#There’s a resignation on his bosses desk by the end of the week.

[aliteralsemicolon]

Wait until you like me again - 18+

See part 1 | Part 2 of We can't be friends (wait for your love) | See part 3

The decision to resign puts a lot of weight on your shoulders. A takedown gone wrong makes it the least of anyone's concerns, especially Spencer’s. You’re not willing to let him back in; it feels too little, too late.

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story is NSFW and contains graphic depictions. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact!  You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read. Part 2 was highly requested and I’m sorry it’s taken so long to finish.

WARNING Panic attack mentioned, slight PTSD depictions, drugs (GHB), Case details (very poorly thought out). Violence: canon typical - strangulation, drugging, guns/gunshots. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 10.3K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

The most annoying part about making a decision in haste is the clarity of the situation when the dust settles. It’d taken Hotch just over two minutes to message you after you’d sent your email. 

From: Boss Man 🕶 👔 My office, first thing tomorrow. 

You didn’t take into account that you’d have to explain your sudden resignation to your unit chief, or that you’d need to think of a good enough goodbye to lessen the hurt of abandoning your friends. These are people you consider your found family; you’re leaving behind years worth of bonds with no proper warning or closure, in a measly few weeks. Your reasoning had to be good enough to convince them that this was for the best. 

To convince you that this was for the best. 

You’d spent the whole night in tears, racking your brain for an excuse, because ‘the person you care most about in this world and unrequited love of your life telling you that he didn’t want to see your face was a pathetic reason for discarding your life’s work. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t think of adequate justification. Even as the sun rose and you made your way through your pre-work routine, nothing came to mind. 

“You can’t love me.”

Any time you tried to conjure up a defence your thoughts would wander back to Spencer. Too many words had been exchanged between you and your former best friend in the span of four months and not a single one of them properly explained why he was so butt-hurt. He loves you too much, but doesn’t want you to love him? That’s your understanding, at least. 

“Please don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.” 

Since you’d left his apartment the previous night, you’d been cycling through all the stages of grief in record time. Spencer once told you that people tend to remember more negative memories than positive. He was right. You couldn’t recall a lot of your happier memories with him. All you could think about was the two conversations where he’d hurt you in ways you never imagined he would. 

You’re not sure exactly what part of you snapped at that moment, all you knew was that you were done making him the centre of your universe. Spencer Reid played no part in your decisions moving forward. He was not the reason for your departure with the BAU, a lie you made sure to relay to Hotch during your meeting with him.

“I’m just surprised, that’s all. Where is this even coming from?” He inquired from across you, hands folded neatly against his desk.

“I just think it’s time for me to try new things, you know?” It was a pathetic excuse, but less pathetic than the actual reasoning. 

“I try not to interfere with the personal lives of the team, but this is just so…sudden. I have to wonder if this has to do with Spencer?”

“This has nothing to do with him.” You go out of your way to avoid saying his name, suspecting you might taste poison. 

Hotch’s brow raises, as if his brain has been alerted to key information, head marginally tilting to the side like it does when he catches a lie. He doesn’t say anything, eyes narrowing in on you in stoic fashion. You feel like a petulant child that’s about to receive a scolding from their father. 

“Hon–Honestly…Hotch, I just–”

Three rapid knocks cut you off, the door to the office swinging open without waiting for a reply. 

“Sir, Hello, I’m sorry to interrupt but it’s an emergency. That case we were consulting on for Anchorage PD?” Garcia bursts into the room, slightly discoloured and more panicked than normal. “Well, five more bodies were discovered. Two of them pre-date who we initially thought was the first victim.”

“Garcia, tell everybody to meet on the jet ASAP. We’ll debrief on the flight.” Hotch orders abruptly standing from his seat. “You and I can finish this meeting later. This case is now our top priority, wheels up.” 

Emily, Rossi and Derek were already in their seats when you boarded. You secured your go bag in one of the overhead compartments and temporarily took a seat next to Derek. 

“How bad do you think this one is gonna be?” Derek sighs, dreading the horrors that await your arrival. 

“We’re up to thirty six bodies and counting. Whoever this unsub is, they’ve been at it a while. So, bad.” You answer honestly. 

“Speaking of bad, is everything okay?”

“That was not even remotely smooth.” You scoff. 

“I’m just asking as a concerned friend.” He shoots his hands up in defence.

“What happened to the days where we at least tried to mind our business. You know, at least asked each other about our weekend plans before jumping into interrogation mode.” You roll your eyes and smirk. 

“Heyyy, woah– no one’s interrogating anyone.” Derek chuckles. “What are your plans for the weekend?”

It wasn’t long before everybody had made their way on the jet, Spencer being the last one. You didn’t notice his arrival, too engulfed in your conversation. He definitely noticed you though. The sound of your giggles caught his attention the second he was in ear shot. He didn’t like how warm he felt at the sight of your smiling face. What he disliked more was that he could instantly tell that it wasn’t a genuine smile. 

He quietly made his way to his self assigned seat on the couch, trying his hardest to focus on anything but you. Every laugh that Morgan coaxed out of you bothered him. Spencer’s agony only ended once the jet had successfully taken off. 

“Alright let’s get started.” Hotch declared and everybody moved to gather around. 

With all the details laid out by Garcia through the monitor, everybody began stating facts and suggestions. You wrapped up soon enough and retreated to an isolated seat in the back of the jet. It was an almost eight hour flight, seven of which you were planning to use to come up with a solid plan to announce your departure. Life always has to throw a wrench in your plans though, because the lack of sleep from the night before caught up to you and you dozed off almost immediately. Had you any energy left in your body, you might have been privy to the eyes that were on you. 

“She didn’t say anything as to what the meeting was about?” JJ hushedly pries from her raven haired co worker in the cramped kitchenette.  

“No, but Garcia said that ‘the air in his office was really tense’.” Emily relays, her fingers mimicking quotation marks. “Did Hotch say anything?”

“No. He just gave me his usual dry look and told me to focus on the case.” JJ rolls her eyes at the thought and leans back against the counter. 

Despite being the FBI’s most decorated task force, the agents of the BAU weren’t strangers to workplace gossip. You’d just entered the bullpen this morning when Hotch frantically summoned you to his office, not even giving you time to set your things down at your desk. Witnessing the events sparked a guessing game sparked amongst the team. 

“Is it something we should know about?” Sitting across from Hotch, even Rossi succumbed to his curiosity. 

“Dave you’re not normally one to pry.” Hotch smirks, keeping his eyes on the case-file laid out in front of him. 

“No I’m not. But with the events of the past few months...” Rossi sips his coffee, staring at his younger superior expectantly. “...there’s been some talk Aaron.”

“Talk?” Hotch meets Rossi’s eyes.

“Mhm.” Rossi nods. “Apparently you’re transferring one of our two youngest members because they haven’t been able to put their differences aside.”

“I’m not transferring anyone. Where did this come from?” The alarm in his tone makes Rossi snicker.

“Office drama. You know how it is. And while you may not be transferring anybody,” he sets his mug down and looks towards where you’re sound asleep. “I’m guessing somebody is leaving. Hence this morning's meeting.”

“We’re not supposed to profile each other, you know.” Hotch sighs. “I’d appreciate it if you could keep this contained. I haven’t had a chance to properly discuss this with her yet and I think she’d prefer to break the news herself.” 

As you had predicted the case was by no means an easy one. On the first day everybody was split into groups to follow up with the M.E, victims’ families and examine the crime scenes. All the evidence and information gathered wasn’t enough to narrow the profile any more than the generic: male, mid thirties to early forties, hates women. You were now three days in with no viable leads. 

You were especially frustrated because you felt that you weren’t working as well as you could. The stress of your announcement was taking its toll, you were unable to properly converse with your team out of guilt. Hotch sent everyone back to their hotel rooms with the idea that you would start fresh tomorrow. Normally you would room with Spencer, but lately JJ and Emily have been taking turns rooming with both of you. This time you were with Emily.

“I think this may be the first night we’ve gotten to turn in early.” Emily yawns as she dramatically stretches her limbs.

“I’m just glad we got to turn in at all, for a while there it looked like we may have to pull another all nighter.” You force a giggle, exasperated.  

“You okay?” She doesn’t miss a beat, taking the opportunity to ask about your uneasiness. 

“Yeah, fine.” You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

“You’re going to snap at some point, you know?” She examines your closed off posture, trying to figure out a way to get you to open up. “Something’s clearly wrong. Talk to me.”

“We’re all on edge right now. It’s this case.” You hope that you’re being convincing enough. 

“It's more than that. You’ve been distant from everybody.” Emily briefly thought back to the Ian Doyle debacle, recognising all the signs of somebody preparing to run away at any given moment. 

“I’m aware that I’m not working to my full potential–”

“That’s not what I mean and you know that.” She steps closer to you. “I can’t force you to tell me whatever’s actually on your mind, but I would really appreciate it if you would. I hate seeing you so…detached. Not just from us, but from yourself.”

It’s the empathy in her voice instead of the usual sympathy that finally cracks you. Tears pool your eyes and you sink to the floor. Emily sits down next to you without a word. She tries to pull you in for a hug but you push away. 

“Please don’t.” You sob. “I’m sorry.”

She squeezes your knee to relay that she understands and retracts her hand. Your discomfort with physical touch was another thing you had in common with Spencer. It was just a personal preference for you, unlike his germophobia. He was the only person you were actually comfortable with in terms of touch, but you couldn’t fault others for not respecting that boundary when you’d never verbalised it. 

“I’ve been trying to figure out the right way to tell you guys, but I don’t think there’s any way this gets easier.” You recompose yourself after a moment. “I’m, um, leaving.”

You expect her to get upset with you, but find her unfazed. 

“You don’t look surprised.” 

“Well it’s not entirely surprising. I mean given everything that’s happened.” 

“So you’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” She leans back with her mouth slightly open. 

“Because I feel like I’m abandoning you guys.” You heavily exhale. 

“You’re not abandoning us. You’re doing what you feel is right for you. I mean, am I happy about it? Definitely not. But I know better than anyone why you feel like you need to do this. And it’s not a decision you have to justify to anybody.” Emily reassures you. 

“How do I tell everybody else?” You push for more advice.

“However you feel most comfortable doing it. It doesn’t have to be some big announcement. You can casually break it to them whenever you get the opportunity. They’ll understand.” 

“Thank you, Em.” You genuinely smile this time, eternally grateful that she’s managed to take some pressure off your shoulders.

“Now while you’re in a mood to share…if you wanna talk about something else–” She attempts one last time to get you to talk about Spencer, sensing that the mood lightened a bit. 

“Nice try.” You laugh as you rise to your feet, offering your arms out to her to help her stand.

The following two days were a lot easier on you, mentally. You took Emily’s advice and disclosed your news individually to each team member, each of them more understanding than you’d anticipated. You were surprised to learn that Rossi was already aware, assuming that it came with being a profiler for as long as he had. Derek and JJ did try to talk you out of it initially, but accepted your decision in the end. You still had to talk about this with Garcia, but felt a lot more at ease with mostly everybody knowing.

Except Spencer.

That thought lingered in the back of your mind. You still love him, it’s not something you can just turn off. You shake it off and divert your full attention to the case. Four more bodies had been discovered and with them, a new pattern to the killings. The unsub was devolving. You and Spencer were the only ones at the precinct when the last murder was called in. Meaning you were stuck working on the geographical profile with him while the others were out chasing new leads. 

Realistically, only one of you was needed to build the profile and decided you were going to let him do it. You quietly sat in the furthest seat possible, trying to make yourself invisible and hoping that this would keep him busy enough to not talk to you. The whole week, you hadn’t uttered a single word to him unless it was absolutely necessary for the case. It was as if he didn’t exist, even if he was standing right infront of you. Spencer, on the other hand, spent the whole week prodding you for any reaction he could get. Anytime you made suggestions and he happened to be in the area, he tried to one up you.

At times it felt like he was purposely seeking you out, despite his brutal proclamation five days ago. Every attempt to rile you up failed. The most acknowledgement he got from you was a few scoffs and glares. He hadn’t even realised he was doing it, until Derek asked him point blank what his problem was. He didn’t have an answer, but now that he was aware of it he tried to go out of his way to avoid it. 

That didn’t last more than a few hours. The fact that he had to consciously avoid talking to you pissed him off, especially because he couldn’t stop. You pretending like he didn’t exist pissed him off even more. The one time he took his eyes off the board in front of him they landed on you. You were busy scribbling words in a file, trying to get a head start on your paperwork. 

“Do you plan to help at all?” He sneers, noticing that you looked a lot more relaxed than you did at the start of the case. 

You snap your head towards the board behind him. A rough venn diagram was drawn on a map of the city, small tacked notes labelling prominent buildings in the area. 

“How am I meant to help?” You question, darting your eyes between him and the board out of confusion.

“You’re asking me how to do your job?” He taunts, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes.

You dramatically groan, throwing your head back. 

It’s hard to believe that he’s a man of logic in moments like these. There have been far too many in the last few months. You bounce off your seat and head over to the board. Spencer stays glued in his spot and your body accidentally brushes against his as you try to get past. He watches you take off some notes and add on new ones but doesn’t register what you’re doing at first. He’s too intoxicated by your scent. His hand runs through his hair as he steps back in an effort to regain his composure. His teeth grit and his jaw tenses momentarily, he hates that you have the ability to do this to him. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” The pitch of his voice raises and his ears are burning.

“What do you mean?” You roll your eyes, shrugging your arms, sarcasm laced in your words. 

“Don’t try to act all dumb!” He berates, shaking his head. 

“Don’t try to act all smart.” Your eyes roll again. Spencer was slowly starting to wear down your apathy. 

“I am smart.” He scoffs. Your blood boils, this trump card is becoming too repetitive.

“Savour that, it’s the one good thing you’ve got going for you!” You finally snap. 

“You’re UNBELIEVABLE! The first time you bother to answer me all week and it’s just to argue?” He’s trying his best to refrain from yelling.

“Oh! You’ve been trying to start an argument all week and now that I’m giving in you can’t take it?! Actually, why have you been trying so hard, Doctor? I was under the impression that you can’t even stand to look at my face!”

He dryly swallows, unable to respond immediately. The reminder of his words makes him internally cringe. He never meant to say them. It was the most efficient way he could think of at that time to hurt you. Spencer hadn’t anticipated the sheer amount of will power it would take to stay away from you. You seeking him out made it infinitely harder. His fake disdain was a defence mechanism, he was hiding behind hatred to get the job done. 

“YOU–”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Hotch loudly cuts him off. 

Neither you nor Spencer noticed the teams return during your squabble. You’re slightly embarrassed, wondering how much they’ve witnessed. Spencer turns away from you and looks to the blank wall on the other side of the room. You look to the floor and bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Care to explain what’s going on?” He grills and you feel like a petulant child receiving a lecture from your father. 

“She wasn’t doing her job!” Spencer complains. “And when I brought it up she messed up my profile!”

“God you’re insufferable! It’s called ‘narrowing the profile’, Spencer. Maybe if you did it properly, I wouldn’t have to.” You retort. 

“Hey!” Hotch scolds.

It falls silent for a second, awkward glances finding their way around the room. Rossi breaks it first. 

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you two were bickering toddlers instead of FBI agents.”

You make eye contact with Morgan trying to hold in a laugh and it makes you snort. 

“We will discuss this later. Let’s focus on the updates we’ve gathered.” Hotch dismisses due to more pressing matters at hand. 

“After talking to friends of the latest victims, I can confirm that they were all last seen in the same club.” JJ pipes up first.

“And the dumpsites are all less than twenty minutes away from there. He’s definitely not holding them anymore.” Morgan adds.

“That has to be where he’s choosing his victims. Did the medical examiner find anything new?” Hotch asks.

“Traces of GHB.” Emily replies. “We don’t know how he’s administering it into their systems, but my guess would be through the drinks.”

“Gamma-hydroxybutyrate, mostly known as GHB, is a party drug that produces feelings of euphoria, confidence, relaxation and sociability. Side effects of GHB can include drowsiness, vomiting, mood swings, dependence, as well as more serious symptoms of unconsciousness. When mixed with alcohol the risk of overdose increases as it can cause respiratory collapse leading to coma or in extreme cases death.” Spencer’s about to continue but quickly recognises that it’s a tangent he needs to cut short. 

“Wait JJ what club were the victims last seen in?” You inquire, walking closer to the map.

When she relays the name it clicks. 

“That’s smack in the middle of the comfort zone.” You point at a small red note labelling the building. 

“So how do we catch this guy? I mean the club would be packed and we don’t know what this guy looks like. The profile tells us that he would blend in, nothing would stand out about him.” Morgan subtly suggests a string operation.

“Except for when he’s alone with the object of his rage. Which in our case would be the women he’s using as surrogates. He'd be possessive, become clingy, hold on too tight and once those advances are rejected he’d fly into blind rage.” Spencer exclaims without realising the weight of his input. 

“Yeah…but he has a very specific type.” Rossi hesitates. 

A fact that everybody had been avoiding the case because of how close it hit to home. 

You’re his exact type.

“No.” Hotch shuts down.

“Hotch, think about it. I mean this guy is not slowing down. A sting might be our best bet to stop him before he kills again.” JJ shares Rossi’s hesitation.

“It’s too risky!” Spencer blurts, making it clear he’s against the idea. 

Everyone begins to chime in with their input, but you stay silent and think it over. None of them wanted to put you in this position, but you’d seen the bodies and what he’d done to those women. What he’ll continue to do to other women if he isn’t stopped. It was a no brainer on your end. 

“I’ll do it!” You announce amidst the chatter.

It comes to an immediate halt, all eyes shifting on you.

“What?” Spencer scoffs.

You can tell that he’s genuinely surprised by the small hitch in his voice. Emily sceptically calls your name, posing it as a question. 

“I’ll do it.” You reiterate, taking care to seem as confident as possible.

“Absolutely not! The odds of this going wrong are way too high!” Spencer howls with a little too much passion. 

“Reid’s right. The unsub is way too unpredictable.” Hotch debates.

“JJ has a point, think about it!” You argue. “We know for a fact that he’s going to strike tonight. Sending me undercover as bait is better than staking out the place and waiting for him to target a civilian!” 

“Okay so let’s send somebody else!” Spencer contests, his tone prayerful. 

For a split second, you see your best friend again. He’s showing more regard for you now than he has in months and it makes your heart sink knowing it won’t be forever. Still, you try to reason with him while he’s there.

“There’s no time! I fit his type. This is our best option.”

“No, this is stupid and dangerous. You’re not going in there!” He’s gone again. 

“That’s not your call to make!” You snap. 

“Hotch no!” Spencer tries again.

“Kid, relax! This isn’t her first undercover mission.” Morgan attempts to calm Reid. “Plus we’ll all be there in case anything goes wrong.”

“Statistically–”

“For God’s sake forget the fucking statistics! People’s lives are at stake!” You loudly end his tangent before it can begin. 

“Alright, everybody calm down!” Hotch speaks up, making it a point to stare down Spencer. 

He’d made his decision and Spencer can only stare back in disbelief, too breathless to argue. 

‘Like Morgan said, we’ll be there watching over you, along with some local law enforcement. You won’t be wired, but we’ll have a fail safe just in case you need backup earlier than expected. We don’t have a lot of time. Let’s get to work.” The unit chief asserts. 

Before anyone can make any further moves, Spencer storms out of the room. JJ runs after him, assuring Hotch that she’ll take care of it. The rest of you break off to your assigned tasks, preparing for the operation that night. 

“Spence! Slow down!” She yells, chasing him all the way outside the precinct. 

He’s breathing too fast, practically on the edge of hyperventilating. He pushes his hair back with both of his hands, pacing back and forth on the sidewalk. 

“Spence what the hell is going on with you?” JJ pants, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

“Me?!” Spencer yanks himself away from her. “What the hell is going on with all of you?! You’re all insane for allowing her to do this!”

“She’s a grown woman and a trained agent! This is her decision. She knows what she’s getting herself into.” JJ reminds him. 

“Well it’s not a very smart decision! She shouldn’t be making decisions this…this reckless!” He shrieks. 

“Okay you need to calm down!” JJ sternly states. 

“Jennifer, do not tell me to calm down! She’s about to make herself a direct target for a psychopathic sadist and you’re all just letting it happen!”

“So what? Should we let some innocent woman become his next target?” 

“No! I’m not saying we should– just– why does it have to be her?!” The emphasis on his last word gives him away, JJ picks up on it instantly. 

“That’s what this is about? C’mon you know better than this.” She relaxes her shoulders. “Spencer, we all care about her. We all want her to be safe. And she will be as long as we separate out feelings from–”

“Feelings? This has nothing to do with how I feel–”

“Okay stop! Stop! God!” JJ huffs with pauses between her words. “I am so sick of this! This is clearly about your feelings. The past four months have all been about–”

She smacks her hands against her face as she takes a deep breath, a display of frustration. 

“Listen to me.” She commands, exhausted from the back and forth. “It’s clear that you two care deeply for each other, whether you’re willing to admit it or not. Neither of you will talk about whatever it is that’s caused this rift– fine! But don’t you think it’s time to bury the hatchet now that she’s leaving?”

Spencer freezes. 

“...Leaving?” He repeats, taken off guard. 

JJ takes a moment to read his expression. 

“She didn’t tell you?” JJ mutters, still scanning his face. 

“What– what are you…” He can’t find the words, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tries to process her words.

“She’s resigning, Spencer. She’s leaving the FBI.” JJ can’t hide how she’s surprised that you haven’t shared this with him. 

“No, that's not possible. She loves this job. Why would she leave?” Denial is his first response.

Spencer thinks over your possible motivations and can only land on the obvious. You’d only leave if you grew to hate the job. 

Did he do this? Did he make you hate it?

“We were all surprised when she first told us, I mean, it came out of nowhere.”

“We?” He rubs his temple, anticipating a possible migraine from the bomb that just dropped on him. “How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you guys known?” He balefully sighs, trying his hardest to not misplace his anger. 

“It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.” 

He had no one to be angry at, but himself.

“A day? Maybe two? She told us individually. Honestly with this case I haven’t had time to wrap my head around it.” JJ honestly reveals. 

So not long. Maybe you were still making your way around to telling him? You wouldn’t just leave without so much as telling him, would you?

A few months ago, Spencer would’ve confidently answered no. Today he was sure that you would. He so badly hoped that he was wrong. 

“Spence, look, we can talk about this later. But right now, you need to make sure you’re able to stay objective. Can you do that?”

He nods relentlessly, tucking his hair behind his ears. A habit he adapted early in life. It was an indicator of the gears turning in his head. JJ gives him a few more minutes outside before guiding him back in to help with preparations. Spencer absentmindedly performed his tasks, but all he could think about was you. 

You’re leaving and he’s the only person you hadn’t disclosed this information to. Abandonment was a feeling he was all too used to, but he never imagined that you’d abandon him. He knows that he can only blame himself, but he still can’t help the irritation that’s creeping in his veins. 

Even as he straps up his hidden bullet proof vest hours later, he can’t push the sentiment away. You were setting yourself up as bait for one of the most dangerous types of serial killers. On top of purposely putting yourself in direct line danger, you were leaving without telling him. He would’ve showed up to work one day and you’d be gone.

Right now he stands just a few feet away from you and you don’t look toward him once. No one would be able to guess that you’re undercover. It’s amazing how you’ve managed to transform yourself from supervisory special agent to a regular socialite and party girl in a couple of hours.

If he could overcome the hurt he feels at the moment, he might see how breathtaking you look. Then again, you always appear breathtaking to him. Before he knows it, he’s walked right up to you. You don’t feel his presence looming behind you until you bump into him when you turn around. 

“Shit Spencer!” You jump, mostly because of the nerves from the upcoming night. 

He’s about to say something but you beat him to it.

“Don’t start! I’m not in the mood.” You brush him off and disappear out of sight.

It was like that for much of the preparations. He’d muster the courage to try and talk to you, and you’d walk away. Much like how Spencer would avoid you when your friendship first fell apart. 

“Everybody in position?” Hotch inquires through his ear piece. 

“Affirmative.” Morgan gives the greenlight for your entry into the club. 

You made your way to the bar, making it a point to sit alone. You didn’t have to wait long. Archie Carter, 36, cheated on by his ex fiance before their wedding. She ran away with another man because Archie failed to keep his sadistic traits hidden and it scared her off. Torturing and murdering women who looked like her was his way of giving her a real reason to be scared. 

This was all information Garcia found after it was nearly too late. He’d managed to get you on the dance floor, subtly injecting you with the GHB. You didn’t even feel him do it. To everybody else it just seemed like you were playing your part really well on the dance floor, when in reality you were struggling to stand up. You couldn’t give out any signals and he was able to slip you away into the back alley under the noses of five FBI agents. 

It was Spencer who’d found you fighting for your life against Archie’s grip around your throat. Spencer, who put the bullet in Archie’s head after being unable to talk him down. Spencer who kneeled above you, begging you to come back as he began CPR. If he’d found you any later you might’ve been gone for good. 

