzaki] If you want

Chizuru blinks, eyes fixed to the screen. It’s a mistake, she knows; only half a sentence and there’s a frantic way Susumu Yamazaki is typing keeps showing up on her screen before it disappears once again. But still, she can’t look away, not when she’s pours all her thoughts out like pus from a boil, and his first reaction isn’t, Ew.

[Susumu Yamazaki] Sorry. Cat was helping.

She’s known Yamazaki for three months, and yet that’s the most personal piece of information she’s ever heard about him. She want to ask him all about it, whether it’s male or female, if it’s a calico or a tabby or something else she’s never heard of. Siamese, maybe? She can picture him with one of those.

Her lips clamp together, trying to swallow down a wiry giggle. Yamazaki has a cat. Or at least his parents do. There’s one on him right now, weaving through his arms, trying to get attention as he types. And he’s giving it to her instead.

[Susumu Yamazaki] Anyway. If you get lonely you can call me. I certainly don’t mind that I’m not your dad.

[Me] I’d like that. As long as you don’t mind that I WILL be watching the Christmas Prince and its associated films.

[Susumu Yamazaki] We can watch them together. There’s an app. It will be a relief to have an excuse not to interact with my family for a few hours.

There’s a knot in her throat when she hesitates, slowly typing out, If you don’t mind.

[Susumu Yamazaki] Not at all. I’ve been asked a total of nine times why I’m not going into acupunture. Even the Christmas Prince will be an improvement.

[Me] Okay!! Do you mind waiting a little bit? I’m waiting for my dad to call.

[Susumu Yamazaki] Take as long as you need.

When she wakes up, it’s with a start. The bedside lamp is off-- ah, she doesn’t remember doing that-- and so it’s with her hands that she reaches out, trying to locate rubber corners through her covers.

“I can’t believe I missed it,” she gasps, ragged with frustration. “He finally calls, and I’m not even--”

The screen lights up when she lifts it, but it doesn’t show a call, oh no, but--

[😽] dont say i never get u guys ne thing 🤗

She blinks, kitty face coming into focus. “The house chat?”

[😽] merry xmas u mfs 🎄🎅 www.ujkyo.edu/news dont say i never get u guys ne thing 🤗

#yamachi #hakuouki #my fic #modern au #college au #If the Mind Is Willing #LARP AU #i thought i would be getting to the beginning of the LARP reveal with this chapte #but iba took over for a little while #and then yamazaki and chizuru were being cute #and i can't be held accountable for how these end up at 7K okay #but let me say next chapter will have more LARP reveal than you can shake a stick at #and nagakura in an ugly christmas sweater

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discopig · 4 years ago

Text

That other girl (Thomas Shelby x Reader) [Part 2/3]

Okay so I’ve made a few improvements, first one being I won’t be writing at 2 AM after 4 hours of sleep because I read back part one and honestly wanted to shoot myself, I also added paragraph/scene dividers because the first part was very messy and I kept fucking up the tenses! My imagination has been going wild for this fic so I need to calm myself. I don’t intend for this to be a long story, I hope to finish it by the next part. Hope you guys enjoy :))

Part 1 | Part 3

Warnings: implied family abuse, swearing (doesn’t even need to be a warning)

Word Count: 1,452

You stared at the woman at the door, what seemed like millions of thoughts rushing through your mind at once. She was beautiful. Not to say you weren’t beautiful yourself, but insecurity seemed to be the main component of the blood flowing through your veins at the sight of her. She looked like the models you would see at the fashion shows your mother would take you to as a kid, and she made the plain barmaid’s uniform look like the most expensive piece Chanel could offer.

The woman’s eyes darted between you and harry as she spotted the two of you together.

“Thanks for the help” Harry said, taking the glasses from the basket the woman carried them in. As though he forgot something, he quickly turned around after placing them on the counter behind the bar.

“Grace” he acknowledged the woman, “this is Y/N, your co-barmaid” he said, turning to you.

You were secretly hoping she was just here on delivery for the shop Harry had bought the glasses from, and wished so deeply she wasn’t the barmaid he had mentioned earlier, but alas, she had to be.

“Oh, it’s very nice to meet you” she smiled extending her hand towards you

“Likewise” you gave her a small smile, taking her hand and shaking it

“Harry’s told me a lot about you, about how you help him around the bar and whatnot, how good you are at dealing with the rowdy customers” You picked up on her Irish accent

"Well, that’s nice to hear. Are you not from Birmingham?” you questioned

“Oh no, I’m not. I only got here about a week ago. I used to work at a bar in Galway, so I got quite lucky to be able to get a job at a bar here” she replied.

Quite lucky I sprained my fuckin’ ankle you mean. You mentally scoffed at her

“That is quite lucky” you laughed

By now Harry had left to sort out the glasses in storage, so you figured you might as well pry for something out of her

“So Harry tells me you’ve been serving the Shelby boys while I’ve been gone, you know they’re trouble?” You asked, staring into her eyes, trying to gauge any sort of reaction you could receive. She seemed unfazed.

“Well, they’ve been quite nice to me, given me lots of tips”

“Is that so? Who’s been giving you tips?” They never gave you tips, even on the busiest of nights when you were running back and forth serving their requests for beer which seemed to come through ever 10 fucking seconds

“Uh, the tall one” John. Damn him.

“Ah, I see, hopefully it was good money” you ‘beamed’ at her, trying to be friendly

“Good enough” she laughed back

“So what brings you to Birmingham?”

“My father passed away and I just needed a change of scenery” she replied, her eyes showed sadness, so you figured her father passing couldn’t be a lie, but a change of scenery in Birmingham? Yeah right. Maybe on some farm surrounded by chickens and mosquitoes, or in some tropical American city, but not in Birmingham. Most people want out, not in, unless they have good reason to favour the latter.

“I’m sorry to hear that”

“It’s okay, he was quite old anyways, I had expected it at some point” she replied with a half smile, eyes still sad.

You both sat in silence for a moment until you spoke “I’ll be back next week to help out” you looked towards the door, more customers starting to pile in, Harry back from the storage room, rushing to get their orders, and back at Grace “things are starting to get busy, I won’t hold you any longer. It was nice meeting you” you smiled at her, getting up from your seat and heading out of the Garrison, trudging to the betting shop.

The Shelby family were in the midst of a family meeting, discussing business you honestly didn’t care much about, thoughts racing with how you were going to have Thomas’ head on a stake.

“That copper, is going to try and bring this family down with every fuckin’ cell in his body” Thomas exclaimed

“What copper?” you asked. Thomas looked at you like you had just asked him if the sun was a rock

“Campbell. We’ve been talking about him this whole meeting Y/N” you could tell he was annoyed, but you didn’t care

“When did he get here? When did this start?” you asked

“Why does that-” Thomas started

“Answer the fucking question Thomas Shelby” you interrupted

“About a week ago, he worked as a copper in Ireland, and has come with his troops to Birmingham to try and ruin all of my fucking plans. Keep up please!” He replied, clearly frustrated.

Ireland?

You knocked on the door to Thomas’ office and waited before you heard a low “Come in”

You walked into his office, Thomas looking down at some papers, and sat down on one of the chairs at his desk

“How are you liking the new barmaid?” You asked, staring him down.

At the mention of the barmaid he looked up at you, a mix of panic and annoyance flashing in his eyes

“She does her job Y/N. What else can I think of her? He replied with a sigh at the end

“Oh I’m sure she does her job well enough for you to be having secret meetings with her” you replied, venom laced in your voice. You were starting to get angry, and him behaving as though he was annoyed by your presence wasn’t making it any easier

“Y/N what are you-”

“Don’t fucking what me Thomas Shelby! Harry told me all about the lovely interest you’ve taken to her, enough so to meet with her every fucking day! Did you fuck her?! If you did you better tell me because so help me God if I find out from-”

“I did not fucking sleep with her Y/N will you PLEASE calm down?” Thomas yelled, his voice booming through the office

“If you didn’t sleep with her then what did you do?”

“We just talked” he answered, as though everything was normal

“Just talked?! Have you forgotten that you have a girlfriend Thomas, a girlfriend who had a sprained fucking ankle and couldn’t walk, who you could’ve come to any time to just talk?! You think I’m supposed to believe that’s all you did? Why would you just talk to her and not me?!” You were screaming again, your anger reaching a tipping point

“Because she isn’t like you Y/N!”

You looked at him, visibly confused

“She didn’t grow up with daddy’s loaded bank account in some posh city, she’s genuine, like a breath of fresh fucking air in this place! She gets me, and I get her, and she happened to be there when I needed someone to talk to! Is that so bad?!” You stared at him dumbfounded, not only had he implied that he could not come to you -his girlfriend- when he needed someone to talk to, he also brought up your family and history, knowing damn well the riches your family had, meant nothing to you, constantly overshadowed by the yelling, bruises and loneliness.

The true weight of his words seemed to register with him as regret flashed in his eyes under your dumbfounded, yet angry gaze

“Fuck you Thomas Shelby. Fuck you. She’s working with that fucking copper”

He moved to say something but you quickly interrupted him

“I know you did your stupid background checks, I asked Arthur about it. She’s not from fucking Galway, she never worked in any bars, meaning she lied about everything, and she, your lovely Irish angel shows up at the same time that copper does, and you still willingly walk into her presence every damn day while your girlfriend is alone, to talk?! To fucking talk?!”

Thomas was visibly getting angrier as you accused her of working with Campbell, moving to defend her

“Don’t you think you’re going too far?! I get you’re jealous but you can’t just make shit up!”

You scoffed

“Polly was right about men only being able to think with their cocks. Even you, the oh so smart Thomas Shelby, are a blind fucking idiot. Fuck you, I never want to see you again, you hear me? You can go talk to that fucking barmaid as much as you want” You spat, leaving his office with a loud slam of his door, catching John’s worried eyes as you stormed out of the shop. Your ankle was radiating with pain, but you ignored it as you stormed home.

Fucking Shelbys.

#cillian murphy x reader #Cillian murphy fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinder x reader

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baubuttercup · 4 years ago

Text

Caught Red Handed /Spencer Reid

Summary: Reader and Spencer went from enemies to lovers and can barely keep their hands to themselves. What happens when their co-workers don’t know about their new agreement.

Spencer x Reader

Warning: Fluff, Mentions of Sexual Activities, Sexual Activities

A/N: I haven’t fully edited it but hope you enjoy it :)

As the sun beamed through my window i slowly shifted my weight shielding my face from the bright light. I turn to the other side of the bed where i am met with a sleeping Spencer who has his arms currently entangled around me. I take in the scenery for a moment not wanting this to end until two loud beeps echoed in the room coming from the nightstand. I peer over and check the time that read 7am "Spence, Spencer, Re-i-i-d wake up" he began to grown tightening the grip around my waist "No, its too early" I chuckle knowing that we are both extremely tired from last nights antics, and with that all the memories start flushing back. You see Spencer and I have been working together for the past two years at the BAU and during those two years we mainly had a hateful relationship, both finding each other annoying and overbearing...that was until three months ago after a night out at the bar where we found a new form of friendship, if you know what i mean. We aren't per-say together but we do have a bond which makes us inseparable, which is also hard to hide as work from our coworker who lets just say don't know about our little arrangement. I begin once again to nudge Spencer in an attempt to wake him up "Spencer Reid get your butt up so we aren't late for work" He rolled his eyes at me chuckling "How about we both call in sick today and we do something else much more eventful" He begins to leave wet soft kisses down my neck, before i found myself releasing a moan "Agh- No Reid, stop, come on we have to get ready, people will start to get suspicious" he groans and releases his grip "Fine, but that’s not any fun" I take his face in my palm bringing my lips closer to his. We are currently just inches apart from each other "If you get through the whole day without seeming like it's the end of the world, i'll give you a reward tonight" he kissed my lips passionately in agreement before getting up to get ready. -- The one thing i did hate about work was that me and Spencer had to continue this hateful charade so our coworkers didn't get suspicious. We both enter pretending to in an argument "What are you two going on about now" Morgan came up to us as we both got settled in our seats. "Reid once again thinks he is the smartest person on earth" Spence placed his satchel down on his desk before looking at me straight in the eyes "Technically i do have an eidetic memory, an I.Q of 187 and can read 20′000 words per minute, so yes i am a genius" i don't know why that did something to me but it did, all i wanted to do was pull him to the storage closet in that moment, but i needed to contain myself. "I'm sorry" i look at him with pure eyes "for what?" , "your existence" I turn back to my computer opening the files i needed to get done today "When are you two just going to confess your love for each other and get that sexual frustration out. We are getting a little tired of this" Me and Spencer shot a look at each other before turning to Morgan "Sorry to break it to you Morgan but i like men not little boys who watch Dr Who" Spencer whipped his head back to me in awe at what i just said. I was hoping he knew i was just trying to deflect. "Morgan, i'm a nice guy, i don't date stuck up spoiled girls who have been on millions of date yet can't keep a boyfriend" I was a little thrown back by the comment but reassured myself that its all an act. "well at least i can get a date, let me ask you this Reid, are you still a virgin cause i don't think i could ever imagine you actually having sex with someone, how terrible it would be for them" At that moment i knew i struck a nerve and knew i would get punished for that, the whole idea of it turned me on. I had to contain myself at work so i quickly brushed those thoughts away, which was incredibly hard to do "Wow you guys need therapy or a punching bag" with that Derek walked out heading towards his office. -- For the rest of the day i could see Spencer constantly stare at me, and i knew exactly what was on his mind. Just as i was about to finish up my paper work i got a text from Spencer

Reid: Meet me in supply closed in the hallway I look up to see if Reid was at his desk but he was not

Y/N: why, whats up?

Reid: come now!

I close the file sitting on my desk and begin to head towards the hallway. I check my surroundings hoping nobody is there to witness me randomly going into a supply closet. All of a sudden i was dragged in and pushed up against the door. "So I'm a virgin, little boy who can't satisfy a woman" i chuckle at his remark feeling his hand slowly go up my thigh "And i'm a stuck up spoiled girl who can't keep a boyfriend" With that Reid smashed his lips on mine passionately as we began to make-out, His hand rose up my thigh gently caressing in whilst the other was around my neck pushing my face closer to his. He parts his lips from mine as i groan at the lack of contact but then am met with the once again on my neck. I groan at the euphoric feeling before getting startled by banging on the door. Reid Covers my mouth quickly not letting another moan fall off my tongue. "Reid are you in there?" Reid looks straight at me mouthing to stay quiet. He slowly opens the door revealing a confused Morgan "Hey, whats up? Reid tries to calm himself down from the events that just took place "Reid, why are you in the supply closet", I mentally face palm hoping he is able to come up with a sufficient excuse "Y/N was annoying me so i needed to go somewhere quiet" I could hear the awkward silence "Ok-kay, um, but if you see Y/N can you tell her to forward me the briefing file from the case we had in Montana "U-m-m i mean you will probably see her before me you know but yeah sure if i see her which is not gonna happen cause i'm in the supply closet hiding from her"Reid continues to rambles making me nudge him "Okay, i'm gonna let you be Reid, probably stay off the coffee today" Reid signs "Noted" The door shuts revealing me once again. Spencer went in for a kiss. I put my hands out in front of me pushing his chest away "Uh Uh the moment has left pretty boy, i'm going to go back to my desk and doing my work so nothing else suspicious happens. Spencer tries to argue before i peck him on the lips walking out"

"BUSTED" as i open the door i am met with pure fear. Garcia and Morgan are standing right in front of the door smirking at both Reid and i. "So how long has this been going on" i look at Reid for help "Um i don't know what you are talking about Y/N just randomly came in here while i was working an-" realising we have been cause, i mentally gave up and didn't want Reid to embarrass himself any longer "three months" i said casually looking at the three of them staring at me "Come on babe, i wanna get home to finish what we started" They all look at me in disbelief at what i just said before Reid grabbed my hand as we walked back to our desks. We heard a faint murmur come from Garcias voice "You owe me $50 chocolate thunder". I giggle happy that i don't have to pretend to hate the love of my life anymore.

#mgg #mathew gray gubler #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer x reader #spencer reid comfort #mgg x reader #mgg x y/n #criminal minds #criminalmindscontent #criminal minds reid #criminal minds fanfic #moreid #mgg wallpaper #baby reid

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xxreader-writerxx · 4 years ago

Text

Study Buddy (Part 2 I guess)

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, fingering, oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, exposition, and cursing.

Y/N= Your Name L/N= Your Last Name Y/H= Your House

You walk into where you and Fred usually meet, his dorm taking off your jacket still stressed from Hermione’s interrogation. You get shoved against the wall lightly, feeling his warm lips on yours. “Hi Freddie...” You giggle when he finally lets you go. “Hello darling...” He says while playing with your blouse buttons. “Woah woah woah… Where’s the work?” You ask, smiling goofily matching his smile and he moves over to show you his desk. You look at his papers which have close to chicken scratch writing all over it. He massages your hips standing behind you with his chin placed on your shoulder humming as he fights the urge to leave hickeys all over your neck.

“This problem is wrong.” You point out a few and he sighs. “Just the tie then? Or like halfway unbuttoned? Or cuddles?” He asks and you laugh nodding. “Fix the problems and we can cuddle.” You tell him and he nods turning faster than light to his papers. You watch as he bites his lip as he tries to correct them. He finally finishes and you nod smiling. “Perfect.” You tell him, kissing him quickly as you take off your shirt beneath his view. “What’s that for?” He asks, smiling. “You did finish your work. Just rewarding you.” You mumble going in for another kiss as you both lay down. As he wrapped his arms around you falling asleep quickly from his insane day of Quidditch you couldn’t help but remember how it all started.

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

I sit eating my favorite meal at the Gryffindor table laughing with my friends, Hermione, Ron, Harry, Lee, and Angelina. I’m in Lee and Angelina’s year but I never really made friends with anyone else in my year. Lee keeps trying to introduce me to the Weasley Twins every now and then but I either choke up last minute or get busy. The Weasley twins are the hottest people, and sadly the most troublesome, in our year. I can tell the two apart from a scar on Fred’s eyebrow but we’ve never truly met. I have classes with both but we haven’t talked. I’m the top of my year and I was always on time for class so me and them never really ran in the same circle. They rather prank and be wild. I love a good prank but I rather study.

I head to potions and the twins have already created havoc. The room was filled with a smoke and I realized it from the smell right away. I cover the bottom of my face with my sleeve running over to the cauldron which has a lot of already sleeping students next to it. I throw a lid on it and use a vacuuming spell to get rid of the leftover smoke quickly. I make a batch of the counter potion and put it in a spray bottle. I walk over to the first few students spraying it on them. I get to the end finally spraying the potion on Professor Snape. Everyone is awake and coughing. I go over to the culprits checking if they're ok. “Hi?” Fred says and I shush him checking for any lung harm. “That was dangerous.” I mumble and he nods rubbing his eyes. “George. George, wake up.” I say shaking the other twin. He pops his head up and looks at me quizzically. “H-How did you know who was who?” He asks, still groggy. “It's fairly obvious.” I mumble still in Healer Mode. “And who are you?” He asks as I move on to the next student. “Y/N L/N” I spit out and they nod. “I can handle this Y/N” Professor Snape instructs and I move so he can handle them.

“Now...” I say turning to the two boys. I slap their heads and they groan, rubbing their heads. “That was an idiotic thing to do. You are lucky I got here in time. If I didn’t that sleeping potion would make your lungs stop working and numbing your body. Let alone the others in the room. You better apologize and I will be writing to your mother.” I start to ramble but get cut off by Fred smirking. “You’re cute when you’re angry.” He says smiling and George nods. “Very kissable.” He agrees and I blush against my will. “Listen flattery won’t get you anywhere. Your mother Molly will be hearing of this.” I say and they whip their heads to see me. “Y-you know our mother?” George says now nervous. “Yes. I visit a lot you two are just too insane to notice.” I spit and they look at each other then me with their eyes squinted. “Oh my god- Y/N?! The no-boobs Y/N?! Well you certainly- Grew.” Fred says and I give him a death stare. “Sorry.” He mumbles and I nod.

I walk over to Snape and check his pulse and everything since he cannot do it himself. I nod curtly stepping away and he fixes his collar. “Good job Y/N/ 150 points to Y/H, 115 points from Gryffindor.” He reports and I nod going to my desk. Instead of my usual partner I get greeted by Fred who is smiling wildly. “Yes?” I ask and he shrugs. “I like this seat.” He explains and I nod.

We finish our class and Professor Snape calls me up. I walk over and he points at Fred. “He and George are falling behind. They have potential but waste their time doing pranks and jokes. Could you help Fred do work? I will give you extra credit. Me and his teachers think you and another girl are the best for the two. Top of your years of course.” He explains and I nod. “Yes sir. I will definitely get on that, no extra credit needed.” I say making him raise an eyebrow. “The joy of teaching of course.” I mumble and he nods questionably.

***

A few hours later I’m banging on Freds door. He opens the door only wearing sweats and I cover my face with papers. “Sorry. Thought you were my roommates.” He explains shyly grabbing a shirt off of the ground out of the millions of piles. I look around with my nose scrunched at the mess. “I always love getting that reaction. Helps the ego.” He says looking at the mess before him.

“Anyways...” I say and turn, giving him the books. “Read these. I have noticed your usual reading rate is around 160 pages per minute. But when you like the book it's 300. Try to meet me in the middle. I also noticed you dog ear pages. When you do that its bad for the book. Bookmark. Now what I think we will start off studying potions and finishing that workload. When you finish that we do transfiguration. Then some DADA homework. And-” I stop myself seeing him walk over to his bed reading a pranking magazine. “What are you doing?” I ask and he looks up at me. “Zonkos.” He points out showing me the magazine. “I know that… Why are you reading it?” I ask sitting down moving his legs. “Work.” I point out the books and he nods. “Read em all.” He explains. “What do you mean?” I ask and he laughs. “I read 'em. How do you think me and George make those potions? We know our shit, it's just the work we don’t bother doing.” He explains. I nod grabbing the magazine earning an upset groan. “How bout each workload you finish you get to read an article.” I propose and he groans getting up.

A few minutes later he’s finished and snatches the magazine from me grumpily. I smile reading the work. It's perfect. Some mistakes but it was only the hard stuff. I smile hugging him lightly and I back away quickly realizing I just hugged Fred Weasley. “Sorry.” We both say and chuckle. “Ok. Next piece of work.” I say and he groans, giving me the magazine. “This counts as slavery” He points out and I shake my head laughing. “I did want to say, your laugh is my favorite.” He says and I look at him confused. “Just because I didn’t remember you doesn’t mean I don’t notice you. You aren’t stuck up like most of the smart kids. I always liked that.” He tells me and I blush. “Just do your work you flirt.” I say blushing and he winks grabbing his quill. “Only flirt with the pretty ones.” He says and I blush more.

He finishes all his work after about two hours the whole time we joked around and laughed. I get up to leave but he stops me smiling. “Want to stay a little longer?” He asks and I kiss his cheek sweetly. “Gotta study myself.” I say and see he’s now blushing. “You studied this entire time.” He tells me and I laugh. “I have advanced classes, always gotta study.” I explain and he nods his smile only dropping a tiny bit. “Maybe later.” He says with a wink. I walk out blushing and sit next to Hermione who laughs at my state.

***Fred POV***

I walk over to Ron with George. We grab his collar from behind lifting him up and bringing him into a nearby storage closet as he yells. “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL!” He yells at us and we look at him annoyed. “OH GODRIC- MIONEEEE- L/N- SOMEONE BLOODY HELP ME THESE TWO ARE GOING TO HURT ME I KNOW THE LOOK!” He yells banging on the door. We grab his collar again earning a shriek. “CALM DOWN I JUST HAVE QUESTIONS ABOUT Y/N YOU TWIT!” I yell over his screams and he looks at me confused. “Y/N? What about her? She came over last christmas.” He explains and we look at each other slapping each other’s arm. “Why the hell do we not remember?!” We ask each other and he shrugs. “Fred was snogging some girl and George was drunk and high.” He explains and we look at each other annoyed.

“So what are your questions?” He asks and we nod. “We need the insider information. The pretty girl that he’s been drooling over is actually Y/N. She’s tutoring Freddie Boy and he’s got a crush.” George explains and I blush hitting his arm. “Do not.” I say and he scoffs.

“Do too.”

“Do not!”

“Do too!”

We start shoving each other and Ron stops us. “What the hell do you want to know?!” He asks and I nod. “Stuff like her favorite flower, favorite food, favorite everything.” He asks and I nod. “Well- She likes Blue Irises, but she’s allergic. Her second favorite is roses, she loves when guys know the meaning behind them too. I remember you read up on them so go with that. She doesn’t have a favorite food but if you want to be alone with her she’s always in the library after dinner. Tell her you wanted some extra study time or something.” He explains and we look at him skeptically. “Why are you telling us this?” I ask and he opens the door a little and points at a table in the Great Hall. “Malfoy’s making moves on her. I much rather Fred than him.” He explains. I watch as she giggles with Malfoy smiling besides her. “He’s probably just trying to use her. She’s hot as hell and smart too.” Ron admits and we nod.

“Well that isn’t happening.” I say and conjure a bouquet of light pink, peach, and coral roses. I walk over to her table and hold them up for her. She looks at them putting a hand to her chest. “Oh my god Fred what are these?” She asks, smiling and I smile back warmly. “I just wanted to say thank you for helping me with my school work.” I explain and she smells them smiling. “So the pink is for how sweet you are for helping me. Then the orange means appreciation because I really do appreciate it. And finally coral means friendship.” I say lying on the last part. She chuckles taking the coral one and smelling it. “Coral actually means desire but this was so sweet!” She says hugging me tightly. I smile at the short girl trying her best to wrap her arms around me and look at Malfoy as he sneers at me. “So Draco… As I said I’m now tutoring Fred, and have been for bout a week, so sadly I can’t tutor you. But maybe when his grades get up I’ll help with yours.” She explains and quickly kisses his cheek. I feel as if I just got a bludger to the chest and I keep my composure.

***Y/N’s POV**

I’m studying inside the library when I hear scuffling at the doors. I walk over to see Fred fighting Ron and George as they shove him into the library. I laugh quietly watching as they shove him inside. I can’t make out what they’re saying but they finally get him inside. They talk for a few seconds and Ron grabs his shoulders then slaps him a few times. He stands up nodding and they leave. He tries running out but they shove him back inside and I laugh a little louder. It gets his attention and he fights them harder making me feel a little upset. I walk over as he fights them and tap his shoulder. “If you’re afraid of me you can just say that.” I tell him and he looks down at me blushing. “N-no no no. I just don’t want to be studying but they’re forcing me.” He explains and I nod.

“Want to study with me? The library’s a little stuffy so I was just about to head to my dorm. If you’d like I would love it if you’d join me.” I ask shyly and he looks down at me smiling. “Well… Don’t want you to be lonely...” He says and I laugh holding my hand out. I drag him to my dorm sitting on my bed.

After some time of studying I catch myself looking up at him even though his back is turned to me he’s hypnotizing. I watch his strong arms move from one book to another or how he would lean his head back all the way. I rub my thighs together lightly as I try to take my mind off of it but I soon realize I have a mirror right in front of him. He spins around in his chair looking at me with a smirk. “Watcha doin?” He asks and I shrug acting innocent. He nods turning around chuckling.

***

A few days later I’m tutoring him in a classroom as he sits at the desk and he finally gets annoyed. He pushes all of his books on the ground getting my attention. I turn and see him walking up to me smiling flirtatiously. “I have been staring at your ass for way too long for that to be allowed.” He says and I blush furiously. “What?” I stutter and he grabs the side of my face kissing me. I give in to the kiss holding the back of his head and he slips his tongue past my lips. I moan lightly at this as he picks me up massaging my ass. He sets me on the desk when he finally retracts his head, placing his forehead to mine. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” He whispers out of breath. I kiss him again and feel his hands start to undo my polo. I place my hand on his chest and he looks at me worried. “W-we shouldn’t be doing this...” I mumble and he kisses me lightly. “We don’t have to, but I do think we totally should.” He says and I chuckle. I kiss him again and pull away stopping myself. “Godric why do you have to be so hot?” I ask and he shrugs smiling.

“What if...” He starts. He walks over to his desk and taps it. “Each piece of work done. One article of clothing. Then you're still doing your job and we still get to have fun.” He proposes and I chuckle shyly. He picks me up from the front desk placing me on his with my legs on either side. “Well?” He asks again and I bite my lip. “We would be breaking the rules...” I mumble and he laughs as if I said the funniest joke ever. “Like I care. Now. One piece for one piece of clothing?” He asks and I finally give in nodding. He kisses my thigh and I feel it go all the way to my core.

He rubs my thigh absent-mindedly as he works on the paper. He finally gets the first one done and hands it to me as he unbuttons the polo I have on. I check it and place it behind me. “First one done.” I say as if my shirt wasn’t off and he wasn’t eyeing my chest. “One kiss?” He asks and I laugh kissing him. He starts kissing down my neck and I finally stop him, handing him the next piece of work. He gets that done quicker than ever and tries taking off my bra but I stop him. “Underwear last.” I tell him and he nods, kissing my thigh again sending shivers through my entire body. He helps me shimmy off my skirt and throws it on the ground. “Godric you are beautiful.” He mumbles looking at me with a hunger I’ve never seen before.

He finishes another assignment at record speed. “Are you sure darling?” He asks before taking off my bra. “Please.” I mumble and he nods taking it off. He keeps his eyes on my chest making my cheeks turn pink. “Darling… You are gorgeous.” He tells me, kissing me roughly. He massages my chest making me moan. He drags my hips to fall into his lap as I feel contact with my aching clit and his trousers I moan louder into his mouth. “I know darling..” He mumbles as he moves to my chest sucking on my nipple and massaging the other. “Freddie...” I moan as he leaves hickeys on my chest. I remember the work and almost don’t care but making him wait would add so much more fun.