Pissed was an understatement.

At the piece of shit that almost ripped you away from the world. At Hotch and the team for not listening. At himself for being right. Not you though, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t pissed at you. He was terrified. Both for you and for almost losing you. 

You had to stay a few extra days in Anchorage, bound to your hospital room. The team refused to fly back without you, each of them taking turns to keep you company. They all felt an immense amount of guilt but you reassured them that it wasn’t their fault. Your tongue grew tired of reminding them that this was a part of the job. Rossi joked that it was a good thing you were leaving it all behind in that case and it stung more than you were willing to admit. 

In your brush with death you came to the revelation that you didn’t want to leave, but hearing Spencer’s voice lull you back to him confirmed that you needed to. You couldn’t bring yourself to hear him talk everyday and not be the person he was talking to. It was why you had basically barred him from visiting you during your recovery there. Seeing his face was more than you could handle at the time. Not seeing yours weighed on him, because he needed to see if you were okay.

Physically, he knew you’d be fine once the doctors confirmed it. Mentally, he knew all too well of the repercussions that came with almost dying directly by the hands of an unsub. You’d been discharged and cleared fifty eight hours after you were admitted, and the team was ready to fly back a few hours later. All the signs of being less than okay were there. He recognised them as soon as he saw you board the jet. 

Besides the obvious bruises collaring your neck, there was some minor swelling that lingered. That wasn’t his biggest concern. It was the smile plastered on you when you put on your ‘I’m okay’ act for the others. Your eyes, like always, gave you away. You were already trying to sweep everything under the rug. Less than a few minutes after take off you isolated yourself in the back. You’d been doing that a lot in your recent cases. 

It irked him how everybody just let you. He decided right then that he wasn’t going to. He didn’t care how much you hate him, he was going to ensure that you came out of this truly okay. You were mindlessly staring out the window, counting the clouds, listening to the music playing through your headphones. You tried to ignore the feeling of being watched. You’d felt like that since you came to, in the alley. 

It took you a second to understand that you were actually being watched, turning to find Spencer in the previously empty seat across from you. 

“You’ve gotta stop sneaking up on me.” You snark, ripping off your headphones, still recovering from the small jump scare.

“Sorry.” He chuckles out of habit.

You unintentionally smile at the sound and find yourself staring in his eyes. 

“Are–” He falters as he thinks the question over in his head. “Is there anything I can get you?”

You’re taken aback, not expecting those words. You had a script prepared to waive off questions about your well being. He knows you better than that, throwing you off course as usual.

“What do you want?” You grumble, accepting that you couldn’t get past him.

“I want to know if there’s anything I can get you.” He repeats in a low tone. 

There he is again. The Spencer you know and love. Your heart threatens to leap.

“If this is to clear some guilty conscience, don’t bother.” You verbally guard yourself. “I’m fine.”

It would be a lie if he said his reasoning was completely selfless. He was hardly able to keep away from you without feeling like he was drowning, but it was nothing compared to how he felt when he thought he may have lost you forever. The feeling didn’t last very long, he was able to revive you within a few seconds, but never feeling like that again would be too soon. 

Spencer believed in two things; statistics and facts. One fact he refused to ignore any longer is that he couldn’t live without you. He quietly opened that satchel that still clung across his torso, fishing out some pain killers and an unopened water bottle. 

“I know you probably forgot to take yours out of your bag.” He ignores your previous comment and slides the items across the table to you. 

Your gaze lingers on the items in front of you, but your hands stay folded in your lap as you piece everything together. 

“You know.” You whisper. 

“Were you going to tell me?” He gulps after a beat of silence. 

“Does it matter?” You're quick to respond.

“I wanna hear it from you.” He’s just as fast. 

You look up from the leaf of pills, he’s already surveilling you. It’s a short lived staring contest because your focus shifts behind him to Hotch, who’s observing this encounter from the kitchenette on the other end. Spencer continues waiting on you for a response but you stand up, ready to walk away. It dawns on you when you see your supervisor that technically you hadn’t officially resigned yet. The paperwork never got started because this case took priority and that was a detail you needed to sort out right away.

“Don’t go.” Spencer pleads when you take your first step.

Was it a request to sit back down or to stay with the BAU? You didn’t bother to clarify, he had no right to ask for either. 

You let out a deep, exasperated sigh as you lie curled up in your warm sheet, scowling at the floor beneath you. It seemed that the universe (your friends) had it out to delay your departure as much as possible. It’s been four days since your return from Anchorage and you’ve been stuck in your apartment since Hotch dropped you off here. He’s ordered mandatory time off for your recovery, meaning the paperwork has to wait. 

You could be using this time in a more productive manner. You could be searching for a new job. And a new place to live. You should be trying to figure out where this new place would be. You never actually thought that far ahead. In your haste to run away, you forgot to plan your next steps. You’ve convinced yourself that you can’t do any of it until the forms are filled out. 

The ‘universe’ isn’t the only thing delaying you. 

If you really wanted to, you could have everything emailed to you. You can have it done online, but there are two major problems. The first is pretty straight forward; you’re not ready to leave. You know that this is the best course of action for everybody, but your brain and your heart are at an impasse. You’ve dedicated years to this job because you love this job. Unfortunately, you love Spencer more, which means that staying is going to drive you to hate your job. 

The other reason is slightly more nuanced and you don’t want to think about it, opting to let your impasse be the reason for your lack of motivation to do anything other than bed rotting. It’s not as bad as it seems, it’s more self care than anything. Your body’s telling you it needs to rest and you’re simply obliging. Plus, it couldn’t be that serious if you still had bursts when you had to keep up appearances. You have to be okay if you’re able to force yourself to open the front door for your coworkers when they come to check on you. You really weren’t that miserable if you managed to smile and laugh for their short visits. 

And it’s not like you’re truly rotting. You showered quite often, you actually just had your second one today. You were definitely okay if you could manage to keep up with hygiene. It’s not excessive, you need to scrub the purple away. You know that’s not how it works, but you can’t stand to look at the parts of your neck where his hands were wrapped around. If you close your eyes for long enough you can still feel him squeezing until–

You’re okay.

No, you’re irritated. The incessant knocking on your front door won’t stop no matter how much you ignore it. You were relieved when evening came. It meant that normal visiting hours were over and you could rest today. If it wasn’t any of your usual visitors then it had to be stranger. The thought made you uneasy, you hesitated to answer it at all. 

You can’t live in fear all the time. 

The door eventually opens and Spencer sees you for the first time in days. He actually tried to check on you earlier, but Penelope insisted everybody stick to her roster so you don’t get overwhelmed. The circles under your eyes were almost as dark as his, you hadn’t been getting much sleep. The swelling around your throat was almost all gone, but the bruising wasn’t healing like he expected it to. 

“Spencer…what are you doing here?” Your voice is hoarse. 

“I brought take out.” He gently dangles a bag of food in front of him, his voice high, but quiet. 

You can practically smell the contents of the bag, nostalgia hitting you like a ton of bricks. It was your favourite thing to order on the days he’d come over for movie nights. Before Spencer showed you a side of him you didn’t know existed. It felt like a taunt, like he was twisting the metaphorical knife he plunged in your heart. It made you sick.

“I already ate.” You lie, mustering a dull smile on your face.

Spencer swallows and bites the inside of his cheek, not taking his eyes off you. Trying to think of the best way to call you out without causing you to shun him. 

“We can do something else until you’re hungry again.” He gives a tight lipped smile and raises his furrowed brows, like he’s pleading for you to accept his offer.

“I don’t think I’ll be hungry anytime soon.” You awkwardly laugh– well it’s close to a laugh if not for your strained vocal chords. 

“Can I come in anyway? We can put on a movie.” He’s using the voice he used to when trying to comfort you or convince you of something. Soft, low, steady. It’s a stark contrast to the voice you’ve been hearing for the last ten days. 

Please don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.

Tears threaten the composure you’re working so hard to maintain.

“Why are you really here?” You sigh, unable to stick with the pleasantries. 

“I told you.” He emphasises the bag of food in his hands again. “Take out. Maybe a movie–”

“Cut the shit.” You assert, harshly. “You can tell Penelope that you came to see me so she gets off your back, but please stop pretending like you care.”

“That’s…is that why you think I’m here?” His shoulders drop.

“Isn’t it?” You bite, your door now wide open as you lean against it for support. Your legs are aching to curl into your chest again. 

“No.” His reply is short and clear, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “I’m here because I want to be here.”

“Why? There’s nothing in it for you.” You scoff, blinking from confusion. “Unless…is this some sick game? Seeing me like this– knowing that I’m– are you trying to gloat?”

“Gloat?” He repeats in almost a whisper, the hurt in his voice evident.

“Relish, rejoice, rub it in, I don’t know. You’re the walking thesaurus.”

He can tell from your lax posture that you're amused. Your back is against your door, hands behind your back and you’re leaning forward a bit as you stare at the ground. Not caring that your words cut deep.

Is this how low you think he is?

“Why would I be enjoying this?” His hopeful smile drops entirely as he tries to understand you. 

“Call it epicaricacy.” You shrug. 

“Epicaricacy?” He mumbles in a whispered tone, like he’s trying to process what you said.

Deriving pleasure from the misfortune of others.

Your eyes roll from how slow he’s acting and you have to hold yourself back from repeating the definition out loud.

“Do you honestly think I enjoy seeing you like this?” The change in pitch stings a bit. 

“No, I don’t think you like seeing me at all.” You half smirk up at him, sadness evident in your eyes. “Which brings us back to…why are you here Doc?”

“That’s not true.” He cringes, ignoring the second part.

“Not true?” You wiggle your brows sarcastically. 

“Not true.” He reaffirms, sighing deeply. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry.” You scoff again, shaking your head.

“I know that I’ve been unreasonable–”

“Unreasonable?” The tip of your tongue rolls against the back of your teeth, bewildered at his sheer audacity. 

“A dick! I’ve been a dick.” He corrects himself, desperate to have you hear him out. 

You tighten your jaw, inhaling lightly through your nose and your brows are raised as high as they can go. 

“I was hurt. Okay? I wash lashing out, but, I–” He takes a deep breath to stop himself, wanting to get to the point. “I know that I’ve been acting otherwise but, I care about you. And when I found you back there…I just…I know what you’re going through, even if you won’t admit it. I don’t want you to go through it alone.”

Your expression softens as he speaks. Of course he knows. He knows you better than anyone. For a moment you consider allowing yourself to break down in his arms, like you would have once. It’s jarring, Spencer reverting to his former self after he saved your life. The comfort swiftly bubbles into anger. All your attempts for reconciliation were met with so much hostility before. It took you almost dying for him to care. It feels too little too late. The only thing you can think of as he stands next to you is all the ways he can further hurt you if you let him. You push off your door and stand straight, giggling bitterly. 

“Spencer, go home.” You say with the same bitterness. 

“Please–”

“Go home! I don’t want your pity!” You yell. It feels alleviating. “Do you honestly think that  anything changes just because you saved my life? Do you think it erases everything that’s happened in the past few months? Because it doesn’t! Things can’t go back to how they were simply because you feel bad that I almost died. It’s not a flip you can switch. You don’t just get to start caring!” 

You're heaving and he can only stare at the ground. He knows you’re right, except for the one crucial error in your speech. 

“I never stopped caring.” He mumbles.

This fucking idiot.

Enraged, sad, frustrated, confused; all emotions you’ve been suppressing that are now fighting to show at the same time. You take a step closer to him and he meets your eyes again. You can see that he’s holding back tears, same as you. It fuels you in a twisted way. You have an opportunity to hurt him the way he hurt you and you don’t let it go to waste.

“Don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work to see your face at work, I don’t want to see it in my personal time too.” 

You can’t stay to see the effects of his words thrown back at his face, your heart’s threatening to burst from how fast it’s racing. His jaw locks from how tense he is. He knows exactly why you said it, but it’s still hard to hear. You turn around and rush into your apartment, shutting the door on his face, leaving him standing there. You don’t make it too far inside, collapsing on the wooden floor with a choked sob. 

That didn’t make you feel as good as you thought it would. You hoped that maybe if you could make him feel at least a fraction of you’re feeling, you’d hurt less. It was more than just getting back at him for everything he’s done. You were unknowingly trying to punish him for what Archie Carter did too. It didn’t make you hurt any less, but at least you felt less alone in your hurt. 

He didn’t come back for the rest of your time off. Everybody continued to follow the roster, showing up on their days and bringing you ‘get well soon’ goodies. Penelope even invited herself over for a night's stay once. You didn’t have the heart to say no, but you found yourself counting the hours until you’d be alone again, free to wallow. The only respite you got for the next week was on Spencer’s days. You could expect to be left mostly alone, only a bag of take out accompanied by an eerily fitting quote sitting outside your door. 

You hate to admit that those were your favourite days. You had a chance to breathe and he somehow knew exactly what you needed to hear. You gave the food away in protest and the quote would go straight in the bin (once you read it). One final psych evaluation later you were cleared to come back. Not that you needed one since you didn’t plan to stay for long. It was really just a formality. By the time you returned only a few faded bruises remained, easy enough to cover with concealer. 

“You’re back! Ooh, it’s so good to see you!” Garcia was the first with a warm greeting and a tight hug. You reciprocated to the best of your ability. 

“Good to have you back, Pretty Girl.” Derek’s second, walking you through the bullpen as you make your way to Hotch’s office.

“Enjoy it while you can.” You giggle in reply. “Is Hotch in yet?”

“I see someone can’t wait to leave us.” Emily jokes, feigning a hurt look. You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, he’s expecting you.” JJ laughs, slapping Emily’s arm playfully. 

“Thanks JJ!” You smile and they all watch you disappear behind the door. 

“So it’s official? She’s really leaving?” JJ questions through a half-hearted smile. 

“I asked Rossi and he said that Hotch is gonna ask her to stay until we find a replacement.” Emily replies, still eyeing the door. 

“How did you get Rossi to admit that?” JJ turns to the raven head, questioningly, and Emily smiles coyly giving no response. 

“Am I the only one who thinks this whole thing would end once they make up? I mean come on, we all know she’s leaving because of him, right?” Morgan looks at Spencer, who’s nose deep in a file at his desk. 

“Yeah, but we can’t help if they refuse to talk to us about it.” Emily sighs, hanging her head back. 

The three dive deeper into their discussion and you’re none the wiser from inside the cream-coloured walls of Hotch’s office. As per protocol, he’s just finished informing you of what’s next and you’re kind enough to accept his request to stay until they find a replacement. You definitely said yes because you want to make the team’s transition easier, not for any self indulgent reasons such as you not being ready to leave. 

“Just return this to me once you’ve filled it out.” He instructs as he hands you a file containing your resignation forms. 

“Thanks Hotch.” You smile, grabbing the file. 

You begin heading towards the door when he stops you by your name. 

“I understand that you’re set on this decision, but I am sad to see you go.” It’s insane how many emotions this man can get across while maintaining a blank expression. “However, if you change your mind at any point, let me know.” 

“Thanks Hotch.” You playfully scoff, appreciating that even he has to try at least once. 

If one more person tries though, you might scream. It wasn’t easy, pretending that you weren’t crumbling inside. The extra pressure doesn’t make it any easier. You leave his office, closing the door behind you and approach your desk. The resignation forms are put aside for later as you still have to finish your case report from Anchorage. Part of you wanted to put it off until the last minute, the other part wanted to get it over and done with as soon as possible. 

“Coffee?” Penelope chirps, holding out a mug filled with the hot beverage. 

“Thanks Pen.” You smile up at her, taking it out of her hands. 

“No problem.” She smirks mischievously and trots off. 

A strange lady, but your strange lady.

Upon your first sip you almost choke it out. It was perfect. Exactly to your liking. Which would be a good thing, except only one person knows exactly how you like it. Back when you first joined, you learned how popular coffee was with all the employees. You felt out of place because you weren’t a massive fan of the drink and you avoided too much sugar because it made you feel sick. You soon discovered that you liked it a lot more with honey instead. It was a weird preference, but it worked for you, making it sweet without overpowering your senses like sugar did. 

You never declined a cup when offered by your colleagues, not wanting to dishearten them. It was Spencer who caught you sneaking honey into your cup when you thought no one was paying attention. He never mentioned anything to you, but the next time he returned with a cup to offer, you couldn’t help but the smile that adorned your face for the rest of the day. It was why you dedicated yourself to morning breakfast runs for him, memorising his coffee order as a silent thank you. Neither of you ever talked about it. 

You spin your seat around to find Spencer engaged in conversation with Rossi. You consider walking past him and dumping the beverage in the sink to make a point, but it was a welcome energiser for the dreadful task at hand. Plus you aren’t wasteful. You spin back around and decide to accept it just this once. 

When he’s sure you’re no longer looking he sets his sights back on you. A small smile forms across his lips when he sees you drink the coffee. He honestly expected you to throw it away. He feared that if he was the one to deliver the mug, you’d throw it on him. It was why he convinced Garcia to do it, bribing her by promising to buy a round of drinks on the next night out. 

“Kid, are you even listening?” Rossi scolds in an incredulous way. 

As the hours pass, your frustration grows. You couldn’t get yourself to write the details of the case. Your mind refused to think about it. You had hoped that taking breaks would make it easier, but everytime you returned to the page your head went blank.

“Need some help?” Spencer asks, spawning next to you.

“Christ, Reid!” You blurt, startled. “I thought I told you to stop doing that.” 

“Sorry.” He chuckles as if on cue. 

You glare at him expectantly. He doesn’t say anything, glancing between you and the unfinished case file, waiting for an answer. 

“No thanks.” You keep it short, hoping he takes the hint. 

“Let me know if you do.” He doesn’t. 

“You wouldn’t even be the last person I’d ask if I did.” You snark. 

“But you would eventually?” He stays calm, almost playful. 

Smart ass. 

You choose to ignore him, be the bigger person and all that. Even though he wasn’t antagonising you. 

“Thanks for the coffee.” It’s forceful gratitude. You weren’t feeling grateful, but you still had manners. 

“You’re welcome.” 

“Don’t make it again.” 

“I will not.” He grins and walks away to his desk. 

You act like you don’t know he’s watching you work. Looking up often to find you stuck on the same page. Even if he knew that you know, he didn’t plan to stop. What he does know is that you’d never directly let him help you. He doesn’t care. There weren’t any new cases this week, so a ton of paperwork was to be expected. It’s taunting enough to write down details of your own assault, the extra paperwork would only add more stress. You’re too busy trying to push through the mental blockade to notice the sudden influx of files on his desk and the efflux on yours. 

What you didn’t miss was how the next cup of coffee you were offered was just as perfect as the one from before. 

“I thought I told you to stop with the coffee, Reid.” You lightly slam the paper cup on Spencer’s desk. 

He leans back in his seat and chews on his lip with an entertained smirk. 

“And I did. That’s not from me.” He’s earnest with his response.

“Oh, so JJ just happens to know my coffee preferences all of a sudden?” You sarcastically retort, crossing your arms.

“No.” He crosses his fingers across his lap. “I told her how you like your coffee when she said she was going on a coffee run.”

“And why did you do that?” You play along, unenthusiastically. 

“Because you told me to stop doing it.” He states in the most casual way possible. 

This was getting you nowhere. It was naive to think he’d let you spend your last few weeks here peacefully. Scratch that– he was being peaceful. Too peaceful. A new tactic to get under your skin?

“Stop. It.” The delivery of your words is slow and emphasised. 

“Stop doing exactly what you’ve told me to?”

You bite your tongue and glare at him. His face, shoulders, arms, everything, is relaxed. You can’t even argue with him. You take a moment to consider how bad it would be if you bashed his head in with the back of your gun. Then you take another to critique how easy it is to pass the psych evals. They should really think about the consequences of using questions the BAU wrote on actual BAU agents. 

After that day you went back to ignoring him. Any time coffee was offered you’d decline altogether. If he attempted to try and talk to you, you’d respond with yes or no for the sake of professionalism. This didn’t deter Spencer though. He gave you your space but kept a close eye on you, continuing to try and ease your burdens from afar. Exactly how he used to. 

This only lasted until the next case came in. Specifically until you were back out on the field, where he perceived you to be in high amounts of danger. You tolerated it because it gave you comfort, not that you’d ever tell him. Having Spencer by your side made it easier to deal with the reality that there’s little you can do if another incident like Anchorage occurred. 

Plus focusing your energy on ignoring him kept the flashbacks away. Or it did, until the take down. You once again found yourself in danger from an unsub, only this time the situation was controlled. All guns were pointed at the killer, except for the one that was pointed at you. The plan was simple: you talk down the unsub, take him back to the station and talk him into exposing his partner. 

Everything was going according to plan, until Spencer realised that one of the cops in the room was his partner and he was about to shoot you. Nobody understood what happened before the situation calmed down. Spencer had fired the first shot towards the dirty cop and immediately tackled you to the ground, shielding you from the hail of bullets that followed after. All you remember clearly is freezing up, clinging to the man on top of you. One moment you were screaming out, trying to make sure that he was okay and the next you were back in the alley behind the bar, fighting for your life. 

You didn’t comprehend anything until the panic attack subsided but Spencer was fine. His vest caught the bullets. Both unsubs were dead. Rossi and Prentiss came to the realisation the same time as Spencer and were quick to react. And you weren’t in the alley. You were in Spencer’s arms as he led you away from the scene when it was safe. 

When you snapped out of it the medics had cleared him of any injuries. He tried to approach you during your check up, but you shoved him away, unable to even look at him. The only thing you remember clearly is Hotch sending you all back to your hotel rooms before tomorrow’s flight back. You should be asleep right now, if not from the exhaustion of today’s events alone, then from how long you spent reassuring everybody that you were okay. 

You couldn’t sleep. Not when so many thoughts were occupying your headspace. This is the second time Spencer’s saved your life, in the span of roughly a month. The first time he’s put his life in direct danger to save yours. Had it not been for his vest he would be dead. The more you linger on it, the angrier you’d become. You were also wearing a vest, you would’ve been fine. What he did was unnecessary and reckless. 

What if the bullet missed the vest? Entered through the side? What was he thinking?

You were mentally fighting the urge to barge into his room and yell at him for his stupidity, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go to him. What happens to him is not your problem anymore. You aren’t going to let your guard down just because he’s an idiot.

Spoilers: BAU! Reader, Reader almost dies, Reader and Spencer are pissing me off, bc they’re so dumb, angst, hurt no comfort, Reader gets a little revenge.

AN - Before you comment ANYTHING, there is one more part. It’ll be posted a lot sooner than this one was. Writing this made me realise how limited the English language is. There’s only so many words to use and ways to write them. If either part sounds repetitive at times, it’s not my fault!!! Casual reminder: I am not Spencer Reid. I don’t have an IQ of 187. Any facts I make him spew could very well be bull-shit and he only spews them for the purpose of the story. I also have no knowledge of how the FBI works and lack a ton of common sense. A lot of things were made up for the purpose of this story.

If you comment you garner good karma for yourself and that could lead to you meeting MGG someday (I’m not liable if this never happens), think about that... 

Thank you for reading!

[occamstfs]

Ni Hao!NYC

Morally conflicted journalist puts off questions of ethics until it's just too late. Finally assigned to put his name next inflammatory content Sam finds himself more than appreciating Chinese culture.

Various white to Asian Muscle growth and racial change ahead!

Like many, I saw the final pictures on twitter and had to do something with them haha! Ended up with a piece just a tad different than usual! Hope you all enjoy! -Occam

Samuel Johnston knew he worked for a rag but as long as the checks cashed he could afford to mute his conscience. They made money not from sales so much as some rightwing think tank who wants their views affirmed in any way they can get it. So he lays low and pens little puff pieces, avoiding anything too controversial and introduces himself as an accountant to anyone he cares enough to lie to.

He’s quite adept at staying out of sight and mind when it comes to the doling out of any especially charged or problematic issues. Making sure to bury his own work any chance he gets, even using a pen name in case someone accidentally stumbles on his writing. It’s gone well enough so far he thinks! Sam tells himself that really working for NY:Red isn’t that bad, surely it’s even good that he’s got the job rather than anyone who believes the shit they write. Right?

No job is without its problems, he tells himself. So far he’s done a commendable job keeping his nose down with an almost supernatural ability to duck away from bigwigs or management. That is until now as he’s summoned by name to his boss’ side. His proficiency at staying off the radar of management has kept him from a one on one with the man in charge for some time, but now he is sitting on the top floor outside of Mr. Howard’s office, surely waiting to be assigned some horrible project.

“Come in!” Sam hears the surly man shout before promptly stepping into the gaudy office. He’s immediately taken aback as somehow the editor looks almost younger than he does in the many pictures Sam has seen. Sam hides his shock at the man’s jet black hair as well as he hides the general fear and disdain that begins to send adrenaline pumping towards his mind. Mr. Howard doesn't notice at least, getting straight to business, “I can tell from yer writing that ya like the city Sam, can I call ya Sam?”

Samuel opens his mouth to reply but the chief just continues on, “Anyway I love all yer little toilet paper stories but how do ya wanna write with the big leagues?” This time Samuel stays strong and gets a word in before being steamrolled again, “Actually I-” “I’m puttin’ you on the most important case we have Sam. Surely ya’ve noticed all this, what's da word, influx? Invasion? Bah. All the Asian shit that’s startin’ ta creep in on our city’s culture!” Samuel makes an awkward face as despite knowingly working for the racist, it’s different to hear the words out loud.

He holds his tongue out of shock or fear and his boss continues on his diatribe, “The last couple a schmucks I had on the beat just up’n left me high and dry can ya believe it! Old friends I thought!” He grumbles as he scratches his chin, moving away his hand it seems his beard thinned? He shakes his head in irritation and Sam would swear he saw his jowls tighten and wrinkles smooth over. “Anyway kid. Go out and do some prelim research. Have something on my desk by Friday or yer out just like those galoots!” Samuel stands for a second unsure if he’s allowed to leave before his boss looks up to glare with eyes Sam would’ve sworn were blue when he walked in.

Sam rushes out the door and to the elevator, riding it back to his floor, debating between writing a preemptive resignation or keeping mum and keeping on payroll for one last week. Profiteering from a culture war he may be but he’s not about to regurgitate genuinely racist talking points. He taps his foot impatiently as he thinks about just how cushy this gig is though. “Fuck!” He decides to call the only other confirmed decent human being he knows here, his friend Nick who works in the fashion dept.

The two go to grab coffee at a chain next door, Sam tries not to notice how they’ve started selling Vietnamese iced coffee. “Fuck man I can’t do it! Literally just one conversation alone with Howard was a wake up call.” Nick smiles like he has no problems with working for the dirtiest rag in the city, “Chill out Sam. Huward had my manager on the same beat and he, uh, Hidaka said that is said to just look busy for a bit and we won’t need to worry about all this racist shit anymore.” Sam squints his eyes at his friend, he’s not usually so easy breezy about work. He also racks his brain trying to figure out who Hidaka could possibly be. That can’t be his boss. No way Howard would let someone not white lead a department.

Seeing Sam lost in thought Nick reaches out and grabs his hand in a way Sam couldn’t imagine him doing before this second. In fact as the second drags on he stares down in the hand in shock, feeling the warm hand squeeze his forearm. He looks up to his friend’s face searching for any clue to the cause of this odd behavior. Sam smiles awkwardly and half-jokes “Hah hah, uh- Who are you and what’d you do with Nick… Hah.” Nick bursts out laughing, patting him on the arm jovially and leaving a hand larger than Sam remembers resting on his own. “Hidaka-san just showed me how to worry less about this job un?”

Sam inspects him closely for anything amiss, it looks like he’s picked up a bit of a tan? His hair is messier than usual and definitely a little darker, his skin is alluringly smooth and Sam can feel the heat his body is generating despite sitting across from him. Looking at his clothes Sam finds another surprise, his shirt almost looks strained! As if Nick has been hitting the gym for sometime, maybe it’s just been a while since he’s seen his friend in person? 

Assuaged in the slightest, Sam ignores the glowering red flags and follows this lede, “Woah Nick have you been working out?” Nick blushes and Sam at the very least sees his friend is as shy as ever. He goes to scratch the back of his head straining his shirt almost to its ripping point as he responds, “Ah a little haha! どうぞ(please) don’t you worry about me. Since you have no desire to write the article, why don’t you go ahead and check out the little Asian market down the street for fun? It was quite a good time when Hidaka-san brought me earlier this week!”

Sam awkwardly smiles as he wonders why on Earth Sam is suddenly referring to his boss like this, it’s almost like he’s performatively speaking Japanese. Taking a second to pause Sam looks at the haircut as hands unseen style it into something fashionable he puts two and two together. Thinking to himself, ah! Nick must just be a weeb! Tension disappears from his body with a sigh of relief as he wonders how he didn’t notice before now. He gets up to follow his friend’s advice, what better way to stick it to the man than support the people he aims to malign right?

He bucks up and grabs a Vietnamese iced coffee for the road, tossing a “Sayonara,” at Nick with a wink to which he perks up and slightly bows. Man, how did he not notice before Sam thinks yet again. Blissfully unaware, leaving just as kanji symbols appear on Nick’s keyboard and his friend responds to an email in a language he didn’t know this morning. Blue eyes growing coal dark as his tanned, increasingly muscular arms tap away at the keyboard.

Sam spends the bulk of his day at the little Asian street fair and has an absolute blast. Any residual stains on his mind from his unpleasant morning absolutely fade away as he goes from booth to booth sampling cuisine and chatting with diasporic cultures the world over. Time flies as he goes into journalist mode and basically interviews first gen Chinese immigrants about their time in the city. He finds himself beyond immersed in the conversation, continuing to learn from the couple as the tables around them begin to pack up for the day. 

He offers to help the older couple pack up and they happily take the aid, striking him bashful as they talk of what a sweet young man he is. “Wa! 哇强 (strong) Too!” The wife chuckles as she jokingly feels his less than impressive arms. He was having a better time at this little fair than he ever could’ve imagined, enough so that he thinks about going to stick it to Huaward then and there. Huaward? Whatever. His mind slightly off put by whatever that was, in an uncharacteristic act of transparency, Sam lets it slip that he works for NY:Red. The expressions on the kind couple’s faces immediately sour and Sam is quite shocked that they even know what the paper is.

There is a glint in the husband’s eyes as he starts to motion Sam away from any further aid, “谢谢 (Thank you) for your help, Sam. There have been a few, hm, bad men wandering around from that paper and I uh-” He looks around his table and grabs some miijiu they hadn’t put away yet. His wife nods, her face somewhere between rueful and hopeful as she watches her husband offer Sam the glass. “Again, 谢谢, er thank you for your help young man, enjoy this for the road 好的? (Yeah?)” The two turn to each other and begin talking to each other in mandarin alone and Sam takes the hint.

Kicking himself that he fumbled the capstone on such a pleasant afternoon, though finding solace in the rice wine he’s walking away with. He is blissfully unaware as the couple watch him drink and head down the street debating if everyone from that paper really is an asshole. Grimacing as they think about the vitriol spewed at them by NY:Red readers they decide they had no other recourse. Pleasant as he seemed Sam was consciously working on the side of hate and that could not be simply overlooked.

Sam quite enjoyed the rice wine the couple left him with, it immediately smooths over any lasting regret or concern about his interaction with the couple. They don’t know anything about him! He’s nothing like his other coworkers. It feels as if he’s had far more to drink than the small container they left him with should allow, but every time he looks down there always seems to be more mijiu to entice him. It would be impolite not to finish their gift he thinks; his confident stride quickly shifting to a stumble as he wanders home. 

His phone goes off as he gets an email from his boss, Mr. Huang?  Can’t be right. He squints at the email, deciding he must really have overdone it on the mijiu and stuffing his phone back in his pocket. Beyond the obvious difficulties in ambulation being drunk, Sam is unable to notice as his proportions slowly begin to shift. His ever-so lanky body begins to feel dull and heavy as the warmth of the wine fills his chest to capacity and then some as he leans against his apartment door, wiping his feet on an unfamiliar doormat. 

He kicks his shoes off by the door on some new instinct and immediately goes to collapse on the couch. His small sofa creaking as he puts more than his usual dead weight on it. His legs that usually hang off the end lengthen even further as his thighs grow meatier. Pecs press into the cushions as he snores. He is swiftly ushered into an unfamiliar dreamscape, the jubilee of the fair and the bewildering amount of wine he drank produce a vivid carnival of culture in his subconscious.

He sees the old couple at their stand and begins to speak with them in their mother tongue, seeing the delight as a load is taken off their shoulders. His dreamself seamlessly conversing with a fluency unearned. Sam stirs in the waking world as his mind existentially changes to match his morphing body. His blond hair grows thin and longer as its tint stains darker. Twitching in REM the green eyes that he prides himself on speckle with brown before they are entirely overtaken, becoming a rich cacao like the thick eyebrows framing them.

The discomfort of a new language forcing itself into this memory begins to wane as he prides himself on how fluent he is in both Chinese and English. His hand goes to scratch his pecs and he smirks in his sleep as they pulse larger, knowing pride is not the only thing surging within him. At the edges of his mind he feels the memory of learning a language, words written on a blackboard in chalk, English and Chinese both. For the life of him he cannot recall which of the two he’s learning second. An alarm set on his phone blares and he jolts awake to get ready for work.

Throwing on a shirt, Sam freezes as he sees his reflection. Hundreds of little questions seize his mind, those aren’t his eyes are they? Did he dye his hair last night? Are those abs? God his arms look good don’t they!? As they race through his mind and grow rampant they fixate on how attractive he suddenly feels. Rubbing his pecs and feeling them bounce he cries out to himself, “该死！Uhhh, Damn I look good!” He poses in the mirror and takes in every new angle of his powerful body. Taking note as his body hair seems thinner, and decidedly darker wherever it remains. He looks close at his pit seeing his once dense bush of curly hair thin out and straighten, before the memory of even having dense body hair is washed from his mind.

His phone goes off again and his work is immediately brought to the forefront of his mind. “Fuck I didn’t read Huang’s message!” He finds email after email from his boss, only the first few mention the wretched assignment they last talked about. Sam’s eyes widen as he continues to skim through the emails as the topic lines quickly show some drastic re-prioritization from his boss. Only then does he realize that he’s been reading his boss’ name as Huang. His boss is white. Rather his boss’ whole identity is based around being white! Huang isn’t, right? Incredibly he clicks the last email, subject line Vacation, and is immediately greeted with a mouth watering picture of a powerful man. Everything comes to a stop as he can’t help but gawk at this man’s body.

Ni Hao Sanuel- take the day off shi de? Still only half dressed Sam balks at just how bizarre this is, rereading the name Sanuel he is thrown for a loop as his mind reconfigures this. Tearing his eyes from the man’s torso he finally looks at the cocky face and sees a thread he recognizes,  “天啊! (Holy Shit!) That’s Mr. Huang!” He shuts his mouth before he drools like a dog at his boss’ arms. God, this is unlike him though right? He tries to dig through his memories of the editor in chief as the caustic racist he was yesterday, but with each uncovered the image of Huang changes as this dreamboat playboy overrides more of what was.

Sanuel readies to just stay in for this day of assigned vacation before he gets another notification, this time from his friend, Nobu? An image of Nick flashes through his mind, a handprint burns on his arm, and the taste of Vietnamese coffee dances on his lips. “Meet me on the boardwalk うん？” Sanuel rolls his eyes at his friend tacking on Japanese like that, willing his mind not to think about how his friend’s contact ID now says Nobu. Must be one of those, uh, his own thoughts trail off as he successfully abandons concern to head to meet his friend.

Nearing the meeting spot he looks for his usually cleancut friend, the only body present however is a massive Japanese man awkwardly flexing at himself in a reflective surface. Sanuel shyly speaks up, “Ni Ha-, uh Hey? Have you seen a guy named Nick around here?” The apparent bodybuilder beams and goes to engulf Sanuel in a hug shouting, “Oi! Shan! took ya long enough!” His eye twitches hearing the name, as this man effortlessly lifts him off his feet in a hug far too intimate for colleagues, and certainly from whoever this stranger is!

Shan pushes against the massive man, his body heat broiling him on this already warm day. He strains his eyes looking at the man grabbing him and suddenly it hits him, “Nobu?” The man promptly lets him go and pats him on the back with a laugh he would’ve never expected to come from his sheepish friend in the fashion department. “Wanna go have some ice cream or something Shan?” He feels the need to push back against his friend calling him Shan but as he hears it a second time he can’t recognize the names as anything but his own.

Shan pauses as he sees Nobu stop to chat with some Japanese tourists and something about the picture doesn’t sit right. God it’s that talk with Huang getting him all worked up again that,uh, racist? He clutches his head as contradictions between his past and present collide in his head and he slams his eyes shut as he cannot determine what is true about his current reality. Shan falls to the ground with a deep thud, slightly hyperventilating, his body grows larger as he takes deep breaths from the stress.

Hearing him collapse Nobu runs over to help him up, this time with more effort as his friend’s comatose body continues to put on muscle and grow heavier. Still, having the impressive figure he does, Nobu rather easily gets him on a bench and sits next to him, “クソ野郎？(Fuck dude?) You alright?” Shan slowly nods as his friend throws an arm around him. Looking down at his own arms as they pulse with muscle, he feels his eyes strain as the structure of his face begins to change.

Shan's jawline sharpens and his skin smooths. Stubble that has been a cornerstone of hiding his facial blemishes vacates as his hair stains black and flops longer. He feels clarity grace his mind as he stares at large hands on the ends of pale, hairless, muscular arms and he wonders if he is even himself.

He voices these concerns to Nobu who just laughs them off. “Hah! Of course dude, same Shan I’ve always known!” “那- that’s not my name Nobu.” His friend grins shyly in concern for his friend's mind. “It can't be my name. I’m-” grimacing before he continues as it takes everything in his power to speak against the realities in front of him. Memories of a world quite far away, moving to New York long ago, the youngest in a family of Chinese immigrants, “I’m white aren’t I Nobu?” 

Nobu can’t help but laugh again at the beyond bizarre statement. He jokes about Shan hitting his head when he fell. “You’re the most 2nd Gen Chinese わるがき(brat) I know bro! Imma go get us some ice cream while you chill out.” Shan stares at his friend as he abandons him, feeling his eyes tighten as they shift into the monolid eyes that his memories swear he’s always had.

Shan retreats into his mind racing against his changing memories to find a pillar of truth to grasp on. He sees himself at the gym with Nobu, his black mop of hair flicking sweat into the air as he poses with his bro. He sees just yesterday at the Asian fair, helping an elderly couple pack up their table, twitching as he would’ve sworn that went differently. He remembers sitting at the office getting no work done as he plays on his phone, 是的！that’s it! His job. There’s something there, if only he can remember what the problem was there.

He sees Nobu begin walking back with sweet treats, Nobu works at the paper too. Oh 呃/Duh! He smirks as he goes for his wallet to grab a business card. His eyes see the obnoxious red logo he knows before they read text that will send him irrevocably forward, Shun Jiang - Ni Hao!NYC. His body fills with warmth like a machine overworking as his mind races with information about his new reality. Sweat drips from his hair as he can no longer even struggle to recall his claimed existence as a bystander at the vile paper they produced. His brown eyes steep to a dark black as they glaze over.

“Shan-baka! Here’s a popsicle!” Nobu shouts as he returns to his overheated friend who immediately bursts from his stupor. “混蛋!(Asshole!) It’s Shun- thought we were close!” Nobe smirks as he starts to eat his own ice cream. Unable to recall anything too in depth he feels a pause as he wonders what his Japanese friend is doing working for a Chinese newspaper, before he answers it himself. Clearly his subconscious is more at place in whatever new reality he faces. Their paper is for all NYC’s Asian immigrants. Nobu works writing, or more often modeling, for Konnichiwa!NYC! Huang really was a genius for the idea.

Shun smiles, thinking fondly of his boss as he enjoys the short break from the summer heat that Nobu brought him. Back at the headquarters of their paper everything shifts from the rag it was and into a paper connecting the disparate Asian immigrants of the city, printed in any language they can find translators for, Ni Hao, Konnichiwa, Annyeonghaseyo, Namaste!NYC. Each day striving for a better, more inclusive New York City. Shun beams with his new face, no longer burdened with the just concern of his peddling vitriol, instead possessed with a desire to spread his culture far and wide.

———————————————————————————

As I was writing I remembered a similar series by the now gone Dumb-and-Jocked!

If interested do check out Horizon Zero: One, Two, and Three for quite a different take on a journalism themed Racial Change!

[sakasamurai707]

Oh boy I can’t sleep so here’s some Cyberpunk Relationship Headcanons!

Kerry x Male!V

-Kerry genuinely sung the ‘I love you, bitch. I’ll never stop loving you, bitch’ song to V on their three month anniversary, complete with the guitar. V had no idea what to say, and didn’t understand the reference.

-Kerry sleeps starfish style and with his mouth open. V has had to close his mouth because he drools in the night.

-Kerry swore he would never have an animal in his mansion before Nibbles came to be. After he met nibbles, Kerry bought him a throne style cat bed.

-Kerry doesn’t understand that not every kiss has to be with tongue. V has genuinely bitten his tongue because he just wanted a quick smooch before a gig.

Panam x Male! V

-Panam is allergic to pollen, but due to being in the badlands, she never knew until V brought her organic flowers. She sneezed for a week straight before realizing.

-V and Panam like racing, but V is terrible at driving. He once accidentally crashed her car into a pile of cacti.

-V and Saul sometimes have family dinner together, and Saul asks really personal questions about the relationship every time. (Example: ‘sooo…have you two screwed yet?’)

-when V can’t sleep, Panam takes him out to look at the stars. The first time she did, he cried, since he’d never seen them before due to the city lights.

….”if we don’t fix this chip thing, V, I’ll be looking up at those. You’ll be the prettiest star out there.”

Judy x Fem! V

-Judy loves telling V about her ocean and fish hyperfixation. Sometimes, she wishes she could afford to go to a real aquarium. V swears if she gets the money, she’ll take her on a date there.

-Judy and V have made braindances before, all to be kept in Judy’s “private folder.”

-V doesn’t understand why Judy is so emotional sometimes, but she’ll awkwardly hug her or kiss her when she starts crying.

-Judy’s favorite movie to watch with V is Ponyo. Judy knows the song by heart and sings it during the credits.

River x Fem! V

-Both River and V really want the other to quit their jobs, so sometimes they jokingly leave resignation papers on each other’s desks. V doesn’t really have a ‘boss,’ so River just leaves a sticky note that says “quit.”

-River really likes iguanas, so when V hatched hers, he cuddled with it more than her for a week straight. V had to deal with it being in between them in bed.

-Joss and V talk a lot, to the point where V will show up at his house just to completely ignore him and talk to his sister. River just ends up standing behind them awkwardly.

-River does the ‘broke boyfriend stance’ every time they’re in a store. Johnny makes fun of him for it.

-River and V are really cuddly, to the point River can’t fall asleep correctly without her beside them.

Bonus!!!! Johnny x GN! V

-Johnny has tried to convince V to kiss the mirror to see if it feels like an actual kiss. (It doesn’t.)

-V has a habit of telling Johnny ‘I love you’ out loud. They said it in front of Hanako right before the relic malfunction, and Hanako looked at them and said

“Uhm…thank…you…?”

-V eventually figures out how to get Johnny a new body and repair the chip. (In my heart I’m delusional.) Once they did, they didn’t let go of each other for weeks. They had the worst honeymoon phase.

-Johnny excessively jokes about soul killer. V does not find it amusing.

Bonus Bonus!!!! Takemura x GN! V

-Takemura cooks most of their meals after V revealed they mainly eat frozen tv dinners instead of real food. He’s Also really insistent that they drink water and shower.

-Takemura once brutally cried after seeing the full effects of the Relic Malfunctions, comparing it to when his Arasaka implants got revoked.

-Takemura didn’t know how to hug someone, so he accidentally nearly choked V.

-he also didn’t know how to kiss, so he just…opened his mouth.

-Takemura doesn’t understand sarcasm, so he takes whatever V says to its fullest meaning.

[safety-writes-noms]

Midnight Snack

Yay! We reached 200 followers so im just gonna put out a little short story for you guys as a thank you :D

This story has vore in it! It’s all sfw and nonsexual!!!! If you don’t like that, then just ignore this and click away.

Summary; Miguel hasn’t been taking care of himself lately so you decide to make sure he doesn’t keel over and die from exhaustion.

—

Now, you knew beforehand that Miguel is a man dedicated to his job, but this is unreasonable. 

“A week?” He avoids your probing gaze expertly as you frown at him from his desk. “That’s how long you haven’t slept? Do you know how bad that is??”

”I’m busy. I can’t sleep.” He responds with a little shrug, as if it isn’t that big of a deal. As if his skin isn’t worryingly pale and the shadows under his eyes stretch deep. If it weren’t for the fact that you had forced him to eat on a fixed schedule, you assume he would’ve also skipped breakfast, lunch and dinner regularly. While his determination is admirable, it’s seriously worrying to see him in this disheveled state. 

His hair is all mussed up and his eyes are blank, staring uncomprehendingly at the bright monitors covering the entirety of his desk. You scowl, crossing your arms as he steadily ignores you.

”Miguel! Come on, big guy, look at me,” You tap one of his hands and he tears his eyes away from the holographic report to stare at you. “This can’t be healthy. You gotta take a break, man.”

His brows furrow. 

“I can’t. I have to — I have to make sure everything’s fine. Everyone.” He shakes his head stubbornly and you can’t help but huff. He’s pausing, blinking slowly and dragging his eyes back open laboriously as he struggles to function normally, much less hold up a conversation. He’s probably only staying awake through sheer will and spite.

“You can do that after you’ve gotten a good rest, Miguel. You’re gonna end up collapsing or something.” If you could, you’d grab him by the shoulders and shake him. Maybe that’d get some sense into him. Unfortunately, since you’re about the size of his pinky, you settle for pushing at his hand. 

He barely pays you any mind, though he seems pretty out of it in general. He’s not listening. He’ll run himself to the ground, and while it’s not your job to care for him, you’re going to anyway since that’s what a good friend does. Plus it would kinda suck if the leader of the Spider Society died from sleep deprivation. 

“Lyla. Turn the computer screens off, but leave the lights dimmed at 20%,” You call and the glowing hologram flickers to life next to you. 

“Aye aye, Captain,” She salutes cheerfully and the bright orange interfaces go dark. Lyla promptly glances at Miguel and grimaces. “Oh. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, boss?”

Miguel musters up a vague frown, bracing himself heavily against the metal of his desk.

“Hey! I needed those. Turn them back on.” He bristles but the words are lukewarm. He has to be completely exhausted because he barely even fights back. Lyla clicks her tongue disapprovingly.

”Nuh uh, I don’t think so.” She wags a finger at him. He bares fangs, though he looks resigned. That’s a pretty good sign. Means he’s pretty close to giving up.

”I made you.”

”Actually, Xina did.” 

“Lyla — “

You clear your throat as loudly as you can and Miguel turns to look at you, irritated. 

“This is your fault,” He mutters sullenly, perfectly audible to your ears. Unrepentant, you grab at one of his fingers again and tug until he grudgingly flips his hand, showing his palm. You hop in easily, keeping steady as he carefully brings you up to his face so you can feel the full extent of his watery scowl. ”Are you happy with yourself?”

“I’ll be happy when you decide to go to sleep.” You bite back and he sighs loudly. 

“If I sleep for a couple of hours, will you get off my case?” He asks exhaustively and you nod your head grudgingly after a moment of contemplation. A couple of hours isn’t the best but you’ll negotiate with him later. 

Lyla claps her hands together happily. 

“Yay! This is great,” She turns to you and glitches up to you, holding her hand out. You take it and the two of you shake in mutual respect. Miguel just watches with a defeated sort of air. For a man who’s usually so stiff and stern, it’s only at the dead of night that he lets himself crumble. You find it somewhat touching that he trusts you enough to show his flaws, even though he pushes against your care most of the time. 

“You’ll both be the death of me,” He groans and Lyla sticks her tongue out at him. 

“I’m actually trying to keep you alive, thanks,” She snarks back before vanishing in a dizzying whirl of golden sparks. Her disembodied voice echoes from the ceiling. “Also, you’re locked out of the computer system for the rest of the night — unless it’s an emergency that needs your assistance. Have a good night, boss!”

Miguel’s head snaps up at her last words before he just sits down heavily in his creaky swivel chair. His head comes down with a loud thunk, the hand with you in it still held aloft. You wince. That couldn’t have felt good. 

You hop off easily, absorbing the impact with a roll as you poke at his cheek. 

“This is no place to take a nap,” You scold.  “Think of the back pain you’ll feel when you wake up tomorrow.” 

He makes a muffled noise of annoyance, but pulls himself up regardless. Miguel sets his hand down in front of you again, which you clamber into quickly. He raises it up to his shoulder, and you take residence there as he begins walking over to the cushy couch shoved in the corner of his rather massive office. The kids had smuggled it in somehow and it just never left. Now, it’s main purpose is for movie nights and the occasional nap or two. 

He slowly lugs his body onto the cushions with a quiet grunt, making sure that you don’t get knocked off with the motion. Even when he’s half asleep and tired out of his mind, he’s still unimaginably careful while handling you. While it’s appreciated now, it can be a bit stifling when out on the field. You just happen to come from a universe smaller than his, you’re not made of glass.

”Two hours. Then I’m going back to work.” He says, phasing away his suit to reveal rumpled but soft looking clothes underneath. It’s some sort of futuristic fashion with a high open collar and unimaginably soft fabric. 