I give it to him sitting back in my place and he groans hitting his head on the desk lightly. “You are murdering me here.” He mumbles and I chuckle massaging his head lightly. He picks it up, moving his work back on the desk. Every now and then he’d glance at my chest smirking and working harder. He finishes the homework, giving it to me and I read it over slowly. He finally grabs it viciously and slamming it behind me, making me jump. “Darling please take off those horrible panties before I cut them off.” He tells me and I nod quickly. I shuffle them off and he flicks his wand to silence and lock the room.

He tugs my hips to the edge of the desk kissing my inner thigh. He moves to right above where I want him to be kissing it and I whine lightly. “Aw darling… Would you like me to lick your pretty cunt clean?” He asks and I nod furiously as he finally licks all the way from my entrance to my clit and lightly swirls his tongue around it making me moan. He starts eating me out (is it obvious I don’t know how to word it-) and rubbing my clit as I moan his name over and over again. He pulled away right before I was about to come, leaving me to let out a whiney moan. He kisses me lighty and pulls away chuckling. “Sorry I just can’t take the trousers right now.” He mumbles softly. He gets up taking his clothes off and I watch biting my nails lightly.

He kisses me finally and I stop him before he sits down. “I-I’ve never. Ya know...” I mumble and he kisses me. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He tells me and I shake my head. “No I just want to warn you...” I explain and he kisses me softly. “You sure?” He asks and I nod, biting my lip. He sits down and moves me slowly on him. It hurts at first but Fred’s kisses helped me and the pain turned quickly into pleasure. I nod and start moving when he gives me the go-ahead. I feel his hands guide my waist as I go up and down against his dick. He chuckles, kissing me, moving one of my hands that are clutched to his shoulder to my stomach, smirking. “Feel that? I shouldn’t even fit” He chuckles and I nod kissing him roughly. I feel him massage my ass with one hand still guiding me with the other. He moans my name, moving his head back. I feel myself get close as he keeps moving me sucking on my chest. “Freddie ‘m gonna come.” I mumble and he nods kissing my shoulder. “Go on. I want to see your cum spill on my lap.” He mumbles and I nod, continuously going up and down.

I moan out his name loudly when I finally come all over his dick and he lightly praises me. I keep going until I feel him cum inside me and I fall into his arms exhausted. “So… Do I get out of tutoring now?” He jokes and I laugh lightly. “I will not succumb to your seduction.” I mumble and he laughs. I feel his chest rise and fall violently from laughter and I just hum in ecstasy.

We get dressed and he stops me blushing lightly. “Is this… an only one time thing?” He asks and I laugh. “If you think you will take my virginity and it being a one time thing I will hex your cute ass.” I tell him and he smiles pulling me in for a long kiss. We sit down facing each other and I grab my notebook. “Whatcha doin?” He asks and I click my pen. “We need rules” I tell him and he nods.

“Ok so You follow the school rules, I follow yours. You don't, you don't fuck me for a week per rule broken got it?” I ask caressing his cheek as he melts into it smiling goofily. “Yes ma’am...” He mumbles and I write it down. “Let's also make the clothing=work. Not all the time, just when I’m tutoring you.” I tell him and he nods happily. We continue making rules while he rubs my wrist lovingly.

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

I get snapped back to reality as Fred is giving me a light backrub to soothe the tension from Hermione’s questioning. “Right there darling...” I mumble and he moves a little to go to where I was pointing. “What were you thinking about?” He asks and I nod as he tries his best to massage my back. I smile at the question and rub his hand. “When we got together four months ago.” I mumble and he chuckles. “That was a many blow and hand jobs ago.” He jokes and I slap his hand laughing. “Can’t believe they still haven’t found out! Like should we tell them already?!” I ask and he laughs shaking his head. “It's funny watching them prod and wonder.” He tells me. I hear the door rattle and George mumble a spell. I jump to the floor and roll underneath his bed quickly. Should I make a part 3 where they get caught? So sorry if its bad

#fred weasley #canon #george weasley #fred and goerge weasley #fred and george #hermione granger #ron weasley #Fears #hogwarts #gryffindor #hufflepuf

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 4 years ago

Text

Melting Wax, Crawling Vines: Part 4 (Vincent Sinclair x Fem!Reader)

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

Warnings: mild cursing, paranoia/anxiety

Word Count: 3062

We love exposition in this house

Vincent had only seen you for a few moments. You'd been carried in by his brother, Bo. He'd placed you on the couch, and, naturally, Vincent had peaked out from upstairs to investigate. He thought that perhaps you were someone to add to their collection, or a new toy for Bo to mess with. Bo, usually, kept the pretty ones like yourself to himself. His twin was good at charm, good at smooth talking almost anyone. And he was good at not caring about whether or not they wanted to be kept. When he saw the way he'd laid your head carefully back on the pillow, a million thoughts were going through his head.

Bo usually took any outsiders to the basement underneath the auto shop. But here you were, being gingerly placed on their living room couch. He reached for one of the knives at his hip just before Bo was heading straight for him. He relaxed his hand, letting it sink back into the hilt. Bo had explained quickly and quietly.

They were going to keep you for him . Vincent had stared at him with one blue eye, gratitude and surprise filling it. Never before, not even technically with the wax figures, had they had someone who was for him. The wax town was their mothers dream.

He'd stared at you, peeking around the corner to take in your unconscious form. You had piqued his interest completely, even if he knew your sleeping form would soon contort into horror and screaming. That the peace would leave your features the second you realized they didn't intend on letting you leave Ambrose.

Bo had to snap in his face to make sure he was listening, make sure that he understood that you were going to be his teacher. Not one of his wax figures. He'd nodded. He wasn't stupid, but his brother seemed to forget that sometimes. Bo hadn't had time to explain much more, as you'd started to stir.

"Go on, get. Stay out of sight." Bo told him, and Vincent had reluctantly retreated out of sight and back down to the depths of his work shop. As he returned to the wax figure in the center of his room, his head was now filled with distracting noise as he tried to force himself to focus. He wanted to know more about you. You were the only new face that he would see and not become wax. The mysterious figure laying on their couch.

Eventually, he found himself listening in the middle of the hallway, leaning against the wall as he heard your voice filter through the house. He listened to your story, finding that it didn't sound too different than something their victims would describe. But that one thing you'd said struck him, and he knew it probably struck his brothers just the same. I should've killed that sonovabitch , you'd said. The Sinclair brothers had long ago made their peace with what happened inside of this town. Perhaps, eventually, you would be able to make peace with it too with an attitude like that. It could take awhile, but the brothers would have time. However, when you agreed to stay, a strange feeling of relief had crept into his chest and he'd finally been able to force himself back down to his workshop.

***

It didn't take long for the three of you to part ways. You'd called your apartment complex, letting the woman that worked the front desk know that someone was going to pick up your storage unit for you. When she'd asked why, you'd told her that you just didn't feel comfortable parting with it for an entire night. When she tried to insist that it'd be safe, you cut her off and told her to expect him. You didn't mean to be rude, but you hardly had the patience to argue with her knowing that your ex could be there any minute. Lester had offered to take the longer drive, as he'd said he knew where the town was anyways. So, it was up to you to show Bo where you'd left your car.

You leaned with your head against the window of the tow-truck, secretly relieved that Lester hadn't suggested you come to get the unit with him. You wouldn't be able to stomach the anxiety that trip would've induced, and it was nice to ride in a car that smelled like motor oil and grease instead of roadkill. Bo smoked, one hand resting out the window and the other on the wheel as the Louisiana heat competed with the a/c inside the tow truck. You looked over, watching as Bo brought the cigarette to his lips. He looked over at you, catching your stare and smiling to himself. You looked away, shyness and embarrassment filling you from having been caught.

"So," Bo started. He paused for a moment. "This might be a little too much to ask, and I don't mean to offend." You turned your head back to him, arching a brow to show that you were listening. "Which one of you was older?" He asked, and you stared at him in confusion for a moment before you realized what he was asking. It wasn't what you were expecting, you'd give him that. Given his flirting nature, you'd expected a much different question. Instead, you ran a hand through your hair and softly said,

"She was." You smiled to yourself for a moment, turning to look out the windshield before you added, "By ten minutes. She always used to joke about having to wait for me for everything." And Bo smiled at that as well. You watched him take another drag of the cigarette, changing his grip on the wheel, before he said,

"I'm the oldest," And you found yourself looking at him over in surprise. You didn't know he had any siblings. Well, you figured you could blame that on the fact that you'd only met him that day. "Born less than a minute before my brother, Vincent." And your eyebrows shot up. The news that he had siblings and that he was a twin surprised you.

"I didn't see him back at the house." You commented, trailing off. You wondered when you'd get to meet him, and hoped he wouldn't mind your intrusion. You were going to be staying with them, after all.

"Oh, he's just shy. Stays mostly to himself." He said, and you nodded. But the news didn't stop you from biting at your lip. You didn't want to cause any waves between the brothers, especially because you were sure that Bo hadn't asked Vincent before he offered to let you stay. You bit at your thumb, and Bo looked over to arch a brow at you. You pulled it from you mouth, realizing that he must've noticed the anxious habit. His brow lift was questioning, and you could guess what he wanted to know.

"Vincent," You paused. "Vincent won't mind me staying with you, will he?" You asked, and you watched the way he broke out into a grin. He laughed to himself, taking a drag of his cigarette.

"Is that what you're worried about? No, no. Vincent won't mind a bit. Having someone as pretty as you around the house? He won't mind at all." He said, and you had to turn away to hide the smile creeping up your face. You shook your head lightly, choosing to ignore his flirting remarks. You looked out, pointing down the road. You didn't even need to say anything, as Bo was already remarking, "I see it." And stopping in the road before making a three point turn. You were relieved from the sight of your car, and to see that it hadn't been stripped or broken into.

You'd gotten out with the intent to help Bo, but, just like Lester, you thought you were slowing him down if anything. Eventually, you just ended up sitting on the hood of your car and eating a bag of chips that you'd packed for the ride. You offered him some, and he took off his cap to wipe his brow before he took the bag. He'd hooked your car up, and now all he needed to do was lift it to tow it back to Ambrose. He chewed for a moment, before he said,

"So, Lester told me you teach sign language, right?" And you were quick to nod. That you did. You wondered where this was going, but Bo didn't keep you in suspense. He was just like Lester in the way that he wasn't one for long silences. "Well, my brother, he," He rubbed his face, as if he might not know how to put this. Or maybe he was debating how much he should tell you. "He's got a facial deformity. Wears a mask to cover it up. Bit of a freak. Might scare a little lady like yourself." He said with a laugh, looking as though he expected you to laugh with him. You didn't. You didn't like the use of that word, but you didn't say anything and waited for him to get to the point. "Anyways, he can't speak too good because of it. Since you said you wouldn't be able to pay for your car, do you think you could teach him?" He adjusted his stance, and the look he gave you already told you that he expected you to accept. Truthfully, you couldn't find a single reason as to why you'd refuse.

"Of course. I've- I've taught adults, and I'll try to teach him as much as I can before I leave. And, well, you'll probably need to take lessons too so you can understand him." And Bo nodded along with that, even if he looked away and seemed reluctant with the idea. He didn't seem like the type to particularly enjoy school, but he agreed nonetheless.

"Sure, sure. Well, we can start tomorrow if that's alright with you." And you gave him a nod. It seemed like the best idea to you too. "Alright, well, if you don't need anything else then let's go." He said, rapping his knuckles against the hood of the car and passing the bag of chips back to you. You threw it back into your car, before you were shutting the door. As the pair of you each walked to your respective sides, he asked, "You hungry?" And after you replied,

"I could eat." It didn't take long for the pair of you to decide to get something for dinner. It'd been about a fifteen minute drive, and, even if it wasn't the town you were moving into, you were still nervous about the potential idea of your ex finding you. So, you stuck to Bo like glue, practically hiding behind him every time you saw someone who looked a little too much like your ex. You'd gotten a couple of pizzas. By a couple, you meant that you'd gotten three large pies. At first, you didn't even know how the two of you were supposed to finish them until you went back to Bo's house and watched him devour over half a pizza by himself. You'd eaten two slices, and you almost thought that Bo would've finished yours as well if you hadn't been there. The pair of you had been watching TV, eating, drinking, and waiting for Lester to return. It took less than an hour for his truck to pull up, your storage unit attached to it. Lester walked inside the place like he lived there, and Bo simply said,

"There's pizza in the kitchen." Before Lester was heading that direction. He came back with two slices on a plate, and suddenly the three pies made a little bit more sense. He sat in-between you and Bo and asked,

"What're we watchin'?" Right before he stuffed his face full of a slice. After a full episode of whatever Bo put on and several slices of pizza later, you figured there had to be some sort of relation between the two of them. Their mannerisms were too similar, and they were just too comfortable with eachother not to be related. You figured they were cousins, maybe even brothers. The thought of brothers brought the mysterious Vincent back into your mind, and you wondered where the third of their little family may be. Soon, Lester was wiping his face and asking, "So, do you need help unpacking?" And you realized that you hadn't talked about your sleeping arrangements yet.

"Oh, do you have a guest bedroom?" You asked, but Bo shook his head as he pried a beer bottle from his lips.

"Nah, you'll take Vincent's room." And you were flustered by the bluntness of the statement. You quickly shook your hand out in front of you, saying,

"Oh, I couldn't." Earning a glance from the brunette. With the way he looked at you, you guessed he wasn't used to being argued with. Quickly, you explained. "I mean, won't Vincent mind?" Being in his house, taking his room. You knew you would. Bo chuckled, seeming amused by your statement.

"He won't. He barely uses it." And you bit your lip. You looked between the two of them, before giving Lester a shrug.

"Sure then." You said, and Lester took your plate to take to the kitchen after giving you a smile. You'd only needed one of your suitcases, really, but you searched for a box to carry to make yourself feel a little less bad about Lester carrying the suitcase. You heard the door open, and Bo announced that he was gonna head down to town to finish up some things. You'd watched him leave for a moment, before you went back into the unit and found the box you were looking for.

You didn't know how long you were going to be in Ambrose, and you didn't imagine there'd be much space in Vincent's room. But, as Bo had eluded, it was practically empty. There was a dresser, a pre-made bed, a bedside table, a mirror on the wall, a rug on the floor, and that was about it. Lester had carried your suitcase for you, and you set your backpack on the bed. You looked over at him, telling him,

"The bed is fine." And you watched as he lifted it up onto the bed. You opened the box, revealing the contents inside. It was mostly books and folders, but there were two picture frames inside. One was a family photo when you were young, one with both of your parents. The other was a more recent one of you and your sister. You didn't look at either of them long, and went to set them on the bedside table. Lester looked over your shoulder, glancing at the pictures.

"That your sister?" He asked, and you gave him a nod as you went to unzip the suitcase. Luckily, you'd stored your unmentionables in the pocket on the top, so you didn't have to worry about Lester seeing anything you didn't want him to.

"Yeah. We were identical." You told him, and pulled out some of your shirts. You went to the dresser, pulling out a drawer. You weren't surprised when you saw it was empty, and you tucked your clothes inside. You knew Lester was just looking for a topic of conversation, but you didn't feel like lingering on your sister. So, instead, you asked, "Anything fun to do around here? The house of wax any good?" And you watched as he chuckled and nodded,

"Yeah, Vincent's a hell of an artist. It was our mothers originally though," And your ears perked at his words. So, they were related. He was biting at his nails, and you hummed.

"I'll have to check it out- If that's alright with Vincent." You quickly added the last part. At this rate, you weren't sure Vincent was going to end up liking you. You didn't want to intrude any further. You turned your head for a second, hearing a creak of a floorboard. Lester, however, was quick to steal back your attention.

"Nah, Vincent won't mind." And your attention was stolen from the sound. You looked back at him, not quite sure if you wanted to take his word. You took out some of the books, placing them on top of the dresser. If not to just give yourself something to do. "That house of wax though, that was our mothers pride and joy. She had big ideas for this town." And you hummed. You bet that she did, but you guessed the same thing happened to Ambrose as every other small town. The interstate. You arranged your books on the dresser, a question burning in the back of your mind.

"Any idea when I'll meet him?" You asked, looking over your shoulder at the man. He grinned, chuckling to himself as his eyes flashed to the wall. Just for a moment, almost too quick for you to notice.

"Soon, you'll meet him soon." He'd said, and you found his words strangely cryptic. But, you resigned yourself to the fact that your first meeting probably wouldn't be until your first class. And, while you could've sworn you heard footsteps, you blamed that on your mind playing tricks on you.

Seeing that you seemed to have everything handled, Lester excused himself. You'd invited him to the lessons before he left, and he'd accepted before he said goodnight. You'd smiled to yourself, hearing the door click as Lester shut the door behind him. You finished packing away your things, before you decided to shrug off your clothes and change into your pajamas. Even if your bedtime was far away, you thought you'd be more comfortable. You pulled your suitcase off the bed, kicking it under it before you climbed on top. It felt a little weird to be sitting on top of someone else's blanket and sheets, but you'd forgotten your set in your car. You pulled some of the folders out of the box, taking out the ones that were filled with the lesson plans for your adult class. All you really had to do was shorten the class size. You let your evening pass by as you began prepping for the next night.

#house of wax #house of wax 2005 #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #lester sinclair

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jemelle · 4 years ago

Text

codes to a heart

derek morgan x penelope garcia

rated t // 2.2k words // one-shot

summary: Things to avoid when creating a phone password: 1. A common set of numbers. 2. Personal information that’s easily searchable. 3. The birthday of the co-worker you’ve been in love with for almost as long as you’ve known him.

(Penelope has never been one to follow advice.)

a/n: i do not pretend to remember anything about early 2010s technology, nor did i bother to research it. unbeta’d- comments and concrit welcome!

my masterlist

read this story on ao3!

Penelope’s phone password is Derek’s birthday. She knows that it’s unsafe, is more than happy to lecture the other agents on proper cybersecurity (iLoveHenry is very cute, JJ, but it’s not exactly secure), but she just can’t seem to force herself to change it. Every time she goes to unlock her phone, she smiles, the four numbers a constant reminder of everything that Derek is to her.

The first time Derek asks what her password is, she panics. She’d been the one to hand him the phone, wanting to show him a picture of a cute dog she’d seen on her way to work that morning. But too much time must have passed since she last tapped the screen, because the next thing she knows he’s waving the black screen in front of her.

“What’s the code?” he asks, and Penelope freezes, wondering if he’ll recognize it as soon as he hears the numbers, if he’ll understand why.

“Give it to me,” she says, holding out her hand. In response, Derek holds it above his head, out of her reach. If she didn’t love him so much, Penelope might almost be mad.

“What are you worried about, babygirl?” His tone is teasing, and Penelope doesn’t want to imagine what his reaction might be if he really knew. “Afraid I’ll find something… incriminating?”

“Just give it to me, please?” Penelope watches smugly as her puppy dog face wins him over, just as it does every time. She punches in the code, then hands it back to him, panic receding as Derek begins to coo over the photo.

The two of them are on their way to Rossi’s, and they’re running late. Penelope’s driving, because Derek’s car may have broken down, but she’s damned if she’ll let anyone else drive Esther.

“Tell Rossi we’ll be there in ten minutes,” she says, not taking her eyes off the road. The others have teased her for being such a cautious driver, but she can’t help it, not when she sees danger around every corner.

“Okay,” he responds.

Penelope continues driving. Beside her, she can hear Derek rummaging around, sounding increasingly irritated. When they pull up to a red light, she turns to him. Derek’s searching the footwell, but he looks up immediately, as if he can feel her gaze.

“I must have left my phone at home,” he says. Derek had called her half an hour ago, asking if she could take him to the party. Penelope had jumped at the opportunity, even though it meant going out of her way.

“You can use mine. It’s in my bag.” Her purse is in the backseat, slightly out of reach. Derek twists around to reach it, forearm grazing hers. At his touch, Penelope’s insides seem to grow tiny, fluttering wings. She shushes them firmly.

The light turns green and she presses down on the gas, sending the car into motion once more. A moment later, Derek finally finds her phone. He grabs it triumphantly before sitting back in his seat.

Penelope is a stickler for the speed limit, which is possibly the only thing that saves the both of them when Derek says: “What’s your code?”

She jolts, hitting the accelerator a little too hard. Terror rises in her throat as the resulting force presses them against their seats. Penelope makes herself ease onto the brake and take deep breaths until she can feel her heart settling.

“You okay?” Derek asks when they’ve returned to the previous speed. Penelope nods mutely.

Her heart starts up again as she remembers what he needs. She could wait for another red light, but they’re in the suburbs now, so stoplights are few and far between. She could pull over, but that seems like a gross overreaction. Penelope is a fully-grown woman. She refuses to be humbled by a crush, even if it is a crush on the best man she’s ever known.

Penelope gives him the passcode a single digit at a time. She’s almost sure he’ll know by the end, every moment taking her close to the point of no return. As she says the last number, Penelope braces for impact, not knowing what awaits her on the other side.

In the end, Derek says nothing, and she’s too scared to ask if he missed it or if he’s just trying to let her down easy.

Spencer, on the other hand, definitely takes notice. They’re in the bullpen, Spencer sitting on his desk while Penelope spins absentmindedly in his chair. He watches over his shoulder as she unlocks her phone, eyes narrowing in thought. She’s just tapped the final number when he opens his mouth:

“Isn’t that Mor–” Penelope claps a hand over his mouth to keep him from revealing her secret to the entire bullpen. Damn his stupidly perceptive brain.

He’s still speaking, words muffled by her hand. Before Emily, JJ, or, god forbid, Derek can notice, Penelope takes her hand away, shooting him a warning glare. Wisely, he shuts up, at least until they’re both alone.

When the whole team breaks for lunch, Penelope drags Spencer into the nearest storage closet, ignoring his protestations.

“I love you dearly,” she whispers. “But if you say anything about this��”

It’s not really a threat so much as it is a plea. If Spencer says anything, she’ll lose whatever dignity she still has. Penelope isn’t stupid: she’s heard what the office gossip mill has to to say about her and Derek. She’s pretty sure there’s even a pool on if and when they’ll get together.

If this gets out, people with much less intelligence than Spencer will be able to figure out this attraction is unrequited. Her friendship with Derek, once sweet, will become pathetic. She doesn’t even allow herself to think about what Derek would say.

Spencer holds his hands up in surrender. “Your secret is safe with me.”

The fact that she didn’t even have to explain why it matters to her is one of the many, many reasons she adores Spencer Reid. As long as she cares, he cares.

On his way out of the closet, Spencer turns back to her. “He loves you, you know that?”

Of course she does. But, despite the strength of Derek’s love, he doesn’t love her the way she does, deeply and recklessly and without regard for the safety of her soul’s inner reaches.

It’s Penelope’s birthday, and the team has thrown her a party in the conference room. As the birthday girl, she isn’t supposed to lift a single finger, so Penelope sits in the chair of honor while the others cater to her every whim.

Earlier, JJ had slid a plastic tiara into her hair, telling Penelope she was queen for the day. Penelope couldn’t resist beaming at that, an extra bounce enfusing her step. She thinks she might make wearing one a regular habit.

Penelope’s chair, positioned as centrally as it can be, given the circular table, is decorated with a multitude of sparkly ribbons. Spencer is sitting to one side of her, but today Penelope only has eyes for Derek, who sits on her other side.

It’s magnetic, the way he moves. As she watches, Derek laughs at something Emily says, eyes crinkling and head tilting up to expose the long column of his neck. At this rate, Penelope is going to drop dead before it’s time to eat cake.

She makes it to the cake phase of the party, though not without a great deal of effort. Derek, for his part, is determined to make it as difficult as possible. As JJ brings the cake out, he rests his hand on her arm. It’s the kind of casual touch they do all the time, but today it feels like a brush of fire.

The team sings to her, voices clashing as they try to harmonize in six different keys. When they’re done, she blows out her candle, making the same wish she always does. Let the people I love stay safe.

She looks at Derek when she’s finished, and there’s something in his gaze that makes her unable to look away. His eyes are full of love, the kind she wants to last forever. When he turns away to say something to Hotch, she makes a second, selfish wish. Let him love me the way I do.

The party has mostly finished by now. Emily’s begrudgingly peeling streamers down from the ceiling, having been informed by Hotch that they constitute a serious fire hazard. Derek and Penelope are standing in the corner, reluctant to return to work.

Emily exits the room, and Penelope knows they should too. The crimes don’t stop when they take a break, no matter how much she wishes they did. Penelope adjusts her tiara, steeling herself to go back to invading the lives of perfect strangers.

Derek walks her back to her office, arm around her shoulders. She leans into him, his presence an always-welcome comfort. When they reach her office, he lets go of her. She pushes open the door, turning back to look at him.

“You should probably go,” she says, and he nods. Standing there before her, he looks so earnest, so gorgeous, like everything she’s ever wanted. In her mind’s eye, she sees a million futures with him, a million timelines where he loves her back. And it’s her birthday and she’s tired of wanting, so Penelope lets herself think for a moment that those futures might be possible.

She opens her mouth to say goodbye and that glimmer of hope intervenes.

What she means to say is I love you, the same words she’s uttered a million times to him. What comes out instead is: “I’m in love with you.”

Holy mother of all Freudian slips. She tries desperately to figure out what to say, but her mind goes blank. Her first instinct is to take it back, but her throat burns at the thought of having to pretend she doesn’t really love him.

A small part of her is relieved that it’s out in the open, but the rest of her wants to lock herself in her office for several days. Why did she have to go and fall in love with him in the first place? Why wasn’t she satisfied with what they had?

She swallows dryly, but doesn't say anything, watching Derek for his reaction. He’s staring at her, expression inscrutable. Penelope flushes, counting down the seconds until she’ll have to execute plan barricade-self-in-office. There’s only five seconds left on the clock when Derek makes his move.

“Penelope, I want to show you something.” Derek holds out his phone and she takes it, confused. Is he going to pretend that nothing happened? That’s somehow worse than anything he could say.

She turns on his phone, only to be met by the lock screen.

“What’s your password?” she asks, because she should probably say something at some point. She doesn’t quite register what she’s said until he responds.

“What do you think it is?” he says, infinitely gentle.

Oh. Penelope slowly types in her own birthday, not quite daring to believe that might be what he means. Sure enough, his phone unlocks, opening to reveal his background, a terrible selfie they had taken together.

With some difficulty, Penelope manages to compose herself. She swallows hard. “What… what was it you wanted to show me?”

He takes the phone back from her, holding it in front of her face. “This, Penelope. Don’t pretend you don’t know what it means.”

Penelope lets out an entirely undignified squeak. Here it is, the thing she’s always wanted. Proof that Derek loves her back romantically. Every plan she had for this moment, every grand gesture, flees her head completely, heading for the next galaxy over at warp speed. She reacts instinctively, stepping closer to him until only a few inches separate them. The point of no return is receding rapidly in the distance.

Derek puts his hand under her chin, tilting her face up. Penelope thinks there might be tears in her eyes, tries to blink them away before he can see them.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and she restrains herself from screaming ‘YES’ at the top of her lungs.

She whispers her agreement instead, almost reverently.

He kisses her, lightly, and Penelope swears she can feel actual stars forming in her eyes. It’s everything she’s ever dreamed of, only her dreams could never measure up to reality, the way Derek pulls back slightly, running his thumb along her bottom lip before kissing her again.

This time, they break away only when air becomes a necessity. Penelope rests her head on his chest, delighting in the knowledge that if there are more more journeys to make, more challenges to conquer, she won’t be alone. Truth be told, she’s never been alone as long as she had him.

Above her, Derek lets out a startled, “Hey!”

Penelope looks up, following his gaze to where Emily is standing, holding up her own phone, streamers dangling from her other hand. When she notices them watching her, Emily gives them a wave.

“Sorry!” she says, not sounding sorry at all. “I need proof for the pool.”

Usually, Penelope would march over and make Emily delete those photos, but today, she couldn’t care less. Instead, she leans up to Derek, grin so broad it could split her face in two, and pulls him in for another kiss.

taglist: @elleroodles, @lizziechase, @blakes-dictionxry

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #derek morgan #penelope garcia #morcia #*mine #*fic

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whirlybirbs · 5 years ago

Text

✶ — las rosas están cayendo ; j.m.

summary: you're a figurehead in a far-reaching criminal underground operation that's offered jesse mccree haven and work in the last few years. your relationship with the cyberized cowboy is complicated but oh-so lovestruck.

pairing: jesse mccree / reader, est. relationship

tags: fluff, angst, good guy falls for the bad guy who’s not so bad

a/n: i’m simping, it’s fine

( read on archive of our own ! )

Jesse McCree likes the Silkroad's End. Always has.

The place's very namesake pays homage to some dark web marketplace that operated back in the 10s; it's fitting, Jesse thinks, since the entity itself certainly fits what he'd imagine the personification of that very digital market to be. Dark, a bit shady, and always crawling with folks who aren't really who they say they are.

Staff changes every three weeks. Location, too. Lucky for him, the only thing that stays the same is the barkeep. Everything else is rotating, always moving, always changing. It's best that way.

Truth be told nothing in the States offers true anonymity, anymore. All that's long since past. Every damn street corner has a camera watchin'. But, the Silkroad's End is good — and discretion is their business. They offer what people like Jesse McCree need:

Trustworthy resources.

Even still, knowing about the Silkroad's End is one thing.

Getting in is another entirely.

Jesse's learned not to be startled when a stranger ambles up and slips something in his palm — might get 'im killed someday, but for now, he offers a gentle tip of the hat to whatever camera is eyein' his current move in whatever city he's in.

The chips — obsidian colored and round — are few and far between. There's a chain-code implanted in the micro-computer inside that registers a location on his personal data-device; but without that chip, he ain't gettin' inside. It's one use, one time only.

This time, the den is a quiet little place on a side street in New Orleans.