“A whole night.”

”Three hours.”

”A whole entire night.” You insist stubbornly and he blinks.

”… Five hours.” 

“Miguel.”

He huffs, aiming a glare at you with little to no heat. 

“I can’t take that long of a break. I have things to fix and repair. And missions to coordinate.”

You raise an unamused eyebrow. 

“The other spiders can take care of that, Miguel. You have hundreds of incredibly smart people who are willing and eager to help. And Lyla can do that last one. She’s connected to everything.” Miguel still looks hesitant so you decide to sweeten the deal and play your trump card. “Look. I’m tired too, y’know? If you agree to sleep until morning, I’ll let you eat me.”

He’s silent for the count of five before he shifts slightly. 

“Right now?” He raises a brow at you and you nod. 

“Yup. I don’t really mind it, y’know. I think it’s comfy.” Miguel looks faintly confused but seems to be considering his choices. 

“… Fine. A whole night’s sleep.” He finally settles on, and you slip down from his shoulder to his chest, squinting through the darkness you know he can see clearly through. Miguel hesitates for a moment before gently grabbing you from between his thumb and forefinger, lifting you up to his head. 

You dangle from his hold, blinking as he apparently works things out in his head, sharp eyes examining you carefully despite the fact that he has gulped you down before with relative ease. 

“Alright. The watch will make sure you’re fine. Just call me or send me an alert through it and I’ll get you out. Got it?” He asks and you nod eagerly. 

He opens his maw wide and though you can’t really see in the dim light, you can see the yawning abyss of darkness in front of you, highlighted by sharp white teeth and fangs. His breath whooshes over you, making shivers wrack through your body despite the relative warmth of it. You reach up and tap one of the fingers holding you up, signaling that you’re ready and he makes a quiet hum of acknowledgement. 

Miguel inhales slowly and slowly lowers you into his mouth. The first sensation you get is wet. Saliva soaks into your suit and you slip a little, bracing a hand against the slippery soft flesh of his tongue. The second is temperature. Everything is moving around you, so wonderfully alive and warm. His tongue curves underneath you, the powerful muscle shifting so it can wrap around you loosely like an oversized blanket.

His mouth shuts with a quiet click of teeth and all of the faint light from outside is cut off, leaving you within the darkness of Miguel’s body. You go slack and still, letting him absentmindedly taste you, push you from one cheek to the other subconsciously. 

You feel him soak you in spit, not protesting or fighting back as he readies you for the journey below. Miguel is still gentle, careful. Nothing is too rough or hurts at all, even when his tongue tentatively presses you up against the hard palate of the roof of his mouth. After a long moment, he tilts his head back, just barely.

You slide toward his throat, squeezing down the tight fleshy tube accompanied by a couple of large gulps to help get you down entirely. The sound of his swallows is loud and for a moment it’s all you hear as you’re moved down. It’s not a bad pressure and you’re mostly used to it as you slip down from his esophagus and into his belly. 

And man, it’s so much warmer here and also so much more comfortable. The soft flesh here contracts slightly around your body as you find a comfortable position to lie in, tucking yourself against a wall with a yawn. You press a hand against the mass of warmth and squishiness under your fingers, blinking when it ripples across the entire expanse of his stomach. 

It’s quiet for a moment before Miguel clears his throat, his voice oddly loud and muffled at the same time.

”You okay? Need me to get you out?” He asks, and you make a lazy hum in response.

“No, I’m fine, man,” You sink deeper into the comforting warmth and you hear something like a quiet chuckle from above. It’s good to hear him sound relaxed for once. God knows he needs some relaxation anyway. 

“Okay,” he sounds tired and everything is still before your surroundings shift and you tumble somewhat quickly into the side wall of his stomach. He must’ve turned over on his side. ”… Thank you. You care too much about me.”

You frown, picking up on his meaning quickly.

”Well yeah, you’re my friend. Besides, if I was working myself to death, you would’ve done the same, right?” You say and he huffs, laying a palm over his stomach. You can feel it in the way the slimy-squishy walls indent around you. 

“It’s not the same.”

”How so?”

”It just isn’t.” Miguel says firmly and you roll your eyes.

”Agree to disagree. Also, go to sleep! I have no idea how you’ve stayed awake this long. We’ll talk about that tomorrow.” You promise, pressing your hand against the closest “wall”. He makes a quiet noise, but it’s quickly drowned out by the familiar sound of rumbling vibrating through his entire body. The volume of his contented purrs are quiet enough that a person outside would have to strain their ears to hear it.

From where you are right now, the comforting noise is steady and somewhat loud. It’s not overwhelming though — it just blends into the other sounds of his stomach growling and his other organs working somewhere else in his body. You stretch and settle down with a quiet yawn. 

Then everything shifts around you, contracting and moving to cradle you securely in complete warmth and comfort. 

“Goodnight.” Miguel’s low voice echoes from above and you close your eyes. 

“G’night.”

You fall asleep that way and he quickly follows, a hand settled carefully over his stomach and fully content.

[izvmimi]

malevolent enterprise ch. 4

cw: ceo!au. in which you, the reader, meet ceo itadori for the first time. reader wears a dress and heels. header by @/cafekitsune! masterlist

“A pleasure to meet you finally.”

Yuuji’s smile is wide and friendly as he rises out of his seat upon his interviewee’s entry. You, having just been led into his office by a rather flustered appearing secretary, the type that is doing her best but her best is at best subpar, are still trying to control your expression when you  meet face to face with him. You do your best to offer him a smile, taking advantage of your disarming features, and in a few measured steps, stride across the room to your seat, taking his hand in a gentle handshake before having a seat.

“Thank you for having me, sir.”

You smooth out the back of your skirt as you sit, thanking the heavens that you haven’t had some mishap with your pantyhose, as is the tendency. You usually prefer a pantsuit, but you’ve been told that Itadori Enterprises is on the conservative side, so you’re clad in the only suit-skirt combo you own paired with sensible pumps instead of loafers, hoping that you make it through the day without mishap. The young man in front of you does not appear very conservative, you think, and in fact something about his relatively cheerful expression and pink hair gives him an air of childishness. Keeping your own countenance just shy of neutral yet warm, you focus your eyes on him. 

“I’m happy you were willing to interview me this early. I was very excited to see that you reached out for an interview in less than 48 hours of my application, and I would like you to know that I’d be honored to be considered for such a coveted position.” You begin.

Yuuji nods, but says nothing else. He appears to be studying you, which is surprising but preferred to the outright ogle that you’ve had in your past couple of interviews this week, so rather than dwell on it, you consider an opportunity to continue speaking. 

“As mentioned in my cover letter and resume, I’ve had years of experience at Gojo Corp., and while I’ve left amicably in search of other opportunities, I am very capable of transferring valuable skills learned there to your organization,” you finish. He’s let you speak for long enough, and asked you very few questions, and you decide you  might as well end your monologue strong and hope for the best. 

Amicable is somewhat of a stretch, but you continue to say it without hesitation. What really happened is you’d slapped a resignation letter on your desk after weeks of responsibilities being heaped onto you at increasing intervals, in the midst of increasingly long vacations from your womanizing boss and more and more casually disrespectful speech. Satoru, for some reason, had decided that you were the one to play games with somewhere in the last three to six months of your tenure, and you frankly had run out of the coins to continue. When you’d finally quit, Satoru had nothing to say but finally, and before you could really take your time and lay into him, threatening a workplace harassment lawsuit, he’d clapped his hands together, thanked you for your time, and told you he was hoping you’d finally know your worth. 

Leave, he asked, a glint in his eye. You genuinely deserve better than to be here, working with a peon like me. 

The sarcasm stung until you realized he wasn’t being sarcastic in the way you expected. Gojo offered you enough severance pay to last you practically a year, knowing it was far from enough for what you've done for him. 

I think you undervalue yourself, he said, an unsolicited piece of advice included with the hefty sum of money stuffed into a neat envelope. You never asked for a promotion, and took more and more work, to the point that you might as well have been running this place on your own, doing the job of ten people.

Angrily, you reminded him that he could have just treated you like a human being and you’d never have resorted to resignation, but he laughed, swinging his legs on the desk and leaning back into his chair, head resting on his palms.

You wouldn’t have been forced to know your worth, he’d said.

You didn’t like this type of support, but here you were, being considered for an executive position, something you would have never considered a year ago.

And this wasn’t the only one. 

“From what I’ve seen of your application, you are absolutely impressive. I’m surprised Mr. Gojo had you doing middle management for so long.”

You resist the urge to make the joke, “you and me both,” but Yuuji seems to pause to expect it as though he is reading your thoughts. Instead you smile, and look down at your open portfolio. Then you look up and see that his mouth seems to have opened slightly in a small ‘o’ as though he’s surprised in anticipation of what you’ll say before you say it. 

“I absolutely have the skills to be an executive at this company. I understand if you’d prefer someone internal and appreciate the opportunity to be considered. If I must be so bold, I would like to share that I already have been offered a similar position at another company, but I’m very particular to your company’s mission, and would much prefer to be here.”

Yuuji perks up in a way that makes you practically imagine dog ears on his person. He’s far too… cute, wet around the ears appearing to be in this sort of position, you think for a moment. Too easy to read. Too sincere.

“Where?” he asks, eyebrow raised. His light brown eyes seem to betray a premonition of the answer. You wonder if the brothers talk - you had spent enough time searching for any backstory to supplant what you’ve heard through the grapevine about the corporation’s split, but often financial matters and family matters do not completely align. You have heard that the two are not fond of each other, and that simple knowledge encourages you to move things in your favor.

“Ryomen Industries.”

Yuuji frowns. He pauses and mulls over this information and for a moment you wonder if you’ve overstepped, shifting in your chair and masking your discomfort with a quick cross of the legs, and folding your hands in your lap to prevent yourself from looking seductive. Yuuji however is not looking at you, his chin pressed to his fist suddenly as he thinks, staring at a fixed point at the wall, slightly off from you.

Then his eyes snap back towards you.

“Whatever they’ve offered you, I can offer you double or triple.”

Your eyes grow wide.

Unable to help it, the first thought that crosses your mind is No way he knows what he’s doing.

To quell your disbelief, you let your lips curl into a smile.

“Forgive my candor, but are you simply that impressed by me or do you simply refuse to lose?”

Yuuji blinks, taken aback by your speech, but you’ve realized by now that Yuuji has already hired you in your mind. You are not at any risk. 

“Don’t mind that.” Yuuji smiles, this time the corners not reaching his eyes to the same extent, and he takes your portfolio. 

“Are you willing to start tomorrow?” he asks. He clears his throat, and you know it to mean that the current subject has been tabled for later.

“Yes.”

Yuuji rises, and you rise as well. He rounds the desk to meet you, and now that he’s closer, you take a better, more focused look at him. Sweet-faced but quite handsome, you admit, with broad shoulders, and you spot a wrinkle in his suit that you’d consider smoothing out if you weren’t a stranger. His walk is more confident than it should be for a man you feel like you just conned. Something about all of this is far too easy, you think. You are suspicious.

Yuuji leads you out, walking a bit too quickly ahead of you, and while you keep up for the most part, you find yourself staring at the back of his head, then your eyes travel further to his backside, admiring the cut of his suit, the shine in his shoes. He’s tall, and he speaks softly to the confused secretary, reminding her to do her job and make sure to send you an email of your formal contract. He takes you on a very brief tour of the building, talking animatedly as you take the elevator with him. He smiles far too easily, too much, and the middle managers speak to him casually. You’re not sure if you like that. 

He introduces you by your new title and you bow. They will not speak to you casually, is your first thought. At least, not at first.

You make a circle with him, and he shows you your supposed office. It’s a 2 minute walk from his, and appears similar, just slightly smaller, with one armchair placed in the corner, instead of a small sofa. It’s bare, and does not have your name on the plate on the door or on the desk. Somehow that is reassuring.

“Please let me know if the specifications are alright,” he asks.

That’s not his job, that’s his secretary or assistant’s job, you say in your head, but offer him a polite nod. He offers you another handshake.

“Glad to have you on our team.”

You haven’t signed the contract yet but he’s so earnest, you find yourself saying,

“Thank you for having me. I’m excited to work with you, Mr. Itadori.”

[copiass]

What's In A Name?

Papa Emeritus IV x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10,218

Warnings: nsfw, light dom/sub, oral sex, glove kink, dirty talk, office sex

"It was undeniably, inarguably, most definitely fucked up. You had never meant for it to get this far - really. It had just been a mistake, and not even your own at that, just a stupid slip-up that had sparked something sick and wicked right in the pit of your stomach."

AKA: Whilst harbouring a secret crush you use your boss’ last name without him knowing. (I know nothing about tax returns or identity fraud, deal with it.)

Can also be read on ao3

Other fics here

It was undeniably, inarguably, most definitely fucked up. You had never meant for it to get this far - really. It had just been a mistake, and not even your own at that, just a stupid slip up that had sparked something sick and wicked in the pit of your stomach. An urge to fulfil some long-dormant, base need that had somehow started to form in the deepest part of your gut. An urge that had, admittedly, spiralled out of control weeks ago. An urge that currently had you pacing towards Copia’s office, pretty sure you were about to get fired.

You’d been Papa’s Personal Assistant for about six months, and up to now it had been going just swimmingly. The promotion had been a surprise, the latest Sister handing in her notice red-faced and vexed after being summoned to Copia’s office for yet another lecture. She had managed to last 2 months, admittedly his longest up to that point. But his PA’s always ended up the same, pacing and ranting endlessly in Imperators' office, notice in hand, begging to be moved elsewhere to spare his ‘incessant micromanaging’. You had been fairly new to the clergy, eager to make a good impression with a secret soft-spot for the newest Papa. With, unsurprisingly, few takers for the role all it had taken was a short interview with some of the higher members of the clergy and you were in, your own desk, a stripe of Papa’s blue added to your uniform and even an extra half-day off in the week (though, admittedly, you rarely saw it). 

It hadn’t taken you long to realise that Copia was not, in-fact, an insufferable asshole, a particularly cruel employer, or a dictatorial micro-manager. He just appreciated when things were done a certain way. And - oh - you’d made the effort to learn, how he liked his papers filed and tabs colour-coded, how he preferred his stationary ordered at his desk, the exact temperature he liked his afternoon tea. It became easy, placing things on his desk before even he realised he needed them, slipping his old books back to the library without him asking, making sure his reading glasses were sat right where he would reach for them while he absent-mindedly flicked through paperwork. It just worked. The more time you spent with him the more you understood what he wanted, what he needed, just intuitively. Yes, Copia ran a tight ship, with little to no room for slip ups, but you soon realised it’s because it had to be that way. His keen attention to detail sometimes seeming like the only thing keeping the whole ship afloat and fully functional. 

Not that he had made it easy for you. It was like he had already resigned you to failure that first morning you showed up in his office, eyes flicking over you briefly before he looked back down his nose through his glasses, examining spreadsheets with a displeased hum. It had only pushed you, the more unmoved he appeared at your presence the harder you worked to get it right. The more paperwork he pushed through your desk without comment, the quicker you filed it. The more he complained about his tea not being right the longer you kept it brewing. The louder he scoffed under his breath at his ink running dry, the sooner you were there to refill his pen. Not with Ministry issued ink, no, but Copia’s favourite ink. The one imported from Italy in a gilded case, kept in the top right-hand drawer, behind his ‘secret’ chocolate stash. And it was worth it - so - worth it when he would give you that look. Like you had pleased him, that he understood what you had done, that he appreciated it, deeply.  

And it felt perversely intimate. Knowing someone so well when you barely knew them at all. You quickly learned Copia was not a morning person and did not like to chit-chat before at least 9.30am. His favourite lunch was on Fridays when the kitchens brought up a small charcuterie board paired with an expensive red to finish off the work week. He preferred the black olives to the green ones, even though you insisted they were the same just to wind him up and watch the smirk pull at his painted lips. You learned how he bit away at those same lips when he was expecting a phone call from Saltarian, and how he rubbed at his temples when he had been working too long, the both of you sprawled across the desks working into the early hours of the morning. 

Copia learned too. He learned that when you were stressed you’d chew on the end of his, frustratingly, expensive pens as you worked, brow furrowed as you read over his work. He learned that if he voiced his distaste for green olives for long enough you would eventually slink over to the other side of his desk and steal them off of his plate, neglecting to use cutlery, giving him the chance to watch your oil slicked fingers slip them gently into your mouth. He learned that you were eager, so eager, for every challenge he presented to you. Eager to prove him wrong, eager to impress him. He also learned that you liked to poke at him, test the waters, push his buttons just to tease. 

“Ai! This stress will be giving me even more greys, Sister.” He’d complain, whining and smoothing at the silver hair at his temples, checking his reflection in the gilded mirror in his office. 

“Oh, I do hope so, Papa.” You’d sigh back with a wink, savouring the way he would look over to you, eyes burning in the candlelight of his office, eyebrows raised in a mock warning.

And there it was. The fine line that you both danced around in the confines of his office. You initially made a point of not seeing him outside of work, intentionally ignoring the pointed silence that had started to emerge everytime Copia announced he was retiring to his rooms for the evening, avoiding his offices on your days off, only seeing him at Masses with the rest of the clergy. But soon enough it just became easier to spend your lunch breaks together, whispering clergy gossip over a now shared pot of tea. And then it was just easier to eat dinner together over paperwork, the kitchens bringing two dishes instead of the one. And then it was just easier to have a quick shared nap on the couch in his office when trying to meet a particularly challenging deadline, the weight of your head pressed nicely into the warm meat of his thighs as his gloved hand rubbed at your temple lightly. 

It was inevitable really. To be so close to a Papa, to be so close to him and have him seep into every crack, every crevice of your subconscious. It was funny, to see behind the facade, to witness him as just a man at his desk every day, swearing under his breath at his “horseshit” brothers who couldn’t balance out a spreadsheet to save their lives, and yet also see that he was objectively not just a man. The confidence with which he carried himself, the way he unashamedly let his gaze linger, his reluctance to ever speak indirectly or without purpose. And if you had to finish off most evenings alone with your fingers between your thighs and his name falling from between your lips, that was your prerogative. Copia didn’t have to know. You were driven, determined even, to not let it distract you. To prove to him you could work well, help him achieve his vision without getting preoccupied with something else. 

So, naturally, when the postman responsible for delivering your mail made a mistake, just a tiny, minor mistake, it should have been an easy fix, a laughable offence. When the postman dropped off the usual letters and packages with a warm smile, and a casual ‘Mrs Emeritus, I take it?’ you should have laughed politely and corrected him as you took the mail. You should have clarified your position, maybe even offered up your own name instead. You should have taken the mail to Copia and offhandedly mentioned the exchange so you could both laugh at just how ridiculous that concept was. 

Yet, before you could even think, before logic even had the chance to enter the equation you found yourself nodding, smiling as you took the mail with a surprisingly confident;

‘Yeah - that’s me.’ 

Any sense of professionalism, common sense or even decency were outweighed by the sudden, sick satisfaction at the implication not just of being his assistant, but his wife. Copia fucked around, you knew that, gathered as much from the gossip around the ministry. Not that you’d dared to ever ask him personally, though due to embarrassment or jealousy you weren’t really sure. You knew he had a reputation, that was just part of being Papa, it came with the job. When the urge took him he had any number of Siblings to choose from to satisfy him for the night. But being his wife. That was different. 

You’d shut the door, letting your back hit the dark wood as you grinned to yourself, cheeks still flushing at an implication you’d never considered before. You let the fantasy wash over you, picturing what it could be like, how he would hold you, how he would adore you, how he would fuck you. For a moment you weren’t just his assistant, who tidied his desk and sorted his mail and served his tea, but his partner. His equal. Your head had felt dizzy with it, the words of the delivery man still buzzing in your ears, pulse racing, cheeks flushed. You’d thrown the letters down on Copia’s desk a little more hurriedly than usual, rushing back to your own desk pointedly avoiding his gaze. If he noticed anything he did not comment, choosing instead to sort through the post with just a soft glance your way. 

That’s when it started. This problem. This perverse little game you’d been playing only with yourself. You’d tried to forget it, laugh it off as a joke and nothing more, just a mistake that caught you off guard. But that seed had burrowed down, deep into your gut where even you couldn’t remove it. Then it spread, reaching even into your dreams, filling them with images of dishevelled greying hair and slick leather gloves. It had appealed to some base nature deep within you, eager and possessive. Yes, the first time had been a mistake - but offhandedly signing a receipt with that same name certainly had not been. Neither had the second receipt. Nor had the third. Or that new email signature to an outside agency. Or the rooms booked under your name on the last tour. 

Who would know? You’d reasoned to yourself, knowing that the only person checking the paperwork was, by default, you. Copia was none the wiser, more important things to think about than receipts for minor purchases or email signatures. You’d never use that name inside the ministry, it was a dangerous game after all - playing with the Emeritus name. You’d seen what had happened to those who played games the Ministry didn’t approve of and you did not intend to join that list. It wasn’t even about the name, not really - just him. The fantasy that you were someone that was important to him, someone he was attracted to. Theoretically, it was foolproof. It was harmless, no one would ever find out anyway. It just gave you a thrill - the risk of being caught weighed up against the kick of using his name. 

Theoretically. 

It wasn’t until Copia pulled you aside one evening as you were aimlessly fiddling with his diary for the next day that your heart dropped into what felt like your ass. 

“We may need to be breaking into Terzo’s coffee supply the next few days, eh Sister? Hehe.” He’d chuckled to himself, leaning back in his chair. 

You flicked your eyes over to him, taking in the way the leather waistcoat lifted as he stretched, pulling up his black undershirt with it, revealing the dark, greying hairs on his lower stomach. Satanas - you’re sure he did it intentionally half the time, just enjoying making you look. Realising you had absolutely no idea what he just said you shook your head.

“What?” 

He smiled at that, flicking his eyes away as he tried to repress it . 

“Tax Returns, Sister. We have a lot of paperwork to get through together.” 

“I thought we got … someone else to do that?” 

You blanched, your stomach flipping as you thought about the stack of paperwork in your locked top draw, signed with a name that is most definitely not your government name. 

“Ai - I am not paying someone to do what we are perfectly capable of doing ourselves.”

 Papa moved to stand behind you, hands coming down to squeeze at your shoulders reassuringly. You absolutely do not think of the size, or weight, of them as they cover most of your frame. 

“And we will do an excellent job as always, Sorella. Nighty night!” 

“Goodnight, Papa.” 

You had sighed in reply, your eyes following him as he moved down the hallway to his private quarters, knowing he’d used your favourite nickname to try and soothe you.

Shit. 

That is how you’ve found yourself pacing to your shared office, praying to any deity that will hear you that Copia does not, for probably the first time in his life, need to see every single detail and scrap of paper that has ever passed through the Ministry. After spending the night tossing and turning and triple checking the receipts just to make sure they definitely didn’t look like he had signed them, you had formulated a game plan. Realistically a few minor receipts would be fine going under the radar. You had made sure to never sign for something important, something there would need to be a paper trail for. You also knew that Papa, being the way that he is, had kept all of his most important paperwork with him, collated in colour coded folders next to his desk, obviously. There is no reason that he would suspect something is amiss, there is no reason for him to suspect you have a hidden stash of, probably illegal, receipts and invoices currently stashed in your bag ready to burn. And there is absolutely no reason for Copia to already be in his office before you get there. 

It seems that no deities have decided to take pity on you. 

You know he’s in a shit mood the second you open the door to the office. The first indicator is that he’s already drinking coffee - which he hates doing. The second is that he’s got an already well-used ashtray on his desk and a cigarette in his mouth, meaning he’s cracked open his also ‘secret’ emergency ‘stress-relief’ smokes. Those usually only make an appearance when he’s got those big annual budget meetings with the upper clergy. Shit. 

Doing your best to look objectively not guilty you sweep over to your desk, flipping your laptop open to check your emails. He’s on the phone, you notice, that stupid ancient phone holder balancing between his shoulder and his ear, cigarette balanced between his full lips. Whoever’s talking is clearly pissing him off, his brow is furrowed and he’s tapping his fingers against the desk. He also hasn’t acknowledged your presence yet which is unlike him, unnervingly unlike him. Unsure of what to do or say you just continue mindlessly tapping keys and clicking on already opened emails, doing anything to look busy and avoid drawing too much attention to yourself. 

“Pah!-” 

Copia spits out, slamming the phone down on the holder in response to whoever was on the other end of the line. You startle and look over to him as he finishes his cigarette with a deep drag. Now that you’re looking at him you can see the extent of his stress. Even under the paint you can see the heaviness under his eyes, the way the waxy pigment has started to crease with the tension in his brow, the way it’s started to rub away a little where he must have been rubbing at his jaw. His hair is just the right side of dishevelled where he’s been running his hands through it, the greys threatening to fall into his face as he talks. His scarf has been pulled loose, hanging somewhere near his chest rather than up near his ruffled collar. His desk is a wreck, different piles of papers stacked and stapled, different mugs strewn in between, an unlidded highlighter cast aside near the phone. He’s been at this all morning. He takes a breath, emptying his lungs of smoke and rolling his neck. 

“Sit.”  

You startle, jumping in your seat. He is not asking. 

“Regretting not getting someone else to do it yet?” 

You joke, trying to save it, though your delivery and flat half chuckle don’t quite manage to sell it. Copia doesn’t bite. 

“That was my brother on the phone.” 

Papa starts, you try not to think about how rough his voice is after taking a drag, much deeper than it usually is. You don’t have to guess which brother, that would explain his sour mood.

“You see, Sister, I am missing paperwork. Some receipts, some invoices - you know-” He motions with his hand as he talks, eyes scanning the papers at his desk, not looking at you just yet.

“So, I call my idiota brother, these things are usually his fault, si?” 

And shit, he’s definitely stalling, he’s getting at something here and you’re hoping, praying it isn’t what you think it is. You force your bouncing knee to still itself, willing your face to be straight and empty of anything that he can pick up on. 

“And yet he says, it is not him. So I do the checking, and he is right-” He scoffs, “for once.” 

You nod, patiently, obediently. Waiting for him to make his point. He turns to look at you, really look at you, the white of his eye somehow more intense than it usually is, stark against the deep paint on his eyes.

“I do not miss paperwork. Sister.”

And there it is. He’s giving you an out. Copia doesn’t give second chances, and this is going to be his only offer at a first. You don’t speak, a million excuses coming to mind at once, each one as equally pathetic as the last. You know how you must look sitting there in front of him. Lying was never one of your strong suits, especially under pressure, especially when it’s to him. Yet it’s like you can’t speak, can’t even begin to think of how to get your mouth to move and formulate words. 

“Do understand, Sister, that we do not take this sort of thing lightly. If you were hoping to be fiddling or moving extra money in some way-” 

“Woahwoah-”

You interject without thinking, room spinning a little as your brain catches up to what he’s actually accusing you of. 

“Of course, I would have hoped that you would have told me if-” 

“It’s not that!” 

You hiss at him, suddenly a little offended that he thinks so lowly of you and your intentions. The room is still tilting as you try to save yourself from whatever the fuck is happening. You suddenly realise you’ve just handed yourself a shovel and started digging, Copia’s eyes narrow suspiciously, and fucking hell why does he look so good when he’s mad. 

“Then what is it.” He asks, patience clearly wearing thin, the coffee and nicotine only working to rile him up more. 

You decide if any deities are still listening they should most certainly just open the ground, swallow you whole and just have done already. At this point you honestly don’t know if it would be less embarrassing to just admit to some sort of fraud and risk being excommunicated permanently on grounds of financial criminality. Lucifer - your habit has started sticking to you and your throat feels like it’s closing up, panic setting in. You’re just about to throw the towel in, admit to being some sort of crook when you decide to look at Copia again. 

And it’s devastating. Under the paint, under the mask, under the guise of cold professionalism is worry. Genuine unease sitting in the all too familiar lines of his face. Your chest pulls as you look at him, his eyes threatening to become wet and glassy. You realise that he’s not pissed, but hurt at the idea of you admitting to this, at the notion that his assistant has been dishonest with him. It’s right about then you decide then you would rather suffer any amount of personal embarrassment over hurting him. Without speaking you reach into your bag and pull out the stack of papers you’d been hoping to get rid of. He looks away, immediately wounded at the implication. 

“Just read them.” You breathe out as you throw them onto the desk, eyes fixed on the floor. 

“Sister, You cannot expect me to believe-” 

Copia starts, then pauses once his eyes have scanned over the first few scraps of paper. He stops. He looks up at you. His eyes flick down again, then over the next piece of paper, and then the next. For the first time in six months you think you may have just rendered him speechless. You swear he must be able to hear your heart beating in your chest as you wait for his reply, only just realising that you’ve handed him a metaphorical loaded gun. Satanas, you really must have been stupid, handing over signed proof of your … feelings for him. Copia still hasn’t reacted, not really, choosing to sit further back in the chair and flick through the papers like some sort of sick flipbook.

“Ah.” 

He finally sighs out, dropping them onto the desk, one hand coming to comb through his hair.  

Unable to move your mouth you stay silent, waiting for him to continue. Papa doesn’t speak either, reaching for his pack of smokes before lighting one and taking a long, drawn out drag. If you’re being honest his reaction to your confession isn’t exactly inspiring. You hurt a little at that, realising perhaps you had misread the ease between the two of you. Realising that there might have been a reason he’d never propositioned you on those long, late nights alone.

“Which one is it?” 

He finally asks, his voice again deepened by the smoke, his tone one you can’t quite place, sitting somewhere between annoyance and disappointment. 

“What?” 

Granted it comes out a little ruder than you were aiming for, but you’ve been thrown so many curveballs in the last five minutes you’re honestly just grateful to still be sitting upright on the chair. 

“Do not test my patience, Sister. You do not have to hide it now. So - which one is it?” 

Fucking hell Papa could be petulant when he tried. He takes another drag, moving his eyes away from you again, like he can’t bear to look at you. You immediately decide you hate that more than anything else. 

“Copia, I can assure you, I have no fucking idea what you are talking about.” 

You’re not sure if it’s because you used his name or the language, or his clear lack of sleep, but either way he bristles at that, eyes fiery turning to look right into yours. Shit, he really is something to look at when he is like this, the logical part of his brain lagging behind his emotion for once. He’s surprisingly menacing, the pupil in his white eye unable to dilate with the other, unbalancing his features. This is the Copia that secured his own place in the lineage. 

“Do not play stupid with me Sister, I will not tolerate it - not from you. This is the Emeritus name, is it not, Sister?” 

“It is, Papa.” 

“And here it sits with your own name, does it not, Sister?” 

“Yes, Papa.” 

“Then, I can only be assuming, Sister, that you have found yourself a considerably comfortable spot in one of my brothers’ harems.”

Your brain completely taps out. You go to open your mouth, in an attempt to say anything. 

“Ah-ah!” 

Copia stops you, taking a moment to calm himself, finishing the cigarette and shoving it into the ashtray. You’ve not seen him like this before, so unpredictable, so wiry. You’d almost have considered it exciting had he not just accused you of fucking one of his brothers. 

“That is … fine, Sister. I just feel I would like to know which brother that is all? It is selfish I know, I just … need to know.” 

Taking a second to process what he just said you lean back in your chair, counting on the ornate backing to catch your fall. You close your mouth, noting you don’t actually know how long it’s been open. It baffles you, faced with the realisation that the man that you have seen write speeches; balance spreadsheets, translate texts, compose music, and recite spells and incantations with ease, is a fucking idiot. Copia notices your lack of a response and shakes his head. 

“Ai - forgive an old man, Sorella. I pry too deeply. I just did not expect that you had-” 

“There is no one else.” You interrupt quietly, for his sake. “Just you.” 

It’s like you can see his brain working, cogs turning behind his eyes as it’s his turn to play catch up. He looks down to examine the papers again, jaw working in that way it always does when he’s thinking. He’s rubbing his fingers together, the room so quiet now you can hear the leather working against itself. Suddenly, you feel even further out of your depth, gooseflesh rising as he finally brings his gaze back up to you. It’s been a long six months, you’d dealt with worried Copia, pissed Copia, unbearably, sickeningly sweet Copia - but never this Copia. The one that’s looking at you like you’re a rabbit in his headlights. Like he can smell you already. 

“Up. Come. Now” 

He snaps his fingers suddenly moving his chair back a little as he taps the top of his desk. Copia does not ask twice. Surprised that your legs are even able to move, you stand slowly, hoping you’ll make it to the desk without embarrassing yourself even further. His eyes don’t leave you as you walk around to his side of the desk,so close you can practically feel the warmth radiating off of him. He opens his legs for you to stand between them, making a point of shifting his hips up as he does so. It’s at that minute you decide you absolutely cannot look at anything else but the knot in his loose tie, for the sake of your own self-preservation. 

“Do you know how we got this name, Sorella?” 

Hells his voice is so deep now you’re close it’s almost like a purr, the thrill of it settling right between your thighs. There’s a softness to it but it’s far from kind, far from being anything but mocking. He starts to adjust the sleeves to his black poet shirt and you mentally curse him, it’s like he knows down to the minute how many sleepless nights you’ve spent thinking about those godforsaken sleeves. 

“Now, now Sister. You are usually so talkative, no?” He teases, though again it’s not entirely kind.  

“It was a gift, Papa. From Him” and fuck it’s embarrassing how breathless you are already, thighs clenching just at being this near to him like this. 

He moves quicker than you can react. Before you can process it, he kicks one of your legs from under you, knocking it so you stand wider, legs open in between his own. 

“Errato.”

And just like that he’s standing in front of you, much taller than you remembered, much broader than he seems from where you sit at your desk across the room. You can’t help but shrink back, lean further back into the wood only to be devastated when he follows there too, eyes examining your face like it’s the first time he’s seeing you. He breathes you in and you can’t help but follow, eyes closing as you take in the smell of him, all incense and smoke and something that must just be him. 

And oh, perhaps those deities had been listening after all. His hands come to cradle your head, holding it as he fiddles with something at the back of neck. With a gentle pull your veil falls away somewhere onto the cluttered desk, exposing you to him. Papa’s eyes flick up to examine you fully now you’re without your veil, like he’s got to squeeze one more look at you in before he’s moving again. His hands wander to find your own, pinning them down the desk under his as he carries on his, frankly lewd, inspection of you. You can’t help but gasp out, surprised that the gloves are warm, and that he’s strong, and that he’s actually touching you. He lowers himself until his face is right next to yours and you can’t bear to look, it's too much, being this close to him. He doesn’t seem to mind, taking the chance to breathe you in again, nuzzling as close to your neck as he can get without actually touching you. 

“Gifts are given freely, Sorella. Without reason, without obligation.” 

He lets his lips brush against the shell of your ear. 

“Try again. How did we get this name?” 

Fuck, it was one thing hearing whispers in the hallways about his talent, all hushed giggles and filthy conspiracy. It’s an entirely different thing to see it in practice, to be the object of his attention when it’s so all-consuming. Your thighs are already wet, you can feel it as they rub against each other. You can feel where the front of his waistcoat is pressed up against your chest as he crowds you into the desk, sure now that he can feel where your nipples are hard against him. His hands snake their way up your arms, before one comes to settle in the back of your hair. Your eyes open as he pulls on it, seeming to relish in the gasp you let out. 

“Say it.” 

He speaks again, nodding mockingly, eyes flicking over your face lingering on your lips as you part them to speak. 

“You earned it, Papa.” 

“Brava Ragazza, Sister. Well done.” 

And Oh - he’s giving you that look, the one that got you into this fucking mess in the first place. Like he’s proud of you, like he sees you. He disappears from view as his lips press against your hairline. 

“You’re always so smart, hm?” 

And you really can’t tell if he’s being genuine or mocking you but you couldn’t care less as his warm, wet lips traced across your forehead, the fingers of his other hand coming to cup your chin and keep you still. It’s barely a kiss, just the press of his lips against your skin but it is singularly the least chaste thing you have ever experienced.

“It is a Sacred name, Sister.” His lips are trailing down the sides of your face as he speaks, lips catching against your skin as he talks. 

“Given to my bloodline by Satan himself.”

Copia finds that spot that sits just behind your ear and chuckles as you shudder against him. You’d put good money on the probability of him mentally logging that away for later. 

“I have worked for this name, I have bled for this name-” 

He pulls away and you’re almost embarrassed that you whine and try to follow, so caught up in the heady way he’s been touching you, you think it might actually kill you if he stops. 

Cruelly, he pulls away completely then, leaving you giddy and off-balance as you look up at him helplessly. 

“I would kill for this name.” 

Papa finishes, his gloved thumb coming to pull at the full flesh of your bottom lip. His face hardens and you understand that he isn’t lying. It’s not a warning, not really, more a confession. Not that you would have ever doubted it anyway. Abruptly, he chooses to sit down again, legs spread open on the seat as he lays his arms down on the rests. You fight back a mewl at the loss of him, thighs twisted together to try and keep some semblance of self-control. His hands come together under his nose as he thinks, calculating his next move, thoughtfully, carefully. 

“This - is where you have overstepped, Sister. You are using a name you have not earned. We must all earn our place, earn our name, dolce.” 

Ah. It all clicks into place then. Here he is again, giving you another out. Giving you a chance. Here it was, that instant knowing, what was wanted, what was needed - just intuitively. You started to lower yourself down, neatly folding up the habit at your thighs as you did, knowing Copia was nothing if not a sucker for reverence. The greying hair at his temples fell forward a little as he bent his head, gaze following you down to his floor. You made sure to grab at his thighs for leverage as you did so, half for your own satisfaction and half acting on intuition. It paid off you realised, as he chokes out a moan and pushes his hips upwards. You log that away for later. 

“Let me earn it, Papa.” 

It’s merely a whisper, bowing your head as you speak, another show of reverence for him. You let your head rest in his lap, cheek pressed against his thigh, a sick imitation of the last time your head was resting there. His hands come to stroke at your hair, just as he had done before, and you take the chance to capture his hands in your own. Eager to please him, to elucidate. You start to kiss his palms, mouthing along his fingers with delicate presses of your lips, the action itself chaste and devout.

“Let me never stop earning it”

Oh, he likes that. The rumble in his chest gives him away, the way his fingers follow your lips revealing him. You run with it, eager as always to impress him. Flicking your eyes up towards him, looking through your lashes you wrap your lips around a single finger, welcoming it along the length of your tongue to rest near the back of your mouth before sucking it gently. It’s odd, the sensation of leather in your mouth, but it’s warm, rough and him, and you can’t help but moan through it. If the stress of tax returns hadn’t already ruined him enough you’re more than making up for it now, his chest is heaving, pulling at the fabric of his waistcoat as his eyes lock onto where your mouth is around him. His hips have pushed out and thighs opened around you, letting you shift closer to him. He nods his head, showing his consent, his approval of your actions. 

“Fammi vedere, Sorella.” He nods, voice even deeper than when it was laced with smoke. 

Your Italian is patchy at best, Copia likes to remind you of that daily, but you find yourself positively unable to care, the gist of what he’s saying suddenly very clear. You gently place his hands back up onto the rests for him, kissing the knuckles on each hand as you do so. Savouring the feel of him you move your own hands to his thighs again, digging in to feel the strong muscle underneath. So much wasted time spent staring, as he moved around his office gesticulating or bounced his legs around on stage in those obscenely tight trousers. 

You carry on massaging him, each time your hands getting closer and closer to the now, completely strained fastenings of his jeans. Completely beyond sense now you move on impulse, muscle memory, letting your legs slip open, pressing yourself against the cold tile floor as your face falls forward to lick at his seam. He’s hard, and hot, and it’s twisted that it’s taken you this long to be in this position. It’s degenerate really, finding some relief working yourself against the cool floor, the heat of him on your tongue. You can see his hands move to grip the arms out of the corner of your eye, a smirk pulling at your lips. 

You find the end of the ties with your tongue and manoeuvre it between your teeth, pulling it back as you flick your eyes up to his face again. Copia chuckles at your trick, looking at you like that again as you undo the strings to work him free. You burn with the need to impress him again, and bring your hands to pull him from his jeans. The first thing you notice is that he’s not wearing underwear, the warm pink of his flesh very apparent once you’ve worked the fastening open. The second is that Copia is fucking hung, thick and throbbing in your hand as his cock springs back against the greying hairs on his stomach. 

You’re pretty sure your eyes must bug out of your head at the sight of him, mouth watering in anticipation. You’d certainly heard things about Copia and his endowments, but well, Siblings were prone to exaggeration, especially when it came to the Papas. In this case they frankly hadn’t done enough. In the back of your mind you question how he’s still conscious with the lack of blood that now can’t currently be flowing to his head. You laugh lightly in spite of yourself, at your stupid internal monologue, at the situation, giddy with the size and smell of him. 

“Mi fai aspettare?” Copia asks, his voice thick and rough as it comes out. 

“My deepest apologies, Papa.” 

You immediately lick from the base, right above where his balls are still covered, to the tip - uncut and almost purple. His reaction is instant, making a noise like the air has been punched out of him, fingers gripping the arms even tighter. It’s maddening, having him throb beneath your tongue, and you carry on, just single licks against him, marvelling at the size of him as you go. Unable to help yourself, you take the tip of him into your mouth, positioning your head to take him down. 

Copia loses what little control he has, snapping his hands away from the rests and bringing them to wind in your hair, directing you down onto his cock. You moan in thanks, grateful for his guidance once again. He’s not being rough, you’re guessing he could do far worse, but he is being thorough, making sure your lips hit the bottom of him before pulling you back up. You find a rhythm in it, following his lead, not having to think about anything but keeping your lips sealed around him and your throat open. There it is again, that balance of what you both wanted, what you both needed, the unspoken instinct you seemed to share. 

Your scalp burns with it but it’s just so good, the way he’s started to fuck his hips up to meet you, using your mouth like you’d wanted him to for six fucking months. He manages to slip out a few times in his thoroughness, the wet of him slicking up your face and lips, and you wonder what you must look like. Your eyes are watering, your mouth flushed and wet and open for him, hair still tangled up between his gloved fingers. Not that he’s faring much better, head thrown back as he fucks your mouth, broken Italian and Latin and nonsense spilling from his mouth, undershirt shoved up around his waist, exposing his stomach. Copia notices you looking and his gaze hardens, teeth gritted as you take him particularly roughly.

“Puttana.” He grunts, and you have no problem translating that one. 

But there’s no malice in it, no spite, just that tone you recognise from when he’s impressed with you, his own warped reverence in return for yours. It only pushes you further, even more eager to please. As you take him down the next time you stay there, even as his own hand tries to pull you back up. You warm him with your mouth, keeping him as deep as you can while your lips meet the bottom of him and your nose is pressed up against the greying hairs at his base. You feel him push up against you, his legs lifting off the seat, getting as deep as he can while he cradles your head. He keeps you there for as long as you’re able, fucking your throat gently, before bringing you back up with a groan when you start to push at his thighs. He doesn’t let you sink back down, not immediately, just keeps your hair firm in his hand as he holds your head up - so he can look at you. Savour how your mouth is pink and slick and swollen with use. 

You whine at him, pathetically, asking him to let you go, mouth still open for him. He guides you down again, only this time he’s shoving his fastenings out of the way, guiding you down to suck at his balls. That rips a noise out of him, loud and unashamed as he presses your face harder into him, grinding against your tongue. You are nothing if not eager to please, laving your tongue over his balls, his thighs, even venturing further down toward his ass. Copia makes a frenzied noise at that, involuntarily lifting up in the seat to grant you better access to him. And it’s obscene, the way he tries to grind against your tongue, fucking himself on your face. He grabs your head again, only this time to stop you. 

“N-no-no …non posso. I won’t- I won’t last, Sister.” 

He breathes out between gasps, body sagging as he relaxes into the chair. Smirking, you raise an eyebrow, noting that one for later. Copia catches you smiling, managing to look over at just the right time, like he always does. The look in his eyes makes it apparent you’re going to regret that. 

“You have earned nothing yet, dolce. Up.” 

He’s demanding, shucking down his trousers a little more so he can widen his legs. You stand, hands pulling at your skirts, eager to pull your habit over your head before he stops you. 

“If you could keep it on, Sister, the habit, I mean. I- I quite like you in it.” 

You must beam at him, you can feel it, the warmth in your face and the swell of your smile, so big it almost hurts your cheeks. It’s the fact it’s your uniform, the uniform that identifies you as his, that special blue stripe singling you out as his own. He’s watched you everyday in this habit, liked you everyday in this habit. Nodding, you start to stand, hiking it up as you go but slow enough to tease. Papa’s eyes flick down to your legs, his normal pupil blown so wide it’s almost black as his licks at his lips, splotches of pink peeking through the paint. He’s fucking his hand as he watches, balls bouncing a little, glove tightening as he nears his tip. You flush as you think about how many times he’s touched you with those gloves, you wonder briefly how often he washes them. 

Suddenly, now you’re standing, underwear kicked down and flicked off your ankles, you feel a little shy. It’s odd, considering moments before you’d had his cock in the back of your throat, but somehow sitting into his lap without his request, without his permission would be just the wrong side of intimate. You’ve napped in his lap, just once, but sitting in it, taking him like this almost feels like too much. He notices, like he always does, his eyes and mind too fast for his own good. He softens a little.

“Please, Sorella.” 

And it’s deep, and demanding and yet his voice breaks a little along the way, and it’s just too Copia for your own good. Now unable to stop yourself you lurch forward, bracing your legs on either side of his own, relishing in the strong muscle of his thighs underneath you, holding you up. One of his arms comes around the back of your waist, balancing you out as he lines himself up against you. It was intoxicating being so close to him, where he was warm and soft and smelled of smoke and whatever expensive shampoo he used. Your arms find the rest on the chair and the back of his neck, fingers toying with the few strands of hair that curl into his nape. It’s nice being close to him like this, seeing the fine lines in his face, the mix of greens in his eye, the slight shadow on his face where he’s neglected to shave. It’s almost too much, the smell of him, the feel of him, the idea of him and you doing this. It’s then that he breeches you, just the first part of him and your stomach drops at the realisation that everything up to this point had been nothing. 

“You think you have earned this yet, Sister?”

Copia is talking, you’re sure of it, somewhere outside of the bubble of just feeling him. Somewhere where he sounds drowned out and far away. Satanas, he won’t stop pushing into you, splitting you like he was made to do it, each ridge and vein dragging you open with a slick sound, the heat oh him almost unbearable. 

“Think you can take my cock?” 

And fucking hell he’s a talker. As if it couldn’t get any more ruinous he was going to talk you through it as he ravaged what was left of you. All you can do is mewl back, legs open and hips pushed forward to take him. 

“Others have tried, Sister.” 

He slides home, his hips coming to sit neat against your ass as he bottoms out. If you thought that had been devastating enough, it was nothing compared to the drag of him as he pulled out again, lighting up your insides as he moved, nerve endings singing with it as he warms you up. He lets out his own sigh then, rumbling deep in his chest and oh - you realise you’d spend your life trying to earn him, if it meant hearing him do that everytime you sank down onto his cock. Copia seems to remember himself then, sucking air through his teeth before he starts talking again.

“Yes - they try their best. Wailing with their legs open for me.” 

It’s simply deviant how that makes you throb, the image of him fucking some Sibling in his quarters after spending the day cooped up in his office with you. He starts to build a rhythm, balls starting to slap up against you as he fucks up into you, his feet planted on the floor for leverage. You brave a look at him and whine when you see how he looks, his eyes fixed on where he’s fucking you, his mouth hanging open, slack as he watches. His hair is fucked, paint starting to bleed just a little with the exertion of it, sweat threatening to leak through. 

“Yes - I fucked them. I made them come-”

It’s like it’s intentional at this point, that he says that as he finds that spot inside you, the one that has your mewl turning into something far more embarrassing, something more guttural, more animalistic in nature. He chuckles, and it’s sinister as he re-adjusts himself to fuck up against that spot again. You suddenly don’t doubt him, or the matter of fact way he says it. You’re fairly confident that you’re not far off already, your cunt clenching around him as he speaks. He comes to grab at your ass, hands squeezing into the meat of it as he bounces you on his cock. 

“I send them back with their legs shaking and their holes full, Sister.” 

He growls right into your ear, back to his monologue, like it’s a threat, like it’s a promise. You start to clench around him, hips working without even thinking about it, letting his strong hands pull you down onto cock. Half for leverage and half for comfort, your hand at his nape starts to twist into his hair, savouring the feel of it between your fingers. 

“And did they presume to have some ownership of me? Did they feel so brazen as to take my name - the name I fucking earned?” 

You can barely even think straight with how he’s fucking you. But you realise, somewhere in the haze, that you’d been so caught up in the idea of being his, the daydream of being so owned by him, that you’d neglected to realise your own claim over him. Taking his name, making it and himself your own by definition. 

“But you - you have the nerve, to sit every day in my fucking office, to flash me that sweet fucking smile, acting so eager, so useful, so innocent, like you aren’t making a perversion of my own name, hm?” 

And he is still hitting that spot, sparks flying to every nerve ending you have every time he hits it, his hips snapping up faster as he riles himself up. 

“You see fit to play and tease, like you don’t rush back to your room at night to play with this tight pussy at the idea of me using you like this.”

He knew, of course he knew he always fucking does, two steps ahead of everyone else. 

“It is my turn to take now, Sister.” 