This chip was delivered to Jesse in a seedy bar bathroom — and as he shoved it into his pocket and muscled up his tawny-colored jeans, he was left grimacing. Bastard that gave it to him didn't even wash his hands. Just pissed and dropped it on top of the urinal.

The den is downstairs, and Jesse turns in his chip after finding the little location to a towering omnic who reminds his a little bit too much of a certain butler he once knew.

"Might wanna wash that."

Spurs tinker on the wooden steps, and when the door's eye slot slams open, Jesse is met with the gaze of a human this time — an unknown staff member with a tattoo that crawls up the side of his head. There's a tense silence. Then, the slot slams shut.

With a quick yank of the three-inch durasteel door, Jesse finally steps foot into the Silkroad's End.

And, with an elated sort of smirk, he swaggers right in your direction.

Jesse reckons it's been four months since he's seen you — the ever-present barkeep and present owner of the Silkroad's End — last ; could be that you're one of many owners and operators, as he suspects but... Well, Jesse never had enough to go on that hunch.

There he was, as always, distracted.

You know the sound of his spurs from a million others. In an instant, your lashes are flicking up from the bar and through the crowded back room. Tonight is busy — seems a good few members decided tonight would be the night they cash in their chips. You shouldn't be surprised to see Jesse McCree, but...

He's always had a way of knocking you off your game.

"Have I ever told you," comes the low croon as a set of cyberized knuckles rap on the mahogany bar, "that you make the best drinks around?"

Your smirk settles into your words. You move slowly, reaching for that top-shelf whiskey he likes so much.

"Is that why you keep coming back, then?"

Jesse smirks. His trademark hat finds a spot beside him at the bar, and he leans back to run a hand through his dark, wild hair. "One of a handful of reasons I could list, sure."

The drink that lands in front of him is coupled with your full attention.

Jesse feels awfully big in it.

His fingertip tinker against the glass. The sound is pleasing.

Your elbows meet the bartop. You lean. Your eyes drift across his face, and for a moment you find a rush of relief bloom at the realization that there are no new scars. He looks tired, but well.

Alive.

A lot for a man with a bounty of sixty million on his head.

You work hard to keep that very bounty out of the Silkroad's End 's docket. That ledger of his, deep and relentless, has become harder to ignore in recent months. With word that Overwatch was recalled... Jesse's name had been floating around more than you liked recently.

It made you worry.

Your voice is soft. So is your smile.

Jesse, the sap he is, is glad he's sitting down for the sight of it.

"You look good, Jesse."

He scoffs into the whiskey. His eyes, a dark brown and warm like the run, roll at the remark. You grin.

"M' gettin' old," he rumbles, "And things are changing' faster than I can keep up with."

You don't pry. A habit. A good one, mostly. Jesse has a habit of being an open book. Given the chance, you'll pry later. For now, you opt to air on the side of wistful interest. Fleeting and light.

Your chin finds your palm.

Long ago, you wouldn't have dared to let a soul see you so engaged with a member like this, but... This operation ran on trust. Discretion was a part of the bigger equation and the people in this room? You've known most of them for years now.

Bounty hunters, arms dealers, drug peddlers.

They know better than to bite the hand that feeds.

"You been busy, then?" you ask, watching the way his eyes stick to you, even when he reaches to dig out a cigar from a pocket beneath his serape. In a flash, he's procured a gilded lighter and flicked it open. The flame dances between you both, and you watch as he puffs the cigar. The embers burn red.

He exhales and smoke swirls around his head like horns — Jesse's lips slip into a lopsided sort of look; more playful than anything.

"That lead you gave me," he drawls, "It worked out. Paid good, too."

Your smile is slow.

This song and dance is always fun.

"Been savin' a few for you," you say, "You're one of the few I can trust to actually bring people in alive."

"I haven't even been here fer more than a minute an' you're already talkin' business, pumpkin," Jesse grins, all toothy and scruffy, and takes another puff of his cigar, "That all you ever do?"

"You know me, Jesse," you slide your fingers across the underside of the bar, sending the partition up and allowing you to step around. You shrug your shoulders and hang your hands. The way his eyes flick across your figure isn't lost on you.

You cock your head towards the back office as you speak. "Always scheming."

If that ain't the god damn truth.

You're a smart little thing. All devilish wit and pulled strings. You have enough dirt in your back pocket to bring a few governments down, Jesse supposes. Nothing to bat an eyelash at.

He follows with ease; hat tucked upon his head once more, cigar and whiskey held in his hands. He follows you, looming over your shoulder, as the sea of patrons part with sidewards glances and half-aware nods. Everyone has their own business to attend to. You're simply attending to yours.

The back office isn't really much of an office — if anything, it's a refitted storage room. There's a desk, a handful of monitors, and enough security barring entrance to the windowless room that Jesse's roughed up every time.

The omnic patting him down isn't gentle. He tugs the peacekeeper from his hip holster and grunts. Jesse scowls.

That ain't never been a problem before, though.

You, all poised with your arms crossed, wave it off. The gun is shoved roughly back into Jesse's holster. If both hands weren't preoccupied, maybe the bouncer would get more than the nasty snarl Jesse manages as he's waved through. Maybe.

As the door slips shut behind him, the sound of your heels is all he hears.

"Beefed up security, huh?"

Your sigh is tight. He can see the tension along your shoulders when you round the sleek desk in the middle of the room and unlock a drawer. If you'd thought he'd move past your silence, you're wrong.

Jesse isn't like you.

He has a bad habit of asking plenty of follow up questions.

"What happened, pumpkin?"

That damn nickname is enough to spur you to straighten yourself, to set the datapad down gently on the desk in front of you, and to frown.

"There was an incident."

His worry is palpable.

"Nothing dramatic," you wave it off, shooing him slightly when he nears the desk. You walk around it and lean, settling on the edge, "But it was enough to spook a few staff members into being more mindful of who carries in the establishment. Especially behind closed doors."

You've had enough guns pulled on you in your life to know that one could have been the last — but it wasn't. It was fine. Might have earned you a few restless nights and a few connections to clean up, but the disgruntled member was dealt with. That was a month and a half ago now. Distant.

Jesse frowns. He sets his whiskey down on your desk, then leans and smothers the cigar in a fizzle of ash and smoke in the ashtray there.

His voice goes low, gruff, and serious.

"Pumpkin, I ain't a good man," he breathes, eyes low beneath the brim of his hat, "You're better off not trustin' men like me."

He does this every time.

A glimmer of self-consciousness towards his own character.

You know him better than to believe that shit.

"Jesse, if anyone was to put a bullet between my eyes," you mutter, unlocking the datapad with a flick of your finger, "I'd be honored if you were the one to do it."

That earns you a low grumble.

His weight moves to shift beside you. His hip bumps yours. His shoulder saddles right up against your own. You can smell the cigar on him, the burn of the whiskey on his tongue. Jesse is warm. He laces his own fingers together. You can feel his eyes on you as you sift through the files of bounties — and you try not to seem startled when he says your name soft enough it could pass for a lullaby.

"... You alright?"

It's not often you're asked this question.

You were right before — you were always talking business. Personal matters were kept far from any business dealings you did on a daily basis. It was pertinent. Kept the machine well-oiled.

Things with Jesse, though... They'd been different for a long time.

Things changed when the two of you had forgone professionalism once a handful of years ago now. It wasn't long after the first time you'd met him the cowboy had stolen himself into your well-guarded feelings. You blamed the charm. He believed it was luck. Despite knowing nearly nothing about you, he'd become enamored, and — when you'd initially thought the sex was something to sweeten the deal, Jesse quickly made it plenty clear he intended on keeping the sex and the business separate.

The feelings grew between those two things.

Now, in the center of his attention... Well, you feel small.

You let out a slow exhale.

"I missed you, y'know," you say slowly, eyes still trained on the names staring back at you on the datapad.

"Yeah," he breathes, "I missed you, too. Ain't fun bein' gone so long."

"As if either of us has a choice?"

Another hum. This one a bit sadder. Jesse supposes you're right, that it isn't exactly ideal — and it's not as if he's allowed himself to be vulnerable to anyone else these last few years. Not when he's a wanted man. Not when gettin' someone tangled up in the danger is the last thing he wants.

It was different with you. You knew the danger. You...

Christ alive, he wishes now things were different.

Back then, it was easy.

Coming to terms, now, with the numbing loneliness that hangs itself over the both of you hurts a bit worse. Time is ticking by. He'll be older than he is younger soon.

"You ever wish you could leave it all behind?"

His question is met with a tired scoff. Your cheek finds his shoulder. Your hair falls along his arm.

"And become the world's most wanted woman?"

"What you've got is an empire," Jesse drawls, a hand slowly reaching for your own, "M' sure someone would wanna call it theirs ."

"And then what happens to the tired, old queen? The queen who knows what makes that empire strong?"

Your quirk your brows. Jesse sighs.

"... Point taken."

"I made my bed," you say with a measured sense of finality, "And I've gotta lay in it, Jesse."

His eyes dance alight when something then that's tempered with fire; he blinks down at you through thick lashes as he speaks.

"Wouldn't mind layin' with you..."

It's husky. Drawn out. Nearly a sigh, especially when his fingers slip along the curve of your wrist and draw up to your cheek.

"I'm starting to think you come here," you mumble with an edge of sarcasm as his nose brushes yours, "For more than just business ."

"Oh, sweetpea," Jesse grins as he whispers, "It's been that way for a long time now."

The kiss is bruising — the sort you missed horribly in those months apart. It's lip and teeth and scruff; the brush of his beard is enough to make you smile, enough to make you abandon the datapad on your desk.

Enough to keep you distracted enough that you don't notice Jesse McCree tapping an encrypted data transfer skimmer over your datapad.

You'll notice in the morning.

And by then, he'll be long gone.

#jesse mccree x reader #jesse mccree imagine #jesse mccree x you #jesse mccree fanfic #overwatch imagine #overwatch x reader #WHOOPS #i go radio silent then write a whole FIC FOR. THE COWBOY.

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spinchip · 5 years ago

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As in Lonesome South

Summary: After returning to Ninjago from that Lighthouse prison, Dr. Julien decides it's time for him and his son to move on.

Warnings: Dr. Julien is not a good dad. Memory alteration and Controlling behavior. ask to tag? Pairing: gen Wordcount:1700 A/N: The name for this fic comes from Hillbilly Man by Gorillaz lol

Packing up his meager room is not a difficult feat, Dr. Julien is glad to note, even in his advanced age. He doesn’t have many belongings now, his life spread out across Ninjago and across the sea, the things left behind and abandoned worthless in his eyes now that he’s been reunited with his son. His greatest creation. It’s not as if he couldn’t stop by that ancient bunker out in Birchwood Forest and gather up his old blueprints, maybe pick up projects left half-finished as his hands wrinkled and gave out, but there’s a clean and simple sort of appeal to a fresh start. Out with the old, in with the new. He had time to start again now. He and Zane could travel down to the outskirts of Metalonia, there’s raw materials there, new construction. Its growing fast with the upcoming tech giant Borg Industries basing it’s manufacturing plants in the heart of the city. It’s an easy place to get lost in, an old man and his son blending in with the crowd, a perfect spot to camp out at and get back to work inventing something new. Something to show up all those slip-shod messes he’d slapped together to appease Samukai.

In a way though, he can’t help but be grateful to the skulkin and his cronies. Without the elixir of life they’d handed him, without the resurrection tea poured down his throat, he’d have been lost years ago. The gift they’d given him had come with a price, seasons passing wondering if his son was safe out in the world without him, stuck up in that lighthouse tinkering away at inventions he felt no passion for. All alone except for the silly little bots he cooked up in his spare time. Now thought, free from the sea salt and stone, he had time laid ahead and a million projects he thought he’d never have the years for suddenly at his fingertips. Zane was his life’s work, and he’d turned out wonderfully. What could he do now, with another life to dedicate?

Organizing his meager things, he pulls out a duffle bag from the School's storage with DARKLEYS slapped on the side, not quite dusty but on its way there with the rebranding they were undergoing. Gutting the School’s unsavory past and installing a new, more healthy learning environment was a big endeavor for the ninja, especially since they wouldn’t be able to rely on his son to help pull it off. He and Zane pitched in when they could, helping repaint, clean up, and discuss a new curriculum, but it was a shame they’d never get to see it come to fruition. It reminded him of his days teaching to pay the bills while he chased his masters degree, there was a comforting nostalgia he almost didn’t want to leave. A shame it was time to go. Zane might have been a good teacher, too, if given the chance- he was as smart as his old man sometimes! Remarkably patient too, always willing to try and talk it out and find the best in people. Too bad. Maybe they could come back and visit, if work didn’t get too busy. He wouldn’t mind getting into the swing of things and whipping up a lecture for the kiddos. He could decide all that later, though. Now it was time to pack. He shakes out the bag and stacks his items neatly inside: a few notebooks of ideas he’d already cooked up, spare clothes Zane and Sensei Wu had graciously paid for, a few old books from the Library he was positive no one would miss. He was even sure to grab a copy of Zanes old favorites, maybe he’d like to read them again when they got settled. He made a mental note to grab his toothbrush and comb from the bathroom before they departed, puttering about his meager living accommodations to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.

The room itself was a modest little thing, an old student live-in dorm repurposed into more permanent lodging for himself and Zanes other team members. They were nice, a bit more long-term than he thinks Master Wu is willing to admit, but Dr. Julien found them quite cosy. Though anything was a step up from that damp and dreary prison he’d been locked in. He’d always loved the beach, but if he never smelled salt water ever again it’d be a blessing… He frowns, stepping over to the map spread out across his tiny desk, mapping out a possible route down to Metalonia. Sticking to the outskirts would take them closer to the coast, but setting up shop in town might bring unwanted attention. It could be worth it to take the longer route along the east if he really wanted to avoid the sea… it’d put him close to Ignacia, but it might work.

There’s a knock on the door, bright and sharp, and Dr. Julien isn’t surprised when he hurries over and opens the door to his son on the other side, “Zane!” He greets warmly, ignoring the troubled look on his face and pulling him into an embrace, “Have you finished packing yet?” He asks, breaking away.

“That is what I came to speak to you about.” Zane says hesitantly as his father begins to tidy up the room, closing the door behind him for privacy despite the others doing their best to give them space and clearing out for this conversation, “Father, we have discussed this, I…” He frowns openly, “I do not wish to leave.”

Julien stops where he’s folding up his map, staring up at his son with a scrutinizing look, “Zane, I thought you said you didn’t want to be separated from me again? Are you feeling alright, son? Come here, let me check.” He beckons Zane over as he tucks the map into his coat pocket, moving out of the way so he can sit on the edge of the mattress for a diagnostic.

Zane obliges on instinct alone, sitting down, “I am fine, Father,” He says, moving his gi aside to open his chest panel anyway, “And I do not want to be apart, which is why I think you should stay.” Dr. Julien moves to sit next to his son, running a quick inspection of Zanes internal wiring as he speaks, and Zane zeroes in on the way he collapses onto the bed- his knees aren’t what they used to be, “At your age, you shouldn’t be traveling anyways.” He says, obviously trying to be gentle.