Before you can help yourself you’re seizing up, muscles locking around him with nowhere to go as you bounce on him, the noise of it becoming downright indecent. The wet suck of you as you take him filling your ears. Copia senses that you’re straining, just missing that extra something you needed to tip over the edge. Your eyes actually start to tear up you’re so desperate to come around his cock, to let him take what he wants. He moves his hand to grab at your face, cheeks pushed together in his firm grip as he looks at you. It’s humiliating, his eyes flicking to your mouth once more as his face twists into a smile that’s almost threatening. He brings his other hand up to his own face, spitting and sucking on his own fingers, moaning at the feeling of it. Fuck his lips looked sinful stretched around his own fingers, swiping at the paint as the coated them. 

Papa nods at you, almost mockingly, letting you know he’s going to help you, he’s going to make it all okay. His fingers leave his mouth and he swipes them directly over your swollen clit, making you cry out and work his cock deeper into you. 

“And I will take it.” 

And his voice is fucked, broken and gravelly like he’d been awake for 3 days straight. You couldn’t have stopped it if you had tried, the way he was fucking you right where you needed it, the rough, wet leather against your clit, the idea of him taking rather than you giving it freely. You shut your eyes as you worked through it, wave after wave as you clench around him, throat raw as you groaned into the hand that was still holding your face. Fuck, you would work to earn it, work for it every day if he could make you come like this. It’s far too slick between you now, the way you’ve leaked onto him, coating the both of you in it. Copia is glowing with satisfaction, lips pulled into a smirk as he just watches.

“Acqua santa, hm?” 

He snickers, more to himself than to you. You can’t help but whimper at his pun, grinding down on him as if to coat him further, like it’s a gift for him. He grunts at the feel of it, head thrown back for a second as he revels in the feel of you, the tight, wet grip of you around him. He moves the hand that’s been holding your face to rest at your waist, his other still lazily rubbing at your cunt, helping you ride it out. He brings his now sticky fingers to his mouth, sucking them onto his tongue with a groan. You should be embarrassed, the way he’s looking at you, the way he’s taking you, but it feels right. Like you’re earning something. 

Copia is clearly giving you time to rest, reclining back in the seat, letting you balance your hands on his chest as you grind out the last of your orgasm for him. Rest isn’t exactly something you had in your plans for the foreseeable future, content to pay back the favour tenfold. He’s quiet now, a little out of breath with his effort, looking up at you as he savours the way your face looks, flushed and bright. You sit yourself up, ready to start bouncing for him again and he kicks his knees up, ready to angle himself to start fucking you again. 

“No no, Papa.” 

You smirk, choosing instead to push him further into the chair with your hands, stilling his movements as you start to fuck him. Speaking seems to be beyond him at this point, he just nods as you ride him, letting you fuck him into the seat of his pretentious office chair. You mentally curse yourself for not choosing to go to the gym more often, the burning in your legs threatening to become a problem. Just looking at Copia underneath you immediately throws that idea under the bus, his head thrown back as you work him. His mouth open with broken gasps leaving his lips with each bounce, eyes heavy-lidded now. The chair starts to scrape across the tiles with the force of it, the low squeak mixing with your own moans. 

It sends a dangerous thrill through you, knowing this was Papa, head of the fucking Ministry, signature powerhouse on the stage, knowing he could snap his fingers and have done with you whenever he felt like it. This is who they all wanted, the fans, the followers, the clergy, the Siblings. But it’s also Copia, your Copia, your boss who lets you steal his green olives and nice wine, and likes you in your uniform, and your chest just swells. Moving your hands to cover his own you move them to cup your neglected tits as you ride him, guiding him to your covered nipples. The kick his cock gives inside you is some indication that he likes that, though his frequent ‘subtle’ glances when you neglect to wear a bra to work had already proven that theory. 

“I mean it, Papa.” 

You move your own hands to cup his face, brushing his hair from where it’s falling into your eyes. The capacity to form words is still out of his reach he just watches, eyes flicking between your face, your nipples pinched between his fingers, and where you’re fucking him. 

“Let me never stop earning it”

You repeat your promise from before, almost hiccuping at the end of it as you manage to angle his cock at that one spot again, savouring the sticky, slick drag of your skin against his. 

“I would spend my life earning it, earning you.” 

Copia is objectively a wreck. All he can do is sit and take you on him, tweaking and twisting your nipples, tilting his own hips to make sure you can work his cock how he’s already learned you like. It’s laughably unrealistic really, his good he feels, like something out of one of those shitty vintage VHS pornos Copia keeps in his ‘locked’ drawer. You feel him throb inside you as he lets out a strained groan and you’re convinced that the only thing you’ve ever wanted was to make him feel good, however he would let you. You didn’t know it could be like this, just an endless feedback loop of pleasure, giving and taking and fucking like you can hear what he’s thinking, and he can hear you. Somewhere in the back of your mind you can hear Copia grunting, choking out a mindless, “You’re s’fuckin’ tight, fuck” as he tilts his hips up for you.

Sitting up tp to lean back, you open your legs to him, so he can see where he’s fucking you. You know how it must look, your cunt wet and swollen, taking his cock so deep you’re sure you can feel it in your throat. He grunts in approval, bringing his gloves to smack lightly at your clit as you bounce, biting at his lips when you stutter around him, shocked at the feel of it. Keen to stay even, to impress him with your efficiency, your efficacy, you bring your fingers to your mouth, spitting onto them as you keep your eyes locked on his. Copia knows what you’re going to do before you even move to do it, already whining so loud it’s almost pathetic. You can’t help but smile sweetly as you reach your slicked up fingers behind you, massaging and squeezing his balls as he buries himself into your cunt. 

“Sister, I need- Can I-”

You’re almost surprised he has the wherewithal to ask, his thrusts turned shallow and stuttered as he tries to keep himself from filling you too soon. It’s all you can do to gasp out a raspy ‘please’ before he’s grabbing your hips once more. It’s a done deal after that, a few broken, sloppy thrusts into you before he’s spilling himself inside, pulling you down onto him with a string of broken curses, using you to come. You’re not far behind, the throbbing of his cock, the feeling of him filling you up kicking off your own orgasm, softer and sweeter than the first. Copia fucks you through it, his capacity for thoroughness making sure you’ve milked him completely, making sure you’ve used him more than well enough. 

It takes you a second to come back to yourself, lost somewhere in that bubble of pleasure and Copia, not knowing where slick, sweat and spend started or began. Bordering on something tantric, something spiritual, you slowly move together as you each catch your breath, his hands coming to soothe at your thighs, strong fingers working the muscles there. It’s quiet, that familiar, comfortable silence you so often shared filling the office. He pulls himself out from you with a wince, tucking himself back into his pants, and lazily tugging the ties shut.

Copia pushes your legs open, gently admiring the way he leaks out of you. He takes his hand and moves to swipe at his come as it drips, his eyes filled with something that looks suspiciously like devotion. Licking his lips, he pushes it back into you with his fingers, his pupil dilating as he watches for your reaction, ever the eager learner. You smirk before reaching down to save your underwear. You go to stand, unsure of where this really leaves you, unsure of what to say - of how to say it.

“There was never anything to earn, tesoro.” 

Copia speaks before you have the chance to overthink, his clever eyes watching your mind tick over. He is giving you that look again, the one he seemingly saves up just for you. 

“Whatever you want - it has been yours for a while.” 

It’s simple, it’s direct, it’s all encompassing, it’s Copia. You feel like maybe you should kiss him but flush with the idea of it, cheeks heating up as he watches the thought pass through your mind. He smiles despite himself, averting his eyes for just a second. Although his paint is still mostly intact you’re sure he blushes underneath it, you can tell, intuitively.

Plenty of time for that later, you reason, remembering there was a desk full of receipts to file and sort before Saltarian decides to come chew Copia’s ear off about his tax returns. 

“Though Sister-” Papa starts as he neatens himself up, slicking his hair back into place, “maybe, for now, we will hide those, hm?” 

He nods towards the stack of crinkled papers. You understand what he’s doing, putting his own ass on the line to cover you. Risking his reputation for complete competence just for you. 

“Yes, Papa.” You nod earnestly in thanks, wanting him to understand that you appreciate the gravity of what he’s doing for you. 

“And maybe for now, though mine certainly suits you, use your own name, hm? At least let me take you to dinner first.”

[writingpei]

lee know | 리노: fake relationship

tw: graphic descriptions of being stalked, physical abuse and trauma response

your job was driving you absolutely nuts.

it was tiring, consuming, far away and paid the absolute necessary for the rent of the small apartment you lived. taking several subways and walking a few blocks to reach the comfort of your home was not at all satisfying, the only thing that encouraged you to continue every day was the envelope stuffed with money that arrived at the end of each month and made it possible for you to survive in the big city.

life at the office had always been unpleasant, but now everything was stranger, a tense atmosphere hovering over your head that became more and more present. you felt like someone was watching you from afar, yet when your eyes ran across the room in search of the culprint, it was always a dead end, seeing nothing but the usual, but the feeling hammering in your head incessantly even so. maybe you really were going crazy.

this feeling lasted for weeks, until one fateful day. you were getting coffee from the pot for your boss, when innervation creeped through your body as it had many times before, a chill that crept up slowly like a snake up your neck. the only difference is that this time you caught him.

a tall young man wearing a well-seated suit stared at you from behind a wall, eyes glazed, searing your flesh. the shiver ran all over your body and the hand pouring the coffee into the "#1 boss" mug shook, spilling the hot liquid onto your hand. this caught the attention of the man, who walked quickly but calculatedly towards you, throwing an apologetic smile that crept across his face as if he didn't know how to smile and was copying someone he had seen do it.

"is everything okay? was it too hot?" he asked, and you took a step back on instinct.

"um... yes it is. it was just an accident" you answer quietly, still not daring to take your eyes off him, ready for the next reaction he might have. there was something really weird about this guy, but you couldn't put your finger on what it was.

"one second" he asks, but you just wanted to disappear from there. every second dragged by like hours and you were already scared enough. he reaches into his blazer pocket and pulls out an elegant white cloth that has probably never been worn before.

"here, clean yourself up" he held out the cloth and you just looked at him hesitantly. "take it" he says, losing the smile on his face and his voice becoming more commanding, his gaze darkening.

this time you catch it quickly hoping he'll leave you alone as soon as he does, but you were completely wrong. after drying off and running to your boss's office, hoping you'd never have to meet him again, you were just choosing to believe a comfortable outcome. what happened, unfortunately for you, was the opposite.

resigning was almost like a death sentence, you wouldn't manage to get a decent job in a long time and you wouldn't be able to pay your bills. at that moment, you just didn't know which was worse, to go or to stay. the only fear that compared with what you felt for him was the fear of reporting him to the company. he had technically never done anything to you and getting scrutinized and fired for misconduct in the workspace would forever tarnish your resume.

now it was impossible for you not to notice him everywhere, lifeless eyes traveling through the rooms always looking for you, the icy sensation that lurked through your soul every time you were in the same environment as him. you avoided him whenever you could, you only dare to leave your desk when he went to the bathroom, or when you needed to go to your boss's office you ran before he had the chance to get up and chase after you.

the tension just built over time and he took your evasion strategies with some humor, as if it were a game and you were playing hard to get. because of that, one day when you were asked to print some papers in the company's printer room, you knew you were fucked. it was in a very secluded place at the end of a corridor and was rarely frequented. your fake smile fell off your face dramatically when your boss gave you the order, but you just sucked it in and grabbed the pendrive he held out to you. maybe if you were discreet enough you could go unnoticed, but it was too optimistic a thought for the situation. the guy was a creep and was on your tail, he would be alert as soon as he noticed your empty table in the middle of so many others.

you made your way very cautiously, however much your hands were shaking and your breathing was uneven. the endless hallway was clear and you took long strides until you reached the little door at the end of it. if you were fast enough he might not even notice it in time.

you set to print the pages, looking around incessantly as if he would magically appear out of thin air. "hurry up, please" you whispered to the printer, praying that it would be quick.

you thought you were going to die when it made a choking noise out of nowhere, and then a second later it stopped printing one of the sheets in the middle. "no" you blurted out in desperation, slapping the machine in hopes of getting it working again, but it was still stuck. "no, don't go stuck on me" your hands were shaking more than ever, and in the middle of your heavy breathing, footsteps reached your ear.

"finally a chance to talk to you" and your spine froze. you could hear the creepy fake smile in his voice and his slow, hard steps coming towards you.

"the printer broke, I need to tell someone to fix it" you say and try to circle him to leave the room but he is impassive and stands in front of you, towering over. the proximity terrifies you and you're sure you'll have nightmares about the face he gives you. you take a quick step back in an attempt to put some distance between the two of you and he takes advantage of the act, taking one in your direction for each one you take to move away.

"no" he says coldly, losing the good guy posture he tries so hard to display. "now you're going to talk to me, you've run away from me too much" you wanted to throw up. "when are you going to go out with me?"

when he says that, a different smile blooms on his face, and you're sure it's his natural one, because it's brutal and terrifying.

"i can't" you manage to get out somehow.

"and now, why couldn't you?" he just smiles wider and shows his teeth more. "you will go out with me"

he takes another step towards you, and you don't know if it's just your head making you hallucinate or if it's the universe working in your favor, but you can see someone entering the room behind his shoulder.

a man with dark hair and white shirt sleeves with sleeves enters the scene, a folder full of papers catching the attention of his eyes and he takes a few seconds to look forward and see the situation that displays itself.

when he does, his eyes are intense and travel from the creep to you slowly, trying to read the room.

you waste no time running to him and hiding behind his arm, relieving yourself slightly by the distance created and the presence of another individual in the room. "i can't go out with you because i'm dating him" you lie, but your desperation makes your voice sound believable, and to add to that, you shyly hold the unknown man's arm with both hands. he's reluctant and looks at you in shock quickly, but something in his eyes makes it look like he understands what's going on and his muscle relaxes under your touch.

"bullshit, you don't date this guy" the creep seems to lose his cool with your attitude, nostrils flaring and eyes widening hideously.

"how do you know?" the man beside you asked in a completely calm voice, and it was your turn to be surprised.

your savior speaking directly to the creep only seemed to make him even more enraged, and the horrible eyes were glued to yours again.

"i've never seen you two talk, stop lying" he says.

"i..." you start to speak but your words are forced out of your mouth and your hands start to shake against the stranger's skin. "i..."

"i like to keep things professional in the work environment, so we don't interact here" he answers for you, tranquility intact. the creep was still fuming, terrifying eyes growing wider. he walks towards you aggressively, steps no longer calculated and silent, full of hate and nerve. when he gets close enough to hurt you, you close your eyes expecting the worst, but only feel your body being pushed slightly.

when you open your eyes you are facing the back of the unknown man's neck, who placed himself between you and the creep, and the protection of your field of vision that he provides preventing you from seeing the other man brings a coolness to your body.

"hey, hey, what are you doing man?" he says to the man you can't see. "get out of here before I call security, are you insane?"

now the stranger seems to have lost some of his temper too, and after a few seconds of silence, you hear quick footsteps leave the room and walk down the hall into complete silence.

you fail to let go of the man's arm at first, taking time to regain a controlled breath. when the oddly gentle feel of your skin against his is lost and you step back and lean against the wall to maintain the balance that your feet alone cannot give you he turns towards you, eyes still intense and calm.

"has this ever happened?" he asks but you're still recovering, eyes scanning his face warily, traveling from the bridge of his nose to his pale cheeks.

"what is your name?" you ask out of nowhere.

"minho. has this happened before or is this the first time?" he asks once more, not backing down.

"well minho, you just saved my life" you say. "it's not the first time, my life has been hell for weeks"

pushing yourself away from the wall, you take short steps to the damn printer, tearing off the half-printed paper, crumpling it up and throwing it away.

"you never reported him?" he asks behind your back and you just give a humorless laugh.

he seems to understand what your sarcasm means, and just walks closer as you try one more time to print your boss's stuff.

the printer gets stuck again and the strange noises start once more. even being watched by minho, you don't feel even an ounce of the fear you felt in the creep's presence.

"fucking hell" you whisper frustratedly seeing your work fail once more, and your trembling hands cover your eyes. it feels like the weight of what happened finally catches up with you and your eyes start to get wet behind your palms.

"hey, he is already gone, it's okay" minho says reluctantly in an attempt to comfort you, but the tears won't stop, and soon you're sobbing. at no time does he leave you alone, the low but constantly present sound of his breathing gives you security.

"listen..." minho speaks softly and his hand touches your shoulder with the weight of a feather, as if you would break easily with a slightly rougher touch. after a few seconds you take your hands off your face, wiping the tears in the process and looking at him with glossy eyes. "what do you think about going home for now? i'll talk to the boss, i'll tell you that you felt sick and had to go home" he suggests, his voice velvety and sweet as if he were talking to a crying child.

the idea of ​​going home was too enticing, even more so the possibility of hiding under the safety of your blankets. however "i don't want him to follow me home" you say, real fear clouding your voice.

"don't worry about it" he says genuinely, hand still on your shoulder. "he won't leave the office. not with me here"

"really?" you ask, hope rising in you.

"really" he confirms. you walk side by side to your desk, where you collect all your belongings. the creep’s gaze burns your skin, and you're terrified now that you've made him angry. if before you were scared of him without having done anything to put you on his bad side, now things were much more serious.

minho takes you to the building’s entrance and you feel safe enough.

"minho" you call him when he is already going back inside the building. "thank you so much for what you did for me today, you really saved my life" you say in genuine gratitude.

he looks into your eyes for a few seconds, and a small gentle smile appears on his face. how could you never have noticed him before in the sea of ​​white desks and dreary work light? "no need to thank me"

going back to work the next day was the source of all your despair. you were right, you had a nightmare about the ugly, scary face of the man who was always in your tracks, keeping an eye out for you, making you wake up with sweat running down your neck in fear. you were lucky that minho interfered in the situation, but perhaps that luck has run out and you have no way to escape.

the subway ride to the company building progressively made your hands shake more and more, and as you rode the elevator up to your floor you were already feeling dizzy.

however, what surprises you is that the lady who sat at the table next to yours and spent all day playing card games on the computer was no longer there, and in her place, minho sat comfortably as if that spot had always been his.

"minho?" you asked confused standing in front of him.

"oh hey" his attention is shifted to you, eyes kind and cool. "I asked to change desk. I needed to change up a little bit" he says and you sit at your own table.

now it was minho who wouldn't let go of you. whenever you went to lunch he would come along and sit next to you at your table. when you had to get coffee for your boss he always followed in your footsteps with the excuse of needing to stretch his legs a little.

being close with him, even if suddenly and under less than ideal circumstances, made your life at work bearable. you still felt the man's presence across the room, you still felt the sting of his hateful gaze on your skin, but now with minho's presence you felt constant security.

before long he was dropping you off too, walking you on the subway and walking hip to hip with you through blocks until you were safe and sound on your doorstep, telling you about sooni, doongi and dori along the way.

the nightmares have not ceased, quite the contrary, they have become more and more present as if your brain were playing a mean trick on you, abusing your limits. none, however, had been as bad as this one.

you wake up exasperated, sweat making your skin sticky. your chest rises and falls incessantly in ragged breathing. you count to 10 hoping to calm down but you can't. no light you turn on in the small apartment reassures you. it's 2 am and you don't want to disturb minho and wake him up, but your body aches for the comfort and security he provides, the tranquility of the beautiful voice that comes from his rosy lips. you don’t think you'll ever feel calm again without his presence, and it's driving you crazy.

in an act of pure selfishness, you open the messaging app and your fingers flick across your phone's keyboard fast.

you:

minho, are you up?

and so you wait, looking hopefully at the stalled chat, praying that he responds, that he gives you the relief of his presence, the joy of his attention. just as you start to lose hope that he's going to respond, a chat bubble appears in your view, and you can't ignore the way your heart races against your chest.

minho:

now i am

everything good?

you:

i had a bad nightmare

it's stupid, sorry to disturb you

i'll buy you the next lunch to make up for it

a minute goes by, then two, and you start to get scared that he's upset with you. you're regretting doing it in the first place in a spiral of overthinking when your phone starts ringing in your hand. minho is calling you, and you hesitate a little before answering. maybe he would scold you for your selfishness, waking him up late at night for something so silly.

"don't think about it" when you accept the phone call, the only thing that reaches your ears is his groggy voice, tainted with sleep. "don't think about the nightmare, everything’s alright, i’m here with you"

and then you can breathe again.

you no longer think about the nightmare, now your mind is intoxicated by his presence, which fills your head so intensely that it leaves no room for anything else. that's why you blurt out "talk to me, minho" after seconds of comfortable silence.

"what do you want me to talk about?" he asks softly.

"anything. let me hear you, please" you ask softly, cheeks reddening, ashamed of your own attitude.

"doongi slept on top of the fridge today" he starts to tell, giggling softly. "i was looking all over the house for an hour for him, i was going crazy thinking he got out somehow and got lost in the street, but the little bastard was just taking a nap up there. i don't even know how he managed to get there"

you laugh at the story but mostly at his dazed voice, the intimacy of the whispers in the middle of the night bringing a rush of heat through your body.

"now you speak" he asked, voice low but gentle, always careful with you.

"i have nothing to say" you admit, the only thing on your mind right now was him, and it would be weird for you to say out loud how much you'd like to be consumed by his velvet voice and perfume with a hint of vanilla that he wore over his dress shirt every day.

"what time is it now?" he asks.

"2:36 am"

"what color pajamas are you wearing?"

"gray"

"do you prefer strawberry or peaches?"

"peaches. why are you asking me so many things?" it's your turn to question, genuinely confused.

"i want to hear your voice too" he replies like it's obvious and you're grateful you're not face to face with him, because your mouth opens in surprise and your cheeks heat up in seconds.

"that was smooth, minho" you whisper humorously after a few seconds of silence, recovering from what he said.

"i know" he laughs softly. "is it working?"

and the shy, silent voices stretch out into the night, the stars dripping from the sky until the two of you fall asleep in each other's presence, unfinished call, synchronized breaths until the morning of the next day.

for the first time you don't feel apprehensive about going to work, instead it's an excitement that creeps up your body and overwhelms your mind. you feel like a teenager going to see your crush at school all over again.

and when he flashes a boyish smile when he sees you arriving at your table next to his, you feel your legs turning to jelly and butterflies in your stomach.

the day goes on as usual, lunch, coffee, trip together to the printer. you take any opportunity to touch him, his skin soft like you never expected anyone's skin to be. it was as if it was forbidden to have him in your hands and you would soon be expelled from the garden of eden for wanting what is not yours, but his presence, now more physical than ever, was too good to let slip through your fingers.

at some point in the day he gets more tense and you don't understand why until he turns to you out of nowhere, puts his hands on your swivel chair and turns you completely towards him. you blink a few times in confusion.

"listen" he begins, not letting go of his chair and keeping you in place. "a meeting of mine was rescheduled for tonight, a little later than your leaving time. will you wait for me here so i can take you home?"

“yeah” you respond. you would wait for him anywhere, anytime. “yeah, of course. i’ll wait here” and he smiles at you, that one smile that you like oh so much.

minho promised that it wouldn't be long, and when the time for the meeting arrives, you keep working ahead of the next day's tasks.

as time goes on you grow more and more wary, it's late and people are starting to go home, the big room emptying out fast, faster than you expected it would.

the feeling that you haven't felt for some time now began to make itself present, raising the hairs on the back of your neck. you look around and just feel a rising panic when you don't see anyone else at the tables around you, and you're terrified to look back and just see him. the one you've avoided all this time by hiding in minho's comfortable, safe shadow.

as if you were trapped in one of your nightmares, the sound of footsteps you know so well starts to sound like a flashback. this time you get up from the table and go in the opposite direction of the sound, through the labyrinth of empty tables. he starts to speed up behind you but you don't dare look back, you don't think you could stand the sight of the man once again so close to you.

your skin turns cold when you feel his hand gripping your shoulder like a claw and pushing you up an empty table, the touch full of aggression that was starkly different from the tender touch that minho had always spared you.

you instinctively lower your head to not look at him and it seems to burn something inside the man, because his calloused hand comes up to your jaw and forces you to look at him, another hand gripping your arm so hard you're sure you'll stay with bruises.

no physical pain in that moment was as unbearable as the sight of his face. he was possessed, eyes hungry and wide like a maniac. you were frightened, eyes filling with tears from the fear of what might happen. you were completely alone and it was the perfect situation for him, you were in the palm of his hand and nothing could stop that.

"please don't hurt me" you beg in a whisper, tears streaming down your eyes. his fingers just press deeper into your cheeks and he breaks into a cruel, transfigured smile.

"too late for that isn't it?" and you shake your head, sobs rising desperately in your throat. "you pissed me off!" he screams in your face and you squeeze your eyes shut. "you walk around this office practically begging me to pay attention to you, and when I do you embarrass me like that?!"

"i'm sorry, i'm sorry…" you whisper with your eyes still closed, begging him to let you go.

"now you apologize, don't you?" he says, hand going up your arm to your shoulder and shaking you hard. "i already told you, it's too late for this" you can't feel your cheeks anymore from the way he pinches them with his fingers, and you try to focus your brain on asking the universe to get minho out of the meeting, that somehow he realizes something is wrong and he comes to you. the tears don't stop flowing and you couldn't get him off you even if you wanted to. his grip is deadly on your skin.