Dr. Julien laughs, smiling up at his son as he shifts through the mechanics in a confident routine so familiar it came second nature, memories of them going through these exact motions surfacing faintly, “You don’t need to worry about me, Zane, I have plenty of time left. The ressurectea has given me another lifetime, and I want to spend it with you. It could be like it was before, just the two of us. I was happy.” He examines the connection points on his switchboard, making sure they’re all attached properly, “Weren’t you?”

“Of course!” Zane says instantly, cupping his father's hands to send the confirmation home, “I love you, and I’ve missed you ever since I got my memories back.”

“But now you want to go our separate ways?” He squeezes Zanes fingers, before letting go, going back to his ministrations inside his chest to distract himself, “You and I are family, Zane. I’m disappointed you want me to spend my final years alone.”

Zane shrinks, curling in on himself at those words. Dr. Julien has to hold onto the door of his chest panelling so he won’t pull away too far, where he can’t complete his check-up, “I don’t. I am sorry.”

“Come with me.” He insists, smiling up at Zane as if to say all will be forgiven. They would be, these moments of hesitance. He could let them go.

The checkup is comfortingly familiar, but Zane shakes his head, “My friends are here, they are my family too. I cannot leave- I have responsibilities. I am the white ninja, I am protecting people who cannot protect themselves. Is that not what you wanted?” his vocal processor goes small at the end, soft and uncertain.

“It is, and you’ve done a great job. I’m so proud of you, but now it is time for us to move on to better things… You’re my son, Zane. My greatest creation. I love you, and I won’t leave here without you.” Dr. Julien trains his eyes on his inner workings, his hands stilling, a slight nod as a silent decision is made.

“And I am not leaving.” He says firmly, his own decision giving his words strength, then, “Will you stay?” Zane’s voice has the slightest hint of hope, complex emotions coming so easily now that he’s lived a long and complex life. A shame to lose all that progress.

He sighs deeply, a sad put-upon thing, “No, Zane.” and there’s no need to elaborate.

He watches his facial expression as he does it, half a second of shock and raw hurt, a snap of devastation and fear before his mechanics register that the memory switch has been flipped, the click of it near deafening in the room- the expression vanishes, his wide eyes go glassy and half-lidded and his jaw clenches shut, his body locking and freezing as he goes into limbo. Shoulder stiffly casual, his hands dropping into his lap where they’d made a last-ditch attempt to stop this and stalling short, sitting open and useless on his thighs. All at once his humanity is stripped from him, leaving him a blank canvas, empty and waiting for either a reboot or specific command. He was his son. He was his creation. He was his.

Dr. Julien closes up his chest panel calmly, tying his suit back up properly. He’d need new clothes, these would make him ask questions when he reset him. Dr. Julien didn’t want questions. He didn’t want refusals.

“Come now, Zane.” He says, tapping the nindroid on his forehead, watching those hazy eyes try to focus while in forced stasis. There’s nothing behind his eyes, no recognition other than the need to obey that has been programmed into him, “Follow me. It’s time for us to go.”

Zane carries his bag as they walk right out the front door.

#zane julien #dr. julien #ninjago #spinchip fic #memory alteration

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dnfshield · 4 years ago

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okay im posting my first and most important syndicate!dream propaganda !! if people are interested ill def post the rest

and because I'm delusional all of this hinges on that I want dream to actually be upset and brocken 💔🥀 and desperately needing help and not wanting to let anyone help him because connections bad blah blah but I know cc dream doesn't have the range and is also a coward so I have to do everything for him

its under a read more bc its 1.4k words lmao

I think it takes dream a while to process being out of prison even though he should be taking advantage of his new freedom and new space. he spends a lot of time in his room just laying in his blankets or curled up under his bed or memorizing all the shelves of stuff techno left in the spare room. And philza and techno silently agree to make sure dream is getting socialization - knowing that he desperately needs the connection but is unsure how to go back to being ALLOWED to be around others. So they take turns going to his room at night and just finding literally anything to do in his presence. Phil likes to read the old books techno left in there. And when he sees dream peeking over he'll mutter something about how ""reading it out helps me think"" and will quietly read allowed to dream. Or he'll go sit at the desk with a creaky chair and write letters to the woman he loves, gushing over memories and sharing snippets of stories to dream. Phil sits there with a dopey smile and blushy cheeks and dream sits there letting his words sink in - knowing too late that he should never have convinced himself that pushing everyone he loved would somehow save him.

Technos more pacey- he likes to go in there and ""reorganize"" the miscellaneous objects he left in what was supposed to be a storage space turned bedroom. Sometimes it's stacks of pages ripped from old journals sometimes it's failed blueprints and plans sometimes it's old potion bottles that definitely got left a little too long and should NOT be opened - but whatever it is techno will grab it and ramble on about what he was thinking what he was planning why it didn't work and scramble to find an excuse as to why he's chosen to hoard whatever the object is rather than throw it away like a normal person. But dream just sits there and listens and asks questions or asks to hold whatever it is - honestly whatever he can do to keep techno from going to bed and leaving him in his room alone.

Lol okay the actual real important one that started all this is that dream eventually starts outwardly showing signs of distress when alone. At first he reeled when others would try to be around him. He still dealt with the conditioning of never being allowed to have regular visitors and being told everyone he ever knew wanted him dead. But once he realized Phil and techno were not only safe to be around but were happy to be around him he couldn't get enough of them. Dream lingers in the kitchen while philza cooks them all breakfast. He follows techno around while he haphazardly goes through chests looking for a specific enchanting book. He cracks his window so he can hear techno and philza laughing together while they sharpen their weapons on the porch :*) . And on especially bad days where something reminds him of the scorching lava flow or he gets turned around in a space too suffocatingly small he waits up because he knows philza or techno will come and wait with him at night.

And it's the evening that sam knocks on their door that sends dream into overdrive. The second techno opens the door and philzas eyes fall on Sam's armour Phil places a gentle hand on dreams back and ushers him to his room. Techno stands with his frame in the door physically keeping a barrier in-between sam and their home and eventually gets Sam to begrudgingly leave. But when philza goes to check on dream before bed it's obvious dream sat there listening to techno and Sam yell and threaten each other over his life. So Phil skips whatever ploy to keep dream company that he had planned and just sits on his bed with him. He doesn't even say anything besides the classic "it's alright please don't be scared" and "he's not taking you away from here" and "you're safe here, with us, you're safe with me and techno" and blah blah and with every passing whisper dream just drifts closer and lets philza be there with him and philza let's dream lean against him because he knows how badly dream needs the comfort and he's more than happy to be there for him ( -sobs- can philza become a better dad in canon we could've have had it all ) . God okay and finally the important part all of this had been leading up to

And after sitting there and letting dream lean on his shoulder and dodging dreams pleas to tell him how techno got sam off their property dream eventually quiets down. Every time dream stirs to break the silence philza squeezes his arm and let's him settle closer. Dream can barely keep his eyes open but when Phil tries to say goodnight and shift to stand up dreams eyes shoot open and asks if Phil's actually going to leave for the night because a million things are running through his mind. What if Sam only left to not cause a scene and plans to return after the others go to bed and take him with no one there to protect him. What if Sam only left to tell everyone where he is and return with a mob filled with the people dream himself made hate him. What if techno made a deal with sam - to return with diamonds or precious items in exchange to step aside and let dream he hauled away. But Phil only smiles softly and tells him that he's just gonna move to a new spot and dream just sits there and watches Phil settle at the headboard. Dreams eyes follow Phil's hand as he pats his stomach to becken dream to come lay down. Like okay guys please hear me out so dream settles with his head on philzas stomach kinda surrounded by Phil's legs like a little nest :-( while Phil just tells dream to relax and get some sleep. Phil's hand is a weight on his back and dreams just kinda melts. And as dream finally let's himself wind down he thanks Phil for being there with him. philza takes in a breath and whispers "of course" and after a silent beat as if saying it out loud would bring him back in time he tells dream "me and wilbur used to do this when he was younger"

And dream just tells him that he's sorry and that if he "could go back and change it he'd give anything, sorry for letting it go so far with wilbur" and philza tells him that he "knows wilbur is sorry too" and he knows how mentally unwell wilbur got and that he "wished he'd checked up after the letters stopped sooner" and dream doesn't want philzas to blame himself there's nothing he could have done to stop what wilbur and dream had started between each other but there's nothing dream could say to make philza understand that. So he just tangles a fist in philzas shirt and hopes a "none of this is your fault" in an exasperated voice will convey that enough. He gives philzas one more thank you for being here and with philzas hand tracing little movements on his back dream finally feels safe enough to drift off. Lol lol lol ooooooo okay

:*) Loool what if techno used to have a weekly routine of weapon care like just keeping them clean and sharpened and polished. but after he rescues dream from his isolation and torment from quackity, technos sitting in the living room and goes to grab his axe and dream starts panicking and immediately goes to apologizing and begging techno to tell him what he did wrong and promises he'll try better next time (even tho he didn't do anything :-( ) and techno does his best to assure him he didn't do anything, that he's doing perfectly fine and even if something came up his first instinct would not in fact be to pull an axe out on him and techno puts his stuff away and they just sit together :-( after philza gets home he and techno talk and agree it would be best they keep the weapons out of site unless it's absolutely necessary.

theyre sitting like this L

#syndicate!dream #dsmp #dream smp #dreamwastaken #philza #technoblade #okay that should be it in case ppl have those blocked #my posts #literally all i crave is hurt/comfort lol #feel free to add on i love attention

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fckyeahdaisukekambe · 5 years ago

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[ROUGH ENG TRANS] FUGOU KEIJI NOVEL: THE MILLIONAIRE DETECTIVE’S DECOY (Part 1)

Yay! I did an initial rough translation. I am still learning Japanese so please don’t expect 100% word-by-word perfect translation. This is just based on the level of my understanding of Japanese so please bear with me~ *thanks to my dad’s (credit card) i got a copy*

"Now, gentlemen. There is only 3 months remaining before the 7-year prescription of the 500 million yen robbery case."

Fukuyama, the stout-looking captain of the special investigation headquarters, looked around at the 20 detectives with an expression that’s similar to Alfred Hitchcock. "A total of 200,000 investigators were put in, 150,000 suspects were questioned, and all prepared investigation materials are in one data room."

"All of that was not wasted because we were able to narrow down the suspects to four." Detective Kojima who has been an investigator since the time of the incident, turned his eyes to Fukuyama as if to challenge him, He has just arrived at the station after his previous captain recently retired.

"No, Nothing is wasted."

Ignoring Fukuyama, Kojima showed his sharp teeth and gazed at everyone. "I found the special paint used which is our strongest clue was sold to only 56 people from a specialty store.

"It's beige, right?" From the side, Detective Nunobiki who's missing a front tooth and looks like Alfred E. Newman interrupted. "Of the eighteen people who bought the beige paints, three are women. Then the fifteen people. Out of the fifteen, there are elderly." Nunobiki said. "Two are more than 60 year old. Then the thirteen. Out of those, three doesn't drive a motorcycle so down to ten."

"Wait a minute. Is it really okay to exclude those three from our suspects?" rushly asked by Captain Fukuyama. "Even if you don't have a motorcycle and have no license, you can practice going somewhere secretly."

Kojima overtly glared at stared at Fukuyama with a blank expression. "Of course there's a possibility not to included those three people. Of those three, two are elementary students". Nunobiki said. "The other one only has one leg." "I'm a man who can't ride a motorcycle," said Kojima. "Then on the ten, three of them have solid proof that they were not in the scene."

Captain Fukuyama asked shyly this time, "Is there no possibility that the alibi of those three people will collapse?"

"One was in the police station at the time of the incident because he vandalized a wall of a university building about capitalism using the paint he bought, the other one died days before the incident. In other words, he's in heaven at the day of the incident." Kojima replies politely with a serious look.

"The last one is attending a meeting at the Prefectural Police Department, which is a chief. He claims that he bought the paint for the rabbit hutch in his garden. Would you like to check on it again?"

Fukuyama coughed, "No need, that would have been true."

"The seven remains." exclaimed Kojima.

"It was clear that three of them haven’t got the chance to use the paint they bought. Of course I checked and confirmed it to them. Immediately after buying the paint, one of them fell down at the front of the store, the lid was opened and the paint splashed on the road. There was a lot of fuss but many people in the shopping district confirmed this. The other two left their paint on their garden and storage room."

"Then the four," Nunobiki screamed from the side for attention.

"Mother Goose has a song called Ten Little Indians." Detective Saruwatari whispered to Daisuke, who's next to the door.

"What's wrong? Please speak in our language." after Kojima gazed at Saruwatari, Daisuke held his cigar in his mouth and hung one end of his lips to show his canines. "Kambe, stop smoking in this room."

"Ah, that was rude," Daisuke quickly extinguished the fire of his cigar, which was still only one or two centimeters of ash, and while covering it, he politely threw the cigar, which was broken into half on an aluminum ashtray.

"But Kojima-san, were you also smoking?" said Saruwatari with a grin.

"It's good if it is only a paper roll, but it's a cigar." said Kojima. "How can I talk about work when someone's smoking a 8,500 yen Havana cigar?"

"I think there is discrimination," Saruwatari defended Daisuke while still smiling. "Because Kambe only smokes cigars".

Nunobiki is smiling from the side is staring at Saruwatari, "Hey, You're a detective. Don't side with the millionaire too much."

"Haha. You're right. That's the son of a rich man, Kambe Kikuemon." Captain Fukuyama leaned towards Daisuke then rounded his eyes. "I only heard from the chief."

"Enough talking," Kojima shouted, "There are four remaining."

"Four people, four people," Nunobiki raised his four fingers and nodded to everyone. "All four of them had no alibi on the day of the incident, had a motorcycle, were in their late 20's, and are in the montage photos, however, I'm still not sure if they have already used the paint. They are now being followed just to make sure and to get information. We haven't investigated their houses yet."

"But we only have three months left," Capt. Fukuyama said to Kojima with a slightly frightened tone. "Isn't it better to start investigating those four people as witnesses before the prescription period ends then conduct a house investigation?"

"We will." Kojima said, lowering his voice.

"I'm thinking of the case where the criminal didn't hid the money in his house. Once they were looked up as witnesses, they would always think that they are being followed." "I think it's fine to look into them so that they can be alert."

"Whether or not the three months time is imminent depends on how you think." Fukuyama murmured with a stern look, Kojima bowed lightly. "Of course if Captain instructed to call them as witnesses, I wouldn't push my opinion thoroughly."

Saruwatari, who was the farthest away from Kojima and Fukuyama, shouted loudly, "If you notice that you are being investigated as a suspect, the criminal may act like he's digging his own grave, like trying to change the hiding place of the money."

Kojima bowed his shoulders and turned to Saruwatari, "Yes, there are criminals like that but in this case, do you think a smart guy who thought of this crime would do such a stupid thing?"