"get your fucking hands off" the voice of the one you wanted the most makes you cry even more.

the man in front of him looks back quickly, strength in his hands diminishing in surprise. you take advantage of the seconds you have and use all the strength in your body to push him away, making him fall on the desk that was behind him the same way he did with you.

you immediately run to minho's side and up close, you can see the concern in his eyes. he holds you by the shoulders gently, creating a palpable discrepancy in how he touches you and how the man behind you has hurt you. "are you okay? your face is all red" he says, examining you closely, noting the fingerprints that smudged your face.

"i..." you started but turned back to look at the creep that was getting back on his feet. you take a step back in fear and your back collides with minho's and he steps in front of you the same way he did the first time you met.

minho however stands still, just looking from the man to you, from you to the man. after a few seconds he takes your hand and quickly pulls you towards the exit of the building at a speed so that the creep does not follow you.

"minho, where are we going?" you ask looking back constantly in fear of him just appearing out of nowhere behind you.

"my house" he answers firmly, and the path is silent. he sits next to you on the

empty wagon of the subway, hands holding your hurt arm tainted with the grip marks and wipes your tears with the tips of his fingers.

"I'm sorry" he says, sadness apparent in his voice. "I should have known, it's my fault. I'm sorry"

you approach him, touching your foreheads in confidentiality.

"I trust you" you say in a low but sincere voice. "it's not your fault, you always did your best for me. I trust you more than anyone"

minho's apartment was as small as yours, but in his there are three pairs of curious eyes that look at you suspiciously from afar while you are sitting on the minho mattress and he dips in the closet for something of his for you to use to sleep. sooni doongi and dori are as cute as they seem through his stories.

“here” he gives you a pair of clothes for you to feel more comfortable. “i’m going to be sleeping in the couch, you can sleep here” he points to his bed and quickly turns to walk away.

"um, minho" you call, feeling bad for making him sleep out of his own bed. "you can sleep here if you want, it's yours"

"oh" he opens his mouth a little but then shakes his hands in front of him dismissing himself. "the couch is comfortable, you don't have to worry, just rest" and he turns once again. tired of it, you get up and take it by the wrist lightly, turning him to you.

"minho, i want you to stay here with me. i want you to sleep by my side" you force yourself to admit. he widens his eyes slightly looking at you. the proximity between your faces is accentuated, you can feel his breath on your skin and this causes chills in your spine, your cheeks blushing by sudden sincerity.

this was arguably one of the worst days of your entire life, when the words simply come out as you plead for his presence you can't hold them back. you need him, the warmth and affection he provides, his heart of gold. only he can make you feel safe, and if you have the opportunity to drown in his arms that night you will take advantage of it. that’s why when he quietly asks “do you really want me?” you don’t hesitate in answering “more than anything”

when he lies in front of you on the mattress, you would think you were dreaming if it weren't for the pains in your skin that brought you to the real world. at first it's quiet, but his fingertips meet yours, and timidly his skins leans more and more on yours until he is holding your hand in the dark. his other hand makes a path like a snake and curls slightly around your waist, pulling you close, the heat you wanted, the intimacy that warms your heart so much. you fall asleep quickly, intoxicated by his presence, so close.

waking up the next day, you feel something hairy under the palm of your hand. strangely, you raise your head lightly and see that the place where minho was the night before is taken by three beasts, all in a deep sleep, webbed in your body.

"they like you already" you hear coming from the door. minho enters looking like he came from the street, his elegant clothes hugging his body.

“where were you?” you sit up, looking at him.

"in the company" he sits on the mattress right next to him, and his heart beats faster by the recovered contact, the heat that comes from him. "I'm friends with one of the security guys, he got me the video of what happened yesterday. i've already stopped at the police station too..." he says.

“you what?” you ask dumbfounded.

“he’s going to jail” he says and puts his hands on your cheeks. “you don’t have to worry about him anymore. he’s gone, it’s okay, i’m right here”

“minho, i…” you couldn’t take your eyes off of his even if you wanted to, those pretty eyes that pierced through your soul making you weak in the knees. “i can’t take you enough, i…”

“hey, it’s alright” he interrupts you. he breaks the eye contact and takes a glance at the way you look wearing his clothes. “now that i’m really looking at you, i really, really wish you could stay”

“stay? stay how?” you ask.

“stay with me, here. i really like seeing you first thing in the morning” he says.

your eyes travel to his lips, enjoying the warmth of his palms against your cheeks.

“i…” you begin, not being able to refrain from touching your noses, getting as close as ever. “i would really like that”

he smiles, getting even more close, lips barely touching.

“come on, give me a kiss” he whispers and you can feel the vibration in your own lips.

you waste no time in sealing your lips together, laying all your love on him.

skz as romantic tropes masterlist

[gifti3]

Okay i wrote this in record time for me. i just got the urge and boom here it is. I wanted to get this out fast so I didn't forget about it.

I called it a CEO AU but honestly its just an AU where MC works as Lucifer's assistant and is ready to wrap up this part of their life and move on to different work.

All the brothers are mentioned in this. And this can be whatever you want honestly. Platonic not so platonic. Maybe MC is dating one of them, maybe not. I kept it pretty vague!

MC is gender neutral.

_________________________

_________________________

"What is this?"

You push the envelope forward. "My letter of resignation."

Maybe it was a bit much handing it to him in person like this, but emailing just felt too cold. And yea he was your boss, but you considered Lucy a friend too and wanted to leave on the best note possible.

"I know you're busy but I wanted to let you know asap so we can plan accordingly."

Surprising to you, Lucifer seems slightly caught off guard. "Did you find new work?"

You nod with a smile. "Yep! It’s pay and benefits aren't as good but it's practically my dream job."

Lucifer observes you. It was obvious that working as his assistant was a lot of stress on you. Asmodeus mentioned your frustrations to him several times. But you always pulled through in the end. 

Did he overestimate you? No, overwork you?

"When do you leave?"

"2 weeks!"

-------

"They're literally going to the other side of the world you guys!"

“They’re what!?” Mammon responds, bewildered.

"They're moving to the other side of the world! A completely different country--this sucks!" Asmodeus lays his head down in his arms.

Unease fills the meeting room. This was new information to the rest of the brothers, including Lucifer. MC had never mentioned anything about moving and now an unwanted change had become much more unpleasant.  

-------

"Hey MC! Why didn't ya mention ya were moving to the other side of the world?" Mammon approaches from the meeting room, wasting no time.

"Ohhh... right, I forgot to mention that part to everyone. But it wasn't really that important honestly."

“What do ya mean it’s not important. It’s kind of a big deal!”

"....Okay yeah you're right, but it honestly slipped my mind. By the way, not on the other side of the world. Asmo likes to exaggerate, I swear. Either that or his geography could use some polishing."

You continue dropping random items from inside your desk into a box. You still had a week and half left but you wanted to take all your personal non-work stuff home to avoid forgetting anything. You were honestly surprised by how much unnecessary crap had found its way into the desk. It was a stark difference compared to your first couple of months working here.

When you first started, it sucked honestly. If it wasn't for the amazing pay you would have quit fairly quick. 

The first several months were rough, but with time you started getting used to working for the overbearing perfectionist that was Lucifer. Things started to feel routine, you could access possible issues before they happened. And Lucifer’s brothers coming in and out of this building stopped being an annoyance and began to be something to look forward to. You made friends with each and every one of them. Then even Lucifer eventually came around. And before you knew it had been 4 years.

You always thought about moving on to new work but would forget about it and go back to the usual routine. But recently, you were starting to feel content--no resigned. Like "I guess I could stay here forever…" resigned. And it scared you! So you immediately started job searching more seriously and your months of work paid off.

But I'm still gonna miss this place.

Next, Asmo is out of the room. He walks straight for you and wraps you in a tight hug. "MC don't leave us please!"

"I must--AH you're squeezing me too hard!"

He loosens his hold. "Sorry."

You pat his arm.

“Aren't ya gonna miss me--us? Whatever new people ya meet couldn't measure up to the Great Mammom!”

"That’s definitely true, but I need to spread my wings and fly you guys. Hmm…that sounded better in my head."

You notice Leviathan standing off to the side listening so you give him a smile. 

"Levi, why are you standing over there?"

He jumps but makes his way over from your prompting.

"S-So you really found your dream job. It sucks you're leaving but maybe it's a good thing too…"

You nod. "It's new and a little scary, but just consider it me starting a new arc in life."

"And honestly if you guys really want to talk to me, then keep in touch. You literally all have my number."

Unfortunately, that doesn't seem to help much for cheering up Levi or the other two.

Fortunately though, Satan appears before the silence becomes unbearable.

"So you're finally escaping Lucifer MC?”

"Ha! I guess you could put it that way..."

Asmo crosses his arms, his frown deepening. "Please don't let him overhear that."

Satan shows what he's hiding behind his back. "I'll miss your company but I'd like to send you off on the right foot so I brought you a couple of items."

He hands you the gift bag.

"If this isn't a book, I'll be shocked," you say.

You peep inside and realize there's multiple things.

A hardback book from a series you and Satan are currently reading (of course), a neck pillow, and a kitty eye mask.

"Oh wait there's something else."

You dig in and pull out a bracelet. But not just any bracelet. A very limited edition one. It was official merch for one of your favorite series, but you couldn't afford it at the time when it was released.

"What the heck, how'd you find this? This came out years ago!"

"Lots of online searching, and thanks to Levi and Asmo we found a somewhat reasonable price to all pitch in for."

You put the bracelet on. 

“And in such a short time too…Im.never taking this off!” 

You grin. “Well…now I gotta hug you all!”

Before he responds you're crushing Satan, managing to fluster him. You then pull (a blushing) Levi and then Asmo in for a hug, the latter eagerly returning it. 

“No way ya guys are making me look bad,” Mammon says.

"Get in on the collab next time!" Asmo quips.

“Don't worry Mammon, I'll give you a hug later.”

“What? I didn't say anything about a hug…”

“So you don't want one. Got it.”

“Hold on, wait a second…”

You smirk and shake your head. “Okay help me move my stuff you guys so we have a reason to keep talking.”

-------

"Is Belphie still ignoring me?"

Beel nods. "Sorry MC. I think he just needs more time to process."

The other day after leaving the meeting room the youngest made a beeline for the elevator. He didn't even look your way.

"Ah he wounds me..."

"I'll talk to him. Maybe eating out together would help clear the air?"

“Oo, you, me and Belphie. Let's do it!”

Beel smiles that way you love and you give him a sudden hug. It couldn’t be helped, you had a soft spot for the two youngest brothers.”

“Beel, I’m gonna miss you so much!”

He returns the hug. "Me too. I wish you didn’t have to leave, but what makes you happy is most important."

You pull back to look at his face. “I swear you're way more mature than some of your older brothers.”

-------

As your last day gets closer and closer, the brothers (6 out of 7 at least) accept your impending departure. And along with that came endless gifts. It was like Satan triggered a competition to see who could do better. And it looked like you'd have to spend extra money on moving all this extra stuff that had been dumped on you.

Especially after that shopping spree Asmo took you on.

Start your new life with a new wardrobe MC!

Even Belphie had gotten over his initial shock after your dinner with him and Beel and gifted you several items. 

Please make sure to answer mine and Beel’s messages right away.

Don't worry I won't miss any of you or your brother's texts!

Who's talking about those others?

You chuckle at the memory. Belphie was too much sometimes.

You shake your head and sniffle. 

….Oh god. 

You wouldn't see them in person like this anymore! These moments with them. They would be far and few between once you started your new job.

And for some reason while you're surrounded by half packed boxes in your home, it’s finally hitting you.

Your phone pings and you wipe your eyes.

A text from Lucifer.

That was the last person you expected. He hasn't really been talking to you much outside of work since you gave him your resignation, and even then it was purely professional. It made you feel bad. Like your relationship had regressed.

So you quickly respond.

L: Did you already schedule transportation to the airport?

M: of course 👍 don’t wanna wait last minute

L: Make sure you double check the dates too.

M: lucy are you gonna miss me? :3c

If you didn’t bring it up, he might not say it out right.

L: You're so troublesome.

L: But yes, I will miss you.

L: And I honestly don't understand why you're leaving.

You stare at the messages. How were you supposed to respond to that?

M: i have to. it's what i want to do with my life…

L: Okay. Make sure you're on time tomorrow.

That's it? 

You let out an annoyed sigh.

-----

You're in Lucifer's office first thing in the morning. He looks up with you with a raised eyebrow when you barge in.

You drag a seat directly in front of his desk so he’s forced to look at you. "We are handling this right now. I want to leave here with no loose ends"

"What is there to handle exactly? Youre leaving this job in 3 days to start your new one."

"Lucifer, you're obviously upset at me and I want you to be happy for me....like everyone else."

"I'm not like everyone else."

"Obviously, everyone is different. You're all different. That's not what I meant..."

You take a deep breath, lean forward and rest your arms on his desk. "Be vulnerable with me this one time. I know you're going to miss me but I feel like that's not enough for you to be so cold towards me like this..." 

He’s quiet.

"Please Lucy?"

"...I don't want you to leave. The idea that I won't get to see you easily bothers me."

He looks away

"And I feel like I'm the reason you're leaving."

Oh.

“I'm so sorry, I know sometimes I joke around with your brothers but Lucifer it's not actually you. Work like this has always been stressful for me. It's always been. And I just happened to find where my limit was in this particular job.”

“I love you and all your brothers but my final goal was to always aim for work that would be easier on me mentally in a place where it was enough to sustain me. I just got too used to being here.”

"You handle every situation so calmly though. You're always on top of everything

"Heh my acting skills are just that good! But you're starting to understand I hope?"  

He crosses his arms. “I can’t be happy about you leaving MC.”

Your brows furrow.

“But I suppose I can support you going for what you really want.”

“You know what…I’ll take it!” You rest your head on your arms.

He smirks. “Now get out, I'm busy. We can talk more afterwards.”

[argisthebulwark]

Oh my GOD the Mercer part of the "Bryn and tld are down so bad for each other but both think it's not returned" ask I sent is SOOOOO CUUTTEEE. All I can picture is him calling them both over to either give them their assignments a once or go over something with both of them at once or something like that but all these 2 hopelessly lovestruck idiots can do is stare at each other with these tiny little goofy grins on their faces the whole time. They look so unlike who they are they're both blushing and smiling like they've got brain damage and absolutely will not sop only looking at the other. When Mercer finishes with "You both got that?" he can instantly tell that no, they didn't hear a single god damn word. He decides to do it one at a time instead cuz with a sigh he realizes he should have known. When he sends one of them away to do this one at a time both of them look absolutely heartbroken. Like, on the verge of tears, just been told someone died levels of sad. He wants to slap the one that stayed as hard as he can across the face, especially since they're still looking over their shoulder at the other all longing and lovesick. He has to start snapping his fingers in front of their face to finally get their attention. He hopes they both die. (fdsjkfndsjkds)

GOD this is so funny i love them they all suck so bad <3

"Brynjolf will be taking the jobs in Whiterun and Falkreath which means you're assigned to Solitude and Markarth. I'll expect you both back by the end of this week. We need all hands on deck to handle our situation with the Black-Briars." Mercer glances up from his ledger and rage shoots through him. Brynjolf, the second in command he'd been training since adolescence, is blatantly ignoring him. Mercer watches in disgust as Brynjolf and his favorite little recruit take turns glancing at each other, chairs scooted closer than when the conversation had begun. They aren't quite holding hands, just brushing fingers together as if they were too nervous to commit to holding hands. It made him sick. "Are you even listening to me?" Mercer demands and finally, Brynjolf tore his eyes away long enough to nod. "'Course, boss. Black-Briars need a job done in Solitude. I've got it covered." "Gods be praised." Mercer considers slamming his head into the desk. "Brynjolf, stay. You, get out of my sight." Waving a finger he watched the new thief's smile fade, fingers dancing over Brynjolf's. It's like they'd never see one another again, like parting for a few minutes is a lifetime. He should know better than putting them together, it never ends well for him. Once again he wonders if violence would get his point across. When Brynjolf finally meets his gaze Mercer tries to narrow down one threat to get his attention. Stabbing his dagger into the face of his desk for emphasis he does nothing to hide the annoyance in his tone, that vein in his temple throbbing. He detests dealing with them. "You are going to Whiterun." He labors through each word as if he can force them into Brynjolf's distracted mind. "You are then going to Falkreath. She is going to Solitude and Markarth. You are not going together." Brynjolf nods along but Mercer watches his eyes slide to something over his shoulder. "It is very important that you remember the job in Falkreath has to deal with Astrid, I'm not writing the passcode down. You have to remember it." Why does he even bother talking? That stupid smile is on Brynjolf's face again and Mercer knows exactly who he's spotted. "Hey!" Mercer growls, fingers snapping at Brynjolf like a dog. His nerves are frayed and for the briefest of moments Brynjolf looks at him in clear annoyance. His blood is boiling. "I've got it handled, Mercer. Just give me the passcode and we'll head out." "Nevermind." Falling back into his chair Mercer resigns himself to a new batch of recruits. It can't be worse than this. "I hope you both die so I never have to look at you again."

[handoverthekawaii]

We Go Together | Homelander x You | Chapter 2

Taglist: @hom3landr

You spend the rest of Friday in a state of paranoia, unable to focus on your work and startled by every footfall you hear. Surely, you’re going to be summoned to your boss’s office at any moment, or maybe armed guards will materialize instead to escort you from the premises. There’s no way you’ll still have a job at Vought by the end of the day… is there?

But defying all odds, at 5:00 you are dismissed for the weekend alongside the rest of your team. You remain alert as you exit Vought Tower for the night, still half-expecting to be tackled to the ground by overzealous security staff.

You finally start to relax once you’re onboard a subway train chugging out of Manhattan. Now that you have a moment to think, you start to turn over the day’s incredible events in your mind. Could your offense have been deemed so egregious that Vought needs all weekend to strategize how they’ll deal with you?

Or did Homelander not tell anyone what he saw you trying to do? And if he didn’t, why the hell not?

You obsess over it all weekend long but the answers don’t come. By Monday morning, you’ve resigned yourself that this is a riddle you won’t be able to solve. Whatever his reasons might be, Homelander gave you a pass this time around. You’ll have to be more careful — more strategic — the next time you try to access that room.

Homelander would never admit it, but he thinks about his encounter with you all weekend, too. There are a mixture of reasons, really — like the fact that he let you go scot-free, and he can’t articulate why he did it.

The easy answer, the convenient answer, would be that seeing Vought employees behave badly doesn’t faze Homelander in the slightest. After all, how many times has his X-ray vision revealed baggies of cocaine in their desk drawers, purses, and pockets? How many times has he flown past the window of a corner office, only to witness a workplace tryst occurring within? And how many times has he seen Translucent doing… whatever Translucent does in the building’s restrooms… and just walked away?

But something about THIS encounter, with you, had been different. You weren’t popping pills in the stairwell or bending it over your boss’s desk for a 0.25% higher raise this year. Homelander had caught you red-handed trying to enter a restricted area, and he hadn’t done a damn thing about it. Simply put, his decision defied explanation.

Not being able to justify his actions scares Homelander (although he’d never admit that, either). It makes him feel out-of-control somehow, like he’s a loose cannon, no better than a dog chasing cars. Deep down, he knows he IS better — he’s the leader of The Seven, goddamn it, the jewel in Vought’s superhero crown. But if he can’t rely on himself to make smart decisions, then how are the people of America supposed to rely on him?

No, he can’t go there. He can’t think like that. Homelander refocuses his attention, from the nature of the encounter to the other person that was there — you. Y/N L/N, the feisty little temp from Hero Management who likes to keep her secrets close. The mere mortal who stood in the presence of divinity and would not bend the knee.

Homelander’s got a busy week ahead — there’s an executive leadership meeting on Monday, two television interviews on Tuesday, blah blah blah. Still, if time permits, he wouldn’t mind moseying down to the Hero Management Division to get an update on their stats this quarter. All the better if during his visit he runs into YOU again. [continued in AO3]

[jareaulover]

If I Can't Have You (Hotchreid fanfic, Chapter 1)

Description: Spencer Reid left the BAU after Gideon. He just didn't want to be there without his mentor, and everyone was very understanding. Even the BAU's Unit Chief, who Spencer had been having sex with, was understanding of his situation. Years later, the BAU is called to help on a case in Las Vegas, one that... involves their former colleague. Stakes are high, but will Aaron and Spencer let their feelings get in the way, or will they ignore them all together. That's the million dollar question. ~~ This is heavily canon divergent. Spencer left the BAU in season 3, right after Gideon, so a lot of things that should've happened didn't. Also Hayley and Jack don't exist... Also, technically Alex Blake should be there, but I really wanted to include Emily and Tara, so as much as I love her, I swapped her.

Notes: Did I take my title from a Shawn Mendes Song? Yes Does it really have much to do with the story? No But I figured there's gonna be a lot of pining and trying to decide whether or not to be in a relationship and i just love the line "Everything Means Nothing If I can't Have You" so...

Warnings: A main aspect of this story is the case that they are working, so there will be talk of murder, kidnapping, sexual assault, and things of that nature, so please be warned. There might be smut in later chapters, but I haven't decided yet.

Full Chapter is below the cut

or

Read on AO3

Spencer folded the letter that he had received from his mentor and pushed it into his messenger bag. He was sitting at his desk, reading and re-reading the letter over and over. He decided to put it away, finally, after the 7th time through. He’d already memorized it and he had just made his decision. He pulled out a pad of paper from his desk and began to write his own letter of resignation. He tried not to think about the others… The group of profilers who would be devastated that he was leaving, especially since Gideon had just left.

He especially tried not to think about the BAU Unit Chief, Aaron Hotchner. He and Aaron had been having a physical relationship the past two years. It was completely unexpected, but oh so passionate. Spencer supposed another reason that he was leaving was because he had started to grow feelings for his boss and he knew that the older man would never feel the same way. He ripped the page out and headed to Aaron’s office.

---

Aaron was sitting at his desk, filling out some paperwork from their last case. Everything had gone pretty smoothly, they had saved the child who had been snatched and luckily they had done so before any harm could come to the child. He was happy that they’d had one with a good ending after so many losses. He had just signed the bottom of the last page when there was a knock on his office door.

“Sir, we have another one.” The BAU’s technical analyst said, peeking her head into the office, “And it's a bad one…” She sighed. Aaron nodded.

“Call everyone back. We’ll gather at the round table in 20.” He said. Garcia nodded and scurried away. Aaron leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. He picked up his phone to check the case that Garcia had seen before him and looked over the files in the tiny screen of his phone. 

---

“So, we have three male victims. COD on all was exsanguination following a series of stab wounds in the abdomen.” Garcia explained, her disgust visible on her face.

“All of them were laid out with their hands folded over their abdomens, face up.” JJ pointed out.

“And they were cleaned and changed into the same white button up with khakis… They almost look ready for their funeral.” Emily said, flipping to look at all the crime scene photos.

“Yes. Each man was taken on a Monday afternoon and all were found the next Monday in the same place they were taken from” Aaron explained, “He then waits another week before taking another. We have only a few hours until he takes another victim. Wheels up in 30.” He said, standing and leaving the room. The others were quick to follow.

“Looks like we’re going to Las Vegas.” JJ teased Emily, bumping the other agent's shoulder. Emily raised her eyebrows at JJ.

“Maybe after the case we’ll get some time to play.” Emily teased right back. JJ smirked and grabbed her go bag. Emily picked up hers and they made their way to the elevators.

“So, will you be meeting up with the former agent that you told me about? Didn’t you say that he moved to Las Vegas?” Dave said, standing in the doorway of Aaron’s office. Aaron raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, he did move to Las Vegas but… I’m not going to see him, I mean… That was a long time ago.” Aaron said, looking at his tablet. He was looking at the photos of the victims and the medical examiner’s reports for the first two.

“Come on, you told me that you had a lot of unresolved feelings and this could be your chance to resolve them.” Dave stated, suggestively. Aaron kept his face hard.

“Maybe, maybe, I will call him.” Aaron spoke, putting a lot of emphasis on the second maybe, “I’m not making any promises.”

---

Aaron was preparing to go home, grabbing all of his personal items and shoving them into his briefcase. He was exhausted and ready to be home. As soon as he got his stuff together, there were three quiet knocks on the door of his office.

“Come in.” He said. The door opened and Spencer was there. He looked as if he was ready to get home as well. His jacket was on and he had his bag over his shoulder. His hair was in the familiar slicked back style, but a few strands had fallen in front of his face. Aaron felt his knees weaken just looking at the attractive man in front of him, “You’re still here? I thought you’d gone home.” 

“Yeah, uh, can we talk?” Spencer said, that’s when Aaron realized how nervous he looked. His fingers were drumming quickly on the strap of the bag and his eyes were darting, never looking directly at Aaron.