"So I wonder if they will continue to follow them until the time limit is almost over," Fukuyama seemed to be annoyed and started drawing infinity symbols with his finger on the desk. "Isn't there anything else we can do but just keep tailing on them?"

"Well, it should be done in parallel to tailing them. They should sense that we are actually investigating them."

"Uhm," Daisuke raised his hand at the seat closest to the door. "I have a suggestion".

Fukuyama nodded with a sullen look, "Please tell us."

"If the criminal will start spending the money, they should know where it is hidden so I think it's good to let the four of them spend money."

Fukuyama made his eyes round again. "How?"

#fugou keiji balance: unlimited #fugou keji #fugo keiji #fkbu #daisuke kambe #daisuke kanbe #kanbe daisuke #富豪刑事bul #富豪刑事 #fugou keiji novel #the millionaire detective #the millionare detective balance: unlimited

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legoshi-plz · 5 years ago

Text

Pretenses (Louis x Reader)

Summary: Royal AU. Louis is a spoiled prince and you are a clumsy maid. Prince!Louis x Canine!Dog!Reader

AN: I’ve been writing this for like ever and I finally started on chapter 2 so I feel it’s time to go ahead and post this. This will be a multichapter series 💕

///////////

You were fired. You were so fired.

You knew damn well you weren’t allowed in the kitchen at this time. Your kind wasn’t allowed to use the kitchen until nightfall. It was the agreement the Royal court made over half a century ago when they first began to let Carnivores staff stay within palace grounds. They were allowed free range of the kitchen before sunrise and after nightfall but never in between. During the day, the kitchen was nearly entirely ran by a staff of Gazelles. They cooked and served the royal family exclusively as it had been for years and they had quite the aversion to all Carnivores. Canines especially.

You knew you were risking one of the best gigs you’d ever happened across going into the kitchen during the day but you were sure the Gazelles were on break and assumed it was a calculated risk. Boy were you bad at math.

You had snuck into the kitchen countless times when the Gazelles took their routine hour break right after serving the royal court lunch. There was a group of younger carnivores (badgers who tended the gardens) who came to you with gripes of hunger, knowing you were easily the best cook amongst the Carnivore staff. You agreed as always and set off to the kitchen to make a quick stew that would hold them over until nightfall as well be simple enough to prepare and clean up before the Gazelles returned from their break.

You had finished the stew and prepared to package it up to sneak out when two Gazelles returned to the kitchen unexpectedly. It hadn’t been the first time someone had come back early but you usually used your keen hearing to get out of dodge before hand. This time you weren’t so lucky.

You hightailed it out of there but not before they saw your face. It was over for you.

As expected you were called into the head of the kitchen’s office. An older, especially rigid Gazelle named Mrs. Stallworth. She was as mean and particular as they come, her disgust towards Carnivores not concealed in the slightest. In her office she was accompanied by an even older alpaca, Madam Peak, the head mistress of all royal staff regardless of division.

“Come in girl and stop loitering by the door!” Mrs. Stallworth snapped. You immediately approached her desk, sitting once she motioned to the chair in front of her.

“Look, I am going to ask you this one time and one time only, Dog, and if you lie to me, you won’t live to tell another,” the Gazelle sneered and you felt your heart drop.

“Were you in the kitchens today while the staff grazed?”

“Y-Yes ma’am,”

“Were you cooking using unauthorized food items not rationed for Carnivores’ consumption?”

“Yes ma’am,”

“Are you aware this is a volatile offense punishable by execution?”

“I- um, execution?”

“Enough of the dramatics, Marta,” The alpaca said gently, placing a hand on Mrs. Stallworth’s shoulder.

“Fine. Did you or did you not make this?” Stallworth produced a jar from behind her desk containing your stew. You nodded hesitantly.

“Thought so. What the hell did you put in this? Be specific,” You listed off the ingredients automatically, the recipe ingrained in your memory.

Once you were finished, Stallworth looked to her left, coming to a silent agreement with Madam Peak.

“You scrub the cobblestones with the rest of the domestic canine, right?” You nodded hastily.

“That’s grueling work, hard on the back and worse on the joints. Murder on the hands and knees as well, yeah?” She didn’t wait for an response.

“Look, you’re lucky you’re a small dog. Domesticated too. Anyone else would have been on the streets by now but I don’t believe in wasting talent when there’s far too little to be found in this world.” Stallworth said, her eyes boring into yours. You began to squirm in your seat under her gaze.

“There’s a position for you in the kitchen, if you want it. It won’t be an easy job, you’ll do all of the grunt work and you will not be treated as an equal. But you will be the first Carnivore to ever hold such a position. What do you say?” She looked at you expectedly and you realized she actually wanted you to speak this time.

“D-do I have a choice?”

“No, your only other option is termination and banishment from the palace. Report to the kitchens in the morning 20 minutes before dawn. You start tomorrow.” Stallworth sneered.

“T-thank-”

“You’re dismissed.”

////////

“Another day in paradise, huh Y/N?” Two Gazelles giggled as you reentered th kitchen in utter exhaustion. You had just been tasked with moving bag after bag of heavy flour from the stock room to the kitchen and you could feel every muscle throb in protest.

It’s effectively been about 2 months since you began your position in the kitchen and it was everything Mrs. Stallworth had warned and more. The work was seemingly never ending and you almost always got stuck transporting ingredients from the storage pantry to the kitchen. When you weren’t doing that, you were doing prep work or being used as a taste tester.

“You canines are pure muscle, it’ll go straight through you. Us Gazelles have to watch our figures or we’ll blow right up,” they’d whine before stuffing whatever dish they were making down your throat.

The job wouldn’t be so exhausting if it weren’t for the fact that after slaving endlessly for the Gazelles all day, you had to turn around and cook for the Carnivores as well. Though you hate to admit it, you had gained quite a bit of knowledge about nutrition during your time in the kitchen and tried to pass it on to your Carnivore brethren. They were less concerned about the actual nutritional aspect and were content with that fact that your food taste good.

“I’m not taking that to him! Find someone else!” One of the Gazelles screeched, pushing a tray of food away from her.

“Well I’m surely not taking it to him! Besides, it’s your own fault for sleeping with him!” Her friend retorted pushing the tray near her and walking off. This kitchen was never short of drama, that was for sure.

“Dog!” The Gazelle turned around to face you.

“My name’s not Dog,”

“Do you know my name?” She prompted. Shit, she had you there.

“Thought so. Now I need you to take the Prince his dinner. He’s under the weather and the food contains his medicine so he’ll probably refuse it. If that happens just show your fangs and threaten to eat him,” she said shoving the tray into your arms.

“I don’t have fan-”

“Better be off before the food gets cold,” She chirped, rushing off. You sighed and began your hike up to the royal chambers.

It took what seemed like an eternity to climb the countless flights of stairs until you reached the Prince’s bedroom, the royal chambers located impossibly far from the Kitchen headquarters. You began to knock on the door when you realized you had never interacted with a royal before. Had never really seen one in person. The Canines were given strict orders to stay out the way of anyone important and the Royals definitely could be considered important.

“Come in,” a raspy voice called. You proceeded to enter what was nothing less than the most extravagant room you’d ever seen in your life. In the middle of an enormous canopy bed was a stag. He looked increadibly small surround by the lush bedding.

“A Carnivore? And to what do I owe this visit? Heard the crowned Prince had fallen ill so they sent you to finish me off? They could have at least sent one of a formidable size, this is just insulting,” he sneered, his voice nasally with congestion.

“I-I’m from the kitchens, here to give you your lunch, my- um- liege?” You didn’t really know how to address a royal since no one ever thought it’d be worth the proper training for Carnivores.

“Dogs don’t work in the kitchen,”

“This one does. I’m.... new,” you said stepping forward.

“Clearly. Leave the tray by the door.” He snarled, turning on his side. You assumed you were supposed to take that as a sign of dismissal.

“I have to make sure that you eat, sire,” you began to walk towards his bed slowly as to not frighten him.

“Can’t you even follow simple instructions?” He glared at you. You remained silent, still holding the tray. Seeing you weren’t going away that easily, the Prince began to examine you.

“Judging by the way you look like death warmed over, I’m assuming they work you to the bone in the kitchens,” he sneered through his congestion. Again, you remained silent.

“Well however bad you think it is now, I guarantee I can make it a million times worse for you. Now get out of my sight,” after his little rant he expected you to flee, which made it that much more awkward when you simply stared back at him completely aloof.

“So be it then,” he huffed, snatching the tray from you.

///////////

You had expected the Prince’s threat to merely be the defiant ramblings of sick, unwilling patient and it seemed to be just that in the weeks that followed your quick interaction.

You avoided being forced to take him his lunch again and things continued as normal. You could even say that you were adjusting to life in the kitchens and the strain it put on you felt as if it began to lessen. Then it all came to a screeching halt one morning.

“Y/N! Stallworth wants ya” One of the Gazelle’s yelled entering the room. You put down the knife you were using to cut vegetables and wiped your hands on your apron as you trudged to her office. A feeling of dread began to creep into you as you felt trouble loom. If Stallworth ignored you that meant that you were doing everything right, so this had to mean something was wrong.

“Yes ma’am,” you said entering the already open door.

“The prince requested you. Said he wanted you to take his meal orders from now on and to bring them to him. I see no reason not to comply,” Stallworth said sharply. You didn’t know if she expected you to speak or not so you remained silent.

“Well what are you waiting for?! Go tend to the Prince,” she snapped and you were gone in a minute. You had no idea where the Prince was at this time so you decided the best place to find him would be where you last saw him, his bed chambers.

Just as you arrived, the Prince was exiting his room looking healthier than ever.

“My liege, the kitchen staff informed me that I was to bring you your meals from now on,” you panted from the sprint to his room.

“Indeed,” Prince Louis confirmed which led to a prominent silence.

“So where is it?” He snapped suddenly causing your ears to shoot up in shock.

“I have to know what you want first, you have to put in the request to the kitchen staff,” you said cautiously. It seemed the Prince was even more volatile in his robust state.

“My dietary schedule has not changed in years. Stop wasting my time and go fetch it, Dog.” He said as if your species was something filthy and detestable.

“My name’s not Dog,” you said in a quiet voice as you turned to leave.

“I’ll call you whatever I like, you pathetic excuse for a maid. It will do you well to learn your place.” Louis snarled. You bowed awkwardly and left to fetch his lunch.

You felt small, oh so small. And worthless. You had never been one of those Carnivores to resent the royal family (or Herbivores in general) for placing Carnivores so lowly in society, but then again you had never came into contact with such an openly contemptuous Herbivore before. The Gazelles ostracized you for the most part and Stallworth was a real piece of work but they never left you feeling so... ashamed. Ashamed of yourself and ashamed of your species.

This was to be the future leader of the Kingdom? A Herbivore who hated Carnivores? The thought was overwhelmingly depressing. Carnivores were barely getting by in society as it was, who knew what things would be like for them once a petty, egotistical asshole like him were to take the throne.

////////

All those months ago when Prince Louis had threatened to make life as hard as possible for you, out of all things you would not have expected to underestimate about him, his dedication was definitely at the top of the list.

He was relentless day in and day out, running you ragged around the palace for obscenely trivial matters, while also putting the burden of his meals solely onto you. He forbade anyone else to touch even a single ingredient of his meals, making you the only one to prep the meals, cook the meals, deliver the meals, etc. even if the exact entree was being cooked in the kitchen already.

He also made sure someone (usually one of his guards) was watching you at all times in case you tried to tamper with his food. It was embarrassing and insulting to have a guard breathing down your shoulder at every possible moment and yet that was something you were simply forced to deal with.

On days he felt like you were a little to compliant and agreeable, he’d make you eat whatever was on his plate with him, even if it was against your own nutritional chart.

“I’m afraid I can’t, my liege. Canine such as myself aren’t supposed to eat [insert food],” you said bowing slightly.

“Will it kill you?” He asked bored as always.

“Well, um, no but we get incredibly sic-”

“Then stop your incessant whining and get over here, Dog! I don’t have all day and this food’s not going to poison check itself!”

Prince Louis was a vile man. You’d even say you hated him and you had never hated anyone before. Every minute you spent in his presence, you felt lower than dirt and he had to know that. Which was why he made sure you saw him more than anyone in the entire palace. He even made you stand by his side and watch him eat, even if some days you were near starving from not having enough time to feed yourself in a rush to tend to him. All this and you still had to do your regular kitchen duties to the best of your abilities and help cook for the Carnivores at night after the kitchens were cleared.

You were beginning to be run to the bone and it was taking a negative effect in your health. Your heart would pulsate at unhealthy, sporadic rates; you found it harder and harder to digest food even when you were hungry; and your eyelids and limbs constantly felt like cement. After months of running you into the ground, you began to see that realistically, as badly as you needed this job, you just couldn’t keep this up if it sent you to an early grave.

The final straw happened in the Prince’s Study. He was taking his lunch there as he usually did. You stood at his side (he would never allow you to sit down) as he languidly ate his soup. He’d sent you back twice now for corrections to the dish but after the last time taking you so long to return (as you had to force your body to take every step), he decided to just begrudgingly eat it as is.

You barely remember what happened. One moment you were willing yourself to keep standing and ward off exhaustion and the next you were on the ground, unable to move. You heard a slight shuffle and then everything went black. The last thing you remembered was trying to get your limbs to move but they refused.

When you began to regain consciousness, the events of falling slowly began to come back to you. It looked like this was the end of the line for you. If you couldn’t do your job properly, you were fired, it was as simple as that.

You sat up slowly, ready to face the music when you opened your eyes to an all too familiar setting. You were in the Prince’s chambers. Even worse, you were in the Prince’s bed. You looked around frantically and saw him sitting in a plush chair in the corner, a book in hand as he languidly turned the pages. Upon seeing your eyes staring at his, he closed the book but made no move to stand up.

“You’re awake I see. Feeling better?” The Prince asked as bored as ever. Somehow you got the feeling that this was somehow worse than being fired, much much worse.

“M-my liege, I-, what am I-, how?”

“You passed out in my study, I carried you to my chambers.” He said standing up. He moved towards you like a predator.

“You’re basically a walking corpse. I doubt you’re even registering what I’m saying right now,” He leaned over you and before you could stop him he tore your blouse open.

“Just as I suspected. Your fur quality’s deteriorating as well,” he shook his head in slight disgust. You scrambled out of the bed and tried to cover yourself with what was left from your ruined maid’s uniform.

“I’ve had quite enough of this your highness. I- I- I quit!” you said in a fit of rage which only managed to come off as quiet frustration due to your exhaustion.

Louis rounded the room and stalked towards you. He raised his arms and you thought he was going to strike you, however his hands dipped lower to your waist to throw you over his shoulder. He marched you back to his bed and gently set you down in the center.

“Request of resignation denied. Now go back to sleep, Y/N. You’re not thinking clearly.” He said while he performed a half-attempt at tucking you in. You tried to struggle against him but your flails were weak. He grabbed you by the shoulders and languidly pinned you down until you tired yourself out.

“Finished?” Louis asked. You nodded slowly and he released you.

“Good. Now get some rest, I won’t ask again,” Louis ordered and you felt your heavy lids close as you drifted back to unconsciousness.

////////////

Louis made sure you were actually sleep before grabbing the book he wasn’t actually reading and slinking back into his armchair across from his bed. Okay it wasn’t actually supposed to be in front of his bed, it was supposed to be in his study but he had dragged it in here so he could watch you.

He told himself it was only as a form of protection, that he needed to be alert in case you woke up as an angry Carnivore. In reality, he could easily overpower you in any instance and he had just been watching you for the past few hours for his own reasons. He couldn’t help it, seeing you like this was an enigma to him.

Every time you were in his presence, your guard was up. You were painfully ignorant to the proper ways to address Royals and you knew it, so you constantly held your tongue in fear of offending him and making your situation worse. That only ever served to anger him more, how careful you were around him as if saying the smallest incorrect thing to him would hurt his feelings.

Well, he could kind of see where you got that impression. He had launched a full on personal vendetta against you and you had only been doing your job.

Okay maybe that was what started this but it certainly wasn’t what kept him going for this long. He hated to admit it but he’d hadn’t stopped this little onslaught yet because he wasn’t ready to stop seeing you. He had grown accustomed to being around you constantly, day in and day out, even if you were there slightly against your will.

The fact he found you to be the single most gorgeous creature he’d ever had laid eyes on definitely wasn’t a factor here, or at least that’s the lie he told himself.

He knew he shouldn’t think such things, he was betrothed for goodness sake. But he still couldn’t leave you alone, couldn’t let you out of his grasp just yet. He knew nothing would come of it and he was fine with that, had accepted it even. You were a Carnivore, a commoner, and he was a Prince. He was just occupying his time, nothing more.

Louis, to his own shame, had slept with numerous maids prior, of all walks of life. He was never stupid enough to sleep with a Carnivore, of course, yet he’d never really had the desire to until he met you. With you everything was different. It wasn’t just the urge to get into your pants that drove him, it was actually quite the opposite. Just being in your presence was all he craved, the thought of defiling you not even a factor here.

Whatever incessant crush he harbored on you would simply have to wear itself out but not if he wore you out first. He knew his torment of you to disguise his own feelings was childish to say the least but none of that mattered if you quit. Not that he would actually allow you to quit in the first place.

No, Louis wasn’t ready to go back to being alone just yet. He had decades of loneliness that await him during his Kingship. He would take his fleeting moments of happiness now where he could, before his time ran out.

/////////////

#okay yes I changed the title I didnt like the other one 😭😭😭#beastars #louis x reader #beastars louis #louis x you #beastars louis x reader #louis

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bluejayblueskies · 4 years ago

Text

philia

n. a love between friends; based on mutual respect, common values, shared desires, and unwavering trust

Words: 2.5k Relationship: Sasha James & Tim Stoker, past Sasha James/Tim Stoker Tags: Light Angst, Canon Compliant, Aromantic Sasha James, Lovers to Friends, Awkward Conversations Warnings: internalized arophobia (throughout), fear of arophobia from another character (doesn’t actually occur)

|| Ao3 ||

If one thing could be said about Sasha James, it’s this: she doesn’t scare easy. All the traditional spooks—spiders and the dark and heights and everything in between—don’t send her heart racing like they did some of her childhood friends, and when she was old enough to go to the library by herself, she slowly and methodically worked her way through the meager horror section at her disposal. She liked the way that the fear tasted, metallic in her mouth and sending gooseflesh tingling across her arms and lips, and even when she landed on a book or a movie that pushed her beyond her limits for terror, she found that she couldn’t look away, too immersed in the way that her hands shook as she turned the page.

Maybe that’s why she ended up at the Magnus Institute. When the horror began to feel stale, each story contrived beyond the point of enjoyment, where better to turn to than somewhere that collected horrors that were real?

Sasha lasted three months in Artifact Storage before she decided that she’d finally found her limit, and it was gold monocles that turned your sight inward and stainless steel knives that leaked briny blood and a chalkboard eraser that could peel the skin clean off your face with a single stroke. Her brand of horror lay in stories, not in things, she decided then. In stories, at least, the fear was contained.

The problem, though, is that it’s easy to not be afraid of stories. Even if they’re real ones, told by real people, they’re still just stories, and so Sasha can separate herself from them, lock them away in the Institute at night and return to the more mundane horrors of her television screen or her bookshelf. It’s much, much harder to not be afraid of the things she can’t escape.

Sasha James doesn’t scare easy. But when she walks into the Institute on Monday morning and sees Timothy Stoker sitting at his desk, positioned opposite to hers and in the perfect location for mid-day glances and snippets of conversation, her heart jumps into her throat so fast she thinks she might choke on it.

Sasha puts on her headphones, sits down at her desk, and doesn’t let her eyes stray from her computer screen for the rest of the day.

And the next.

Fear is a funny thing, she thinks as she stands in the shower that Friday night, letting the water drum against the back of her skull and trying to figure out why even after fifteen minutes of standing in the scalding spray, her skin still itches with unseen dirt that she can’t quite rid herself of. It can spur people to go to lengths they never thought imaginable. Like Gregory Chavez, who found he could run nearly two miles at a dead sprint when chased by a thing that had once been his son but that now craved nothing but blood and terror. Or Biah Wynn, who found it within herself to burn her family home to the ground with her brother still inside when a sharp-tongued thing from her dreams told her to.

Or Sasha James, who’s been avoiding her best friend for a week because she had sex with him and now can’t bring herself to admit that it was a mistake. Or, more accurately, to admit why it was a mistake.

Tim probably hates me now, she thinks as she tips her head back and lets the water run over her eyelids, holding her breath as it trickles over her closed lips and hits her arms where they’re crossed over her chest in a protective gesture. And he’d be right to. I kind of hate me now.

Sasha turns the shower off, laments for a moment the state of her water bill for that month, and readies herself for bed.

She allows herself to continue this way for two more days before the voice in her head manages to convince her that don’t ruin a good thing is becoming more and more of an impossibility the longer she ignores the inevitably awkward conversation that they need to have. Her resolve finally breaks through the sharp static of fear Monday evening, when Tim pushes back from his desk and Sasha says, breaking the silence with all the grace of a battering ram, “Fancy a cuppa?”

Timothy Stoker doesn’t startle easy. At the sound of Sasha’s voice, however, he jumps so badly that the file folder he’d been preparing to stow away slips from his hands, spilling loose pages on the ivory tile floor in a mess of white paper and black ink.

“Jesus,” Tim says, bending down to collect the papers. His eyes are cast firmly on the ground when he says, voice tight, “A little warning next time before you decide to break a week-long vow of silence?”

Sasha’s wince is full-body. “Sorry,” she says, trying and failing to impart a week’s worth of apologies into a single word. Then, with forced levity: “Permission to speak again?”

Tim’s quiet for a little too long. He’s collected all the papers and they sit limply in his hands as his eyes trace the lines between the tiles, lips curled down into a pained expression that Sasha hates, though she knows it’s nobody’s fault but her own. Then, quietly, he says, “I don’t know, Sasha. Maybe a week ago, the answer would have been yes? But I… I don’t know if I feel like talking now.”

Thorns of Sasha’s own design dig into her heart and claw up her throat, and she fixes her eyes on the surface of her desk. It’s full of yellow post-it notes she doesn’t remember writing and approximately twenty stray pens and pencils and a million other things that are far, far less important than the man still squatting on the floor next to her, pretending to organize the papers in his hand.

“Okay,” she says, and the word bites into her tongue with razor-sharp teeth. Then, even though she said she wouldn’t, she says, “I’m sorry, Tim. And I want to explain, if you’d let me.”

Please let me.

Tim looks at her, just once, and the hurt in his eyes cuts into Sasha like broken glass. “I… I just need some time,” he says, like Sasha hasn’t given him too much of that already, like she hasn’t already had the thought of I just need more time, more time to figure this out running through her head for days.

“Okay,” she repeats. The smile she musters up feels hollow, too full of hope to hold up to scrutiny.

“Okay,” Tim says.

Tim leaves. And Sasha works late, if only to give her mind something to do that isn’t wallowing in guilt and self-pity.

She works late Tuesday, too. And Wednesday and Thursday. Then, as her computer blinks 17:00 on Friday and she flips open another file, she hears from behind her a quietly amused, “You’re turning into Jon, you know.”

If asked later, Sasha will maintain that she didn’t startle at the sound of Tim’s voice. The file, at least, stays firmly clasped in her hand, though she sets it down before turning in her chair to see Tim standing a few feet away, jacket slung over one arm and hesitance written all over his face even as his mouth forms a teasing smile.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Sasha says, aiming for levity and coming close enough for it to count. “I don’t have nearly enough grey in my hair for that yet. Besides, you know I can’t pull off a sweater vest.”

“Not with that attitude, you can’t.”

Sasha smiles fully, letting tendrils of humor pull the corners of her mouth up toward her eyes, and the lines of tension in Tim’s face begin to smooth. The hesitance is still there, the hurt lying just beneath, but it feels a lot less like a wall and a lot more like a locked door. She just hopes that Tim still trusts her enough to give her the key.

“Fancy a cuppa?” he says.

They pick a little tea shop a few blocks away from the Institute, open later than the rest and with prices that only make Sasha wince a little bit as she orders a cup of jasmine green tea and then sits at a little corner table across from Tim, away from the hum of the rest of the café. He wraps his hands around his mug of Darjeeling, looks at Sasha, and says, “Is this the part where you say, ‘It’s not you, it’s me’?”

Sasha winces and takes a long sip of her too-hot tea to cover it up. When she pulls back, the roof of her mouth thoroughly scalded, she says, “In… a manner of speaking.”

It’s Tim’s turn to wince, though he doesn’t bury it in his tea, instead painting over it quickly with a mask that’s not so thick that Sasha can’t still see the hurt that lies beneath. “Right,” he says, and the little laugh that escapes him is entirely devoid of humor. “Guess that’s it, then. Nice and succinct—don’t know why it gets such a bad rap in rom-coms, to be honest.”

The guilt is burning its way up Sasha’s throat, hot and sticky. It’s a struggle to force herself to speak around it, but she does, because it’s important. Because it matters. Because she’s not going to lose her best friend just because she’s afraid. So, she swallows the lump in her throat just enough to say, “It’s not because I don’t want to be in a relationship with you, Tim; it’s because I don’t want to be in a relationship at all. A… a romantic one, at least.”

Tim doesn’t say anything at first, and though Sasha knows he’s just taking the time to parse her words, to understand what she’s trying to tell him—he’s ace, he told her before they… before, so he’ll know what she means—she can’t keep the anxiety from clawing up the back of her throat with acid-dipped nails. She takes a drink of her tea, and then another, until she’s staring at the bottom of her mug with her heart thrumming in the back of her throat. The sound of her own pulse in her ears is so loud that she almost doesn’t hear Tim when he says, quietly, “I’m sorry, Sasha.”

Sasha sets her mug down hard enough to chip, surprise and guilt turning her blood to liquid nitrogen and her muscles to ice. “No, please- please don’t apologize, Tim, I should be the one who- I should have told you sooner instead of- of leading you on when I was never going to reciprocate. And then you told me you were ace and I- I still didn’t say anything because- because—”

Sasha waves her now-free hand in the air wildly, grasping for a reason that just won’t come. Finally, for want of anything better, she lands on, “Because I somehow thought that was going to be the thing that you’d hate me for instead of for how I’ve been acting all week.” She deflates, ever so slightly, and says, “I am so, so sorry, Tim.”

She affixes her eyes to the table, to the spiraling wood grains that trace lines across its surface, and doesn’t let go. She can think of a million expressions Tim might be wearing right now, ranging from guilt to sympathy to frustration to hurt, and she doesn’t want to see any of them.

A hand, warm and terra-cotta brown, settles on top of hers, and Tim says, “I meant that I’m sorry for assuming that the reason you were avoiding me was about me. I should have asked sooner, but I…” He lets out a small laugh. “I suppose I thought you hated me. That I’d done something—though I couldn’t figure out what—and now you never wanted to see me again. And then I- I made it about me. Got frustrated when you wanted to talk. Didn’t even consider that there might have been something else going on.”

“Why would you have?” Sasha says quietly, eyes still glued to the table. “I didn’t give you any indication that there was. I didn’t say anything.”

Tim hums, a sad sound, and says, “I suppose neither of us did.”

It’s quiet between them for a moment. In the interim, the sounds of the café filter in: the clank of cups against countertops, the hiss of steam as it spills free from stainless steel water heaters, the chatter of those around them who are lost in their own worlds of words and wants and wishes. Then, Tim’s hand tightens around Sasha’s, almost imperceptibly, and he says, “I’ll love you any way you want me to.”

Sasha finally looks up from the table. Tim’s watching her, his eyes full of an affection so sweet it tastes of melted caramels on Sasha’s tongue. “I’ve loved you in so many ways, Sasha James, in so many times and places and moments. And I’m not going to give them all up if one of those ways isn’t something that you want from me. I’ll just put that one aside and replace it with new ones.” Tim shrugs and smiles, and it’s so casual, so easy, that Sasha thinks she must be dreaming it. “If you don’t want to date, then we won’t. And that’s not going to make me love you any less.”

Sasha looks at Tim, trying to wrangle the tendrils of emotions within her into something beyond the electrifying, giddy happiness that she feels bubbling up in her chest. What comes out, in the end, is a small laugh and a quiet, “It’s that easy?”

Tim holds up a hand. “Scout’s honor.”

“Huh.” Sasha taps a finger against the edge of her mug, feeling the press of now-cool ceramic on her skin. The smile tugging at her lips is insistent enough that she finally just lets it slip free, uninhibited by shaking hands or acid claws or rapid-fire heartbeats. It’s still a nervous thing—a fawn just learning to walk, a baby bird pushed from its nest and struggling to unfurl its wings mid-freefall, a butterfly emerging from its cocoon with stained-glass wings and a life turned upon its head. It remains so for several weeks, through the still-awkward coffee runs and the times Sasha spends curled up on Tim’s couch with the space between them burning red-hot and icy-cold in equal measure and the staggering guilt that still returns as Sasha stands in the shower or lies in bed or walks through the doors to the Institute to see Tim sat at his desk, his smile growing wider each day.

Then one day Sasha reaches for it, almost absently—that nervous feeling, the almost-falling swoop of her stomach—and finds it gone. She reaches and instead finds Tim, standing in the kitchen of her flat with flour dusted on his nose and kneading a ball of bread dough as he regales her with a story of his first tried-and-failed attempt at making bread that involved not one, but two separate fire-alarm incidents. And when she smiles at him, it feels so light and freeing that a laugh comes with it, bubbly with surprise and affection.

She spreads stained-glass wings, strong enough now to carry her weight and beautiful in their own right, and lets the wind carry her home.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #aspecarchives #the magnus archives fic #tim stoker #sasha james #asexual tim stoker #aromantic sasha james #internalized arophobia //#my fic #my writing #looks like we're keeping this posting style! i think i like it a lot better.. more readable

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