“Of course, is something wrong?” Aaron asked, his face turning more serious. He knew that the man was still hurt by Gideon’s departure, but he never expected to hear what Spencer said next.

“This is my letter of resignation. It’s effective immediately.” Spencer said, sitting the paper on his desk, “Here’s my gun and my badge.” He set them down next to the letter. Aaron looked at Spencer in disbelief.

---

Once on the jet, the team began talking about victimology. All the men had a similar appearance, so they figured that they were surrogates for the person the unsub truly wanted to kill. 

“Well, stabbing is typically a replacement for sexual penetration. Was there any sign of sexual assault on any of the victims?” Lewis asked. From the screen, Garcia responded.

“No signs of… that on the first two victims… The ME is still examining the latest victim.” Garcia explained.

“Well, that could mean that he’s impotent.” Rossi said.

“Okay, when we land I want Prentiss and Morgan at the latest crime scene. JJ and Rossi go to the medical examiner’s office and Lewis, you and I will set up at the local PD.” Aaron said, sitting back in his seat. The rest of the team nodded. JJ got up and moved to the back of the plane, clicking on the contact labeled ‘Spencer Reid’. The line rang twice and then a voice…

“Hello.” The man on the other end spoke softly. 

“Hey, Spence, I was just calling to let you know that we’re heading to Las Vegas for a case… Maybe after that we can get breakfast or something.” JJ said.She heard some shuffling.

“Yeah, I’d like that, JJ. Actually, I’m the one that suggested they call you guys. I’ve been consulting on the case.” Spencer told her.

“Oh, it’ll be great to work with you again.” JJ said while grabbing a water bottle out of the mini fridge.

“Yeah, I’m excited to see you guys.” Spencer said, “Listen, my class is starting so I have to get off the phone, but I’ll see you when you land.” the phone call cut off before JJ could respond. She made her way back to her seat.

“Well, I just talked to Spence and he said that he’s consulting on this case.” JJ said, “He said that he was the one to suggest that they call us.” 

“So we get to work with the boy wonder again?” Emily said, “I’m glad, I’ve missed him.”

“I think we all have.” Derek pointed out, “I was sad that he left, but I get it. Gideon was his mentor and it really hurt him when he left.”

“I can’t wait to meet Dr. Spencer Reid. I’ve heard so much about him and I think I’m the only one who hasn’t met him.” Tara said,

“He left before I joined as well.” Rossi said, “So I haven’t met the kid yet, either.” Rossi looked over at Aaron, but the man didn’t even glance.

“It will be nice to catch up, but remember we’re also working a case.” Hotch said. The others nodded and continued going over the case files. Rossi finally looked away form Hotch and back to his case files.

---

Aaron entered the local police station accompanied by Dr. Tara Lewis. The Captain met them at the door.

“You must be… Agent Hotchner.” He said, “I’m Captain Smith.” He said, offering his hand. Aaron shook the man’s hand.

“Yes, I’m Agent Aaron Hotchner and this is Dr. Tara Lewis.” He said. The Captain shook Tara’s hand.

“We’ve got you guys set up in the conference room back here. Dr. Reid set it up.” He said.

“Is he here?” Aaron asked.

“Yes, he’s setting up the evidence board you guys requested. Honestly, we’ve been stuck with this case and when he suggested calling up his old team I was definitely willing.” He said.

“It's a good thing you called us.” Tara said, “We believe that he will take another victim sometimes today if he hasn’t already. Has anyone been reported missing in the comfort zone?” The three approached the door to the conference room. The Captain opened the door and there was Spencer Reid, hanging another picture on the board.

“The lieutenant just informed me that there’s been another abduction. His name is Arthur Skinner.” Spencer started, “He was last seen in the lobby of the hotel he was staying at. Someone said they saw another man come up to him but they couldn’t give a description. We should try a cognitive.” Aaron watched the Doctor talk, he suddenly found himself distracted by the way Reid’s hair fell into his eyes, followed by Reid’s hands moving the hair away from his face.

“Ready to get going?” Tara said, looking at Aaron now.

“Oh, yes. Let's go… Reid, are you coming?” Aaron asked. He set his briefcase on the table and waited for the Doctor’s response.

“No, I’m going to stay and work on a geographical profile.” Reid said. He glanced up from the map he had just spread across the table and caught Aaron’s eye right before the man left the room. Reid gripped the pen in his hand and looked back down at his map.

---

“Are you sure?” Aaron asked, “I know that Gideon leaving has been hard on you, but you’re an asset to this team.” 

“I’ve been offered a position as a professor at a University close to Las Vegas… My mother has been getting worse and I just need to be close to her.” Reid told his boss matter of factly.

“I understand, Reid. I’m sorry to see you go.” Aaron glanced at the stack of files that had been piling up recently. Reid followed his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Hotch… I know it's going to be difficult for a bit, but I know you guys will find someone to take my place.” Spencer reached across the desk, resting his hand on Hotch’s own folded hands. Spencer wasn’t usually one for touching, but it was different with Aaron. Spencer tried not to think about the fact that he wanted nothing more than to kiss the older Agent, but he couldn’t allow himself to do that.

“You’re going to be a great Professor, Spencer.” Aaron told him. Spencer smiled, his beautiful, shining smile. Aaron wanted to pull him in and kiss him, but he knew he couldn’t.

“Thank you, Aaron.” He said, standing up and exiting Aaron’s office. Aaron sighed and leaned back in his chair. He hadn’t thought about it much, but he knew his feelings for the younger man had gotten to be… Almost too much. Maybe now he could get them to subside.

Next Chapter

[wordborne]

All for Us

Jerome Valeska finds someone new to torment.

That someone is, unfortunately, you.

TAGS: Jerome Valeska/Reader, alternate universe, unhealthy relationships, bad decisions, canon-typical violence, major character death, eventual smut, Jerome can only be classified as nuisance to lover. CHAPTER: 1, 2, 3, ?

Times like these made you hate your job.

If it weren’t for the current state of affairs, you’d seriously consider turning in a very polite resignation letter -without giving a two weeks' notice, of course- and never setting foot in that place again. Hell, not even on the same block. But you didn’t have the luxury of doing that, so you had to give your boss a tight-lipped smile when he asked you to finish something he was supposed to do 5 minutes before your shift ended. He was one of those hotshots who didn’t believe in paying overtime, because why would he? It was bad business.

Asshole.

The GCPD hadn’t officially placed a curfew, but staying home after 9 p.m. was an unspoken rule that most people followed. That you had followed until you’d stumbled out of your workplace at 11p.m., tired and angry, hoping the look plastered on your face would be enough to deter whoever wanted to approach you as you walked back home. The buses weren’t operating at this time, neither were the taxis. No one wanted to take the risk when there was so much shit going on. And, honestly? You didn’t blame them.

The streets were lined with blood. Screams echoed in every corner, some joyful, some soul-splitting. You kept your gaze straight ahead, ignoring the bodies littered on the sidewalks. The ripped clothes and broken bottles strewn everywhere. The ginger man who’d suddenly appeared at the corner of your eye, keeping your pace, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Where you goin’?” “Home.”  “Sounds fun. I’m in.” “No, you’re not.” You hissed, finally turning your head to glare at him before walking a little faster and holding your bag a little tighter against your body. A bottle of pepper spray hung from one of the straps, and if he got any closer, you wouldn’t hesitate to dump the whole thing on his face. “You seriously think that is gonna keep you alive?” Jerome laughed, pointing to the little bottle you held on to like a lifeline. “You need me.” “I don’t.” “Fine.” He stopped dead in his tracks and, with one of his sardonic smiles, motioned you to go on. Alone.

And so you did, brows knitted together. You didn’t need Jerome. Why would you? The apartment was just a couple of blocks away. And, sure, some people were looking at you as if you were a fresh piece of meat, but they could rob you if they wanted. You had, what, 10, 15 bucks tops in your purse? Stealing your phone would actually do you a solid so you could finally claim the insurance you were tricked into getting a year ago. The only thing you’d miss was your ID because getting a new one right now was a pain in the ass. But, other than that? You’d be fine. Even if a big, bulky man called you from the other sidewalk. Even if he was now taking purposeful strides towards you, commanding you to stop and calling you colorful words when you picked up the pace.  Jerome was probably having the time of his life watching your feeble attempts at running away from the man. Bastard probably laughed when you were shoved against a wall, rusty knife pressed to your throat. “Are you deaf, or just stupid?” Probably the latter, you mused, as you stood as still as you could, hands held up in surrender, heart racing so hard you were certain if would jump out of your chest in any minute.    “Just take my bag, everything I have is in there.” “That’s not what I want.” He got impossibly closer, his hot, putrid breath making your nose wrinkle in disgust as he slapped the bag away from your body. “I wanna see what color your guts are.” So this is how you were going out, death by lack of dental hygiene and a tetanus infused knife lodged in your belly. You should’ve written a letter. Left it on your desk and blamed your boss for anything that happened tonight just because he was too booked and busy to finish his own yearly report.  And then you heard the bang. You stood still as the man’s body slumped forwards, head falling right above your shoulder where you could see the exit wound of a bullet on his skull, blood steadily dripping down your blazer. He was dead. He was fucking dead, and he was right beside you, and- A small scream escaped your lips as you shoved him away, a loud thump following as his body as he fell to the floor, light completely drained from his eyes. Everyone was, to some degree, desensitized by death. It was Gotham, after all. But seeing a dead body meters away and having one right beside you were completely different things. Your heart rate was picking up again. Cold sweat washing over your body as loud footsteps approached you. You didn’t have it in you to look up, eyes glued to your dead assailant. 

“Told ya.” Jerome smiled, gun still in his hand, smelling like gunpowder and smoke and all things bad. He stepped over the body, making sure to dig his heel right on the man’s windpipe with a crack before he looked back at you. “So, home, right?” As much as you hated to admit it, having Jerome Valeska by your side did wonders for your survival rate. People ran away. Cheered when he walked by. Didn’t flinch when he fired a shot at some rando for making too much noise ‘cause people were sleeping, y’know? As if the gunshot didn’t echo through the whole block. As if the blood on his hands meant nothing at all. He rolled his eyes and huffed when you couldn’t place the key on the doorknob and yanked it away from your hands to do it himself, shutting the door as you headed to the couch and slumped on it, staring idly at the TV screen until Jerome turned it on. It was as if nothing had happened. He switched channels until something caught his eye. Hummed as he rummaged through the fridge and grabbed the waffles he’d asked for the last time he’d been there and promptly shoved them in the toaster. The ding made you flinch more than you cared to admit. Then, he was on the couch, a plate of syrup-covered waffles on his lap, eyes glued to the TV, the imprint of a gun standing out from the pocket of his pants. “Can you stay for the night?”  He looked at you and laughed, but you didn’t peel your eyes away from the TV. “So now you want me to stay.” “Yes or no, Jerome.” The plate was left unceremoniously on the coffee table, the fork clinking against the white ceramic as he turned his whole body towards you. “Tell me you need me.” “I need you.” He shifted. Closer. His knee pressed right against yours. “Say it like you mean it.”

You took a shaky breath, releasing it slowly before turning to face him. His eyes were shining with something you couldn’t quite recognize, gaze momentarily going to your lips when you spoke up. “I need you to stay for the night. Please.” Maybe he’d laugh again. Rub it in. Throw a ‘fuck you’ on his way out because you were scared and alone and, right now, he was the only one who could give you a sliver of security. Of peace. Of things that no one had ever used to define him but there you were, at his mercy. Not quite begging. Not quite pleading. But just hoping he’d do it. “Fine.” Jerome replied after a hot second. “Just ‘cause ya asked so nicely.” He reached out for the plate, placing it on his lap once more and cutting a hefty piece of waffle with the fork before putting it in his mouth. “I’m taking the bed.” “Whatever.” You muttered, unconsciously leaning a bit more towards him. Thighs brushing together now. Mind feeling like static. Feeling too cold and too blue for everything to properly sink in.  But Jerome was warm. His hair too red. His laugh genuine and breathy as he watched something that wasn’t remotely funny at all. He was alive.  You were alive because of him. And, so, you put your head on his shoulder and stole a piece of waffle from his plate, chewing it mindlessly, hoping whatever came tomorrow would be better than this.   

[danielfuckingricciardo]

Rise Like A Phoenix - Chapter Twelve

Pairing - Jenson Button x Reader + Charles Leclerc x Reader + Daniel Ricciardo x Reader

Word Count - 1435

Content Warning - Swearing, death mention, injury mention, alcohol mention, bad coping mechanisms,

Synopsis - When a German agent goes missing investigating a diplomat’s disappearance, you are asked to take the case as your old adversary is revealed to be the one to blame. However, you soon find out that you will not be working alone, and will have to complete your mission with the help of agent Charles Leclerc.

Author’s Note - Fuck it, Final chapter guys! I was gonna wait for tomorrow but I couldn’t leave you hanging like that! I hope you enjoyed the fic, please do let me know what you think! I already have a sequel in the works which is very much teased at the end of this chapter. It’s been a wild ride, thanks very much for reading. Enjoy!

Chapter Twelve - I Promise We’ll See Each Other Again

Daniel had been the one to talk you into attending the funeral. You thought that, if you stayed away, you could live in denial for a little while longer. But he was right, after your six weeks of mandatory leave was over, you’d have to live in the real world once again. The real world where Jenson was dead.

No amount of mandatory therapy sessions or good quality scotch could prepare you for the day you’d have to walk into Jenson’s office once again and see it inhabited by someone else. You had no doubt that Lewis would be a good boss, that wasn’t the problem, it was the memories of Jenson that filled every corner of that office, of every corner of the MI6 building. Happy memories haunted every room, from those quick fumbles in the dark in the stationery cupboard, to laughing and joking in George’s office. Every room was him, and it hurt.

“I’m going to hand in my resignation.” You say to George who stood beside you. His glasses were covered in specks of rain, and his neat black suit was soggy from the torrential downpour.

“I understand. I’ll miss you like crazy, you’re the James Bond to my Q and working with you is a dream, but I can see how hard it would be for you coming back to work. You know, I keep forgetting he isn’t with us anymore, and expect him to come barrelling into my office like he always used to, yelling into his phone, dropping his papers everywhere.” George says, and you smile, remembering fondly how many times Jenson had disturbed the two of you when working on Svetlana to complain about some government bastard who was giving him a hard time.

“I’ll miss you too, you’re not just my work friend but my real friend. You mean a lot to me and you’ve saved my ass more times than I can count. I promise we’ll see each other again.” You say, offering George a small smile before walking away.

That day, you slid your letter of resignation into an envelope and walked the corridor to Jenson’s office for the last time. You knocked on the door, for old time’s sake, despite knowing it would be empty. You place the letter in the centre of the desk with a smile, before leaving the office which no longer belonged to your lover.

———

“So, how’s the patient?” You say, pushing your way into the hospital room, your arms filled with bunches of flowers and a bag of grapes.

“They’ve taken away my morphine.” Charles says, and you chuckle.

“Well then, that must mean you’re on the mend then, eh?” You say emptying your arms and throwing a loose grape in your mouth.

“They said there isn’t any permanent damage, and that I should be back on my feet in the next few weeks.” Charles says with a smile.

“That’s good news! George sends his love, and Lewis’ assistant sent flowers, I think the purple ones? The yellow ones are from Mark, and the weird green tree arrangement is from Sebastian.” You say, arranging the flowers on the windowsill alongside the already large collection of gifts.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral. I wanted to be there to pay my respects.” Charles says, offering you a sympathetic smile.

“He wouldn’t hold it against you, honestly. He would have said something super cliche like ‘your recovery is the best way to pay your respects’ no doubt.” You say, a quiet laugh escaping your lips.

“Are you doing okay?” Charles asks, and you take a seat on the chair beside Charles’ hospital bed.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be okay. But I’m moving on, because I have to. Because if I don’t, I’ll just be stuck in my apartment for the rest of my life wasting the life he chose to save.” You say, a sob catching in your throat which you swallow down. You’d cried enough, you didn’t want to cry again.

“Well, being a badass agent and doing ‘epic Bond shit’ as you describe it will be the best way to honour his memory, I think.” Charles says, and you smile.

“I quit my job.” You say, and Charles looks at you wide-eyed.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I just couldn’t stay there with all the memories of Jenson hanging around like dusty cobwebs in every corner. But after taking down Fortescue and Sukharnikova I’ve had my share of offers elsewhere, and I accepted one of them.” You say, and Charles smiles.

“Sebastian said he’d wanted you to work for him for the longest time. He’s lucky to have you.” Charles says, and you shake your head.

“I didn’t take Sebastian’s offer actually, as tempting as it was. I followed my gut, and now I have a fancy watch and an even fancier lighter that some guy called Albert gave to me.” You say, and Charles’ mouth falls open in shock.

“You mean we’re going to be working together?” He asks, and you nod.

“Yep, and I think we’re neighbours now too. So you better get used to sharing those fucking pierogi.” You laugh.

———

Six weeks later, Charles was able to officially return to active duties, and you had been tasked to oversee his return back to work.

“Good to see you on your feet again.” You say, and Charles jumps, clicking his heels together in the air.

“I’m good as new and ready to go. I got a call from my brother, Coulthard wants to see us about a case.” Charles says, picking up his laptop case from his desk and zipping it up.

“Well then, partner, we’d better get going!” You say dragging Charles out of his office and down the corridor, stopping to knock on the ornate oak doors of your new boss, David Coulthard’s office.

“Come in!” You hear in that familiar Scottish accent from beyond the door.

Charles pushes the handle and you open the door, immediately making eye contact with Daniel and rushing over to him, wrapping him in the tightest hug.

“Long time no see, baby.” He says, lifting you up and spinning you around.

David clears his throat and you separate from Daniel, allowing you to notice the stranger who stood beside the desk, awkwardly fidgeting with his hands before him.

“This is Max Verstappen from the General Intelligence and Security Service in The Netherlands. Two weeks ago, his father Jos Verstappen broke into their headquarters and stole vital information regarding the identity of several active agents. We have reason to believe he is hiding in Monte Carlo, and I figured that you would be up to the task of tracing him and recovering that information.” David says, and you nod.

“Of course we are. We will certainly do our best. But if you don’t mind me asking, why is Daniel here?” You ask, and David smiles at you.

“You’re not our only new recruit, you know (y/n). I expect the three of you to work alongside Max to find his father.” David says, and you nod.

“The dream team reunited, lets fucking do this.” Daniel says, and you chuckle at his enthusiasm.

“Before you go and let Max catch you up to speed, you should go down to the garage, I believe Rosberg has a gift for you, shipped in this morning from London.” David says, a smile playing on his lips. Your eyes go wide as you realise exactly what, or who, he was referring to.

“Svetlana!” You shout as you enter the garage, spotting the familiar silver Aston Martin and running over to her, stroking her paintwork with your fingertips.

“Neither of us will ever be the sole receiver of her affections, will we?” Daniel asks Charles, and Charles laughs.

“(Y/n) is something else, I don’t think any one man could ever really satisfy her the way she deserves.” Charles responds, resting against the doorframe of the garage.

“Maybe there was someone. But as she always says, in this job, attachments are dangerous. It never ends well. For anyone.” Daniel says, looking over at you with sadness in his eyes as you converse with Rosberg, circling the car and ogling her with a look of pure glee on your face.

“Hey! Are you guys getting in, I need to take her for a quick spin before we get started on this whole Verstappen thing.” You shout and Charles and Daniel walk over to you, sliding into the passenger seats as you rev up the engine, driving her out of the garage and onto the streets of Monaco - the place you now called home.

[divinekangaroo]

Thomas Shelby as a semi-modern-era boss:

You get curtly worded letters from his secretary if you show up to work without a tie

Or if you’re a woman and you wear pants instead of a pencil skirt

No such thing as casual Fridays

Comes by your desk at 4.56pm on a Friday and spends three hours talking to you about very important business he’s failed to talk to you about every other time you’ve tried for the last four weeks

Knows the first names of your children

Knows your wife is pregnant before you do

Functional alcoholic

Very angry phone calls made after 3.30pm

Maximum 10 word emails

Whole office spends hours trying to help each other decipher the 10 word emails

No email signature

Mobile phone number is a mystery to all, no office worker has it, but yet it constantly rings

First in, last out, but totally absent between the hours of 9.30am and 3pm

The Office Fitout Is All Mahogany

There Are Even Mahogany Wall Panels in the Toilets

Resignation letters are not acknowledged

Depressing art of heather and pastoral scenes and moors

Considers Scotland an exotic destination

No such thing as paperless office

Weirdly, achieves and exceeds the diversity employment quotient on any corporate social responsibility measure applied

Says its because the loyalty people give you once you tell them they matter is worth more than any supposed white collar qualification

An explanation which makes you feel very uncomfortable

The family clearly holds a controlling interest

Significant property asset investments, cash and near cash assets, and extremely low leverage distort share price; won’t take advice on financial restructuring

Very high risk tolerance for R&D; very low risk tolerance for debt

Love/hate relationship with his shareholders

Keeps one token independent company director trotted out to the shareholders once per year for a speech

Very complex delegated authority structure (no one quite sure what authority for decision making they have, so everything ends up with him anyway)

Office parties are always at the races and he always issues a dress code reminder

Can never catch him doing coke at office parties but pretty sure he does (stares fixedly at each race and grinds his jaw the whole time)

Owns too many racehorses for someone apparently not involved in money laundering

Thousands if not millions donated each year (as tax offsets) to rehabilitate old or injured racehorses

Still has a tea lady because workers aren’t allowed up from their desks to waste time buying/making coffees

Lives in a run of the mill middle class suburb a very long drive away from work because it was all he could afford when he started out, but in the most fuck-off (yet non-functional and tacky) house you’ve ever seen because he’s just kept adding status symbols to it over time

Owns a boat

Never goes out on the boat

Doesn’t let anyone borrow the boat

Has a photo of the boat on his desk

Starts and sells spin off businesses at a rate of two per year

Attempted to retire once and leave the business to his cousin, but within a year it was going into administration so he came back out of retirement and started calling in favours

Pretty sure you once caught him viciously slitting the tires of a car that’d parked in his spot

[variouslife]

Chelsea’s story from New York

On May 1st, I gave a two-week notice of resignation. What a beautiful day! It is even May 1st which is International Worker's Day in other countries. After two weeks, I'm going backpacking around the world. My life was always like a calm river. I grew up in a typical American middle-class household. I lived in a two-story house with a backyard in a quiet neighbourhood. My father has been working for a major bank and my mother is a housewife. My family is not very wealthy, but looking back, I think I had everything I wanted since we were young. I went to Boston to study at college. After graduating, I am currently working in New York. Perhaps thanks to my father's genes, I got a job relatively easily in the financial sector and have been working for two years. My family and I weren't very rich, but not lacking either. But my life was… too ordinary and boring. It was like plain yogurt without flavor. When I first started working, it was very fun, but now it's been 2 years. Going to the gym in the morning, getting Starbucks, going to work and coming back home and chilling… The routine repeats endlessly. So, I decided to go backpacking around the world. Before I get older than now, I want to look around the world and find fun in life.

"Hey, Chelsea! I just heard that you are gonna leave soon. I'm so sad!"

"Hi Tim, I know…it just happened. I just gave 2 weeks' notice today. A fun fact is that today is International Worker's Day in 160 countries. I didn't mean it but what a coincidence!"

"Aww, when is your farewell party? I would love to join"

"I haven't decided yet but will let you know shortly!"

Tim is my boss since I first joined the company. I was grateful to have met so many nice people here including him.

"By the way Tim, I left the report on your desk. Did you have any chance to look it up?"

"Thank you, Chelsea. I checked it. It was very interesting that you mentioned the crisis of fast fashion and withdrawal from Bangladesh."

"Well… Many people are criticizing fast fashion companies and shunning consumers after it became known that they used cheap labour in developing countries to produce products which are a lower price. It is ironic how the main driver for its creation ended up being the main destroyer of its existence.”

“Oh interesting”

“Furthermore, climate change affects the purchases of consumers in developed countries. Fast fashion, which is consumed relatively quickly and changes monthly, wastes a lot of clothing and resources. As a result, many consumers look away from fast fashion.”

"So you mentioned the downtrend in the stock prices of companies in fast fashion. That's a very good point that will affect ETF. I'll pass on your report to the VP."

"aww…Tim Thank you! I really appreciated it"

I was very proud of the fact that I had written a good report that impress Tim and VP before I quit my job. It's unfortunate that developing countries' economies are declining, but ironically, my career has been built one step further. Even though I'm quitting my job now, I was very excited that I might be able to ask the VP for a reference after returning from the trip. My life is ordinary but pretty good as always!

[saturnsorbits]

… I just don’t feel like Denki stays a Pro-Hero for his entire career. Out of the entire Baku-squad he’s the first to retire and he retires early; like mid-late 20’s, a solid few years shy of thirty early.